Puerto Rico & St. Croix

Old San Juan

I woke from a deep sleep yesterday morning and was quickly thrust back into the reality (or lack there-of) of my daily routine. The touch and smell of my sheets, pillows, and bed familiar, yet not one bit welcoming. It took a few moments, mostly stuck in denial, before I came to the realization: the previous moment has ended and I was back, back in the muck of my routine. Ugh. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and everything about it but I experience the greatest freedom when I step outside my pre-defined box, when I intentionally drive down unfamiliar roads leading to strange and unfamiliar destinations. In my ten days of most recent travel, the unfamiliar had become familiar and I felt so alive in the moments of not knowing, and to some extent, not caring. Time seemingly stands still, you lose the name of the days, and it always feels like a dream when you return from it. For the majority of us, we live and feed into the capitalist machine; it’s survival depends on the vast majority of it's people prescribing to a certain way of life, a life mostly fed of false hopes and dreams, lies, and moments of fleeting happiness. My greatest moments of presence occur in the moments in between the routine, the moments outside the ones that have been prescribed. 

And this is exactly why I travel as much as possible: to remind myself of how insignificant my problems are, to feel connected, experience, and learn about this vast and beautiful planet and all the life sustained by it, to learn something greater and deeper about myself and in turn to learn more about the driving force behind me, God, and why I am here. The insights become crystal clear to me on the road, and it's a major reason why I always love to travel (for at least a portion of any trip) alone. 

A number of themes came up for me as I traveled through Puerto Rico and visited my friend Haley in St. Croix.

Old San Juan

Time is a Relative Illusion
Our experience of time is relative. What can seem like a minute to you can feel like an eternity to me. In Einstein's theory of relativity, the phenomena of time dilation occurs when time "ticks" or moves at different rates, driven by differences in gravity and relative velocity. In my day to day, I am a slave to the clock. It drives what time I wake, what time I eat, when I need to run to the next meeting, and how fast or hard I need to work in order to meet imposed deadlines. I travel and have daily practices (yoga, pranyama, meditation) to slow this train waaaaay down. When traveling, I'm never too busy to stop and share, which inevitably lead to richer, more colorful conversations and experiences. It's amazing how long ten days can feel and how much you can fit in when you take yourself out of the routine. The sensations and memories are more memorable; we've turned off the repeat button on the CD player and the soul responds accordingly to the new notes being played.

So while I may have the illusion that I may have all the time in the world, I have also come to realize that tomorrow doesn't exist; we only have the moment in front of us. This has helped me to create a greater sense of urgency to take care of the things that are important: taking that first step in developing a new skill, enjoying myself fully (which sometimes means acting a fool!), telling the people around me that I love them, and taking risks in life.

Water Cleanses My Soul

As a Taurus, I find great balance in rooting my feet and body into Mother Earth but the last few trips and especially this one, has furthered my desire to live near tropical waters. I've always loved board sports (skating, snowboarding, wakeboarding) but had only surfed one other time in Hawaii. The three days on a surf board in Rincón, Puerto Rico changed my life and I can now understand why surfing is religious for those that do it. There is incredible serenity in sitting and observing the wilderness of the ocean and for brief moments, riding her energy. These moments bring a great sense of connectedness and reverence to the power of Mother Earth. 

Surfing is also the most difficult physical activity and sport I've tried. The challenge to overcome something I am not good at gives me great determination to do so. Like most people, I typically practice what I am good at, but as I dive deeper into my yoga practice, what I've been confronted with in my asana practice are major roadblocks with the areas of my body that need more opening (shoulders, back, and heart). This leads me to spend more time working and confronting, not just the physical barriers, but also the mental and emotional ones. I'll add swimming and paddling into big waves to the list of things I need to work on.

Sunrise - Rincon, Puerto Rico

The Seat of the Teacher

I've been blessed to have so many wonderful teachers come into my life, from academia, yoga, and now in some of the extra curricular activities I have been pursuing. In all the great teachers I've encountered, there are these resemblance in character: a strong desire to share and inspire and a great deal of patience. Great teachers set ego aside, make the lesson and teaching completely about their student, are patient and know when to change methodology to fit different needs, and inspire with positivity and words of encouragement. Will, my scuba instructor on Koh Tao, and Jason, my surf instructor from Rincon, shared these great qualities and I was lucky to have each introduce me to these activities.

Teachers with students at Playa Jobos

As I step more into this seat as a yoga teacher, my travels and interactions with teachers in other disciplines have taught me much about how to become a better yoga teacher. The biggest key is patience, mainly with myself, and honoring the time it takes to hone a skill like teaching.

Grateful and blessed, I willingly return to the monotony of routine, waiting patiently (or maybe passing time quickly) until the next adventure...

Old San Juan

Sunset at Rainbow Beach