The Things We Carry

Yesterday morning I went down to our local COVID test site to check my status. It’s my fourth test this month. These are the times we’re in. Every time I get a cold or scratchy throat I go do a nasal swab. At least the testing trailer is in a beautiful place. It’s only about a mile from our house and sits right on the lake next to a park. 

Yesterday I brought my dog and after the test, we walked around the park next to the site. While I was walking I noticed an older woman, about my age, walking quickly with a heavy pack on her back. She was tan and healthy-looking and her gait was one of intention and determination. I wondered for a moment if she was homeless and I started crafting the story of her life in my head.

Then I saw her stop, drop her pack, and do standing push-ups on the park bench next to the restrooms. “Ah,” I thought to myself, “she must be in training for something.” In the Pacific Northwest, it’s not uncommon to see people in training for long hikes like the Pacific Crest Trail or some other big hike in the area. 

As I wandered around the park with my fat, slow dog I watched the woman put her pack back on and walk strongly away. I wondered how far she’d walk today, how long she’d carry that heavy weight on her back.

Lately, I’ve been feeling heavy. A lot of this weight is rooted in our return to worry and fear with the surge of the Delta Variant. The norms we established sixteen months ago are coming back — no hugging, no traveling, no inside socializing. I know I can do this because I’ve done it before, but it’s heavy. I feel the burden of it.

This distance in my daily life makes me miss my faraway family even more than I already do. I only see my parents, and my sisters and brothers, and their families once or twice a year as it is, but somehow COVID makes the distance feel even greater, more pronounced. This unfulfilled longing is adding to the heaviness I carry.

I have no control over COVID other than to follow the guidelines and get tested when I have any kind of suspicious symptoms. And I have no control over this distance with my faraway family members. We live on opposite sides of the country. We have for years. Yet I carry the sadness more in these times we’re in.

If only I could just accept that this is what life looks like now. If only I could embrace the present moment as I’ve trained myself to do with meditation and yoga for decades. I try but I still feel the weight. It’s with me. I’m carrying it.

Yesterday, as I watched the woman with the backpack, I felt admiration for her fortitude and intensity. Her gait was strong and deliberate. Her long steps were directed and intentional. She walked as if she could go for miles and days. She carried that heavy weight in preparation for something bigger, something special, a goal, a dream, a line item on her bucket list. 

Maybe I can reframe this weight I’m carrying into something different. Maybe I am training myself, in preparation for something bigger, more significant. Of course I am. I am in training for life. Life isn’t easy, nor is it linear or logical. 

This heaviness I carry is training me for whatever comes next. I think of that woman, her serious, resolute face, her long, strong limbs putting one foot in front of the other, marching on. I can do this. I’ve done it before and I can do it again. This heaviness I carry is building my strength and resilience. I just have to keep on walking, carrying this pack, putting one foot in front of the other.

The Treasures in Your Baggage

You know when you go on a trip and buy a special souvenir? Like a tiny ceramic vase or a silk scarf? Maybe a special bottle of olive oil or a beautiful antique sterling tray from a flea market? You know how, when it's time to pack, sometimes you have to leave something at the hotel? Maybe a sweater that you never really wear or a pair of shoes that it turns out just aren't that comfortable? It's often an impulsive decision, a rushed moment where you have to zip your suitcase and everything simply won't fit. When you get home you rarely miss the sweater or the shoes. You get joy from looking at the little vase on the bathroom shelf or wearing the new scarf. These new items bring memories of your journey and you are glad you brought them home with you.

In a few years' time, you might put the vase or the scarf into the Goodwill pile. The olive oil either went bad or it is all used up. You regifted the antique tray to a friend who had a birthday and you forgot to get them a gift. Those special items have served their role and now they can move along. 

When we make that decision to leave our old sweater or shoes in the hotel in Belize and take home the vase or the scarf, we are deciding to let go of the old and bring in the new. And we do this time and time again with each year that passes. Change is the one true constant in our lives. 

The New Year is a conscious opportunity to look inside our baggage. New Year's Day feels cliche, and to many, it is an annoying and stress-filled day. The pressure to know what to commit to, to declare as a resolution, feels contrived. But really we aren't coming up with anything new. The resolutions, the commitments, are already here. The New Year is simply a chance to look into the suitcase and see what we've acquired in our travels in the year passed and decide what we want to keep. It's an acknowledgment of what we've learned on our journey.  And then, just like making the hard decision on your trip to Belize, in the same way, you'll note what hasn't really been useful and leave that stuff at the hotel. 

I am a constant seeker of souvenirs. I am forever hunting for treasures that will symbolize where I've been. This year, in my travels through the Pandemic, I added more writing, a love affair with the Peleton, and a daily dip in Lake Washington to my suitcase. I love those treasures and I want to keep them. I'm not practicing yoga every day like I used to, just once or twice a week. And I'm not baking as much as I did in the past. There's simply not enough space in the bag for all of it. 

But as we come to a new year I spend some time deliberately thinking about the things I've added to my baggage. These are my chosen souvenirs from 2020, the treasures in my baggage, the precious items I am excited about that remind me of the journey I'm coming home from. These new souvenirs are the things I choose to keep. Next year will be different. Maybe yoga will start to come back, or baking. 

2021 is a new adventure, an opportunity to collect souvenirs as we go. As we move through the next year, instead of holding on tight to each new resolution, just be aware of it in your life. Does it serve you? Are you using it often? And be an explorer in this new year. What feels good? What is interesting or invigorating? Collect the souvenirs as they come and at the end of the year, you can look into your suitcase again and decide what to keep and what to leave behind. 

Let Your Practice Be Light

One of the things I notice around the holidays is that I start to feel a bit heavy. There's the food and drink that makes me feel more physically burdened than usual, but mostly it's the emotional burden of expectations, anticipation, and incessant social planning.

This year we're hosting Thanksgiving. I'm excited and happy to do it, but it's a lot of cooking and cleaning and hosting. Then there's Christmas. There's always the managing of gift giving and receiving. I try to find the perfect balance (impossible!) during Christmas where I indulge my daughter enough so she gets the excitement and thrill of this fun holiday, but not so much that it's gross. I stress about if anyone will invite us to a New Years Eve party and if they don't what kind of ritual will I make up that will sufficiently bring us into 2016.

The other day when I was teaching, I noticed a student looking forlorn and frustrated. It was one of those days when his balance was off and he was low on stamina. It's not uncommon to see people's practice change around the holidays; everyone's managing the stress of the season. As the class progressed, his frustration seemed to deepen. I had this very clear image of baggage. It's like when you go on a trip and pack too much but insist on doing carry-on (me, every single time). It's too much. It takes a lot of energy to carry that baggage onto light rail, through security, to your gate and then squeeze it onto the plane all the while getting snarky looks from normal packers.

Each Yoga class is a journey and we can alter the path by making certain mental choices during our practice. Often when I teach Yoga, I invite students to clear their minds after each posture. I remind them that carrying each posture into the next will create a very heavy practice, ultimately a much harder one. "Don't make yourself carry extra baggage," I tell the class. "Let each posture go mentally when you physically release it. Try not to dwell on it, evaluate it, or judge it." There will be time tomorrow to try Eagle pose again. For today, let it go.

Like everything, this letting go and moving on takes practice. I'm trying to engage in a similar practice this holiday season of getting through one holiday before moving onto the next. Right now I will focus on Thanksgiving. When I find myself thinking about Christmas or New Years, I tell myself to let it go, to just focus on Thanksgiving. The media, my family, old habits all make this practice difficult, but I'm trying. Changing old habits is always hard. The Yoga room is a great place to try it out. This season, let your practice be light.