Back in New York City. That strange feeling of here but not quite here, which recedes in the evening, when the routines of this world reassert themselves. I can still hear loud cicadas (I think) here, but they compete with the traffic, the sirens, the planes and the neighbors. I put on a noise machine because I’ve grown intolerant of all this street noise. Alex, who loves the noise, the commotion, the confusion of the city, mistakes the sound of the noise machine for a truck parked outside.
I didn’t keep up with yoga and writing each day of the vacation. During the busiest part of the two weeks (the family reunion with my dad’s cousins and their descendants), I fell out of the habit entirely. Too many pulls, and even though a short yoga/writing practice each morning would have helped me to navigate them, I gave into the anxiety of helping host the event, and let them go.
After most of extended family had driven away, I thought—how do I get back into the routine now? After missing so many days? But the answer is always the same. Just light the candle. Roll out the mat (beach towel), stretch your arms up, and begin.
There are so many lessons from the lake I haven’t absorbed, haven’t sorted through, yet here I am feeling very far away, wondering how or when I’ll get the quiet to sink back into that mindset, and see what I can hold onto.