Pacing

Today, I left my tutoring job at 7:08. I hand't been home since 6:50 am but Midtown Athletic Club's yoga class started at 7:30 and I wanted to get there before all the mats were taken. En route, every stop light felt like eons and the soccer moms in front of me seemed to think driving 10 mph below the speed limit was a good idea. All I could think about from behind the wheel was how stressed I was and how badly I needed yoga tonight. I merged off of 83 onto 55th and pulled up beside a green pick up truck. 7:19. I swear I have never seen this light red before But now, it seemed to be making up for lost time. I glanced to my right, towards the green pick up truck to see if the driver had taken any notice to me - he hadn't. Feeling rushed and alone and too busy to be moving so slowly, I screamed. The light turned green and I turned left. I hit an additional 3 stop lights and 2 soccer moms before finally pulling in to Midtown's parking lot. I cut off Ryan Adams mid chorus (something I rarely do), yanked the keys from the ignition, and ran inside. I had forgotten my member ID so had to waste an extra 14 seconds confirming my legal name. I bolted to the locker room, replaced my cowboy boots with running shoes, and whipped my hair into a bun. I hurried into the studio and took my seat by the back with three minutes to spare.

And    then,    for  an  hour    and    fifteen  minutes , everything    was  still.  I   found  my  "happy  place",    modeling  it    off    of    postcards    from    Olympic    National    Park.    I     closed    my    eyes.    I  could    hear    my    heart    beat.    And    it    was    steady.

I    left    yoga    feeling    calm.    As    usual,    I    decided    to    end    my   day    at   Prospect    Park  (all   good   days   end   at   prospect   park). I    sprawled    myself    out    on    top    of    the    hill,    exhaled,    and    looked    at    the    stars.          Namaste.

And then my phone rang. My mother was looking for me. I had not seen her in 30 hours and she probably had questions to ask and orders to mandate. Plus, I had yet to start my homework and had promised a friend I would help her with an essay. I drove back home, enjoying my last few moments of silence.

And now, as I am sitting upstairs, I realized I still have my shoes on. And how dumb is that? Three hours ago I was near slumber and now I can't even find time to take off my shoes.

Why is it that we segment out chaos and our tranquility rather than integrating them? I feel like I am always in such a rush to relax. Just finding time to unwind is exhausting, and once I get there, I lose my breath in an exhale.

Maybe, being calm isn't about yoga or Prospect Park. Maybe being calm is about red lights and soccer moms. After all, they too are begging us to slow down.