A few months back, S and I bought our first house. It’s a lovely three bedroom house with walls and floors and everything else I can aptly call mine now. One of my favorite spaces is our back porch. It’s where I get the majority of my writing and reading done (even during hot Florida days).

Oftentimes, though, I find myself simply sitting outside and staring at our yard. At the trees beyond our yard. At the houses and neighborhoods and streets leading towards different areas, different lives. And I get lost in thought and when I’m brought back, I feel content.

Sometimes I try to replicate that feeling of drifting, and it…doesn’t go as well. So I sit there, and force myself to stare. And the following conversation usually takes place in my head:

Look at you, just relaxing. Isn’t this great? It’s great. You should feel at ease. Not a worry in the world. Look at the bird! He’s flying! See? Good job, Lauren, you’re observing. You’re not worried about deadlines or housework. Or dishes. I should probably wash the dishes. And clean the kitchen floor. No! You’re relaxing! Did my phone just ring? Oh, I should add that phone call to the next scene. I should write. I need to write. Oh, but there are only two more chapters to the book I’m reading. Did I order the next book club book for the library? Is relaxing done yet? 

This is why yoga and I usually don’t get along. When forced I’m not very good at being zen.