Running Dry

May 13, 2011 § Leave a comment

There hasn’t been a post for the past couple of weeks because there hasn’t been any yoga. More accurately, there’s been very little yoga.

Because the husband was in-between jobs, we took the opportunity to visit friends in Chicago, and I stayed on for another week to make a trip up to Madison to visit another friend. With a 2 hour jet-lag and 4am wake-up calls from a screaming baby through poorly sound-proofed walls, it became pretty clear after the first night that our yoga mats were not going to get a lot of love on this trip. In fact, they got none.

As much as I love travelling, it really messes up the routine, with both good and bad side effects. Away from home I sleep later, wake up later, eat and drink way too much and push my limits way more than I need to. My body is also cranky from schlepping luggage around and the straitjacket confines of cattle class seats, best undone by a good practice, but of course, my mind thinks that being away from home is a license to party like there’s no tomorrow. “There’s always yoga when you get home”, it tells me, “Why waste precious moments of your time in a new place on what you can do at home?”.

The upside is that I get to spend more time with my camera, photographing new subjects and training the eye, discovering new restaurants and flavor pairings, and get to catch up on my reading. All this while reconnecting with people close to my heart. A worthwhile trade-off? Judging by the (non-existent) state of my practice, there’s no clear-cut answer.

First week back home and the onset of post-trip blues hit as assuredly as California’s sunshine. This time it’s the stark contrast between big city living – where you do not need to wait an hour for the train, where the streets are very walkable and dining options are aplenty – and the suburbanite area we live in that fuels the discontent.

To get me out of this rut, I’m turning to the Guruji book for some grounding and inspiration to get me back on the mat, and reignite this passion for the practice that I know is inside me, but buried under way too many daydreams and glasses of wine.

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