Today I bought a backpack. I'm not by any stretch of the imagination a backpacker. But today I bought a backpack to use for 4-6 months in India, which I guess qualifies me as a backpacker. Or so that's what Andy at REI told me. When I looked bewildered at the sight of my new pack (as they call it), he reassured me, "In two months, you'll know this thing inside and out." Here's hoping. When I arrived at REI I made a beeline for the backpacks, quickly got freaked out, and headed to the clothing section instead. Eventually I got up the nerve to ask someone for help with the backpacks, and I half expected the salesclerk to take one look at me and laugh or fear for my survival. But Andy simply grabbed two packs from the wall and started talking about the position of the bag on the iliac crest of the hip. I told him that I'm a yoga teacher, and I can at least follow along when it comes to anatomy. He filled the backpacks with pillows and weights to mimic the load I'll be carrying and then taught me how to pick the bag up off the ground, position it on my knee, and swing it over one shoulder to put it on. I followed along, and much to my surprise I didn't fall over. After walking around the store and up and down many flights of stairs, he asked me how it felt. "Good. I think. But I don't know how it's supposed to feel. Are you a backpacker?"
He looked me dead in the eye and said, "Backpacking is my sport." Duly noted. ... Several months ago I bought a one-way ticket to Barcelona, where I'll meet my family over Thanksgiving, followed by a one-way ticket from Florence to Bangalore. I spent hours scouring various websites for the best deals on airfare, but in retrospect that was all fun and games. Now I sit with two-dozen Internet browser windows open, and I research travel insurance and travel safes and underwear that you can keep your passport and credit cards zipped into. I learn about vaccines and Japanese encephalitis. I read other yogis' packing lists, and my favorite suggestion is: "Bring 5 yoga outfits you don't like. In fact, don't bring anything you like to India." For several weeks I've been trying to secure my Indian visa, and a couple nights ago I was on the phone with someone in India again. I called, as usual, around midnight in LA to account for the 13.5-hour time difference and the operating hours of the institute where I'm studying. This time I spoke to three different people, and the last one assured me that I would receive an email with a photocopy of the document I need by today. I'm acutely aware of when the day ends in India, and it ended with no email. When I arrived at the studio to teach a class today, another teacher asked me how I was doing. I made the mistake of telling her the truth, rather than just saying well. By the time my students started arriving I was in tears. Each student offered such kind and thoughtful words and solutions, but it only made me cry more. Fear got the best of me. Waiting on a visa and looking at slash-proof locks isn't as pretty as buying plane tickets. But fear is often just discomfort. There's this thing that happens in yoga postures. The moment of resistance is where the pose actually begins. And often the difference between comfortable and uncomfortable has nothing to do with the pose and has everything to do with you. How you breathe, think, and react. One of my teachers often loudly and assertively guides her students through incredibly difficult postures and transitions, but she ends her directions by saying, "with joy." And so it is with this. I'll breathe and keep calling India and go to a travel clinic and make some purchases on Amazon with joy. Eventually the documents will arrive and I'll be vaccinated and my pack will be organized with everything I need. The teacher who I cried to sent me a message later that said: "Whenever I am full of doubt my mom tells me the story of a village that didn't have rain for the longest time and so one day they gathered everyone and decided to pray for rain. Among the crowd a little boy stood with his umbrella. He believed so much that the moment they ask for rain it will come, that he brought his umbrella with him. So just grab that umbrella and trust that what you ask for will happen, and whatever happens is only the very best for you. I have no doubt everything will fall into place." Instead of an umbrella, I have a backpack. Eventually my pack and I will be in India. For now I'll wait, with joy, for my visa.
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My home is a disaster. In a moment of panic this weekend I began tearing it apart. Making piles of recycle, garbage, file, shred, Goodwill, keep. And, naturally, minutes after pulling everything from my closet out onto the floor I decided it was a better idea to go to a yoga class.
Today I stared at the piles again, which I now regularly walk through to get to my bathroom and bedroom. I thought about dealing with them, and again I went to a yoga class instead. You could say I'm avoiding packing, but really in these moments I need to be on my yoga mat. And I can't say exactly why. This has plagued me from the very beginning. Almost 10 years ago when I started practicing yoga, something happened. My practice allowed me to move through my life with greater ease. But I didn't understand why bending my knee a certain way and extending my arms and breathing on my mat left me feeling less irritable in traffic and more compassionate to people who don't know how to drive properly. It's what pushed me to enroll in my first teacher training. I so badly wanted to understand why yoga works. I could say in this time of transition that it's comforting and safe. But I also have practices that are frustrating and bring up fears. My yoga mats have seen countless laughs, tears, handstands, face-plants, and extra long savasanas. Those mats have supported me through poses I never imagined practicing and injuries that felt permanent. They've traveled with me on vacations and celebrated New Year's Eve, birthdays, and weddings. Years ago after a painful breakup my friend gave me the option of going out to a bar or a yoga class, and, of course, we ended up on our mats. The bar might have happened later. As a teacher, I also have the honor of witnessing my students' dedication to yoga. Students come to class on their best and worst days. They show up when they get new jobs, when their kids make them crazy, and even when a loved one dies. They come to their mats when they want to and when they have to drag themselves. And they always feel better afterwards. Recently one of my teachers asked me to view my yoga practice as a habit. Is it an addiction? Is it a useful addiction? How do we rely on it without attaching? I don't know. I don't know why we all keep coming back to yoga. And this is what draws me to India. For years I've felt pulled to travel there in the same way that I feel pulled to my mat. Because I want to know WHY. And maybe there won't be an answer. I may come back with more questions than answers. But I want to move closer to the answer, and going to the source of yoga seems like the best way to do that. Going to India seems like the closest I can get. In two weeks someone is moving in to my home, and in a month I'm leaving. Practically speaking, everything is a mess. My passport and Indian Visa are currently at an office in San Francisco awaiting a signed letter from an institute in India, and the rest of my important documents and belongings are scattered all over the floor of my apartment. Meanwhile, I'll probably keep spending the couple hours that I should be packing each day on my yoga mat instead. And I don't know why it will make everything easier, but it will. For months my mom has been bugging me to get my act together and make a website. She's also been bugging me to give her my recipe for a coffee shake. So I figured I'd make her happy and do both at the same time.
When my parents visited LA last fall I don't know what disappointed them more: the lack of internet at my home or that I didn't own a coffee-making apparatus. Both made for some not so pleasant mornings. By the time my mom came back in February I had fixed the internet issue, but still had no way to brew coffee. I did, however, have some leftover cold-brew coffee concentrate from a dessert I had made. I often make a protein shake in the morning, so naturally the coffee shake was born. coffee shake (serves 1) handful of cashews (1/8 - 1/4 cup) 3 pitted dates 1/2 scoop Sun Warrior Classic Chocolate Protein Powder 1/3 cup cold-brew coffee concentrate 1 cup almond milk 5-6 ice cubes 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract (optional) dash of cinnamon (optional) Blend all ingredients in a high-speed blender and enjoy. |
amanda
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