Fresh as a Flower?

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.

Light a Candle

Today was the first anniversary of my hire (at the job I am now scheming to quit). Fittingly, I spent the whole morning feeling like I was going to puke. Just after noon, I collected my belongings, stumbled out into the rain, and fell into a taxicab to be carted home.

Vile illness aside, it’s apparently weeklong celebration:

Monday, I was told that the office sociopath (a.k.a. T-Rex, Cruella de Ville, the Ice Queen) has finally, at long last, gotten the axe. The fact that I will no longer have to work with the woman who has mercilessly tortured me and my coworkers for 365 days is almost the greatest anniversary present I could have asked for.

Tuesday, I got a call from a major publisher of travel guidebooks. I’ve lined up an interview to talk about writing a guide for my home state, which is (conveniently) where I want to relocate by this summer. Despite the pithy pay, it’d be a solid enough gig to  a freelance gig strong enough to lure me out of my day job.  And it could make my yurt on the Haw River a reality…!

And now (Wednesday), I’ve just learned that my proposal to barter my marketing and production skills for a series of yoga classes next year is actually going to fly. This means I can delve into deeper study without breaking the bank … and that I can actually apply my skills to something a little more meaningful.

What will the rest of the week bring?

Neurotic Wisdom is the Best Kind

What a hiatus…!

So the real reason that I’ve avoided blogging lately is because I’ve been feeling guilty. For weeks, I’ve been telling myself that my quest for escape is somehow wrong, that wanting more out of life is only a reflection of how greedy and insatiable I really am.

I trace the guilt back to two sources:  my slippery grasp on pop Buddhism, and my obsession with Thanksgiving. Together, the two have made me completely neurotic in the last month.

Pema Chodron is this Buddhist monk who writes very accessible books about Buddhist philosophy, and (probably just to be ironic), I recently picked up The Wisdom of No Escape. The flap copy tells me to “accept the delightful and painful situation of ‘no exit’”–to play the hand I’m dealt rather than reaching for something better. But of course, the quest for something better is my whole mission right now.

I’ve been paralyzed by this idea. I haven’t been able do anything, from applying to grad school to pitching my manuscript. A little voice keeps telling me that I need to … I dunno, embrace my life as an undervalued marketing drone living in an insanely expensive and soul-less city. Jesus, but does that sound right? Why just accept the things you can change?

On top of all this, last week was Thanksgiving—the one time of year we should be able to pull it together and count our blessings. Usually, this kind of thing is my forte. When I was in high school, I literally kept a list of moments to be grateful for.

A bizarre sampling, circa 1992:

· Waiting for the Baptist bus in my pink sheath dress with Jennifer in her teal one, and then the great potluck after church.

· Looking hot and sweaty in the bleachers, until the landscaper asked me and Sara and Cheryl if we wanted to play in the sprinklers.

· Skimming my feet over the tops of puddles, then a game of impromptu crabapple soccer.

Ahhh … a simpler time. I don’t even know if I could make this kind of list today.

I know this: When I think for a moment about … oh, dying masses in Uganda or soldiers and civilians in Iraq, suddenly the quest to fill my own creative void seems pretty insignificant. I don’t want to be a navel-gazing artist any more than I want to be an office drone.

Surely there is a way for me to cultivate gratitude and acceptance while feeding my deepest desires. My next step is to start a new page here, called Visions. It will detail my unabashed wants, and I will do my damnedest to exorcise the mad, ridiculous, useless guilt that’s been plaguing me lately.

The Wisdom of No Escape actually said something kind of great. It made me feel better for having this whole wrestling match inside my head.

 For a fully enlightened being, the difference between what is neurosis and what is wisdom is very hard to perceive, because somehow the energy underlying both of them is the same.

–Pema Chodron, The Wisdom of No Escape