This morning I had a little bit of time to myself. I had some work I needed to do to prepare for a work trip to Houston (where I am now). Part of me wanted to launch into the work, to at least get that done, and forget yoga and writing, which are Want Tos, not Have Tos. But as I found myself nervously digging around my backpack, pulling out my files and laptops, I knew the extra 10 or 15 minutes I’d gain by skipping my routine wouldn’t be a gain. It would likely mean an entire day of feeling a little scattered, a little off center, never quite caught up. Everything would have a quality of anxiety to it because I hadn’t taken the time I needed to begin the day peacefully, thoughtfully, an opportunity I’m so very lucky to have. How many people in the history of the world, even in the world now, get to make a choice about how to begin their day?
I couldn’t find a good place—or a place at all—in my mother-in-law/sister-in-law’s house to do my yoga stretches, so I went out into already beating hot Queens concrete backyard, put down a beach towel, and did two sun salutations, that’s it. Then I took out my journal and wrote a page and a half. Again, very little, but honoring those two habits felt so purposeful. I knew because I gave myself that opportunity I would work better, in a more organized way, in a less frantic way, and I have.
I’m now in Houston.
I don’t have much experience with these glass, parking lot, mostly non-walking cities. There is plenty of the solitude I’m always seeking, but in a strange form.