I'm off to the airport this morning, headed to the great state of Wisconsin to see the family for the first time in a year. I had been doubting how much time I'd have for yoga while I'm away, but it's suddenly looking like this might turn out to be a very yogic vacation after all. Both of my parents are working full time all week, all but two of my five siblings are away, and the two youngest who will be home are still in school... so I might be spending a lot of time alone at the house. That's fine with me. That's precious alone time just begging to be filled with luxurious hours of yoga. The mat, towel, sunscreen, and more than a few pairs of stretchy black pants are packed.
The house is on a lake, man-made, but large and peaceful. The lake is bordered by tightly packed houses, which are mostly uninhabited except during the peak of summer. In the past, I've practiced on the lawn by the water while staying there, and it's always been special. Living in an apartment with no lawn to speak of, I don't often have the opportunity to practice in the sun, with my fingers and toes in the grass. I'm excited to do it again.
For reading material, I'm taking Yogabody, by Judith Hanson Lasater, with the intention of brushing up on my anatomy, and Autobiography of Red, by Anne Carson, for a non-yoga alternative. I'm looking forward to the week away from work, and of course, I can't wait to see the family, but I'm going to miss the boyfriend and the dog. Hopefully, they can hold down the fort okay without me for eight days. We shall see.
I am not looking forward to the flights. I hate flying. Every time a plane takes off I have a moment in which I acknowledge quietly to myself that if anything goes wrong, I will almost certainly die. But I brave it, because I can't afford the time or the money it would take to drive the 1,500 miles or whatever it is up there. I've done it before. It's a long, straight, boring drive up Highway 35, take a right at the Twin Cities. I'd never make it alone. I'd probably end up in Kentucky somewhere with a new life serving fries at a roadside diner for ten years... or something weird like that. I need to get there quickly, or I might not get there at all.
I should be in the Midwest by five o'clock this afternoon, if all goes according to plan, which it almost never does. I've already decided that whatever happens is fine. I've got my books, some tunes, and some almonds packed. I'm determined to enjoy myself.