Verklempt

noun (Yiddish, via my friend Leah): choked up with emotion; too moved to speak.

I didn’t have the word until yesterday, but I’ve been living it all week. Maybe some of you have, too.

In case you didn’t know, Chautauqua is my happy homestead—the place where I spend my summers, the county I grew up returning to, the bookstore where I met my life partner and husband, Whit, and the place where I work remotely, even though my calendar somehow fills up faster here than it does anywhere else.

This past week, Chautauqua gave me two moments that left me exactly, precisely verklempt.

The first was in the amphitheater at the first naturalization ceremony ever held there. Thirty new United States citizens, in a packed Amp, becoming Americans together.

I’ve sung the National Anthem in that space more times than I can count. I’ve said the Pledge of Allegiance there, too.

But this was different.

It wasn’t the words themselves. It was watching thirty people hear those same words for the first time as theirs—surrounded by a community that showed up, full seats and all, simply to witness it with them.

That’s the part that got me.

Not just the ceremony, but the joy of it—a full amphitheater choosing, on a Tuesday, to gather and celebrate strangers becoming neighbors.

I sat there with a lump in my throat, thinking: This is what it’s supposed to feel like. This is what we are supposed to feel when we gather together and share in something special.

A day prior, I got verklempt for entirely different reasons.

Monday evening, I hosted nearly 70 people at my house for the Bird, Tree & Garden Club’s Life Member Potluck.

It rained all day and the days prior.   It turned my yard into mud. And people came anyway—schlepping casseroles, salads, side dishes, and desserts across the soggy grounds, because they wanted to share, to commune, to gather.

One member looked at the spread and said, “I have never seen so much beautiful food in one place.”

Honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

But it wasn’t the food that undid me.

It was the way they all showed up.  The way they cared.  The way they steward our Mother Earth through planting trees, gardens, and making decisions collectively about native plants that help our great Chautauqua lake breathe a bit better.

It was the fact that nearly 70 people decided a little rain wasn’t going to keep them from showing up—for plants, gardens, community, and one another.

Two wildly different gatherings, only a day apart, and both cracked me open in the same way.

That has been the strange part of this week—how emotionally imbalanced it has sometimes felt, riding highs and lows over ordinary things, only to be stopped in my tracks by something that is actually verklempt-worthy.

It made me realize how rare the real version is—and how much I want to pay attention when it shows up.

Find Your Own Verklempt This Fall

Here’s the thing I keep coming back to: I see verklempt moments in my strength-training groups all the time, too.

Not necessarily at the barbell itself—although a personal record never hurts—but a beat later, when a client realizes she carried every grocery bag inside in one trip, kept pace on the hill without stopping, got down on the floor with a grandchild, or simply felt steady and strong doing something ordinary that she loves.

That’s the same lump in the throat.

Quieter, maybe, but just as real.

That’s what consistent strength training actually gives you—not just muscle, but room.

Two 30-minute sessions each week, done consistently, can open a door into the rest of your life. They allow the other things—the Amp, the potluck, the hike, the grandchild, or whatever yours may be—to reach you a little more fully because you feel steady enough in your body to be completely present for them.

Feeling strong creates space for those whole-health, verklempt moments to shine brighter—and perhaps happen more often.

My small-group, high-accountability strength-training classes are live, personal, and built around consistent progress. Our fall season begins September 9, and I would love for you to join us.

Let’s find your version of verklempt this season—one steady, consistent rep at a time.

So thank you, Leah, for the word.

And thank you, Chautauqua—and this whole verklempt week—for reminding me what it feels like when something is beautifully, unmistakably real.

All fall class sign ups are on my website here: jennyrappole.com