I mentioned earlier I’d brought two books on my trip to the Netherlands. The second one was a bit of a last minute, surprise choice for me. Not long before I left, the Chaplain and I were taking one of our evening walks past one of the Little Libraries that dot our city.
As we sometimes do, we stopped to look inside. I’d actually brought books with me to put into the library, another way of losing weight before the trip. I hadn’t planned to bring any back home.
Then, I saw Tuesdays With Morrie, by Mitch Albom. I knew it was a classic. I think it’s common high school lit reading. I’d never read it. The talk on the cover of life lessons was attractive to me. The slim size of the paperback appealed to my traveler’s sensibilities.
I tucked it in with a couple of other books I’d chosen, and we went on our way.
Just before Christmas last year, I was surrounded by stuff to do, and I wasn’t doing enough of it. I was sitting in a pile of my own expectations and failing to measure up. And I was listening to Pandora’s Pentatonix Holiday station.
I’m still listening to Pentatonix Holiday radio. This year, I have the paid version and no longer have to listen to creepy Subway ads. When I don’t feel like Christmas music, I listen to something else instead of listening to holiday songs out of some strained sense of loyal obigation.
We decorated our tree just days before Christmas. I didn’t go with my family to pick it out.
After the trip, I felt like a different person. I experienced total relief from the stuck feeling, social anxiety, generalized anxiety, and had a feeling of inner worth and peace that went to my core. The difference was immediately noticeable to the others in the group.
As the rest of the retreat went on, and we had opportunities to share our experiences with one another and continue to practice meditation, mindfulness, and other activities to help us remain present. I found that I could sit still without restlessness. I could meditate with a clear head. I could fearlessly make eye contact when I chose to. This is a big one for me – I used to fear that if I allowed someone access to that window into my soul, they would see something ugly or unloveable.
In the information we received ahead of time, we’d been asked to bring something – art or music – that we could share with the group.
There was some muted conversation at the shop where our group met up as the women tentatively felt each other out. We met our retreat facilitators (two were there to meet us, two more were already at the retreat getting ready for our arrival), who told us the plan for catching our taxi back at Centraal Station’s kiss and ride (love that name).
Our facilitators already had a relationship with the shop. We individually went up and told the woman at the counter we were with the group, she gave us the right type and amount of mushrooms, and we bought our truffles.
I had been so focused on getting to Amsterdam, on getting to that shop on the right day at the right time, that I’d spent little time studying the retreat schedule beyond our meet-up. This ended up being a gift – it kept me in the present and didn’t allow me to worry too much about what would happen next.
The next phase of my trip was going to be a psychedelic trip, packaged in a retreat setting surrounded by practices and activities designed to help each of us get the most out of the experience.
That first night, I curled up with my book. It kept me company into the wee hours of the night. I was only able to sleep for a couple of hours between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m., then was awake for the day.
In the foggy, quiet morning, I felt like I had the city to myself. The smell of weed, which gets stronger as the day goes on, had cleared from the air. My hotel provided breakfast, and it was one of the most amazing breakfasts I’ve ever had – a hard boiled egg in a special little egg cup, yogurt, granola with milk, a clementine, and a little glass of chocolate milk. I ate quietly, checked out of my room, and was able to leave my bags behind so I could explore the city without them.
