“I don’t understand how people can give up their practices for the summer…” - me until July

In a year densely packed with travel, in which I circumnavigated the globe and stayed away more weeks than I stayed home, I was unwavering in my practices. I was up early in Japan, in Mexico, in Paris and Lisbon and Seattle and Chicago, showing up for stillness and movement. I remained committed, present, tuned in, and my practices in turn kept me grounded. and then, July happened.

There’s something about mid-summer, it seems, that makes us run amok like kids through a row of sprinklers. Something that alters our sense of time and possibility. Suddenly our calendars are double-booked. There are neighborhood cookouts and friends from out of town, weddings and festivals and weekend camping trips. There’s also an element (perhaps especially this summer) of escapism. We want summer to feel special, extra-ordinary; we want to live in its shimmering warmth of possibility for awhile. And in our efforts to step out of the routine we might, well, neglect our routines. We overspend our energetic bank accounts, forgetting the things that keep us nourished and grounded, until at the end of July, we’re spent.

Teaching in studios, I became accustomed to this rhythm of summer. Through June and July, I’d show up week after week with fewer and fewer mat-mates. Then I’d anticipate this moment, just ankle-deep in August, when students would start to return, a little sheepishly, to their mats. They’d say “this summer’s been crazy,” with a sighing smile. “I’m kinda ready for September.” I’d agree, but really only with the second part. Then we’d practice, slow and sweet, low to the ground. We would remind each other what it is to really breathe. 

This year, unattached to a studio schedule, I seem to have joined the crazy summer club. Now here I am, ankle deep in August, having spent - and really *spent* - six weeks unmoored; having opened this month with my tenth transcontinental flight of the year; having pulled myself from sleep and onto the rug, a little sheepishly, for morning meditation at 11am. Here I am welcoming myself home, letting myself rest and reconnect, returning to center. 

And I’m wondering, even if we’re ready for September, can we let August be sweet? Let’s savor (thanks Greta Hill for this word) what’s left of the season. Let’s tune in and reconnect to the rituals and routines that nourish us. As we return from where we’ve been, let’s be wholeheartedly where we are.