I really don’t want to be staring at my phone right now, but that thing started happening where my thoughts come in blog post format. I’ve ignored the urge for long enough.

I just wanted to sit and stare. I find such relief in settling in for a long ride, of any kind. Knowing that there are 19 hours of gentle ticking of wheels on metal tracks ahead is calming. It isn’t the sound that does it, it is having been assigned a place to be for the next 19 hours: with myself. There is no responsibility to be social, productive or interactive in any way if I don’t want to; but I still have the option. Staring out the window and knowing I have time almost induces a meditative state. I can feel my cells relaxing and spreading out.

I was perfectly content in my day before I reached my small compartment of imaginary solitude. Today was my last day at The Yoga Institute. Finals finished, all had eaten together, and I rushed upstairs to pack the few small things left outside of my bag. This ritual of packing has gotten easier. I’ve noticed each round has become an opportunity to practice letting go (like almost everything has become). The desire to have a lighter pack often outweighs the desire to hold onto items, and with reluctance, they no longer belong to me.

Past packing exercises seem to have been run by different emotions than today’s event. The launching of acquired goods has felt inspired by some anxiety of failing at letting go, having too much weight and wondering if I am understanding what “needing something” really means. So maybe in the past my “letting go” wasn’t very pure.

This time I started the packing process hours before it was time to leave. Maybe this left more space for self-observation and less “stress-dumping” of items. I felt calm.

I piled my clothes on the bed and started ranger-rolling my things like the cool guys at REI had taught me. Into the pack they went. A pile for my roommate was stacked neatly on her red sheets. Those clothes had served their purpose for me, and I knew she would help them fulfill their purpose further. That was easy to let go of, but it hadn’t been in the past.

In contrast, I found the small seashell my friend had brought me from one of the beaches in Mumbai. I have received so many gifts like this from people I’ve met in each place I’ve visited since June, and have kept all of them. It doesn’t feel sentimental, but it feels important to honor the love that these small treasures represent, even if it adds some weight.

I had given my fresh copy of Pantijali Yoga Sutras, a book I had bought for myself earlier in the trip and hadn’t opened yet, to a friend already. I was happy to give her something she wanted, but I’ll admit, it was a heavy book, so there was also some relief woven into the feelings I had when it left my hands (and still the small resistance that comes with giving things away). I didn’t need it. It wasn’t meant for me. Probably why I hadn’t even opened the cover in the six weeks I had owned it. My motivation is a good indicator of which path is meant for me.

I knelt down and dug into the front pocket of my pack. Oh, the light! I forgot! It had been in my pack since I had met the wife of the inventor/owner of The Cricut machine, as well as a very sturdy/high quality outdoor gear company the month before; yes, in India. It was actually her words that had been the synchronicity that had led me to come to The Yoga Institute in the first place. After her and I had talked, she gifted me an extremely beautiful and useful mini torch. The soft light it produced would have been perfect to use for camping or to illuminate the bed of my truck during one of my biking adventures. Still, it didn’t feel like the light was for me when she had given it to me. It just didn’t fit at the time.

My roommate had been stressed by the white lights of our shared dorm at TYI. They were not very circadian rhythm friendly, if that helps you picture them. She had bought a small lamp online, but when it arrived last night, it turned out to be even whiter than the permanently fixed lights in the room. She had wanted a small, soft yellow lamp to use after sunset. I watched her attempt creative solutions to make the lamp she had bought work. A note of disappointment was in the air.

As I pulled the beautiful, but heavy-for-its-size torch from my bag, I realized why this hadn’t felt like it was mine when I had received it. I placed the torch on her night stand and plugged it in to charge. The torch was beautiful and very useful to someone like me, but it felt easy to let it go (unlike many other things that were way less useful), because I finally understood an aspect of the intricate dance of the universe that I had been struggling with.

I’d heard over and over again that when you give to others, those blessings return to you. I would say lately, I give a very average amount, not a superstar amount. It’s been hard to feel like I’ve had enough to give freely when I (voluntarily, of course) have no income. When I was giving in the past, I never noticed blessings returning, even when it was something bigger. I knew it is about the intention and feeling behind the giving and not just the act of giving that makes this magical principle work. Still, I had the knowledge, but not the right experience to fully understand what everyone meant.

That torch brought me the experience. It was so obviously and perfectly meant for my roommate, and not for me. The timing couldn’t be ignored. It was something I wanted and would definitely use, but because I could see how I was just the transporter of the object in this scenario, I felt good letting the item go. I had done my duty.

On the logical side, this item would directly improve my roommate’s everyday experience, where as if I kept it, it would sit in my bag for several months more, being used only a few times. This didn’t seem to matter in the making of the decision, however.

It seemed that if I stayed in the flow, doing my duty of giving as it was meant to happen to support the dance of the universe, whatever I needed would also come to me in the right moment. It doesn’t mean I have to give all of the time, donate my mountain bikes that I use a lot to children in Africa or never have anything I want, I just have to know my role in the moment in front of me, and participate accordingly. When it feels natural, give, and when it is obvious, don’t resist.

Sure, it isn’t and hasn’t always been as obvious as the torch, but I think the more you get in tune with the energy that is common to all of us (source, prana, life-force, the energy that creates worlds, God), the easier it is to see what duties are assigned to you. The easier it is to see, the more exciting it is to accept and fulfill.

As I left TYI, time was short. All of my classmates gathered to see me off. It’s nice to know I am loved. India has this warmth to it (at many moments; although watching an old lady drop a bag of trash from the moving train nonchalantly isn’t as warm). People make it really easy to know how they feel about you.

Several girls walked me out of the gate and to the train. One got on the train and rode it all the way to my destination with me. The next station was busy and slightly confusing. I didn’t really know where I had to go, but someone was meeting me to take me to the train. When he arrived, my yoga friend continued to walk a quarter of a mile with us to the platform where the train to Bhuj sat. When they opened the doors to the car, she boarded the train with us. She insisted on staying with me until the last minute. A big hug, and then she was gone.

In the US, we often joke and call this behavior “momming” (she was also telling me exactly how to board the train, how many apples to buy for the ride, etc.), however, in India, this is called Atithi Devi Bhava, or treating everyone like your honored guest. It had been frustrating at many times during my stay in India, when seeing through through the lens of my American perspective. In this moment however, I could see what her efforts meant. It was an expression of love and a desire to take the best care of her “honored guest.”

It also meant that the blessings had already started coming back to me, in the form of the loving guidance and protection from my friend on my first venture back into the world of public transportation.