Monday, August 12, 2013

I walked into my yoga studio last night for the first time since June. It smelled like peppermint. I remembered sitting on the brown suede sofa only a few months ago, talking with M about how my life came crashing down around me. The six months between December 13th and May 13th were the hardest I've ever faced. The loss was never ending. The heartbreak was debilitating. So many times I had to force myself through every individual sentence in a book so I could absorb enough information to present something coherent to my seminar. So many times I couldn't eat couldn't sleep couldn't do anything to distract myself. But my yoga studio was there the entire time. Through everything. Every Sunday, I would drive all the way out to Sherman Oaks to take M's back to back yoga classes. I spent at least three hours a week there, usually more. I didn't realize it, but that place was becoming foundational to my life out here. When I walked through those doors again yesterday, my whole body melted. I felt safe. I spent six months trying to keep misery at bay while in that studio. Now that place serves as a reminder of what it took for me to get through everything and let go. M's voice. Her playlists for our classes. Peppermint. People who live and breathe yoga like I live and breathe yoga. Like it's my religion. That place my temple. Those people my congregation. The movements that my body remembers even when I don't, my focus inward, my focus outward, gratitude for a universe that gives and takes and gives. My prayer. My intention. I am. Let go. M leading all of us, moving with us. My oasis in this giant and overwhelming city.

Other things and places foundational to my life here--the things that mark this place as home for me:

Sunset Blvd, its restaurants, its street art.

My walk to Sunset Junction, past the Hollywood sign, past my vegetarian thai restaurant, through the houses and gardens on Myra Avenue.

My bungalow, which I affectionately call Bungalungaloo. I'm currently in the process of getting a fourth leaning bookshelf, which will be full the second I reorganize when it gets here. And then I will have ZERO room for any books, which means I'll have to read everything I've already got. Or move. Moving's more expensive. Ain't nobody got time for that.

N and her place on the west side. Even a brief 30 minutes there yesterday post-parking ticket, post-buying a new bike calmed me down drastically. Because I was also a little worked up about the fact that there were approximately 10-12 dead bees under a table at Urth Caffe in Santa Monica.

Postcards sent to my very own hipster address with the 1/4th in it. Postcards from the other places I call home.

My PhD skool people, whom I love, whom I intend to adventure with all semester.

Palm trees.

The smell of the ocean.

So now I'm saying goodbye to my summer. The most wonderful summer I've ever had. And here I was all anxious and fussy thinking that I could never have a summer better than my last. Teacher boot camp starts tomorrow at 9am. L and I are riding bikes down there, because who the hell wants to sit in rush hour traffic for two hours? I'm ordering my books from the shop up the street. I've got a giant novel to finish reading, an article to finish writing, and another article to finish revising all before school really gets into full swing at the end of August. I'm looking forward to so much this semester. New classes with new people and new professors, the &Now conference in Boulder, teaching again, finally!, writing all the things, submitting all the things, and going to all these sweet shows.

Oh, and Sunset Blvd provided me with a good reminder on my walk to lunch with L this afternoon. The realist in me scoffs. The romantic & masochist & hard fucking worker in me revel. 

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