Yoga Etc. (Stocking my unconscious)

And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.

- John Steinbeck

My dad loves to tell this story. When I was still a fashion-obsessed pre-teen who had yet to realize the immense privilege of her life, my family moved to Oregon. Having just spent two years in Paris, I had no desire to live in a forested suburb northwest of the state’s largest city. We were waiting at Arrivals. Waiting for our bags to spit out onto the conveyor belt, and I said (entirely unironically), “Daahd. Why couldn’t we have moved to Milan, or London, or New York?”

Insufferable as I was, in my mind, “everything was happening” in the world’s largest cities. There was nothing to be appreciated about a mid-sized town, nothing of interest in wild forests, quiet streets, or expansive nature. I wanted to be in the hustle and bustle. In the thick of it all.

When I went to college, I longed to live in New York City. Today, I live in London, and most of my friends are sprinkled across international hubs around the world. The cities of all cities. For the last decade, we’ve been in the thick of it all, thriving off of big-city energy, grinding the day away, and hustling our way through our 20s.

I have big goals. Goals that I always thought only fit in big cities. But through this life-altering pandemic, I’m realizing that the busy-ness of big city living, of meeting new people every day and making plans every night doesn’t suit these goals anymore. The what hasn’t changed — but the how has.

Where before I searched externally for experience, growth, validation, and a sense of achievement, I find myself increasingly looking inward to achieve these same results. I’ve written here before about distractions and how we cannot be whole humans while trying to achieve perceived perfection, and this quote I read the other day by writer and novelist Emma Cline clarified that concept for me:

“I think I’ve gotten more used to and comfortable with the idea that I won’t be writing all the time, that the other things I’m doing are valuable. It’s all kind of work, in some way — reading, walking, thinking, listening to music — all this stuff is stocking my unconscious.”

I used to think that I could hack my way to peak productivity or if I just. worked. harder/faster/longer, I could reach my goals. But this pandemic has shown me that the moments in between — the things stocking my unconscious — are the building blocks towards those goals.

I think a lot of us have come to similar realizations over the last nine months. We’ve been racing towards the finish line, but we’ve been running running running with no end. Many of us have understood that these big cities, which once held promise and potential for our future selves, might not be serving us anymore.

While I don’t plan on leaving London anytime soon, I’m realizing that I don’t need to be in the thick of it all anymore. I’ve found my corner of the world to settle into, and now that I have time and space, I can stock my unconscious with beautiful things. For me, that’s a safe home. Music. Calendars with no plans. Fresh air and leaves blowing in the wind. And a slice of the rural life.

Weekly writing prompt

• write out everything that you did yesterday in 30-minute increments. then look back through your day + highlight the stuff stocking up your unconscious — are they serving you? (15 minutes)

Other musings

• Ms. Goodman + the traveling library
• Covid tips: soap and water work beautifully
• Writing can help injuries heal faster
• Far out: astronaut plans to cast her vote from space
• Millions will be displaced. where will they go?
• Song exploder — my new favorite podcast
• On repeat: womxn

This is the yoga etc., a weekly newsletter exploring mindful movement and mindful personal development in a busy world, written by me, Laura B. Childs, writer, teacher, and friend. You can subscribe to yoga etc. here.