“I’m packed!”
Amazed that I had gathered everything for my upcoming journey to Peru, and fit it all in my suitcase a full day before my flight. Usually, I’m finishing up at in the wee hours of the morning, so this was cause for celebration. There was one thing left to do.
I called my husband to lift my suitcase and guesstimate the weight.
It’s an old ritual, this guessing game that often leaves a fizzle of anxiety in my belly. Every trip we mean to find that luggage scale that’s hidden in the house somewhere. An idea quickly forgotten in the enjoyment of whatever journey embarked upon. Only to be remembered the evening before, or often in my case, the morning of that next flight with the looming specter of a weight limit for my bag.
Right on cue, after hefting my luggage in the air, he exclaims, “This has gotta be close if not over 50 pounds.”
I’m not sure why I set myself up for this. I’m a great packer and can fit everything into any suitcase. It’s just that I like to have a variety of clothes so I can choose to be comfortable in any kind of weather or activity.
This time, however, I also had a list a mile long of recommended items to ensure a safe journey.
During this 12 day trip, I’d stay in 5 hotels, take multiples planes, buses, and taxis. I’d hike mountains, tour cities, chant in open courtyards, do early morning yoga, and attend (stinky) fire ceremonies. I’d also be far from medical care and needed to be prepared for weather changes, altitude sickness, biting bugs, blisters, strong sun rays, and dehydration.
No wonder I packed a lot of shit. I was intent on being prepared for anything.
That’s not to mention that I was carrying a bunch of rocks in my backpack. No, I wasn’t rucking. That’s a new fad that I have no interest in exploring. Yet, here I was heading off to climb to 12,500 feet with a backpack of rocks, raincoat, fleece, water, snacks, suntan lotion, and bug spray. I don’t mean to make light of those rocks as they are a gift to me and those I serve.
As a medicine woman in the Andean tradition, I carry my mesa with me.
A mesa, or altar, is used in healing and ceremony. Filled with medicine stones that have been transformed through my initiations and used in healing sessions, shamanic journeys, and ceremony. I climbed each mountain to enter a sacred site and engage in ceremony. Activating my mesa and my own body to higher frequencies so that I might better serve humanity and Pachamama, this great planet we inhabit. While heavy, I was grateful to have my mesa as traveling companion and wise guide.
Arriving at Philly’s airport, mostly at peace with my packing choices, I was dropped at the curb to embark upon this journey of my soul.
Truth be told, I had some trouble hefting my bag on that scale. I closed my eyes in a little prayer to the angels of the airport. “Did you plan this?” Startled I opened my eyes to a serious agent pointing to the number on the scale with a long red manicured nail.
50.0
Holy weightless wonder! I nailed it! After taking a photo to send my husband, I felt a little heaviness lift from my heart (and belly). I hadn’t realized I was carrying that bit of anxiety. A flash of a memory from my honeymoon to Italy reminded me of our two suitcases splayed open in front of a long line of annoyed travelers as I transferred shoes from that over the limit bag to the almost at the limit bag.
Oh.
“Time to let that habit go,” I thought, as I hefted that heavy backpack onto a body that was already resisting the weight.
Before I even arrived in Peru, hints of what I was to learn, release, and transform on this epic journey were arising. Alright then, game on.
Apparently I had some bigger lessons to learn about carrying too much baggage.
I received a disruptive lesson in the Miami airport. A giant awareness in Lima. And a rough start in Cusco. By the time I landed in the Sacred Valley, surrounded by the majesty of the Andean mountains, my lessons became more palatable. I still carried too much every day within my psyche, body, energy field, and backpack. I became adept at recognizing this collection of things I no longer needed to carry, curated by a lifetime of conditioning. And how many of them weren’t even mine to begin with.
I shed that weight with the help of ceremony, medicine teachings and teachers, the natural world, my archetypal companions, and lovely new friends.
I’m traveling more lightly now by intent and with Life’s help as it continues to remove much of what I felt was necessary. I learned that those medicine stones are worth their weight in gold and I’m happy to carry them anywhere. And that journeying throughout time to clear old baggage is a worthwhile endeavor.
Mostly, I discovered, that it is a privilege to live here and now. Knowing I’ve got everything I need within.
I could search for that luggage scale in advance of my next trip. But I won’t. Why mess with the majesty of the mystery and those future lessons just waiting to shake me awake?
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
If you’re carrying a lot of stress, you’re not alone. Robert Epstein, stress researcher, found that the average person’s ability to manage stress is remarkably low. Living in a world of stressed out adults takes its toll on you as it’s hard not to get triggered by someone’s stressed out behavior unless you’re cool as a cucumber. More importantly, it’s been found that a parent’s ability to manage their own stress is the second most powerful predictor of the wellbeing of their children. Yikes. Lots of ways to let that stress go and plenty of motivation. Instead of being a stress magnet, be a conduit of calm. Yup, that’s a thing. I have declared it so.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
There are moments in life when something ancient and deeply meaningful finds its way into your life. Two years ago, I was seated in the doorway of the Sun Temple in Ollantaytambo in Peru. I had climbed the ancient steps, communed with the spirit of the mountain, and gazed out over the landscape.
There comes a moment, sometimes quietly, when you realize you don’t want to keep postponing your life. Not in a dramatic way, nor as a declaration, but as a simple, honest recognition that what you are living now matters. You begin to sense an invitation, not to fix yourself or become someone else, but to turn toward your life as it is and meet it more fully.
I enjoy airports. Most likely because they signal that a travel adventure is about to begin. My family followed the “arrive two hours early” rule for every flight, and I’m still a fan. It allows me to relax and enjoy the airport phase of the travel experience. I’m not worried about security lines, overpriced water, or what boarding group I’m in. Although, truth be told, those days of being upgraded to first class have left a subtle longing for wider seats and fewer people.
I remember walking into Westminster Cathedral in London, looking up, and being struck still by the vast beauty and scale of the architecture. People milled around me, some even bumping into me, yet my face remained turned heavenward. I could not move. Eventually I noticed my body returning to its normal sense of size, as if I had taken a journey within that vastness without realizing it.
I’ve always had a distant relationship with horses.
I once rode the pony a friend cared for at a local barn when I was a pre-teen. I’ve done a few trail rides, including what felt like a few death-defying adventures in the Colorado Rockies. I even calmly steered my horse back onto the trail after she reared and raced down a small forest hill. It was a natural instinct. After all, I’ve watched enough television to witness experienced equestrians deftly managing rearing horses.
I have been reading a series of novels set in the late nineteenth century that portray the social structures women were expected to live within. Hardships were often hidden behind social niceties, beautiful homes, fashionable clothing, and the polite manner considered fitting for a lady of society. A woman’s ability to enjoy simple pleasures such as reading freely, choosing her friendships, or expressing her opinions was often restricted by her husband.
