Months ago a very friendly stranger told me I should finish reading Autobiography of a Yogi because my guru was trying to get in touch with me. Externally I scoffed, “Weirdo.” Internally I figured, “Yah he’s probably right.” I finally finished a few nights ago and of course he was.
Turns out there’s more to yoga than stretching. Thank you, Peter.
One time through is hardly enough to even scratch the surface. I have no idea what I’ve learned from the experience yet I’m acutely aware that something spiritual has shifted internally and I seem to have a new friend hanging out with me on a regular basis. Strange concepts for a girl raised devoutly atheist, but ones I’ve had no choice but to try to accept since I began studying the Tao Te Ching and attending kirtans years ago. I suppose it’s similar to how Christians feel about Jesus always being there for them. Paramahansa Yogananda was a really good guy with really good ideas and he basically feels like a new buddy and mentor. Someone I can always go to for advice. Someone who, for all I know, could be sitting right behind me at this very moment.
The morning after finishing the book I caught up on a good friend’s blog, one I was woefully and regrettably behind on. She wrote of an epic birthday adventure in November that took her cross-country to Connecticut then up to Kripalu in Massachusetts. This birthday-to-remember was a gift from a friend and found her in receipt of two glorious massages in the same day as well as a private yoga class and a jaunt to a bird sanctuary. Her description of the Northeast in late Fall brought me right back home. Her tales of Kripalu confirmed my suspicions of it being a magical life-changing place.
The day after that I awoke to an email from another good friend, no relation to the first, who happens to work at Kripalu. This friend was my boss for years in New York. We were both laid off at the same time and we both chose to change our lives rather than get sucked back into the bad relationship offered by our former employers. She completed a program in integrative nutrition, became a holistic health counselor and recently moved out of the big city and up to the Berkshires. There she has combined her production management talents with her new found interest in peace and balance. She wrote about a job opening that could potentially find me joining her at Kripalu as her right hand woman.
Two hours later I walked the dogs and checked the mail. A catalog from Kripalu. Meh? I’ve never been there, though I’ve fantasized about it. I’m not on their mailing list. This was the first time I ever received information from them.
If Peter were here I would ask if my guru is trying to get in touch with me again. What in the world does this mean? The simple answer of “It means you should go work for Kripalu” isn’t panning out for me. If anything the thought of moving again is making me realize how good I have it here. I complain about the weather incessantly. I wax poetically about the good ol’ days in Boston while raging about the slow driving and general lack of ambition amongst the residents of P-Town. But the second I start thinking about actually moving back to Massachusetts, I get profoundly sad about what I would be leaving behind.
Five dollar 80’s Video Dance Attack and Tuesday nights with my homeslice fancy laideez of writing group top the immediate list. But there’s more. I’ve been successful and whole and genuinely happy here. I’ve been surrounded by community in a way I’ve never known. Take for example listing my food cart For Sale and immediately receiving an email from a business mentor to make sure I’m OK and express his sadness to see my dream end.
I keep thinking about how I doubt I’ll find the kind of person I want to be with here because I have no desire to date a tall skinny ambitionless hipster who rides a bike everywhere and is covered head to toe in tattoos, and the more straightforward businessmen I’ve been attracted to all have girlfriends. I have to deal with the fact that I’m in my thirties and the pool of eligible bachelors is simply smaller. How much smaller would that pool be in a tiny town in the Berkshires with no dance club?
But the job description is perfect for me: all of my production stage management skills combined with my love for all things introspective, meditative and peaceful. The company represents everything I aspire to be, it’s the playground of my heroes, all of whom are real down to earth people I’d likely get a chance to interact with. It’s also pretty obvious that moving back home would cure my homesickness.
A younger version of me would jump at the chance, throw caution to the wind, toss the dogs into the Outback and start driving east tomorrow with a carsick cat. This older version of me is taking everything else into consideration. This version is saying wait a second, you have more friends here that you respect and genuinely enjoy spending time with than you ever have before in any city you’ve lived in. You have an opportunity to get back on top of your finances and live in a place where you could afford to own a home. You have the kind of social life you’ve always dreamed of which boils down to friends who show up each and every time and never ever ever want or need you to be drunk with them.
So then why did this opportunity just fall out of the sky?
Much to ponder in the coming days.