Retreats are hard. Retreats are riddled with annoying details that only emerge at the last second and cause tremendous inconvenience for everyone involved. Details such as the retreat center owners erroneously marking your event a week later in their calender than you marked that same event in yours.
And thus still living in the villa when you arrive.
Yesterday was hard. Yesterday was spent scrubbing toilets, dusting moulding, making beds and sweeping the stone yard. We commenced deep-cleaning at 8:00 in the morning and finished around 15:30.
The owners of the villa finished moving out around 15:15.
We just swept/dusted/mopped/vacuumed their entire center for free.
I found it disturbingly difficult to be positive.
Unfair.
Ridiculous.
Unprofessional.
Were the thoughts racing through my brain as my mop slopped water across the floor.
It is what it is.
It is what it is.
It is what it is.
Were the thoughts that slowed the rest.
When these sorts of cleaning extravaganzas are written down on paper of some kind, I have time to wrap my head around the idea of scrubbing toilets for seven and a half hours.
Am I still in this place? I thought I'd moved on from here. I thought I'd grown up a bit and could cope with and embrace the unexpected. Have I not changed at all?
When it's something that just pops out of the bushes and scares the bejesus out of me (as toilets do), my thoughts tend to wind their way down this road:
If I had known I'd be doing all this cleaning, I wouldn't have contacted Milda in the first place. This isn't what I signed up for.
Why didn't they clean the place before we arrived? Who rents out their villa and leaves the tenants to tidy up after them? Seriously? I'd hoped to spend this time learning about the space and how to best arrange mats in the yoga studio -- not cleaning the yoga studio and cutting the mats.
How am I going to have any energy to talk with the guests this evening? I'm exhausted, temperamental, negative. Blurgh. I want to finish making this bed, I want to take a hot shower and I want to crawl into my own bed... wherever that will be.
These thoughts were followed in quick succession by:
Bourget, of course you would have contacted Milda. This is the kind of place you love to be. These are the people you love to be around. The work you're doing right now isn't something about which you're particularly passionate, but that doesn't mean you have to disdain it the way you do. Embrace this sudsy mop water as something that paves the way for you to do what you love to do. You can't always give what you love but you can always love to give. Sometimes you simply have to give what's needed. Now stop glaring at the vacuum cleaner and get a move on, for Pete's sake.
Sometimes my inner-monologue resembles the outer-tornado of the kicking, complaining chaos devil children I've grown to dislike.
The fact that I just keep my immaturity on the inside doesn't make me any more mature of a person. It only makes me better at hiding things and since when does maturity have anything to do with being able to bury things deeper, hide things better, shut your mouth longer? Why can't I just love the idea that I get to serve people through cleaning today? Why do I need to feel all martyred because this adventure into dust and grime wasn't in my planner?
15:30. Jurate popped into the shower before I did (she had extenuating circumstances) and because the water heater was set to "ecological", managed to use up every drop of hot water in her ten-minute rinse.
Frigid water isn't the best tool for washing away a full day's worth of cleaning slime.
You have two choices, Bourget. You can choose to feel like the world is out to get you by stealing all the hot water, or you can remember where you are, what you're doing and be grateful for the opportunities life has given you. What's a cold shower in comparison?
I got myself to a place wherein I could appreciate the cold water, but that didn't mean I wanted to relish it. I soaped and sudsed my short mane, briefly scrubbed my skin and "cold, cold, cold" hopped out of the shower.
The first group of guests arrived at 17:00. I was completely knackered, but did my best to wear an energetic, interested and friendly front.
Emotions can be like clothes. You can put them on and take them off as you please.
So I tried to keep the crazed, "I'M UTTERLY EXHAUSTED AND WOULD RATHER BE IN BED" look out of my eyes and asked questions about hometowns, experience in yoga, first time in Croatia, etc. I consistently put myself in situations wherein I meet people from all over the world, but I still try to appreciate international groups and all I can learn from them.
An outdoorsy couple from Norway. Sparkly and fun and full of life.
A spry woman from Aman, Jordon. She was born in Spain but spent several years living just about everywhere.
A talkative woman from Seattle. She travels through working as a teacher at international schools.
A silent chap from Croatia. Must get more out of him tommorow.
An attentive red-haired lady from...
Ach. You don't even know where she's from. Perhaps you should have been listening more instead of just thinking about how you would respond.
The rest of the evening unfolded into "What am I supposed to be doing now?" bedlam.
Dinner was served. We were missing a table (due to the original miscommunication about dates), so half of us sat on the floor around the coffee table and the rest crammed themselves around a small circular table next to the fireplace.
We make do with what we have.
It was freezing. Not the dinner. The dinner was delicious. Croatia itself was freezing. It was difficult to watch people shiver and shake and not be able to find a solution for them.
I just got here yesterday. I don't know how the building works. I know where the cleaning supplies are, but we didn't have time to learn anything else.
Participants asked me question after question relating to heaters, meals, rooms, etc. I felt like I was supposed to know exactly what I was doing, but the only thing I really know how to do is yoga.
Goodness... I'm going to learn a lot here. A lot about communication. A lot about organization. A lot about not shaking my head and saying "I don't know", but actually actively finding a solution for people's problems. I assumed that I'd just be operating in the role of teacher -- leading my classes and then retreating into the background. I didn't realize just how big my role here would be.
This will force me to grow up in an entirely new way. I'm a member of this team, now. Jurate, Kristina, Milda, Mario and Aimee. We are making this little yoga retreat on the island of Vis work together. Arrrrgh. Responsibility is hard. Sometimes it's a challenging transition for me -- moving from living a life entirely focused on myself and my development to living the life of a team member upon whom so many people rely.
Five weeks of this team. Five weeks of these questions. Five weeks of this structure. Five weeks of this responsibility. It'll be good for this vagabond's soul to feel so needed.
The six people who'd arrived at 16:00 wandered off to their rooms and went to bed around 20:00 -- only to be pulled out of their beds at 21:00 because of a miscommunication between Milda, Jurate and me.
Not the best way to kick off the week.
The rest of the group trundled in, tired and hungry. Introductions were made and house rules (take short showers, try to recycle stuff) were stated. Then everyone slowly meandered back to their bedrooms, hoping to get some sleep in before early morning meditation the next day.
Oof. First day finished. Oof.
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