L2 and LaLa.

I spent last week in Montana at Level 2. Holy cow. It's magic. I was playing the role of Technical Coordinator which meant that I basically had to act like I knew what-the-f I was doing with music for a week. And now that I've got that experience under my belt, I'd like to be called by my new name, MC Sherpa, from now on. I was also tasked with time checks, which I specifically tried to pawn off on Gregor before the bootcamp, yet somehow they ended up in my lap. To say I resisted both roles at first is putting it mildly. As the week began, I wanted someone else -- anyone else -- to be responsible when I missed a cue, which happened often. The more I bumbled, the less present I became until Tuesday night when I broke down in my room, writing about every swear word I could think of in my journal. I even started swearing in other languages when English didn't seem enough. And then my roommate, Lisa, came in, happy as a clam after talking with her husband. She made it all so simple for me -- "treat it like your job" -- so that I stopped taking it personally. I realized that until then I had been avoiding accountability with both roles, because I was afraid of failing and didn't want to be blamed for messing up. However, NOT owning my roles, was causing me to be in my head, which in turn caused mistakes. So, this isn't to say that things went smoothly for the rest of the week, but I had a MUCH better time with both tasks to the point where I've spent the last couple of hours on iTunes plotting music for future trainings.

I cannot express the experience that I had at this Level 2. In fact describing even this much feels like a disservice. Baron doesn't teach asana; he teaches transformation. You must sign up for one.

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This blog wouldn't be complete unless I'm complaining about Boston, so let me get it out of the way. Quickly. I returned home from Level 2 yesterday to it being 95 degrees. As I was exiting the plane the flight attendant cautioned me: "Watch out -- it's 95 out there!" To which I replied, "Thank God!" On the drive home, the city teemed with Bostonians walking along the Charles while boats drifted in the river. Now I understand why summertime is the carrot for the other 10 months of the year -- it's beautiful! So I got home, anxious to turn on my AC and kick back after lugging two huge suitcases up the stairs. This is when I realized that I don't have AC. Uhhh, what?! How did I miss that? Because when I got here last September I never thought to ask. For the previous six years I'd been living in Texas where having AC is like a law or something. I couldn't sleep so I went to yoga to cool off, since the studio is only 92. I promptly curled up in fetal position for the next two hours. Thank you, Claire, for being cool about it.

I would be worried about how the hell I'm going to survive the summer without AC, except that I'm moving to LA in about a week. What?! Yep. I've accepted a position at a small consulting firm in LA and I start in three weeks. I never would have guessed I'd end up there, again, but the universe has a way of serving me that which I avoid. I got a place in Brentwood w/ my friend Renee and have wasted no time in establishing a few house rules:
1. No shoes in the house. I can't put my yoga mat down where there might be traces of dog poo. Seriously.
2. Clean your dishes within 24 hours of dirtying them.
3. No talking before 9 a.m. (This one I'm implementing out of kindness to Renee.)
It might sound like I'd be a difficult roommate, so I conducted an informal poll (I asked myself) and fortunately the results are positive.
I've told several friends here that I'm moving to LA, and mostly I've received the sweetest regards, except from Rebecca who promptly asked me if my boobs were real. I'm certain this is her way of telling me she'll miss me. I'll miss her too.