There were times over the last two weeks when people wrote asking me what had happened to Peripateia. In the almost eighteen months of the blog’s existence, I’d almost never missed a post one way or another.
And then June happened and my carefully regimented life fell gracefully apart.
The first to go were my regular sleeping habits. Next to go were my healthy eating habits. Those were followed by my daily Ashtanga Yoga practice. That was then followed by my long-standing commitment to an educational organization. The last to vanish was my daily rumination through Peripateia.
The entire thing felt like a cosmically-orchestrated dismantling of all the cherished aspects of my identity. Every day I’d ask (craning my neck up towards the sky in a gesture both instinctive and conditioned): What more do you want of me? What else do I have left to give?
And the very next day something else would be asked of me, and I would hand it over only after the requisite railing, ranting and resisting.
As my friend Karl put it after discovering my birthdate: You’re a pure metal Rooster, and the fate of all pure metal Roosters is to have a very challenging life. You have to work very hard for every single one of your achievements.
To which a sympathetic Abbey asked: What will make things easier for her?
To which an amused Karl replied: The one thing that will make it easier for her is the one thing of which she’s almost incapable.
Which is? I asked, already dreading the answer.
Which is letting go, Karl said, smiling sympathetically.