On reviving
I drove through the country roads with a smile on my face. I can't easily verbalize the why behind it. Suffice to say—a short 48 hours on a sheep farm in Vermont revived more within me than I thought it might—or than I believed it needed to.
Six of us were brought together by one—the leader of the group. We started as strangers and left as friends. To be seen so soon into knowing someone felt vulnerable and awkward and amazing…and right. The circumstances were such that we were able to be raw and open and honest with each other, which resulted in an environment where we laughed and cried and supported each other.
There was no need for deep backstories on each other's lives. Sure there were anecdotes pulled forward, but much of the conversation was centered on the here and now—on what made us joyful, on what got in the way, on what helped break things down.
I wasn't sure about a women's weekend with the theme: Revive. By definition, what would return to consciousness or life? What needed to become active or to flourish again?*
Turns out, quite a bit. To revive, we focused on CPR—on creating, on playing, on rooting. I chose to focus on play, as I don't believe I give myself permission to play nearly enough. According to the instructions we received our first night, Play meant that I came to loosen up—that my joy lives in freedom, laughter, movement. That I should seek the thing that makes me feel most alive and least self-conscious.
Yeah, I'd say I could loosen up for sure. My joy does come from being free to be me, to laugh, to move, to be brave, to be ever so slightly silly (even ridiculous). But starting from a place of unemployment and instability, it can feel reckless to lean too much into this. And I'm learning it can feel reckless to lean too far away from this, too. So I created, played and rooted alongside strangers-turned-friends.
We made jewelry with less than ideal light. Two of us ran along gravel roads as if cross-country pre-season. After, we jumped into an ice-cold swimming pond. We danced in "outfits we have nowhere to wear" (an instruction for the weekend). And later, we sat for far too long in the sauna and hot tub sharing stories. And laughter. We slept in yurts. We took outdoor showers. We talked with sheep. We tie-dyed bandanas that we later cut up, sharing pieces with each other, braiding them and making bracelets to memorialize the weekend of Revive.
I allowed myself to be myself. And because of that, I felt joy. And ease. And peace. I was brave in opening up. And silly in everything else. I guided the group through three yoga practices over the two days, where I certainly feel most alive and least self-conscious. We creatively explored shape and orientation to gravity, playfully expanded on this concept by going upside down and returned to earth through a rooted, restorative practice before we all had to return home.
And as I drove to a house in Vermont that feels very much like home, I smiled to myself. I felt a connection to the me within me who is awake all the time and not just someone to visit on vacation or at a retreat. A worry did cross my mind—what of the distractions of everyday life, the TV, the job tabs, the regular "noise" that persists? Will they be enough for me to believe this awake me is not real? What I know right now is that she's there, waiting to be returned to, not just visited. That perhaps in due time, with more practice, I'll realize she needs no reviving at all, as she's always conscious, always active, always flourishing.
Patanjali's third yoga sutra (1.3)—tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe 'vasthānam—translates this concept as the seer resting in its own true nature. Not revived. Returned to.
Here's to returning to ourselves with a smile on our faces.
*Merriam-Webster’s definition of Revive: To return to consciousness or life: become active or flourishing again