Panicked and Perfect -- Devon, England

Why doesn't loss get any easier? Why can't I stop being afraid? Why does every little thing that goes wrong make me feel like the Universe is out to get me and that I ought to immediately kowtow and change all my plans? 

I'm so afraid of going against the flow that I stop swimming altogether. 

Yesterday was hard. 

My iPhone isn't working. The screen is frozen and I'm unable to switch it off to reset. As this is all I know how to do when electronics malfunction, I find myself at a loss when the on/off option is taken away from me. 

I stared at the fully charged sign in the up right corner.

I'll just... wait for the battery to die. And see what happens. 

As the battery drains from my phone, thoughts flood my mind.

That's my alarm clock. That's my point and shoot camera. That's my calendar and iPod and dictionary and translator and flashlight and -- 

-- and I really want it to work again after the battery dies. But what if it doesn't? What if I lose this tool? 

Well, I don't really need an alarm clock. If I tell myself to wake up at six o'clock, my eyes pop open at five fifty-five (my subconscious self hates being late almost as much as my conscious self). I have a high-quality camera, so taking low-quality images is something I do because I'm too lazy to lug around my Nikon. I could plan less, read more and just write down the words I'll need in my notebook before I head out to explore the streets of Split, Croatia. I have a headlight and -- 

-- and losing my iPhone wouldn't be the end of the world. It's like an American complaining about losing Wal-Mart and having to go back to the antiquated method of visiting, the butcher, the baker and the cheese maker. It's a convenient all-in-one, but it's not a necessary component of my life. 

Okay. I have now wrapped my brain around it not working again. Carry on. 

I then discovered that the sleeping bag I'd asked Hanne to ship from Ireland had gone and made its merry way back to Ireland. In the UK, houses have names, not numbers. I'd given her the street name and then written what the house was called a couple lines down. I assumed that since she lives in the UK, she would understand that the house name was a vital element of the address. 

Never assume. Never, ever assume. 

She didn't put the house name. The bag was sent back to Ireland on Friday. She's not sure whether or not she put a return address on the package, but said she'd check the local post office one of these days. If she didn't and if she doesn't, my $250 ultralight sleeping bag will be sold on ebay or given to charity.

First off, I panicked. 

I don't want to hitch without a sleeping bag. What if I don't make it to my host's in time and I end up having to sleep in the woods and under bridges and things? That would probably be fine on the Mediterranean, but what if I'm in the Switzerland? I can't afford to buy a new bag. Does this mean I should cancel my hitching adventure? Should I contact Richard and ask if he still needs help at his hut in the Alps? Should I find another place on workaway? 

"Stop me from making bad decisions," I moaned to Rosie while she scrubbed potatoes in the industrial kitchen sink.

"What are you doing?" her soft, quirky New Zealand accent helped to calm me down. 

"I'm about to contact people I shouldn't," I had written a short email to Richard and was hovering my mouse over the send button. 

"Why don't you just wait a day? Relax and see what happens." 

"I'm afraid that if I wait, all the opportunities will be gone. I'll be stranded and then get frostbite in Switzerland." 

"Things'll work out. They always do." 

"Yes, but will they work out without me getting frostbite again?" 

But I closed the email and returned to the living room, plopping into the beanbag with my head in my hands.

Ooooookay. What does this mean? I left my vanity in Istanbul to create space for the security of a sleeping bag. Is that space supposed to be used for something else? Perhaps I could pick up a cat. 

I wanted the sleeping bag because I don't trust that things will work out. Perhaps this is a lesson in trust. I will find places to stay. I will find the rides I need. If I'm dying of cold, I will find someone to give me a blanket. 

Okay. I have now wrapped my brain around my sleeping bag being sold on ebay. May you go in peace. Bloody thing.

Harriet saw that I was upset and asked me into her office to talk about my feelings.  

Wow... it's been so long since I've been able to vent to someone. This'll be great. I usually just get to write my frustrations on my blog. 

Harriet listened to my long list of fears. Harriet listened to my long list of frustrations. Harriet listened to my list that dripped with pent up irritation and ire from Istanbul.

"I'm a firm believer that everything is perfect," Harriet said through a mouthful of baked sweet potato. "We are given the lessons we need as we need them." 

Everything is perfect. My sleeping bag didn't show up and this is... perfect? 

"Visualize yourself being reunited with your sleeping bag. Visualize your phone working again. You have to be positive." 

"But I don't understand the difference between positive thinking and attachment. I want to be unattached so I just imagine my life without what I'm missing." 

I need to find a way to think "everything will be perfect" with or without these things.

Rosie and I went on a walk down the coast before Chanel 4 arrived to interview Stephen and Harriet. 

 

Natural beauty gives my life a sense of perspective. When I look at this, freezing to death in Switzerland doesn't seem like such a big deal.

Rosie. I believe New Zealanders are my very favorite people. Their carefree (stereotype alert!) sense of humor and relaxed outlook is something I find refreshing and serves to balance out my "MUSTPLANEVERYTHING" demon.

I stopped at the local post office just to make sure my sleeping bag wasn't hiding behind the counter somewhere. Even though I'd already let go, I still about broke down in tears when they told me it had been sent back last week.

"Well... someone will get a nice, warm bag in the end, huh?" I tried to smile as I walked out the door.

I made some soothing butternut squash, sweet potato, parsnip soup for dinner. Two ladies from Chanel 4 popped in with a massive video camera and a slightly jittery Stephen and Harriet as Rosie and I chatted around the kitchen table.

I wonder what they think about all the alien posters...

I received a phone call from Oona, asking if I might be able to teach her Tuesday class on the 4th and the 25th of March. For forty pounds a pop.

Wow... If I had made forty pounds for each class I taught in GJ... That would have been 960 dollars a week. If I ever settle down, I must live in a place wherein I can make this amount of money for teaching yoga. 

But eighty pounds is enough to cover the rest of my expenses in England. 

Maybe everything is perfect.

I interviewed Rosie that evening and then fell into a deep sleep.

Everything WON'T be perfect. Everything simply IS perfect.

I can try that mantra on for size.