I Need Yoga, or a Drink

I never really understood the Professor’s complaints about California until we moved away. He used to leave parties and say, “All people care about is the size of their butts and backyards.” I would roll my eyes, convinced that he just needed to have a drink and relax.

Of course, I got to the point where I would look around my neighborhood on trash and recycling day, sick to my stomach at all the waste bins lining the sidewalks. There was a time I got angry at the people driving huge SUVs, alone, to run their errands, burning fossil fuel, without a care in the world except how often they could run those suckers through the car wash. I would try to calm myself down by practicing the breathing I learned in yoga.

When that didn't work, I remember calling our friend and sage, Jon, in LA to complain about my anxiety. She pointed out that I wasn’t exactly riding my bicycle to the grocery store and I still shopped for crap at Target. I was buying plane tickets regularly, not innocent by any stretch. She encouraged me to get comfortable with my place on the spectrum and stop criticizing others. I wasn’t going to stop people from consuming so I had better just focus on my own footprint.

Living in Ithaca gave me a break from the stress of worrying about our planet for a while. In fact, I am probably the grossest consumer in the entire upstate New York region. I’m sure the artists, academics and Trustafarians aren’t impressed with us capitalists who earned our money the crude way. Only the families that have traded out urban living for the groovy rural college-town life truly understand my plight. The people who have arrived here through the ranks of art, academia or inheritance probably wonder how I can sleep at night.

My nerves are shot as I think about saying good-bye to all the incredible friends we have made, the nature and university we’ve enjoyed. Now I am the one grumbling as we leave parties, wondering about my own sensibilities. Sure I'm excited to get back to our friends and family and the beach, but I am giving up driving by local farm stands for a downtown that has a Maserati dealership on the corner. I think the Professor and I have finally arrived at a place where we realize it's not about us but up to us.