The train pulls away from Greenwich station and I'm thinking about quicksand. You know the the kind, where struggling makes you sink deeper. There's something about being stuck that mirrors this moment perfectly. The harder I fight against where I am at this moment in my life, the more entrenched I become.
It's been six full months of transitioning to life on the east coast. A lot of sifting through one tiny apartment after another, shopping at the Container Store and rifling through Amazon sales. I haven't admitted it to myself, or anyone close to me, but I've been feeling stuck.
Just like the quicksand.
I've been missing a sense of community, my friends, my routines, my overpriced Erewhon groceries and a sense of purpose. Ok, perhaps slightly dramatic but true in ways. From teaching sold-out classes to hundreds of people each week to watching paint dry in Connecticut.
Searching for a new New York studio for Open is taking longer than I thought. In the process, I've been stuck wanting things to move quicker for things to happen. Wanting is a special kind of bardo.
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