My "Eat Pray Love" Weekend

Within the scope of the human experience, there are moments in which we must abandon the convention of walking on the solid ground beneath our feet and instead try flying, for one exhilarating, gravity-defying breath. Not everything can feel perfect, nor safe, nor economically feasible, nor should it.

This weekend, I should have worked out, so I could keep working my way down to a smaller size. I should have gone to my yoga studio and taken classes, so I could keep the controlling owner happy. I should have created my online casting profiles, so I could have them ready for greedy casting eyes come Monday morning. I should have saved my money, as I've done all summer, so I could get a steady savings account going soon.

This weekend, I did none of these things. This weekend, I went flying instead. And it was breathtaking.

I have made a very good friend in Los Angeles, even though I have only been here three months, and even though my friend, whom I will call 'Evan', was home in Switzerland for a good portion of the summer. I found my couch and loveseat through his roommate, who could not be at home when my family came by to pick it up, but assured me Evan would be. And when my family showed up an hour early, at nine am on a Saturday, Evan very kindly helped us carry a heavy couch and loveseat down two sets of stairs, sleepy-eyed and messy-haired, sporting black-rimmed glasses and a Ducks' hockey jersey. He never even mentioned his serious tendonitis in his elbows, or the fact that he was trying to take it easy for the sake of his extensive golf career. He simply smiled, looked at my dad, and asked, "which end do you want me to take?"

Over the coming months, Evan kept in touch with me by little texts or facebook messages, just checking in on me now and then, in a very non-invasive way, to see how I was faring in Los Angeles. And when returned to the US in mid-August, he made a point of getting together so that he could catch up with me.

This was just over three weeks ago, and I am still surprised at the uncanny amount of things we share in common. While most of these things are random, happy surprises, like the fact that we both adore huskies, or our admiration of acoustic music, or an appreciation for really good food, we also share the not so painless being recently made single.

On Thursday, I found out that Evan had just broken up with his girlfriend. Aware of the fact that I have been struggling with similar feelings for the past three weeks, Evan asked if he could drive over, and if we could just sit and talk. Needing some company myself, and thinking back to that miserable night for myself, I said of course. By eleven pm, we had driven to Yogurtland, poured ourselves frozen yogurt concoctions, complete with lychee and the trademark neon spoons, and settled into the seats of his black BMW. With the engine off, we sat in the parking lane of a busy LA street, watching cars zoom by and people walking dogs and other yogurt patrons, listening to acoustic music, and talking about the difficulties of life and love. While we were both melancholy, the company made the load a little lighter. After we finished our yogurt, we decided we were both still hungry and drove to Ralph's, where Evan decided that tomato and mozarella (which he pronounced in Italian) would be an excellent post-midnight snack. We split the cost of some sea salt, balsamic vinegar, fresh mozarella, tomatoes, and a cheap bottle of wine, and drove back to my house.

At this point, we put on a dvd of "FRIENDS", and then a very strange thing happened; I was directed to sit down on the couch, while Evan whipped out cutting boards and knives and wine glasses and prepared everything, not letting me lift a finger. We laughed through the entire last season of friends, eating our delicious snack and not glossing over the occasional moments of sadness. At three thirty am, acknowledging that each of us had to head to work - he to host a golf tournament, and myself to teach yoga - a mere three hours later, Evan headed home for what was left of the night. Although I was exhausted Friday morning, I felt somehow more confident and settled as I led my students through down dogs and utkatasanas.

After having raved about the Swedish meatballs at Ikea for weeks, Evan asked if I wanted to go to Ikea in Burbank that afternoon. I had spent the week running around, doing extra work and paying traffic tickets and meeting with industry reps, so I said sure, putting my work aside until later. Evan picked me up around three thirty on Friday afternoon. Forty-six hours later, my new-found friend and I parted ways to get back to our responsible adult duties. We did what Evan calls, "wingin' it", which consisted of visiting spots all over Los Angeles, eating too much rich food, and most likely spending too much of the money I have penny-pinched for weeks. I loved every minute of it.

On Friday, we browsed through Ikea, where we took the time to look at all of the furniture and showrooms and ate Swedish meatballs, discussing the merits of fladbrod and of elderberry soda. We met up with two friends, Eric and Tyler, both of whom work at NASA, to go Rollerblading at Skateland, during which time we were hustled and bustled about by the teenagers there, whom we all swore were much less polite than we were at the age of twelve (though our parents and teachers may disagree). We grabbed more frozen yogurt and discussed space ships and race cars (I listened more than I spoke on these matters, enjoying the three guys revel in their passion for speed and driving and rockets). After this, we parted ways with Eric and Tyler, and we did another Ralph's run for sandwiches, which we greedily gobbled up on the floor in Evan's room as we watched the first episodes of "HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER" and "THE BIG BANG THEORY". We fell asleep late, me on the bed and Evan on the floor, both completely exhausted from a long history of being insomniacs.


On Saturday, we woke up at noon, which I rarely do anymore. After Evan took a shower, and just before we walked out the door, Evan noticed a sea of foam engulfing the kitchen floor. We paused to stop the dishwasher (which was apparently not compatible with the sample soap Evan had received), and we laughed as we mopped up foam from under the refrigerator, the trashcan, and between our toes. We ate hot, Pastrami sandwiches at a hole-in-the-wall spot which I was assured was "worth the thirty-minute drive"; it was. We drove to Venice Beach and walked along the boardwalk, so lovely and charming in its dirty, unapologetic way, and watched people skating in a giant cement bowl, men doing flips and tricks with incredible athletic prowess, a towering tree-man walking amidst the floating crowd, robed people chanting kirtan, drowsy bums slumped over guitars like love affairs, and vendors exhibiting their paintings and jewelry and knick-knacks and pot paraphernalia like proud tokens of a simpler life. We went to Third Street in Santa Monica, where we laughed at random books in Urban Outfitters, sighed approving smiles over the rustic couches and tables, reminiscent of the French provinces, in a furniture store, clapped admirably for the street musicians, whose performances were untouched by the slowly falling fog of the Los Angeles coastline, tried on silly accessories and jackets in H&M, and chatted about music (including the song "Ali in the Jungle", by The Hours, which seems so very fitting for this current, hazy phase in each of our lives). We headed back to my apartment, where we made pesto pasta and drank red wine, watched tv, shared foot massages in a simple, kind way, reminisced about home and friends, had cereal and chips at some ridiculous hour, laughed about life, and eventually fell into another deep slumber until late this afternoon, when we parted ways to go back to our little to-do lists.

I have a feeling the to-do lists will always be around, and that's okay. But sometimes it's not so bad to take that list off of the refrigerator, or to hide your planner under your bed, and to say, "hey, let's just wing it."

Who knew you could live such a life in two days?