life is full of… well it’s just full. 

Sometimes it can take me a whole day to write an email. I finish the school run and write a few sentences, then get an email that needs a quick response. A few more sentences, then ‘ding!’ a meeting reminder. I’m almost back on my train of thought, but the dog needs to go out and then I remember I have to get to the market before it closes at 2. And by the way what are we having for dinner…? 

When I used to teach in studios, there were so many evenings I would get in my car to go to class and realize I hadn’t had a single moment to myself to think about what to offer (let alone to think about bigger questions, or to process and piece together this “one wild and precious life”).

Sometimes I left the house early just for the quiet time in the car.

space to wonder

Adamantly I say that retreat is not an escape. The realities of the world and the other aspects of life don’t disappear - in fact sometimes they come more deeply into focus. But it can be, well, a break. It’s a break for my working mind, the part that has to be one step ahead, the part that juggles all the roles and responsibilities of modern life. Questions like ‘is there enough milk for the morning?’ or ‘should we move tomorrow’s meeting to friday?’ are replaced with ‘would I like to take a walk before dinner, or a nap?’ (And then maybe later while star-gazing or in the morning after yoga practice I can circle back to the question of this wild and precious life).

Retreat space has gifted me so many breakthroughs and shifts in perspective. Travel will do that, but I really think for me its this supported space. My mind feels free to wander in new directions because I know everything else is taken care of.

space to notice

it’s so easy to miss how often the world gives you quiet, gorgeous moments + whispers, this is something I thought you would like. // brian andreas

On our last retreat in France, we took on the assignment of flâner - walking with the eyes of a poet, being present to the moments of beauty and truth that surround us, however small. The rhythmic way the boulanger shifts his weight as he kneads one ball of dough after another (and the scent of fresh-baked baguettes that pulled you in the first place). How a slant of light lands just so on a kind face with deep creases and deep red lipstick. A small, sturdy vine that seems to have just now pushed its way through the garden wall.

And of course, on the mat and off, there’s space to notice my own being. Oh, my shoulders just softened. I wonder how long I’ve been holding them up? Huh, I made a tiny adjustment in my feet and now this pose feels better. Yes, this extra butter was a good decision. Mmm I need to be immersed; it’s time for a dip in the pool. …Little morsels of understanding that bring me closer to myself.

space to connect

Connection is kinda my reason for being. Additionally (inconveniently), social situations make me anxious. I never would have signed up for that first retreat if it hadn’t been centered and grounded by yoga - and I would have missed out. The deep connections I had with my fellow retreaters and with the surrounding landscape and culture shifted my being as profoundly as the yoga on the mat. Since then I’ve been on 10 other retreats (and just signed up for my 11th), because the space to connect - or more accurately, to remember I’m connected - has been so consistently healing.

The depth of connection comes, in part, from the supported space. Feeling held, taken care of, allows my over-analyzing, always-one-step-ahead mind to finally rest.

With rest, with space, with support, I can see more clearly. Then I can move forward with intention, on to the life that calls me and the work of building it.  On to the world I want to see, the liberation we all deserve.

And I carry with me the possibility of space, the power of noticing. Now I can walk with the eyes of a poet, on the way to get things done.

//michelle