It’s weird when you open your life to a new pool of people.  Think of going into a new school when you were a kid.  The sea of faces and personalities that first presents itself to you seems vast, and immediately your mind tries to categorize them all.The second time my class came together we were all more comfortable.  We recognized faces in the parking lot as we arrived; greeting each other and the mission we are all on.

This connection to other people, who all have terribly full lives during the other 6 days, is a study in how I relate to the world differently than I ever have in the past.  I used to snort at yoga.  I did Pilates; we had not just mats, but machines to be mastered.

I used to hire someone to do all the yard work, so I could sit back and enjoy it during the few hours I was home.  Today, it doesn’t look quite so manicured, but I can tell you every seedling that has popped out in my starter trays in the morning, and every new bud in the garden.   I slowly rake and reclaim from winter’s damage and delight in the smells and textures.

So, if I can’t afford Pilates five days a week or a yard crew, and I do my yoga faithfully to a worn and tired DVD, it is understandable that at some point the changes would affect other parts of my life.

I would eventually feel comfortable standing in front of someone I have known a total of six hours over two weeks and say, ‘Namaste’ at the end of the evening…  And really, really mean it.

I have climbed the trails in the Nepalese Himalaya and heard the greeting.  I even ventured to respond softly to those who passed me on the trail, as they offered the word to me.  Yet, it always felt like someone else’s language.

Just as I sing the stupid Cub Scouts song every morning to the dogs and quietly say to myself as the sun sets, ‘Thank you for this day,’ I am reveling in the little things.

Embrace the change…

3 thoughts on “Namaste

  1. Pingback: No Do Overs! | Therapeutic Misadventures

  2. Pingback: Holding On | Therapeutic Misadventures

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