Reflection

When I lived in Philadelphia, I spent a lot of time in Rittenhouse Square Park perched on a bench in the sun or lying in the grass, reading, people-walking-dog or people-watching-people watching, daydreaming of being someplace more exotic than downtown Philly. During my yoga teacher training, I began a process of self-transformation that took my self-study to new depths that eventually untethered me from mere daydreaming on park benches and led me off exploring. I went off in search of that someplace more exotic. I moved to Costa Rica.

For two years, I continued inward and outward explorations without the guidance of my teachers, guided instead by the undeniable truths whispered or roared by Mother Nature. I hiked barefoot through the jungle up to the ankles in muddy earth. I swam and surfed (and was oftentimes pummeled) by the sea. I gave up umbrellas and walked drenched in tropical rain. I ate mangoes freshly fallen from trees, learned to crack open coconuts to partake of all the sweet and juicy goodness inside the hard shell. I climbed rocks, cliffs, mountains and trees. If there was water below, I jumped.

One day, I met an Argentine on the beach and I jumped headfirst into him too.

I've been in Argentina for almost 8 months now. For the better part of it, I've missed the raw adventure of Costa Rica while trying to find the same sense of pleasure in this urban jungle. Buenos Aires is a huge city, 13 times the size of Philadelphia, and 13 times more exotic. There are palm trees instead of oaks, bright green parrots in addition to pigeons. The Argentine accent is as distinct as Philadelphian to English, though overlaying the Spanish I'm still learning. My new adventure consisted of tuning my ears to understand ll's that sound like j's instead of y's, converting systems of measurement, wearing winter clothes in August (or at all!) and celebrating Christmas in the heat of South American summer. I often find myself pummeled by these unknown waters I've plunged into and can't seem to get a breath of air.

Today, I came to Palermo to meet with a Spanish tutor, thinking that perfecting my communication skills might help me navigate with more confidence. After a ten minute consultation, I went wandering in the city. Just as I was beginning to ask myself why I was wasting time pounding pavement, I saw a tall iron gate surrounding a cluster of trees that could only be a city park. I beelined for the glimpse of nature. I strolled slowly through the Botanical Garden, scratching the heads of homeless cats and staring up the trunks of tall trees, until I found a bench in the sun. I sat and opened my book to read. In a moment, I looked up, digesting a passage I'd just read and found before me a familiar scene: a cement pond with a statue in the center, a woman, half-clothed, with long streaming hair and a downcast gaze considering her own reflection in the water. The woman's hair is a bit more wild and she is wearing less clothing, but she resembles so much the statue in the center of the nearly identical pond in Rittenhouse Square. There are koi swimming in the water below and lily pads bearing lotus flowers. Still, the traffic whizzing by on all sides of this tiny oasis, this could easily be Philadelphia. It's just a bit more exotic.

Perhaps our travels permit us to venture off only so far before we come face to face with our own reflection. Maybe now and then we need to take a peek back to see how far we've come or stop to gauge if we're heading in the right direction. Or maybe geography is irrelevant when it comes to our life's work. Finding oneself back at square one after an arduous journey requires some looking into.