The streets of Florentine are shiny and dark by the time I leave Studio Naim where I'd come to attend a Jivamukti workshop with the visiting Dechen Thurman (of Robert Thurman fame). I'd been mostly practicing yoga on my own since arriving in Israel and so looked forward to some yogi camaraderie as well as Dechen's guidance. The class is great and I leave 3 hours later in a relaxed yet invigorated stupor - the perfect state of mind for Shabbat.
Outside the rain has already begun. Though still balmy, this is Fall in Tel Aviv (add some more gusts of wind and shave off another 10 degrees and you have your winter - ha). I'd been meaning to get to Florentine for a while. A cross between the East Village and Williamsburg, the neighborhood is classic "old Tel Aviv" - dilapidated yet full of character, as well as some of the city's funkiest bars and clubs. Basically, Downtown to my sister's "fancy" Uptown in North Tel Aviv, where I've been mostly stationed.
On a rainy Shabbat evening, however, Florentine is nothing but empty. The street lamps are measly, barely lighting my way up the long avenues of Derech Shlomo then Yaffo to Nachlat Binyamin where I turn unto Rothschild Street. There the rain returns, slamming into the back of my jeans and soaking my Old Navy canvas sneakers. In a rare moment of prescient clarity, I'd remembered to bring my pink polka dotted umbrella (digging it out from one of my four suitcases still sitting in my sister's living room) and I huddle beneath it in the wet dark.
In a well timed text message, my sister suggests I take a cab in this weather. But I like walking and I don't mind the rain and besides my wet dark lonely predicament suits my mood. I've been in one for the past few days because my moods always just come and go at whim and here it is. This time though I've been waiting, knowing its arrival would inevitably coincide with the buzz of my Big Life Transition slowly giving way to the "reality" of my new routine.
Life transitions are exciting. It's taken me some practice but I see that now that I've been through a few. Like setting off for some far off land, they provide a rare opportunity to break out of boundaries and predictable patterns to experience life more... experientially. Since leaving my last job for Central America, I'd had a few months of that and know they changed my life forever. It had been a time full of travel, yoga, adventures, self-assessment and growth. I'd gone to Nicaragua and Guatemala then to Colorado to hike and be with good friends. Stepping out of my routine in New York for a while is also what helped me realize I wanted to move to Israel.
Now that I'm finally officially here, it's time to settle in and make some important decisions about what I want the new "reality" of this next chapter to look like. The adrenalin buzz of being in limbo is gone and on a wet rainy night with so many unanswered questions still looming - and so many suitcases still unpacked - it's easy to feel overwhelmed.
I remember what Dechen repeated as he guided our breathing and alignment throughout the evening. He was talking to all of us in the room but I clung to his words, pretending he had chosen his workshop's theme about connecting with our intention just for me.
"Really think about what you want," he kept saying, offering additional encouragement as we hovered - mindfully, patiently, gracefully - in each pose. "Then think about how you're going to get it. One breath at a time."
One breath at a time. This seemed like good advice.
Outside the rain has already begun. Though still balmy, this is Fall in Tel Aviv (add some more gusts of wind and shave off another 10 degrees and you have your winter - ha). I'd been meaning to get to Florentine for a while. A cross between the East Village and Williamsburg, the neighborhood is classic "old Tel Aviv" - dilapidated yet full of character, as well as some of the city's funkiest bars and clubs. Basically, Downtown to my sister's "fancy" Uptown in North Tel Aviv, where I've been mostly stationed.
On a rainy Shabbat evening, however, Florentine is nothing but empty. The street lamps are measly, barely lighting my way up the long avenues of Derech Shlomo then Yaffo to Nachlat Binyamin where I turn unto Rothschild Street. There the rain returns, slamming into the back of my jeans and soaking my Old Navy canvas sneakers. In a rare moment of prescient clarity, I'd remembered to bring my pink polka dotted umbrella (digging it out from one of my four suitcases still sitting in my sister's living room) and I huddle beneath it in the wet dark.
 |
| Rain on Rothschild |
Life transitions are exciting. It's taken me some practice but I see that now that I've been through a few. Like setting off for some far off land, they provide a rare opportunity to break out of boundaries and predictable patterns to experience life more... experientially. Since leaving my last job for Central America, I'd had a few months of that and know they changed my life forever. It had been a time full of travel, yoga, adventures, self-assessment and growth. I'd gone to Nicaragua and Guatemala then to Colorado to hike and be with good friends. Stepping out of my routine in New York for a while is also what helped me realize I wanted to move to Israel.
Now that I'm finally officially here, it's time to settle in and make some important decisions about what I want the new "reality" of this next chapter to look like. The adrenalin buzz of being in limbo is gone and on a wet rainy night with so many unanswered questions still looming - and so many suitcases still unpacked - it's easy to feel overwhelmed.
I remember what Dechen repeated as he guided our breathing and alignment throughout the evening. He was talking to all of us in the room but I clung to his words, pretending he had chosen his workshop's theme about connecting with our intention just for me.
"Really think about what you want," he kept saying, offering additional encouragement as we hovered - mindfully, patiently, gracefully - in each pose. "Then think about how you're going to get it. One breath at a time."
One breath at a time. This seemed like good advice.
1 comment:
Dear Karen ... I didn't know you kept your blog! So now I'm reading it from where I had interrupted. And I love your writing! :-)
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