I’ve changed.

How desperately do we utter those words? Hoping that this time it is for real. Change, however, is a slow, tricky process. One step forward… you know the rest. I came face to face with the humility of the true pace of the process a few years ago.

I had just finished a panchakarma at an ayurvedic hospital in Coonoor, Tamilnadu, India. Part of the process included daily meditation, discourse, and yoga with the in-house Guru-ji.  From Guru-ji, I learned about the ‘sattvic’ way. 

And my heart soared. Ahhhhh. Yes. Yes. Yes. I’m living life the sattvic way.

I now immediately proclaimed to anyone who would listen to me, that I was now a changed sattvic woman. No matter that I had lived a frightfully city-dwelling meat-eating bug-phobic experience my whole life… now I’ve changed. No matter that I’ve stood on top of a chair because there was a single tiny cockroach in my apartment… now, I’ve changed. 

My friends listened with patience. Smug initially, I had to eat humble pie when I faced the true test of just how much I’ve changed. 

#FrogGate2018

Following the panchakarma, I went to a Goan eco-hut with every intention to reintegrate into everyday life — the sattvic way. 

Unlike my chilly mountain retreat, Goa was wonderfully warm, tropical and home to all kinds of insects. Embracing my new identity of being a sattvic vegetarian, I reprimanded myself for killing the red ants jauntily marching across my laptop. All life is sacred and beautiful.

One day, as I put my clothes out to dry, I felt an irksome sensation on my forearm. With my sattvic intention firmly fixed in my mind, I asked myself: ‘See what a wonderful way in which nature tickles me? Stay calm and carry on’.

I made my way through the bucket of laundry. 

The crawling, sorry, tickling, persisted. I looked at my arm to see a large spider cheerfully making its way across my sunburned elbow. I’m proud to say I gently nudged it off me. When it landed on the bench, I did not kill it. 

I’m less proud to tell you I promptly ran into my hut, took my shirt off shrieking at the top of my voice, and began involuntarily itching my entire body.

Things soon changed. 

Quickly.  After ten days of living with all of God’s creations in this eco-hut, I was a changed person. 

I routinely did yoga with tiny bugs crawling on my person. I sipped hot chai as strange winged bugs buzzed in my periphery. I walked barefoot on the punctured shoreline perforated by dizzy crabs.

I remembered the Disney verse – Every creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name. 

Perhaps, I should write about this transformation, I thought as I undressed for my shower that night. Composing poetic sentences in my mind, I reached out to turn the tap on. 

When I saw HIM. 

A little frog was happily squatting in the base of my silver bucket. You’ve never seen a modern-day Sattvic saint scream so loudly or run out of a room faster. Hiding in the living room, completely in the nude, I bravely issued requests for the frog to “Please vacate the premises.”

The frog wasn’t having any of it.

So, I started to clap my hands. Perhaps if he heard some noise he’d feel encouraged to move? No luck.

I quickly considered my options. 

This poor frog probably fell into this steep bucket, I rationalized. He can’t get out – I must help him. Gingerly, I tried to tip the bucket over. Within seconds, my new reptilian roommate leaped out of the pail and landed high on the wall.

Erm…of course, he could get out – he’s a frog! He’ll probably leap out of here, I hoped. 

He didn’t. 

Maybe he needs ten more minutes? 

He didn’t. 

I know because I was engaged in some kind of bizarre nude game of Chicken with him for far longer than I’d like to admit. 

The game came to an abrupt end when I took the quickest shower of my life with my eyes fixed on the frozen frog on the wall. Later in the evening, I was reflecting on the arduous nature of mental resolve. 

We make a few bold steps in one direction. We want to believe we’re forever changed. We forget how long we’ve held on to certain beliefs or behaviors. 

If you’ve spent 25 years doing something one way, it’s going to take a lot longer than a week to change the course for good. 

True transformations take time

Our hyper-individualistic and meritocratic world makes matters worse. The larger narratives of our times is a belief – that if YOU only push hard enough, you will and can change.

If only you read enough books, sign up for enough seminars, go away to many retreats, starve yourself or Tony Robbins your way out of your own humanity. Push yourself. Harder. Harder. Harder. And when you “fail” – scourge yourself with the whip of deep personal contempt and start pushing again.

True transformations are slow. Slow. Slow. Slow.

They take so much time. And they require more than a month of panchakarma or a library of self-help books. 

If indeed there is something in our lives worthy of tending to, we need support systems, community, love, sensuality, care, and kindness. 

Let’s give ourselves months, years, and lifetimes. 

Let’s give ourselves credit for the micro-shifts. 

*

After dinner that evening I thought about #FrogGate as I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth. 

Cut yourself some slack, I thought. 

I did handle the situation with some amount of calmness. In the middle of patting myself on the back, I yelled out aloud… GAHHHHH. 

Curled up for the night, seated in the curve of the washbasin was Little Mr. Froggy.

I composed myself. Took a deep inhale.

And I promised myself to brush my teeth extra thoroughly in the morning.