Boston is Missing from Me
Hi there, checking in… how are you? What’s your word, your tone, your outlook on the day? Maybe that’s a silly question; I know that it can change, hour by hour.
If you’re a Boston resident, this week may feel especially empty for you. And I suppose that’s saying a lot right now. Note the especially. For those not in the know, I’m thinking of the Boston Marathon, which was supposed to be on Monday. If you’ve never witnessed it, trust me when I tell you that there’s not a greater collective experience on earth.
Today I’d love to simply reflect with you a little, if you don’t mind. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. For if times like these don’t tell us that personal and business are connected, I don’t know what will.
My reminiscing about Boston, my favorite city of residence, started actually, on March 3rd when the tornado hit East Nashville. While we were fine, a mere three blocks away held sights that images on the news couldn’t possibly do justice. There was a flurry of activity at first: the wonderful citizens of Nashville at the call, ready to help. But amidst the activity there was an eerie calm. Confusion. An emptiness that held all the space, not littered with debris.
When I spoke to friends, family, and colleagues, I kept likening the sensation to the feeling that hung in the air after the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing. Dave was running the race that year. The feelings are still so vivid: the sound of explosions; unmarked police cars flying past us; the city holding its breath and falling silent as the runners suddenly stopped in their tracks. And then the days that followed: fear, eeriness, and a sense of surreal, as the lock down grasped the city for a full-out manhunt. The stillness of Nashville, following the tornado, sent my physical and emotional body back to that time and place.
So the flashbacks started six weeks ago. And yet in a greater way, the tornado, the the bombings, and my whole life in Boston, I feel, has prepared me for what’s happening around us right now.
You see, when I lived in Boston, I had the richest period of my life (not money-wise; the real kind of rich). I lived in a tiny studio apartment but in the best part of town- my favorite home of all time; did graduate work that filled me; had adrenaline-pumping career goals; my Boston-based friends (still) send me soaring; and I had an active body and clear mind. Boston is the home where my spiritual life was the deepest it’s ever been.
My yoga practice went to a different place, and I (finally, after much kicking and squirming) embraced meditation. And my gosh, am I now thankful that I did. Thanks to a practice that gently nudges one in the direction of non-attachment. A practice that rests in taking things breath by breath, day by day. It gives us space to recognize that this time is strange and uncertain and wobbly, but it’s also “just this.” Full of weird and beautiful moments. Space. Limitless time at home. My gosh, it’s the grass that we swore was greener.
I know that I’ve said it before, but this time – and what’s to follow – is full of opportunity, light, and abundance.
I’m spending a lot of time these days reflecting backwards and reflecting inwards. Thinking about Boston, my comfort place and a life there that was so rich and lovely. I’m able to look back with rose colored glasses and see that time and place now with such fondness.
So, my dear friends, my gentle wish for each one of us during this time, is that one day, we’ll look back on this moment too, with those same loving, wishful, reflective eyes.
Sending you peace, confidence, and ease (and a pair of rose-colored glasses).
xx, j
