It feels like another lifetime.

Last weekend I was in New York, walking around downtown with my yoga mat.  I hung out in a cool coffeeshop in Tribeca called Pain Au Quotidien, drinking a bowl of Cafe Au Lait and reading the New York Times.

I bartered for a knock-off hobo bag on Canal St and bought some gummy sharks and butterflies for A and C at a candy shop in Chinatown that also sold 50 flavors of dried fish:  Tuna Cube, Thai Scallop, Shredded Cod Stick…

I sat alone and savored a steaming bowl of Pho– rice noodles, broth, shrimp, fresh basil and bean sprouts and lime.

I walked back and forth across the Brooklyn bridge twice, the whole city laid out before me like a mirage.  What freedom– to walk everywhere, and never need a car!  The best part was staying in DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass: a newly hip neighborhood in Brooklyn that my friend Robin calls “the jewel of New York”).

Her apartment is serene, a writer’s paradise– spare and modern with an orange couch, a bamboo tree, and huge windows with views of the two bridges.  I felt like I was in a boutique hotel, but with a friend, since Robin welcomed me and made me tea and cooked me eggs and walked me to Kula Yoga Project for my workshop.

The yoga left a great deal to be desired, unfortunately.  Nearly 40 advanced yogis sweated it out shoulder to shoulder in a dark studio.  The teacher drew the curtains and I felt like I was practicing in a windowless, airless dungeon.  My urban claustrophobia consumed me, and I never felt the spacious calm that happens during a blissful yoga class.

Doug Swenson may be an Ashtanga Master, but the ability to perform crazy-advanced poses doesn’t mean you have the gift of teaching them.  I found the workshop atmosphere competitive rather than compassionate.

But I have no regrets.  I spontaneously took a trip BY MYSELF– out of my comfort zone, away from my family.

It’s true– absence makes the heart go fonder.  I put into practice my favorite quote:  ”How can I miss you if you never go away?”  I missed the girls terribly on Friday night during the darkest hour of the urban yoga, and even thought about coming home early.

But once I passed the 24 hour mark, some internal shift occurred and I was my own woman again.  What should I do with myself?  I had no plans– I wandered the city.  I drank more than my usual share of caffeine and buzzed on the New York energy, which is a constant hum, a pulse running beneath everything.  I questioned my life and my geography, why we choose to live in Vermont.  Then I enjoyed a casual dinner party at Robin’s apartment with some artistic, intellectual New Yorkers.

I came home renewed and full of ideas, love and gratitude.  But re-entry was hard.  Much harder than I’d expected. The house was trashed.  Both girls hadn’t slept much and were sick with bad colds that turned out to be raging ear infections.  Monday morning found me at the doctor’s office, in a little cubicle with A and C.  Outside it was 35 and pouring cold rain.

“Back to life, back to reality…” goes that 1990s dance song.

Now, it’s five degrees here and I’m trying to figure out how to get A and C outside.  I dream of going back to the city for a Kula flow class, bringing the girls to the Bronx zoo, getting a date in Chinatown with T.

Maybe this spring?

Tags:   DUMBO · Kula Yoga Project · New York · travel · urban life · YogaNo Comments