It's mid-July. I have less than a month before school starts back up, and I'm behind.
My summer to-do list was pretty extensive: Go to the beach a lot. Cook a lot. Figure out my bizarre-o dreams. Achieve enlightenment. Or, at least, find a meditation group. Replace the comforter on the bed. Teach a class and do it well. Travel. Have FUN.
I'm behind. I hate this feeling, and it's exacerbated by the fact that I've been sick all week. I haven't been to yoga since Monday, and I'm already woefully behind on the class packages I indulged in (I bought classes at two studios! To say nothing of the many restorative yoga class I've missed at the adult school!).
I'm behind. I hate this feeling, yet... maybe it's just what the doctor ordered.
In an email to a friend of mine I lamented this loss of time due to illness. In response, my friend gently suggested that my body might be calling out for a rest from all of this summer R & R. She might be right. It's experiences like these, where I'm strapped into my skin like Hannibal Lecter into that straight jacket and mask, that I wonder what all my daily doing is really about. During the school year, I look forward to a lazy summer the way I dream of a bottle of coconut water during a particularly hot yoga class. But summer arrives, and I pack it full of must-dos, inventing tasks that I rationalize are essential to my existence.
|Packed like sardines|
So... the big question. What, in God's name, am I avoiding by packing my days like sardines? Is even half that stuff essential to my existence? It might take me a lifetime to figure out, and even placing my toes at the edge of that very big pool is a frightening idea."My mind is like a bad neighborhood; I try not to go there alone," said Anne Lamott. Maybe it's best not to go it alone, or walk too far too fast ;-)
The good news: despite almost a week spent in bed, I'm having a fun summer. I'm behind on yoga. The only cooking I've been doing lately is of rice and soft-boiled eggs. I've only tried one meditation group, I still have that cat hair-infested comforter on my bed, and I've only been to the beach three times. But damn, those were fun times. And maybe some quiet pool-wading was on the summer to-do list after all.