This series of events occurred about ten years ago, in what seems like in a different century rather than recent past. It was an ambitious time in life, when everything was open and possible. It was my Saturday morning ritual to walk the two miles to a yoga facility in the local shopping mall. I was fit, walking for my health.
During that time frame my husband did a comprehensive workout at a community gym. Afterwards we would meet at the local grocery story, where we’d shop, then drive together up the steep hill to our house. Who’d walk that if there was conveyance up?
Saturday mornings went by in brisk routine with little deviation or thought, in a simple rhythm. I never packed a purse with money and phone…except one morning when I did. It’s a small shoulder purse that I still have. Though we seldom go to rock concerts anymore, as was its original purpose. Now it goes with me to church.
Back to the tale. That particular morning I dressed in yoga clothes and tennis shoes, then inexplicably put my cell phone inside the purse and slung its long leather strap over my shoulder. I walked in steady stride past the local school, down the wide sidewalk through a parklike glen with its corrigated metal tunnel that echoed all sounds, and past the Turtle Rock. Because the sidewalk was wide, I could track birds’ flight without a stumble, like the kids who text walk now, ten years later. I crossed the busy main street, with the push of the pedestrian button, still wary of vehicles despite the protection of the law. They did have the power to flatten me, so vigilance was respect for my self as well as for the law. I was trekking to yoga to be “Flexible Pat”, not “Flat Pat”, after all.
I continued past the grocery store where we’d later meet, then down the small street of liquid amber trees that blessed late fall with their color. I was close to the movie theaters now so that I could read the marque, guessing the plot of each title. The morning walk encompassed many enthralling life elements.
But, this morning the path to serenity was locked. The yoga studio had closed overnight.
Thank goodness I had my purse with a few dollars and a phone. Thank goodness Deidrich’s Coffee House was nearby. I left a message for my husband about the surprise, who was likely in the midst of his gym workout rituals, then bought a chai tea latte and called a friend – who loved hearing from me. A nasty surprise transformed into a great one. We passed the time in verbal communion. My husband appeared within 45 minutes and we processed through the day’s events, chores, and opportunities fluidly.
Later, the serendipity of life showed up further, better in its blessing. My beloved yoga instructor, Heidi, who would soon build my visual imagery skills to thwart the devil of cancer and give me private sessions at home when I couldn’t go out in the community, had recently taken my phone number to help me find the vocal instructor I craved. She was able to contact me about her new yoga studio home, where I have been ever since. There I’ve found solace through other tough life passages.
Did I mention that the new yoga studio was named Triad, configured as the God that I worship? Thank goodness and God for my yoga path. Breathe, just breathe, and enjoy who, when, where, and what life gives you. Why ask why?