Several years ago, about to embark on something I had never done before, a dear and oftentimes wise friend said of the anticipated experience; Have no expectations.
It is a practice which I have since explored many times, and in different circumstances. Practice seldom, if ever, makes perfect; it is enough to practise with full attention and hopefully to learn something in so doing.
My first sight of New Zealand on the morning of 10th March this year was the long straight coast line and wave upon wave rushing into the shore from the deepest of blue seas, then the land rising and folding itself over and over in the first range of hills.
At immigration it seemed that our walking boots had not been cleaned thoroughly enough and were taken off for fumigation before being allowed in. We who wear the boots walked through with ease.
We blindly walked past the person waiting with the hired car and holding our name, and then tried in vain to trace the suitcase sent as excess baggage from Heathrow a week before. Those frustrations aside, Aukland welcomed us with clear blue skies, warm sunshine and sparkling seas.
In those first few hours, how much was our experience influenced by our anticipations. Were we really able to see, or were we subconsciously comparing what we saw with what we had read or heard from other people. Could we stop ourselves asking if it was better or not as good as we had hoped? How did this cloud our understanding?
In the past two weeks or so, I have felt like a hen scratching away the surface, trying to resist the temptation to draw conclusions, to write too affirmatively of how it is. … and probably trying too hard! A moment in a yoga class this morning showed just how enlightening an experience can be when the trying stops.
I am very privileged to be experiencing all of this without the pressure of earning a living, and very lucky that I have the gift of yoga and those who teach it.
There is been much talk about having a web log for this new adventure in our lives. Now is the moment to begin writing. And of course I do not know where to start.
It is extraordinary being in the middle of the South Pacific, yet hearing only English spoken, being 13000 miles away form much loved family and friends, and yet and living in Palmerston Street with street names such as Wordsworth Avenue and Kent Road in abundance.
In many ways, one is tempted to ask: What is all the fuss about.? It is so easy to be lifted up, transported, dropped down again, and to carry on almost as normal. Here there are no language problems, the food is all recognisable, and the climate is currently warm and benign.
What is special about the experience is the opportunity to see everything again with fresh eyes. All the things which one takes for granted have to be re-found. Each time another bit of one’s life slots into place, there is the potential for delight at finding it. It’s fun making do and improvising. Then, when you find something you’ve been missing it is such a joy. For me it was the unexpected discovery of a packet of real tea and a teapot in a supermarket last Sunday afternoon.
I had reflected part way into our second week away what I might be missing from home, and what came to mind was the moment of standing quietly in the kitchen making my first morning cup of tea, putting my hands around the familiar mug and walking with it in the garden.
Haven’t got a photo of the teapot at the moment, but here is where we hope to be making tea from 3rd April onwards.
This weblog will commence shortly...