“Why do you know everything?”

Blue eyes stared at me from under a cap of greased-up neatly tied salt and pepper waves. The truth was, I didn’t know everything, I just knew the right thing at the right time, much of the time. I picked up the phone and dialed, arranged her doctor’s visit, then shuffled around the bed, plopping back in the clean and functional, but old roller chair to look at her.

The feeling of her words was familiar. Thoughts of a few days before came to mind as I forfeited the battle of self control and started tugging at the skin of my inner lip with my front teeth.

It was Saturday; since I left my version of a typical life, knowing what day it is has become unimportant. I sat on the toilet of the small bathroom leaning over the glass sink brushing my teeth. I don’t often multi-task in this way (my teeth deserve proper attention), but I was late. 0735.

Down the stairs. The mystery ringing noise from a few blocks away had started already. As I reached the lowest floor, the still, dark entry dispelled the minor sense of American-programmed guilt that was present for having not respected the class’s time. This was India after all, and my mother had warned against their alternate sense of timeliness. I was used to the Navajo, and anyway, I’ve learned to enjoy the relaxed pace that comes standard with other cultures. It has been a relief.

I pushed through the swinging door to find the instructor alone. My heart sank slightly as I instinctively assumed her feelings about the empty space before her, which were really just my own in different packaging. I unrolled the cloth mat lowered myself and crossed my left leg up over my right; a new skill I was proud to have acquired this week.

“I have a question for you.”

It was as if she had been waiting for a moment alone. I tried to stay centered and level inside, but I could feel the energy rising up and expanding into my chest, finding the tight boundary quickly and pushing slightly. I was excited to find another conscious person in what had seemed like an ocean of varied levels of unconsciousness lately.

“Where did you find the courage to do what you’re doing?”

The admiration she was expressing felt good, but it didn’t feel appropriately placed. I had felt the opposite of courage throughout the entire process of quitting my job, moving and then backpacking without a plan. It wasn’t the first time this week that someone had viewed me in a way that was completely the opposite of how I felt. I paused and tried to feel gratitude for her kind words, then engaged in the lengthy explanation for how I ended up here.

“You really do have a good understanding of your body”

I know this, and hearing this from a yoga instructor isn’t that off-pace, but it was her tone that stunned me slightly. Someone else is paying attention to me besides me? Now I was intrigued further. The rarity of finding someone else who paid attention beyond what could be skimmed off of the surface often left me feeling quite alone. I talked on further and she seemed captivated by what I had to say, but I think we were both just waiting to have our suspicions about each other confirmed as the conversation progressed.

“I’m very happy with my life. I love what I do”

But I knew she was asking me questions for a reason. Her pause expanded in the space between us, stretching to its limits. The moment when it retracted back towards the source was palpable.

“but I still have this deep yearning to know about what is beyond this life”

The feeling of light-curiosity-sprinkled-over-distance I had earlier settled and evaporated like fog in morning sunshine. The space between us became vast and empty, with room for unlimited potentials to fill it. Again, it felt like relief.