Expect the Unexpected

A snippet from an email I sent from the road while I was traveling this summer:

"I just wanted to send these pictures of a shrine I encountered by Petroglyph National Monument in Albuequerque, New Mexico. There was a visitor's center made out of the former home and clinic of a prominent anthropologist in the area. They called her the "Measuring Lady" because she would take measurements of the Native Americans who lived nearby the petroglyphs in Boca Negra Canyon.  Anyway, she donated her home and land to the National Parks so people could learn about and preserve the rock art of the area. As we pulled up in the desert I noticed a bright white structure with a metallic gold top.  Looked like a stupa to me, oddly enough, because we were absolutely in the middle of nowhere.  Practically the last place I would expect to find a shrine, but indeed it was a stupa. Looked like no one had come by in a while, and some of the statuettes were downed.  I also spotted a Green Tara card amongst the litter on the ground.  Left the coin and candle offerings, but I cleaned up the relics at least and unfurled the prayer flags.  I circumambulated it a few times, but stopped because I heard something rustling behind me in the desert. So I paid my respect and got the hell out of there.  Anyway, thought of you..."

 

When I travel, especially with my family, It try to have a tenuous outline for the day because I don't want to miss any opportunity to see good stuff. A rehabilitated Type A, I also have to remember to keep my options open by not overscheduling us and not being too attached to a rigid, definitive plan and outcome. As it is, being in an unfamiliar city (or even just downtown Indy) involves a lot of awareness, energy, strength, and flexibility on my part. In short, it takes a yoga practice to survive!

Because of my yoga practice, I know where my edge is. I know what sorts of activities and conditions of reality might trigger my foul moods and short temper (any sort of vigorous exercise like, say trudging up steep hills in San Francisco), and I know about how long I can schlep my satchels uphill from Chinatown in a sort of moving  Warrior 2 pose (not long), and how long I am willing to aimlessly wander in circles (at one point I swear I passed Anthony Bourdain by the Argonaut) while my boys decide which crap burger sounds better: Johnny Rockets or McDonalds?

My yoga practice reminds me to breathe and be patient and not worry that I can't carry on all of the above activities while also sipping a latte and video recording the whole thing for posterity. I'm 35 now. It is time to admit I'm not really Wonder Woman (but only because I don't have an invisible jet). Time to stop fronting.

It's times like this I see my practice pay off. Instead of spazzing out when the world flies out of my control, I can settle down and have a really good day. I can find myself unexpectedly stepping around in an unmarked swath of desert, chipping my pedi all to hell and dodging slithering things to get to Enlightenment or I can do Walking Mediation going up Lombard. My practice brings me again and again to the present moment, which at that time in that space involved a lot of strength and flexibility -- on account of the hills and all.