Arching panes of rain-spattered glass shield me from the heat and moisture of Hong Kong. Framed by a lustrous steel endoskeleton, the airport seating area has triple the space of a cathedral and one hundred times the light. My gaze wanders out across the water and over the islands. Through a miasma of exterior damp, I watch jets float and land, strain and rise…everyone in transit, in transition, to somewhere. The world is moving while I am still.
Stillness is not my natural state. I have to cultivate it. A long layover in the suspended existence of transit helps me recalibrate. I grow slow and calm after the hectic last few days of preparing, packing, shopping, working, moving–my US life all wrapped up and waiting for me like a gift upon return. I’m excited for it.
The summer was an extended transition. I invested in new work, a new relationship, and a more permanent life in San Francisco. From the first few bumpy days in May when the jet lag wouldn’t end, I felt uncharacteristically unsettled and turned inward. It must be a small piece of wisdom that I abided with it instead of trying to fix it.
I spent the summer building new things, removed a step from the world around me, happy to watch it but not highly engaged in it. I was engaged in creation, construction, exploration. I started three new jobs: corporate training, small business support services, and teaching a weekly yoga class. Big learning curves and very rewarding. I also fell in love, raised a pile of money for Nepal, officiated a wedding, camped by rivers, danced in the desert, cooked consistently, biked, ran, and made time to lie on the grass and be still.
I had a wonderful summer, but it wasn’t like years past where I worked hard-played hard. I played lightly, I sat with uncertainty, I stuffed my brain with new information, I practiced self-awareness, and I experienced a fair number of growing pains. I won’t even attempt to say I navigated them gracefully, but I felt them, grew from them, let them pass, and arrived a little further along my path. I arrived in a place that feels solid, that makes me confident and optimistic about the future. Then I left. As usual.
Sitting in Hong Kong airport, I have perhaps 10 hours with no obligations, no demands, no cell phone, no needs…beyond a steaming bowl of rich and succulent ramen soup. I am free to ponder the nature of transition, of how change comes upon us, of how we react, of how *I* react. Yes, I think it’s a small piece of wisdom that I’m learning how to be in transition without pushing it to be over.
Sitting in Hong Kong airport, I’m not hurrying the transit, but existing within it. I’m still moving, but at a much slower pace, and I can see everything and everyone flowing around me.
When I step onto the streets of Kathmandu, I do so with fresh aplomb.