Reintegration

Some days I’m really thankful. Other days, I want to run away kicking and screaming.

Reintegration (is that what you call it?) has been quite a whirlwind. A month of traveling and reunions with loved ones was followed by another month of couch surfing, mornings of yoga practices in odd locations, including but not limited to—garages, racquet ball courts, back porches, farms, and driveways. My second month back included countless hours of filling out bartending applications (do you really care where I went to high school?), internet and in-person job hunting, and several volunteer participatory studies for pay (music focus groups, DUI motor-skill testing, etc). In the past few months, I’ve come to regularly describe my life-altering-mind-blowing trip to in a few simple words, “Great!” “Amazing!” “Incredible!” (And no offense people, but “How was India?” Really? Do you really think I can answer that?) Since getting back to the US, I’ve been to South and North Florida, through New York five times, I spent two weeks in Kentucky, and lots of time on planes and/or roadtripping. Now in Connecticut, I’ve seen the ocean, the sun, the snow, a music festival, sunflower fields, the Statue of Liberty, an off Broadway show, old friends from as far away as California, and have learned to make jewelry from wood and clay. Two weeks ago, I got my cats back, inherited a dog, even have a new…um…“roommate,” Ali (with whom I happen to be severely in love, hence, the dog inheritance).

It’s been hectic—and odd—to say the least. Coming home to no actual home, no job, a depleted bank account and very little stability caught me off guard more than I’d assumed it would. But between Maura, Gordon, and Al, I always had food to eat, a place to lay my head, and spots to rest my belongings. When Sadie (my car) died in the middle of Willimantic’s Main street, Al made sure I got to the jobs I finally landed. Three months later, I’m slingin’ drinks at the Black Bear Saloon in Hartford, and teaching 3-5 yoga classes per week at 3 different studios. Though I’m working my ass off, I’m makin’ enough money to finally pay rent for the apartment we found, and am convinced that George and Bella (cats) will eventually learn to coexist peacefully with Idgie (the dog). Hopefully around the time that happens, Al and I will be free of the cardboard boxes that have come to line our walls and serve as our couch’s end and coffee tables. All in all, life is good. I’m happy. I’m so very loved. I’m so incredibly grateful. I’m so….

Exhausted.

Going from 4am balcony coffee to a 3am bedtime takes some getting used to. I went from a 6am personal practice to a 6am teaching time. From chocolate man coffee and leisurely afternoon chai to Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru’s and on-the-run Starbucks dark roasts. I’ve shifted my focus from dodging cows and honking horns on my scooty to praying my car doesn’t die on the way to work. From giggling at monkeys on neighbors rooftops to dirty jokes from bar patrons. From stretching a thousand dollars across a summer of travel, yoga, food, and housing to hoping I can make rent and catch up on bills (the US is just SO expensive). From yoga, breakfast, and coconuts to double shifts, late night bar clean ups, and frantically trying to finagle a day off.

So yes, if you’re wondering how “reintegration” is going, it’s tough to say the least. Yet at the same time, I’m having trouble grasping the concept of reintegration as something new—I feel like I’ve been doing this my whole life. Since leaving grad school life has been a whirlwind, but not just because of India—just because, it’s life. I find myself wondering if and when we ever stop actually integrating—is the “re” a necessary affix in this instance? Integration seems endless if you ask me. Every moment of my life these days feels like a transition. Looking back, India seemed like a constant integration process, and so did adjusting to grad school and winters in Connecticut before that. Before moving to Connecticut, I said goodbye to old friends and moved away from the place I knew as home, but even during my years in Tampa, I was constantly moving, flowing, learning, and growing. Though these days I find myself exhausted, sensitive or emotional, I can’t help but feel that while this is “different” –it’s still kind of the same ol’ thing. It’s as if I’m standing in the middle of a waiting room with doors leading in every possible direction—but this waiting room is eerily familiar. I’m curious—if not these days, what other kinds of days would make up our lives? Aren’t we always waiting for something? In flux and ebbing through transitions? In this particular waiting room, at this particular moment, I’m searching for several answers…through one door I’m hoping to find the path to the job-bar-yoga-back-to-life-make-it-all-fit routine. Through another door I’m hoping to find the secrets to catching up on sleep (though I think the answer is quite simply: Go To Bed). The next door will lead me to moments where I have the time to unpack the rest of the boxes and turn this incredible apartment into a home. I’m hoping the following stop will provide lessons on how to show the person I’m head-over-heels in love with just how much I care and have to give. Another room has a yoga mat with one place where I’m able to practice again without longing for my best friend, Ajay and our old shala. In the next doorway, perhaps I’ll find Liz there again, waiting to practice with me. And the next door…. And the next….

But yet, here I am. When I’m not waiting, I’m still peaceful. Still hanging on to every ounce of bliss, hope, and peace that I found when I was overseas. I’m thankful as ever and remembering to cling to the joy I have—because it is always with me. It is here every day. It’s in the face I wake up next to each morning. It’s in the sounds of trees and leaves rustling outside of my 10-foot windows. It’s in the colors of the fall, and the sounds of the rain when I fall asleep. It’s in the gray skies and sunshine, and in my tiptoes when I dance in my new living room. It’s in the bark of my new dog, and the purr of my old cats. It’s always alive in the flow of my practice when I find a spot to unroll my mat. It’s in hugs, money in my pocket, food in my belly. It’s in laughter. It’s in being loved. It’s in the friends that I miss so much—because even though I’m working like mad, I’m lucky enough to have so many friends to miss. It’s in phone calls to my mom and Paula, and in conversations with family. It’s in memories and presence—it’s everywhere, all the time.

Reintegration, it seems to me, is much like the cycle of life…at least, the cycle of mine. Like waves in the ocean, I’m riding these days without clinging too tightly to notions about where I’ll end up, and am instead doing what I can to remember that the journey is itself the destination of life. We are all exactly where we need to be, no matter how difficult or easy these days are. Waves roll along, and the days pull me in and out much like the tide, from the shore to the murky depths of the ocean. On some days, I crash frantically, and other days I trickle up easily and quietly onto the sand. Connected to everything, I cycle along, turning chaos into peace, and fear into breath. And so it goes… When in doubt, I breathe, laugh, love, and smile. And for now, that’s all I’ve got. But if you ask me—that’s really everything I need. Except maybe a little more sleep. So then, “how was India?” you ask? India was great. And reintegration? Well, ya know….same shit, different day. But really good shit, and though they are exhausting, truly incredible days.