As we drove back from Croatia late one night in early August, I was tormented at the thought of surviving another month of summer with these children. I should mention that it wasn't just having the girls home all day that made it so challenging. It was having the girls AND the mother, plus being stuck out in their village house. I saw no point in me being there. I had NO freedom, NO privacy, and NO idea what I was suppose to be doing half of the time. How was I going to make it another month, when each day seemed to trickle by slower than the one before? Their attitudes, disrespect, and disobedience were at an all-time high. How would I tolerate it until my planned Italian holiday at the start of September?
The next morning, Josef and I drove to Hluboka. (I had insisted I needed to go.) I thought this would be an ideal time to discuss my departure, which I had decided should be around early October. I am not sure exactly how the conversation went, but I do remember him trying to convince me to stay longer, saying I could go back home in October, then return after a few weeks... so I thought he was saying. I was half-ignoring his attempts of persuasion until I heard him say, "And you could leave this Friday."
Uhhhh, back it up sir. What? He continued by saying that I could go home that Friday (in two days time) for three weeks in August. Slowly, the proposal began to seep in and I suddenly comprehended it. Go home now? Escape these horrid last few weeks of August.. the perfect escape of this torture? Holy intervention!
After this, my mind went into hyper-drive going a thousand miles a minute. Planning all the things I could do. Would I surprise my parents, or would I tell them? Oh, but what about my Italian trip? I must go all the arrangements are made and Megan is flying all the way from Colorado to join. I mentioned this to him, and he had no problems with it!
Immediately upon him dropping me off at the house, I began to search for flights. Within a few hours, I had made all the plans in my head and emailed him the ticket I wanted. I began to pack with the eagerness of a child before Christmas day, frantically throwing everything in my suitcase. He purchased the ticket that Wednesday night. By that Saturday morning, they were driving me to the Prague airport.
I could scarcely believe my luck. I leaned against a wall of the gate, waiting to board, cursing my heavy, cumbersome backpack, curious as to how on earth I had accumulated so much junk over the last 9 months, and extremely eager to be home in Tennessee. Things were announced in Czech and people became to scurry about. I shuffled closer to the check-in even though I assumed they were asking for first-class and Delta's "Medallion Members", which was definitely not me.
Eventually, there was another announcement and everyone began to rush towards the gate. I followed suit and gathered with the mass. I was appalled and equally dumbstruck at the lack of any structured queue. Hordes just stood clumped together with no attempts to form a line. I was bewildered as to how this would not take centuries to board with no organization. To my amazement, the heap of people swiftly funneled through, boarding with ease.
To my left, I noticed a tall man with glasses smiling at me. What the??? I responded with a slight scowl. I am not sure when or how I became so unfriendly and guarded, but I have. I glanced down at his boarding pass only to realize we were sitting beside one another. Great, I just glared at him. Now, I have to sit beside him for the next 10 hours. He was probably smiling because he saw my boarding pass and noticed we would be neighbors. Oh brilliant, way to be sour and rude. Perfect, really.
I had scored a window seat. The tall man and I sat side-by-side, and I realized I had to decide. In those first few minutes of boarding and waiting for take-off, each passenger has a crucial decision to make. Will I or will I not talk to my neighbor(s)? There is a small window of opportunity to strike. Either you and the neighbor will be chatting for the next 10 hours, or you both will be sitting in ridiculously close proximity and trying to pretend the other doesn't exist, which makes those accidental elbow or thigh brushes when you fall asleep that much more awkward.
Since I had managed to snub him once, I realized I must speak to him. "Hello." I said cheerily, perhaps to cheerful, nearly bordering forced. "Hallo!" he retorted earnestly with a large grin spread across his face.
"Where are you from?" I ventured.
"Austria. And you?" he asked pleasantly.
"I'm from Tennessee. I am going home for a few weeks. I have been working in Czech the past nine months. And what about you? Are you on vacation?" I continued while attempting to organize myself , desperately clutching the plastic-encased blanket that was disobediently sliding off my lap and shoving my book Eat, Love, Pray into the pocket in front of me whilst my Ipod crashed to the floor.
"Umm, yes, I will take holiday in California for three weeks," he replied with a grin and a prominent Austrian accent . He sat up very straight and unlike myself was not fighting with three different forms of entertainment, 2 pillows, and an unruly blanket. He simply had himself, no gadgets or gismos. I could not help but be intrigued by this man and his severely pleasant disposition.
I couldn't help but stare at him out the corner of my eye. I was something similar to a dog that hears an unrecognizable noise, tilting my head left than back right and finally left once more. It should be stated that my attraction to him had nothing to do with his physical appearance. For lack of a better word, his "aura" emanated something completely captivating and magnetic. As bizarre as it may sound, the inner peace he exuded was so potent and tangible that I could nearly feel it enveloping me, as if I could rest my head on it's shoulder while we chatted over a glass of red.
A few hours into the flight, he gathered from his neck a string of brown beads with a red tassel on one end. He was sitting completely erect in his chair, shoulders rolled back, I'm talking textbook, pageant-girl posture! He closed his eyes and thumbed at the beads letting each individual bead slide between his thumb and pointer fingers. Is he praying? Ahhh, maybe he's Catholic and that is rosary. Then, he slept for two hours seemingly never moving a muscle. Ha. Wouldn't you know Austrians sleep in a military attention position, probably just like their cousins, the Germans. I couldn't help but laugh to myself.
As I said before, I really could NOT stop looking at him. Like a creepy lunatic, I watched him sleep. I peered at him with both admiration and complete bafflement. What was this guy taking? I wanted some. Did he just have mind-blowing, euphoric sex moments before boarding the aircraft? Had he won the lottery? WHAT was this man's secret? Why could I feel his peacefulness and contentment?
In attempts to tear my eyes away from Marcus the Austrian angel, I resorted to my various forms of entertainment. I threw on my earphones, pulled out some pretzels, and grabbed my book from the pocket. Now, every sense is engaged in its own activity, and I can finally stop looking at this poor, unaware man.
I examined the pitiful condition of my book and let my hand glide over the tattered cover. While annoyed with my inability to take care of my possessions, I uncovered a clue. OH, what's this? I studied the cover more closely. Eat was written in pasta noodles, Love from exotic flowers, and Pray from brown beads with a red tassel at the end. I tried to peek down his shirt at the beads hanging from his neck. Yes, the same! YOGA-- he is a Yogi! He is meditating not sleeping. I concluded.
This past year, two things that have greatly appealed and interested me are, the concept of inner peace and contentment. I was reading this book Eat, Love, Pray by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is about a woman's search for pleasure, dedication and balance between the two. Although, I am not a huge fan of the way it is written, and I found the main character completely obnoxious and needy this is not exactly the point. The point is, I enjoyed the information she gave about Yoga, an activity I had always believed was nothing but a torturous exercise class offered by fitness centers, and completely unaware that it is an entire way of life.
The idea of quieting my body and mind from my own pesky thoughts, and simply exist and truly listen for an amount of time, greatly enthralled me. I have been subconsciously searching for something the past year, perhaps a spiritual revelation or awakening or simply an answer. How strange that of all the flights I could have taken, and all the seats I could have chosen, I ended up next to the yoga practicing, Marcus the Tranquil.
After this discovery, I couldn't even try to stop staring at him. I willed him with my eyes to wake-up. I wanted to talk to him and find out more information. I remember having the exact same sensation as a child once.
My parents were keeping a baby girl of some friends for a few weeks, while her parents were in Europe. I remember sitting Indian-style on the floor staring into her crib, desperately wanting to wake her up, so I could have the chance to hold her. I remember the threats from my mom not to touch her or wake her, so I resorted to attempting to stare her awake. Not that I wanted to hold Marcus on my lap while he cooed, (although the mental image of me cradling a man all of six-foot five is rather hilarious)... but it was the same eagerness and excitement.
Eventually, he woke up or finished his meditating, and I pounced and began to ask him a million questions, and say things I would never say to a man, especially not a complete stranger. I felt I could be completely honest with him. He told me that he was, in fact, a Yogi, a vegetarian (as are most people who truly practice Yoga as a lifestyle), a Christian, had a girlfriend of 8 years, and was going to a three-week Yoga convention in L.A. He claimed his guru was Paramahansa Yogananda, an Indian man who died over 50 years ago, but is still revered as one of the greatest teachers of ancient wisdom.
I explained that I could sense a peace about him and did the moment I saw him back in Prague... an internal stillness and contentment that radiated out of him, and instead of being freaked-out like one would expect a man, especially a stranger and man to be after a statement like this, he simply replied, "Oh, you noticed that." The way a person would respond if they got a haircut and a friend happened to notice and comment. I searched through his rectangle-metal frames to his greenish-blue eyes that seemed to smile back at me. Fine laugh lines had formed on either side of his eyes, and we stared at each other unwavering, and yet it felt as natural as if it was my friend of many years.
We continued to discuss Yoga and the search of inner peace. Every word that waltzed from his Austrian mouth was positive and upbeat. It seemed as if he had a forcefield formed by positive energy that filtered out all negativity. He was unscathed by nuisances such as, 10-hour long flights, going without a meal because there were no vegetarian options for him, crying babies, loud, untamed children, or general discomfort of flying.
"I'm really glad I sat next to you," I said unabashedly.
"I think we were destined to meet," Marcus responded. Then, he took his brown beads from his neck and held them out to me. "These are for you. I have many of these, so I don't need them. I hope they will bring you power." I graciously accepted them, and was nearly moved to tears.
As the plane landed, he promptly popped out of his seat and grabbed his small backpack in the overhead compartment, and then, turned to me. "Well, goodbye!" he said perkily while shaking my hand. I thanked him again for the beads and bid him farewell.
He briskly walked out of the plane and didn't turn around. It was peculiar how I could feel such a connection with a complete stranger. I found myself smiling without truly understanding why. What was even more odd for me was that I didn't feel a sense of sorrow, the way I normally would if I met someone I connected with and parted with nothing but a first name and a memory.
However, the whole situation seemed so divinely orchestrated that I couldn't feel anything but happiness. I proudly walked towards Customs with the beads dangling from my neck. I could see Marcus's tall, balding head towering above, and his lean frame patiently waiting in the Non-U.S. citizen line with a navy blue binder in one hand, and that magnetic, indescribable serene smile swept across his mouth.
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