From Where I Sit – Going Home

As my week-long getaway draws to a close I feel compelled to do a cost-benefit analysis. Did I accomplish as much as I’d hoped? Or is it crazy to calculate the productivity quotient of what was supposed to be a relaxing getaway?

My intention was to have no intentions. To simply let my mood and the day dictate what, if anything, I would do.

The doing could have included reading, writing, journaling, walking, napping, Sudoku, or meditating. Or absolutely nothing if that felt right. I came with books, journaling materials, candles, crystals, laptop, Nintendo DS, my baby pillow, and some comfort food.

I also came with an inexplicably sad and heavy heart and a lethargy that was beginning to worry me. I hoped I wouldn’t spend all week crying but knew it was okay if That’s how it played out. A chalet in Manitoba would be as good a place as any for sobbing. There were tears on day one. It’s difficult to do inner work without stirring up suppressed emotions. A good private cry works wonders.

Most of us couldn’t get away with that at home. Can you imagine the questions from loved ones? Would any answer provide an adequate explanation? don’t worry, dear; I’m crying because I don’t yet know the meaning of life or my place in it. We might as well book the shrink now.

Because I’m a solitary person I liked that I really didn’t need to talk to anyone other than the clerk at the bookstore/art/cappuccino place or the front desk or the dining room. In fact, these few voices seemed foreign and intrusive.

When I visited a gem shop I was glad the retired miner and geologist couple who own it were chatty and generous with their time. In fact they were closed but the gal from the deli called and asked if they would open for me. It was a couple of hours well spent that left me $50 poorer in cash but so much richer in knowledge of the healing potential.

I’ve got a piece of lepidolite in my right back pocket as I type this that should help my sciatica. I’m counting on it because of the 11-hour drive home tomorrow.

I did do a lot of reading. It’s a treat to read a book from start to finish and not have it languishing on a night table for weeks. I journaled to prompts in the books I was using. I did stream-of-consciousness writing. I did my version of meditation, which is to say a squirmy, unfocused, mind-wandering attempt at tranquility. I took a few photos. I only had one nap. Rats.

By far the biggest payoff for a week like this is the distance it affords from one’s everyday life. I am going home feeling better about ?things.? I missed my people. I feel ready to reintegrate into the routine of my life. A life by all accounts that is good even if it is punctuated occasionally with the tears of a sad and heavy heart. Home looks good, from where I sit.

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