January 17, 2012 § 2 Comments
Nothing practice-related to report at the moment, because I’m going through a bit of a funk, both personally and Ashtanga-ically. Which is to be expected since the practice is a reflection of what goes on in the rest of our lives. Part of the funk comes from Europe Withdrawal Syndrome (EWS), a condition that has always existed, but seems to have worsened since moving to the suburban wonders of the Bay Area. I don’t want to whine about my miseries here, but suffice to say that my monologues bitching about the weather, the people and the nature of daily life here have been running in a mental loop since we got back and I’m getting really tired of it.
One of the side effects of EWS is talk about moving to France, where the rest of the family is, along with perfect croissants, beautiful architecture, cobblestoned streets, affordable homeopathic therapies, normally-portioned restaurant food, daily farmers’ markets, and foie gras. Where you can dine in a packed restaurant and actually have a decent conversation without having to shout. Where there’s universal healthcare, and a public school system that’s pretty reliable. And where we’ll have a real shot at owning a home.
We’ve given ourselves the next few years to explore this possibility, a commitment made at the height of EWS fervor, but one that seems to be waning with each passing day as I notice the rich comforts of our lives here, and I begin to wonder if the country is worth the sacrifice. My fiery passion, so strong at our return, has started to flicker in the face of creature comforts: the ease of communicating in the same language, the huge apartment and its abundance of natural light, the comfortable car, the friends, the climate.
I have a tendency to get bored really easily – maybe that explains the meh-ness of my practice right now – so I’m trying to understand how much of the desire to move comes from boredom (that forgotten lovechild of comfort and stability) versus a deep discontent with the place. No place is perfect, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t help me answer the million-dollar question: How much is Paris worth?