A week ago I wrote–but never posted–an essay about the importance of taking a big , fat, fantastic vacation. I was fresh from a two-week hiatus that included meditating on the beaches of Point Reyes, California, and hiking with my family through forests of pine in North Carolina. I was sure I had purged any and all memory of office politics, and had even gotten over the fact that I was rejected for that travel guide gig.
My pro-vacation manifesto never saw the light of cyberspace, though. On the eve of my post-holiday re-entry, I tossed, turned, and (I kid you not) woke up in the middle of the night screaming. Let’s not even talk about the stress-related epileptic seizures. Christ, the drama.
Over the course of this very rough week, retail therapy has been key, from undereye concealer (1), to syrupy-sweet cinnamon lattes (4), to fabulous dresses that are delightfully inappropriate for work (2). I think I’ve actually been so stressed out that I went down a dress size, which both encouraged and frightened me, reminding me of Anne Hathaway’s character in The Devil Wears Prada.
The week wasn’t a total wash. After an energizing Saturday-morning Vinyasa class with the super-competent Jason Crandell, I also bought something that might actually be useful: a day pass to the 2007 Yoga Journal Conference. Whether I ever become a certified teacher or just continue to hone my supta virasana, I am damn happy to have this practice in my life. It is my saving grace.
Tomorrow will be better, I am sure of it.
