A political path to inner peace

It was my first week back from Bhutan, and an email from a treasured colleague (a consummate DC networker with impeccable taste) pops onto my screen. "Caro--are you coming to the launch reception at my house this week?"  Without thinking, I write back "Sorry, I have a hair appointment."  What?   Several hours later, my boss asks me the same question, to which I give her the same answer.  "What do you mean you have a hair appointment?" she responds, "Caroline, have you lost your mind?"  Turns out while I was finding inner peace in Bhutan, I misplaced some of my sensibilities, particularly those related to work.  Luckily, that's why we have great bosses to remind us of priorities like important launch events for projects we deeply care about. The cocktail reception, like its host, is high-cotton.  After polite greetings to key people, I seek out a glass of wine and a colleague who is willing to listen to me talk about Bhutan for the thou

Alarm goes off at 6:30.  No thanks, alarm, maybe later.  Up around 7, turning on lights (ugh), making bed (so I don't get back in) and blasting iTunes (digging the new Ray LaMontagne).  Stare at closet, decide on black dress and beige suit jacket.  Top it off with a glamorous HandPicked necklace and tall black boots.  One dark cup of coffee and bowl of oatmeal later, I'm out the door. It's 60ish degrees outside, ominously cloudy, and way too humid for October.  I hike up my skirt ever so casually, jump on my bike, and ride across town to USAID's offices on G Street.  Just a 15 minute bike ride during rush hour, with my brown leather briefcase perched over my back-wheel-basket.  Did I mention I am wearing running shorts under my dress?  Yep, bright green ones.  And a helmet (of course!). Hikedupdress+tallblackboots+brightgreenshorts+bignecklace+helmet=Rush Hour Entertainment. The meeting at USAID is an interagency workshop on microfinance.  I, along with my Latin

Yes, my happiness-level of late has been markedly other-worldly.  But I still struggle with remnants of my pre-Bhutan life.  Which is why I was particularly delighted when a new practice came to me today during yoga class.  I will hereby call it the “ Practice for dispelling disappointment/frustration/attachment and moving forward into your own awesomeness ” Breathing in through the nose, while thinking of subject of disappointment/frustration/attachment : “I love you.” Breathing out through the nose : “I release you.” (Repeat) Breathing in through the nose, while thinking of yourself : “I love me. “ Breathing out through the nose : “I release you.” (Repeat ad infinitum) Breathing is awesome!

It’s come to my attention that I live a life of extremes.  Granted, they are the extremes of a young, white woman living in the United States of America. (Important to take all things into context.)  But, the fact remains that I am a pendulum of emotion.  Not necessarily swaying between sad and happy (though there is that).  Most of the time, it’s swinging between tranquil and ecstatic .  Or calm, pensive and… karaoke-singing-bourbon-drinking-all-out-thrilled-about-life . Both are part of me.  Neither of which I feel inclined to sacrifice.  But recently, I’ve found myself reflecting on where I am in the swing of things.  Longing for a better balance.  Somewhere between Bhutan and the bar down the street.  Life between savasana and the seventh glass of wine.  It comes down to the Middle Path .  As Buddha taught, it’s finding the balance between seclusion and extravagance, austerity and indulgence.  Ironic actually, considering how I’ve avoided being in the middle most of my life. 

I just ran an impromptu 5K.  With an Ambassador.  From Atlanta.  In Peru.  On the Pacific.  Did I mention I'm not much of a runner?  Turns out running isn't so bad when you have a enthusiastic partner, talking about Latin American politics and the dynamics of US foreign policy.  Whew! The day started with an early meeting at the US Embassy, where we spoke with colleagues who are working on financial inclusion here in Lima.  Then on to a local microfinance organization, Caja Nuestra Gente, to meet with the Executive Vice President.  Though he spoke the fastest Spanish I've heard since living in Chile, I managed to catch most of his presentation.  My favorite part: a new program that offers working capital loans to microentrepreneurs who collect, sort and sell recyclable materials to manufacturers.  Empowering low-income individuals and helping the environment.  I like it. After a delightful lunch with two government lawyers working on secured transaction reform (*enablin

It’s been two and a half weeks since I returned home from Bhutan.  I have fully reengaged in my Washington life.  And yet, the lessons from my sangha are still making their way into my consciousness. While in Bhutan, I found myself craving more.  More direction, more guidance, more exploration through organized activity.  Meanwhile, the rest of the group commented on how much we were already doing.  I felt otherwise—I wanted to pack as much into those two weeks as the hours of each day would allow.  One night, Atum (our subtly magnificent teacher) reminded us that we were witnessing huge archetypal images every day, absorbing them through our 'crown chakra,' and receiving lessons that we may not yet be aware of.  It was true.  I did not realize how much we were already processing—so much was our activity on a different dimension. Now, weeks later, the lessons are materializing as potent thoughts.  Concepts and ideas so strong that I have to pause in daily activity t

I am, once again, sitting cross-legged on the floor.  Unfortunately, Buddha is not in front of me this time, though a small version of him hangs around my neck. Instead, I am in the Miami airport—not exactly a refuge of tranquility and comfort.  But I’m talking to Mom, who is, on the phone.  She’s just back from Mexico, and I’m en route to Peru.  (Yes, I am my mother’s daughter).  We’re discussing Thanksgiving plans, and how I might get from New Orleans to Kenya that Sunday.  Not a bad conundrum to have, despite its logistical complications. Half way through a sentence, I look up into the crowd of waiting passengers and see a character from my past.  It’s Liz Carty, my first boss at Oxfam America when I began interning in their DC office.  She was witness to the beginning of my development career.  I had not seen her in over five years (though she kindly participated in my background check during my transition to State).  Minutes later, we are hugging, realizing we’re on the same

I have six unretrieved voicemails on my phone.  This is a new thing for me.  Not that friends didn't leave messages before--they left plenty.  The perplexing development is my comfort at letting the voicemails sit, unlistened to, with the glaring red '6' staring up from my phone.  Is this a minute consequence of my new spiritual self?  As If I am saying, "Hi, Six.  I am fine with your existence, and no, I don't need to diminish you in order to return to the natural balance of zero voicemails." Hmmm. *** Sitting on the floor in front of present Buddha, right ankle over left knee (mine not his), I tapped into something.  I didn't mean to; I was pretty new to this, after all.  But that's how meditation works--once you resign yourself to non-intention, the intention arrives.  And so it did: one phrase at a time, floating into my head.  I can still feel them sailing in, words strung together with the urgency of desperate need and the calmness of having

One month ago, I set forth on a journey of which the depth would far exceed the length. I returned ten days ago a changed person. Perhaps 'changed' isn't the right word. I was then the person I am now; I am now the person I was then. But an inner source has been tapped and a new dimension discovered; the center stronger and the path more clear. Of course, enlightenment doesn't happen overnight. Especially not for me. The separation anxiety I felt from my work was somewhere between 1) total panic and 2) the single-childless-woman's equivalent of postpartum depression. What do you mean there is no Blackberry service? The possibility of disconnecting entirely was more foreign a concept than 3G in a dial-up nation. By Day 3, I was in meltdown mode, with little chance of rescue. The only option was to drown in the ocean of calm. Of course, once I stopped flailing, I floated. Flying from East to West, against the spin of the Earth, I had the sense of going