For the past handful of months, I have been taking a class on Monday evenings. It’s in a building with a sculptural twisted metal entrance on an otherwise unassuming street across from a liquor store. My friend had invited me over a text message to my first session. She described it as a poetry class. But when I went the first day to this class, I noticed that it was in a big studio space. There were no desks anywhere and no notebooks. There were some writing utensils, but they were of the whimsical variety. Think crayons rather than ballpoint pens.

At this point I didn’t quite know what to expect but I was happy to hang with my friend and open to the experience. I was given a warm welcome by the host along with a sound cleansing. She banged a little gong in front of me and welcomed me into the space. What followed was a guided meditation, the reading of a text, and group discussions. The friend who invited me to the class told me that it had been a spiritual awakening for her. It wasn’t quite that profound of an experience for me. But I did have to admit that despite some initial skepticism and cynicism, I ended up enjoying myself.

I had my last class of the season last Monday. It was a more intense session than usual. The entire day had already been cold and bleak, but by the time class rolled around it was particularly dark and uninviting outside. I had a lot of resistance to going. Even when I first arrived at the studio it took me a little bit to get acclimated and be present in the space.

When we gathered to read in a circle, the instructor handed us a short story about death. It prompted some intense reactions and discussions. Tears were shed and experiences were shared. I felt a little awkward. At some point it became clear to me that I was sitting in an open studio space, on the floor, listening to strangers cry and talk about loss. It wasn’t a typical Monday night for me. I wasn’t quite put off by it but it did feel a bit surreal and unexpected.

When the class was over my friend gave me a ride to my train. We had a laugh about how intense and heavy this last session had been. We caught up and shared stories of our recent adventures. It had snowed heavily the week prior, so mostly we had been staying indoors. We shared what films we had recently watched and what books we had read.

I felt weird when I got home because I didn’t quite know how to process the experience. Had I been ripped off? After all, it was a class that I had paid for. Was it “worth” spending money to share with strangers? And it was a class, sure, but what was I “learning” from it. But when I slept on it, I woke up feeling grateful. Some people might turn up their nose at an experience like this. It’s unconventional and vulnerable. There is no “goal” in a class like this. There is nothing you are building to or working towards, specifically. But what a beautiful experience to be able to share a moment of vulnerability with strangers and friends. It made me feel a little less alone on this cold dark winter night.