being taken care of

wrote this on my way home last night...

I have spent a lot of the past month taking care of things/people/situations. Honestly, I haven’t spent much of the past month taking care of myself.

But I’ve been on a break out of the city, staying w/ Brent and Melinda Snader (and their girls). Oh, it was good. They live in a hill-station in northern india. There are views of the snow-capped himalaya’s near their house (but it was foggy, and I didn’t get to see them this time around).  I did get to see the amazing views down into the valley many times (both the beauty during the day, and the magic sparkling of lights at night). I got to walk through the fog on forest trails. They literally live in the forest. They are a 10 minute walk down a forest trail to the closest road. I don’t think you could find a reality more different to my life in Kolkata.

It was quite.

It was green.

I went for hikes in the forest.

I drank good coffee.

I read absurdly fluffy and inconsequential novels.

I journaled.

I ruminated.

I dreamt.

I allowed my soul to breathe deeply.

To rest.

To grieve.

To enjoy.

We played games.

We laughed.

We shared meals together around their table.

And as I was hugging Melinda goodbye and getting in the taxi, my eyes started to well up with tears, and I was a little confused as to why…but then I figured it out.  My time away had been so good.

So good to let down the guards. 

So good not to solve any problems (except for which trail I should walk down…and if I was on the right one).

So good to just be me, and not any of the tasks I do (when your days consist of sleeping in, reading books and enjoying good food it’s pretty hard to believe the lie that you are what you do).

It was so good to be taken care of.

As I sit in the airport awaiting my flight home, it’s a little hard not to start putting the guards up (there isn’t silence, or forest trails awaiting me at home). It’s hard not to jump ahead to the problems to solve when I get home (like my broken phone, and Monday morning, which has a tendency to hit me like a mack truck…especially when I’ve actually rested over the weekend).

And, honestly, there is this fear that “this wasn’t enough…you’ll just go home and everything will be same” – and it’s a legitimate fear. I have gone on breaks, and come back the same…a nice escape, only to continue living exactly how I was living before…and I have also gone on breaks can come back to the same circumstances a very different person. Isn’t that the crux of it? It’s up to me?  the “enough-ness” of this time away rests squarely on my own shoulders.