Buried Lists

bottled water
granola bars
string cheese
shampoo
razors
wheat pasta
trash bags

When I was growing up there would always be a weekly grocery list sitting on our white tile kitchen counter. These lists normally consisted of things my mom would be buying at Giant, and in the corner there would be a smaller list: pick up dry-cleaning, make dinner reservations, soccer game. I imagined keeping all of these lists in a scrapbook to keep track of time and day-to-day tasks. But my mom always made sure to throw them away once the tasks were completed.

At the same time there were always flat soda liter bottles in the pantry. Whenever I searched the kitchen cabinets for an afternoon snack I was disappointed when there weren't any fruit snacks or she had gotten the Giant brand granola bars this week. It's only 20 or 30 cents more. I used to think. She knows I hate that kind. Talking to my parents now, I sometimes feel the same way. I'm thinking about becoming a yoga instructor, I say. Can you make a living doing that? They say. What about health insurance?

Growing up, I assumed my relationship with my parents would get better. That we would begin to understand each other and the different choices we make. And every so often I'm reminded of how differently we value things, and how easy it is to feel bitter about all the negative things. Then I remember how much my friends hated the flat soda I had to offer them when they came over, and how I had gotten used to it. Sometimes all I wanted was a lukewarm, flat glass of Dr. Pepper.

e-mail for addresses
clean apartment
pack
yoga
try not to fall asleep to Munich
prepare

Yoga class yesterday was one of those packed, great classes. Where everyone felt like they needed to be there to sweat something out. The humidity clouded the room, and each time I felt like I couldn't get my breath I remembered that this room was my sanctuary. It is where I go to think and relax. And when I talked to one of the instructors after class about becoming a teacher, thoughts and hesitation filled my mind. It's easy when you can think of ten negative reasons not to do something. Sometimes those thoughts can be hard to ignore, especially when practical matters are all that seem to matter.

Getting ready for the cross-country road trip has felt the same way. I've made lists. To pack: tent, maps, bathing suit, coolers, food, water. All things needed for survival. We start out on the road on Friday heading from Charlottesville to Nashville. Straight across the country and up California One, then back around. Part of me wants to get lost in it all and end up in a small farming town in Montana. I never throw away my lists like my mom did; instead I find them months later in my purse or tucked into a book. It always reminds me what I forgot.