Last month I went for four nights to a fancy schmancy hotel in Palm Springs. The Parker is the loveliest place in the world. For realsie. It has everything you need. If you are walking through the gorgeous, finely coiffed grounds and you feel a tinge of hunger, oh look, there's a humongous bowl of ripe green granny smith apples. There is a fire pit with lush chairs (no camping crap here) where they bring you the fixings for s'mores.
I call my time at The Parker, "Robe Life." At The Parker, there was no reason to wear anything but a robe. Take off your robe to dive into the pool or get a facial. Take off your robe to soak in the jacuzzi or to slip on shorts for a game of Petanque (french version of Bocce Ball).
Per usual, as soon as I got back from my stay at The Parker, the grayness of Seattle descended upon me. I went back to work, back to motherhood, back to life, back to reality. I didn't feel like working hard. I didn't feel like leaving my "Robe Life." I felt cranky and resentful and generally pissed off.
I got back to work on a Tuesday. After teaching the 9:30am class at Capitol Hill, a student said to me, "You know what I love about this place? The SweatBox offers a place for people to work hard. People are afraid to work hard." His timing couldn't have been more imperfect. "Screw that," I thought to myself, "this working hard crap is over-rated." I was still hanging on to my robe life images.
And now, here I am, in the throes of recreating The Capitol Hill SweatBox. I have been working non-stop for ten days. I have to recharge my phone three times a day because I am coordinating so many details with so many different people. I am wearing clothes in public that are absolutely not okay. Today I put together five pieces of IKEA furniture by myself with no help. I'm working my ass off. And I feel great. Tired, but great. Anxious, but great. Unfashionable and dirty, but great.
It's like the 30-Day Challenge, when you feel like you can't practice one more day. You do, and you feel like the mouse who took down the big old fat cat. Today, when I didn't think I could haul another thing, I single-handedly maneuvered a 50-gallon hot water heater outside, drained it and moved it back in. You know I'm bad!
Next week after we open, I'm going on vacation to New Orleans, the land of slow, relaxed folks. I'll likely work my butt off until the moment I get on the plane, but then I'll relax. My relaxation will feel so much better for having worked so hard. Just like Savasana. The harder we work, the better we feel when we finally relax.