“Do y’all have an evacuation plan in place?” our realtor asked during the walk through. Um, no…should we? Arriving in Hilton Head days ago with a buttoned up plan to close on our new home here has taken a major detour.
I don’t like detours. Nor does my uber-organized husband.
Every step of our transition out of Boston and into the slower-paced, inviting environs of South Carolina thus far has been planned and executed down to the smallest detail. House in Boston vacated and sold? Check. House in Hilton Head on target to close 7 days later? Check. Cars serviced/fueled/prepped to drive 1100 miles south? Check. Hotel reservations complete with rewards points plugged in and back entrances scouted out to sneak our shotgun-riding cat in undetected? Check, check, check!
But like a carefully thought out yoga sequence I bring to a class, things can take a turn. Quickly. The first-time yogi with replacement knees isn’t going to appreciate my pre-planned extended series of Half Pigeon pose. Fine. Rotate him on his back and teach a modification. A packed room with an inch between mats isn’t going to Flip their Dogs without at least one ugly kick in the face, so scrap it and stick with three-legged dog. No big. As a mindful and well-trained teacher, I look out for these live, in the moment realities, and make changes on the fly as I go.
In life and off the mat? Hurricane Irma is testing me.
Um, no. We don’t have an evacuation plan in place…”
Not knowing where we are in the ‘cone’ of the impending storm, we took our realtor’s advice and got on the phone and internet simultaneously to find another hotel to escape to for a few days outside of wherever the hell the ‘cone’ lies. “How about Montgomery? It’s west of Georgia we outta be safe there,” my sweet husband suggested. Great plan, only everyone escaping Florida has the same idea. So several attempts later we now have a room somewhere in Tuscaloosa. Ya..I had to look on a map too. It’s in Alabama, I think.
Phew. Oh..but wait. Another sequence change. Our moving truck with our entire home contents is headed here. Irma’s having none of that, nor is the house we’ve not yet closed on. Doors are locked and closed for the moment. As we scrambled to find temporary storage, thankfully my husband got the owner of the moving company on the phone and turned the drivers halfway through Connecticut back from whence they came.
Like it or not, I’m living my yoga, and grateful as hell for the sequence changes we’ve been able to make thus far. Now to roll my mat out and practice. Because for now anyway, this is this closest to home I feel.