spontaneity
and the benefit of a fresh fruit salad
In an effort to fill up my cup, I threw my yoga mat over my shoulder and left my apartment. There was a 7 pm class at the nearby donation-based yoga studio. Though I probably looked like a very put-together yoga-goer (due to the aforementioned yoga mat), I hadn’t stepped into the studio for months.
My friend Emily met me outside my apartment and we sauntered over to the warehouse where the class is held, catching each other up on our weekends. We both commented on the weather. It’s been brutal in New York. Not just hot, but humid. As you take each step, you can practically see the boiling water droplets rising from the concrete (that’s how humidity works, right?). This particular evening was still slightly steamy, but there was a breeze, and it was closer to 70 degrees as opposed to the 90 degrees we’d grown accustomed to.
Don’t ask me why I thought we needed 30 minutes to walk to the studio (Google Maps tells me it is a 6-minute walk from my place), but we arrived, looked at our phones, and decided to sit outside instead of waiting indoors for 25 minutes until the class began. Our weather talk ramps up at this point. The sky is bright blue, a stark difference from the grey week we’ve had, and the clouds are whisps in the sky. Emily sighs longingly. We look at each other knowingly.
Emily and I have made watching the sunset a routine. Over our 10-year friendship, we’ve consistently scoped out spots across multiple zip codes that provide complete visibility as the sky transforms from blue to pink to orange to purple.
“How badly do you want to go to this class?” She asks me. I laugh. This is the closest I’ve come to making it to yoga in at least eight weeks. I’m sitting outside the studio, mat in hand, and I know in this moment that I’m continuing my eight-week streak tonight. I tell her I’m open to skipping yoga in exchange for a sunset on her roof, contingent on a fresh fruit salad landing in my lap. She nods, and without a word, we begin the walk back to her apartment, stopping on the way at the grocer that sells inexpensive fruit.
Two peaches, a nectarine, strawberries, and two mangos for $8. We turn a blind eye to the bruises and scuffs, applying pressure to the fruit’s skin, hoping for a squish as an indication of ripeness.
Produce in hand, we’re energized and speed-walking back to Emily’s cutting board to prepare our dinner. We make it home and grab knives. I snatch a mango, and Emily takes a peach. Right before we slice open the fruit, I ask if we can switch. Thankfully, Emily has a knack for preparing mangos.
By 7:30 pm, we are positioned on the roof. I’m on my yoga mat (it did get some use!) and Emily is on a tie-dye blanket. We have a huge fruit salad in front of us and we each have a glass filled with ice and LimonCello La Croix. The sky has already started to shift in color and I feel the wash of relief that comes from a familiar place.
It’s my first night back in Brooklyn after three weeks at my parents’ place. I’m back in my own space, and it’s meaningful to spend the evening with someone who knows me deeply. Someone who knows me well enough to ask, “How badly do you want to go to this class?” instead of “Want to ditch this and watch the sunset?” because those are two different questions. The latter is blatant while the former leaves room for interpretation, the understanding that we both know what we’d do on a night like this if we skipped yoga.
As a type-A planner, I tend to be stuck in my ways. I know what I want. I have high expectations for myself, and once I set my mind on something, it’s not easy to change my plans. Simply put, go-with-the-flow isn’t a term I’d use to describe myself.
This is a lesson in flexibility, in making the choice that feels best in any given moment as opposed to rules previously set. Allowing our plans to morph into something new is how I ended up on a roof, watching the sky twirl and twist, enjoying the most delicious mango. As always, Emily and I covered our bases. Under the setting sun, we discussed our careers, family, dating, and how funny it is that we’re living lives we used to dream about while now craving so much more.
We chewed on our big dreams from four years ago and how much bigger they’ve gotten recently. That’s how dreams work, isn’t it? You dream big, and the next thing you know, you’re living the dream. Almost instantly, those big dreams feel small, and your ambitions grow that much grander. To avoid falling into the hamster wheel of nothing ever being enough, it’s crucial to reflect on how hard you worked to achieve what you had wished for just years prior. There’s more for you ahead, but look how far you’ve come.
I’m grateful for my friend who doesn’t let me forget that I’m living out my dreams. She reminds me that I wouldn’t be wishing for more if I didn’t push myself to get where I am today. With love in her voice, she urges me to be patient. To trust the timing of my life. To remember that everything works out when it’s supposed to, that I’m not falling behind, and that my best is much more than just good enough.
I hope these words resonate with you, and aid in reflecting on what you’ve overcome to be here today. I can’t wait to see where you go.
