The few days before we drove out of Brunswick were full ones. Given the amount of packing and organising we needed to do, I had been wondering if we were going to get to leave on time to get to our first scheduled stop over at Goulburn. As is often the case a short conversation with my wise woman helped change my thinking and at once helped me formulate a mantra for yurting: it has already added significant satisfaction value to our time on the road.
Don't rush.
Don't complain.
What happens happens.
It has application every hour. One of the great things about being away from urban professional living is having more control over when things happen .. if at all. At the end of the day it is about expectations. All frustrations and disappointments spring from unmet expectations. It follows logically then that peace and satisfaction are similarly related to expectations.
The yurting mantra will no doubt serve me well.
But its easy when things go well. Today they have not.
When in Brunswick, Maria regularly goes for a morning walk along Merri Creek. I sometimes join her. When we are away the walk is usually along the beach. The routine is typically that we walk together for a bit, then I go for swim and while Maria keeps walking. So it was this morning.
I had taken the plunge and the inital shock of the water temperature quickly gave way to that invigorated feeling of being alive in the elements. I was just about to take my second plunge into the oncoming surf when I stepped into a dip in the sand and ... twang. It must have looked pretty funny really. My untanned torso literally hopping out of the water toward the beach, every now and again gingerly proping my right leg with tawn calf muscle on the sand ... all the while willing the pain to recede. Sometimes the power of positive thinking fails miserably.
After I tried to keep walking and gave up, Maria kept walking while I sat and waited for her return journey. Scraping the bottom of the barrell of 'this won't beat me', I decided some tricept pushups and bike ab crunches were the thing to do. Sublimely ridiculous really. Maria returned and I hobbled back home. Thoughts of making the most of the surfing conditions before they get huge over the next couple of days fade with every step (I mean hop.)
As one does these days Maria jumps on the internet to do the remedy research. I've subsequently spent the morning shifting between lying on the bench seat with my leg on the adjacent table, offending calf resting on an ice pack (frozen garlic and rosemary sausages), and the bed with my bound leg elevated by a sleeping bag.
Don't rush - no choice there.
Don't complain.
What happens happens.
:)