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I Love You.

And I Love Your Cankles.

The Blog

Between conference calls and emails I spent January visiting, then re-visiting, a yoga festival’s website. My wanderlust wanted to take me to Wanderlust. I pictured myself hitting the mat with fellow yoginis soaking in the Canadian sunshine and classes with some of the world’s most renowned instructors. I wanted to crack my practice wide open and walk away mentally and physically stronger. I wanted to explore Canada and all that it had to offer. Was spending hundreds of dollars on a ticket the responsible thing to do having just finished paying off a divorce lawyer? How could I commit to attending without a clue of where I would be when August rolled around? I kept my wallet tucked away and set an intention instead.

“I would like to attend this festival in August.”

I spoke it out loud to myself. I told The Brit. I mentioned it to Gina the Hairdresser. I texted Sara – the Vegan Jew Yogini – that I planned to attend. Would she join me?

January became February then melted in to March. I waited. April in Texas came and went. May and June passed by way too quickly. I tried to be patient.

July hit and high above the water and the clouds we camped in Big Sur. The afternoon mountaintop summertime sun welcomed me as we pulled in to pitch our tent. The heat, altitude, and the hours of driving greeted The Britwith swollen ankles. She lay dehydrated on the ground with feet high in the air as I asked the couple next to us if they had any spare water.

I had worried about the Brit as she sprawled out on the dirt in our campsite laughing at her swollen legs and feet, slowly adapting to the California heat. I was scared – we were 10 miles up a long and windy road at a remote campsite with no cell service and no easy way to seek medical treatment if necessary. I felt frustrated that we had quickly run out of the gallons of water we had brought with us and plans to explore the area that afternoon had been brought to a halt.

Hungry and re-hydrated we joined our new water-sharing friends later in the evening for a few rounds of dominos. We chatted as the sun set and the mosquitos flourished.

“Whitney did you hear that?” The Brit said as we shared a can of dolmas and a bottle of wine with the couple. “Emily has worked with that yoga festival you want to attend. They have one extra spot left on their team. Free room, board, and access to all of the classes in exchange for overseeing the altars and decor in each studio.” Years of event marketing and design experience came flooding back.

I had been waiting for them.

They had been waiting for me.

Worry, fear, and frustration melted away. Gratitude flooded in.

The headline in the next day’s paper: “Swollen ankles manifest dreams of traveling yogini.”

Blessings come in all shapes and sizes.

I love you. And I love your cankles.


(to read more of Whitney’s work, click here or follow her on Instagram.)

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