One year ago today, it was a Friday afternoon and I was landing back in Michigan after my month spent in Mysore. It was Super Bowl weekend, and I remember feeling a bit of culture shock on game day. I was back at work that Monday, and there was some culture shock there too.
Today? I no longer work at the agency where I had been employed for four years. My husband and I struck out on our own late last year — we leapt without even getting to catch our breath, making 2014 my life’s single most intense year on record. (You can note this too by the gaps in my blogging since last summer — there was so much to blog about, and so little time to even sleep, much less blog.)
Did that trip to India play a role in this cataclysm change? Ashtangis like to joke about the effects that going to India has on us; I would never argue the point with anyone.
It’s Saturday, but I don’t even distinguish between weekdays and weekends anymore. I work every day. I work from the time I am done practicing at the shala or at home until I go to bed (save for my occasional salsa lessons). Today I worked on some administrative things for my start-up, hopped on a call with a person in New York who wants us to conduct a social media training for an alumni network of nonprofit advocates, taught a yoga private, and then did a personal development coaching session.
I’m still in awe of how integrative everything has felt since The Leap/Liberation Day. I used to bristle whenever anyone tried to tell me: ‘You know the old saying: ‘Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life…'” Tell me how I can find that perfect shangri-la of a job, I used to think to myself.
Today didn’t feel like work. No day since this new endeavor has.
I have to leave in a few minutes to pick up my husband from the airport. He’s spent the past two weeks studying Flamenco guitar in Andalusia. What going to Mysore was for me, going to Sevilla was for him. Call it whatever you would like — a pilgrimage, forging into the unknown, a hero’s journey mythos. What struck me in reading this blog post was how he ended it:
I was picked up at my apartment at 8 a.m. this morning (that’s, like, 4 a.m. Spanish time, especially on a Saturday) by a bleary-eyed, profoundly nice employee from the school I studied at — his name was Carlos. We jammed my luggage into his tiny VW and set off for the airport. His English was quite good, so we chatted about my trip. When we got to the departures drop-off, I thanked him profusely for his generosity and kindness.
“De nada, Scott,” he said, taking his time to annunciate an unfamiliar name. “Come back, we will wait for you.”
He initially refused this trip. But I asked him to reconsider — for both of us and for our business. I reminded him that, thanks to his help, I was able to take my bucket list trip of a lifetime last January. If we’re going to launch this business and truly manifest our creative potential, I said, you should consider doing something on your bucket list. Exploration is important.
“What’s on your bucket list?” I asked him.
Last January, I never could have predicted that this is where we would be one year on. And one year from now? There is no way to know, so I will continue to practice six days a week.