A Change of Scenery
One of the most beautiful benefits of travel is the shift in perception afforded by a literal change of scenery.
Greetings from Santa Fe. We arrived in the early evening, immediately charmed by the snow capped peaks ringing the lavender-gray horizon, the expanse of flat sienna earth scrubbed in tumble weeds and squat vegetation characteristic of high desert. As we left the airport, I saw an osprey perched in a juniper, resting on its way to northern breeding grounds, and a mountain bluebird, bright as a dab of cerulean paint, on a barbed wire fence. A rabbit dashed into the shadows of a cemetery blooming in silk flowers as we passed enroute to our AirBnB.
We’re here to celebrate our 10-year wedding anniversary, which is technically not until August, but March is when my husband can escape for a proper vacation. It’s not a great time for my job, but this break is exactly what I need. I didn’t even know how much I needed it until I exited the plane into the chilly dry air beneath an expanse of watercolor sky.
On our first morning, it snows, soft, buttery flakes that swirl across the landscape. I am in awe of frosted cacti. We drive into the historic downtown and spend the day admiring the work of Georgia O’Keefe, handmade wares of local artisans, and historic chapels with jewel-toned stained glass. At a cafe we stuff ourselves with huevos rancheros and scrambled egg enchiladas smothered in Christmas chili, half red, half green, both spicy enough to impress two expat Texans. As we prepare to leave, a notification pings my phone. I’ve just procured Taylor Swift tickets. We look up the seating chart and realize our seats are four rows from the extended stage. We both nearly pass out and once on the sidewalk I shake my whole body in unrepressed joy.
In the afternoon we hike to the top of a mesa just outside of Santa Fe to see the La Cieneguilla petroglyphs placed by Puebloan people who lived in the area between the 13th and 17th centuries. Once again I am in awe. The ancient carvings suggest birds, horses, handprints, and snakes. We see figures in the stone and wonder if they are in welcome or warning. In the distance, though we are cast in sharp sunlight, we observe a weather system of dark cloud and falling snow. Snow from another system catches us on our drive back into downtown where we share a flight at Gruet, a local winery specializing in Méthode Champenoise sparkling wines.
“We’re celebrating,” my husband tells the bartender. I’m thinking of our anniversary, but he says, “We just scored Taylor Swift tickets!” Everyone laughs. The couple next to us offers congratulations, and for a few minutes everyone is talking, sharing stories. I feel a sudden pinch in my heart, as though I do not deserve this much joy in a single day.
In the middle of the night, I wake around 2AM. I am beset by worry, my stomach roiling, my thoughts gearing up to race. I make a peppermint tea and sip it in bed while focusing on my breath. My habit is to catalog every undone task, yet-to-be-accomplished goal, and perceived failure in both productivity and character. I worry about a fight I had with my mother, about falling behind on projects, not living up to myriad expectations, both professionally and personally. My logical mind reminds the rest of me this is not the time to ruminate - nothing is solved well during the dark hours when night crosses into morning - but my body is already responding to stress signals.
Our culture prizes productivity over preservation, falsely convincing us that our self-worth is determined by outward achievement. I love being productive, and I truly believe generation is inherent in my dharma - I am here to create, to do, to make - but so often I mistake the fruits of my labor for a concrete measurement of my intrinsic value.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the practice of prioritization and the struggle to put our own needs first. So often it’s responsibility before play, family before self care. All the shoulds that make so little space for the wants. Taking time for what you need when you need it can feel nearly impossible.
There are two related ideas I’ve learned in yoga. One, you must practice before you can teach. Centering your mind and heart, filling the internal well before expending your resources - you cannot give what you do not have. Two, a change of perspective has the powerful ability to unstick the mind. Turn yourself upside down, literally or figuratively, and you provide yourself an opportunity to see a situation in a more truthful light, as opposed to the tired old stories we tell ourselves again and again.
Yesterday, we climbed 140 feet above the floor of the Frijoles Canyon to the Alcove House at the Bandelier National Monument. We explored cavates, alcoves carved into the sandstone-like tuff by Ancestral Pueblo people some 500-700 years ago. We searched for petroglyphs along the cliff face. A figure wearing a headdress. A lightning bolt. A macaw possibly indicating extensive trade with Mexico and even Central America. The views were spectacular, from the drive up the mountain and further north to Abiquiu. Three flocks of snow geese swirled in and out of murmuration before disappearing into the sapphire sky. The sun and wind chapped my skin, but I wanted to stay forever, embraced by the natural beauty, humbled by the history of this land, blessed by my privilege to relish this experience.
One of the most beautiful benefits of travel is the shift in perception afforded by a literal change of scenery. The break from the everyday can provide just enough space to see life a little more clearly. Novel experiences have a way of resetting the spirit and clearing the mind. My anxieties have followed me here, but I have the opportunity to see them in a new light, and choose to engage with them in a different way.
At this moment in my life, my challenge is to practice prioritization of my own needs, and when I fail, sometimes spectacularly, my practice is to grant myself grace, to forgive my shortcomings. We are only human and being human is messy. Sometimes our mess gets all over those we love most. I am lucky to be loved despite my mess, and I must honor this gift by caring for myself so that I may have the resources to reciprocate. I want to etch this knowledge onto the walls of my heart, like the spiritual messages of New Mexico’s stone.
Wherever you are, I hope you gain the perspective needed to see your own challenges for what they are. I hope you can prioritize your own needs, grant yourself grace, and embrace beauty and bliss wherever it might find you.
We have two days left in Santa Fe and I plan to savor every moment.