Escaping my Comfort Zone
I waited at the hotel on the outskirts of Amsterdam for a woman I had never met. It was nighttime, and the relief I felt having navigated myself there with no phone or map was replaced by nervous anticipation of what was next because, well, I didn’t know what was next.
Ilma, the woman I was due to meet and stay with per the volunteer exchange program HelpX, was at least a little sympathetic when I cried to her on a Skype video session at a bar in Brussels that my phone had just been stolen. It was comforting, since our previous digital interactions suggested she had a harsh demeanor.
She arrived 20-minutes after me. She was a tall, strong and sincere Dutch woman, only somewhat softened by the company of her old rescue chow with a skin disease called Binky, who I’d volunteered to walk and feed, along with other chores, to earn my stay in her apartment.
On the (slow) journey to her place she gave me the rundown, which seemed more like I was being scolded for things I hadn’t yet had the chance to do wrong. I guess her sympathy regarding my phone had vanished completely because she said something like, “I know you are going through a rough mental period, but I am not your therapist.” Yeesh.
Halfway through our walk she asked me if I had been paying attention to where we were going (nope) because she wouldn’t have time to coddle me and show me twice. Suddenly, I was hyper aware of my green, lush, and slightly dank surroundings. I can do this. Can I do this? I thought.
Her expectations seemed clear, yet somehow vague at the same time. The tasks changed daily, sometimes hourly, and that scared me.
The moment we arrived at her apartment I felt a sense of relief wash over me- that’s just what Ilma’s place did to you. It was squeaky clean, which I would help maintain, with bohemian vibes… though the decor felt like it was there to serve an energetic purpose rather than a style. The place smelled of curry, and laughter bounded from the kitchen.
I was introduced to Georgia, an Italian woman who owned the laughter. I would quickly learn that her laughter was limitless and infectious. There was another woman, a Canadian, who was the current guest at Ilma’s “yoga retreat,” and would be leaving early the next morning.
I was shown to my corner of the living room, where a mattress turned daybed lay that could be sectioned off by curtains. The guest had her own room in the back of the apartment, and Georgia and Ilma had rooms next to each other near the entrance and bathroom.
That night we relaxed for a bit, and I recollected the details of my phone-swipe, and how the police in Belgium were very nice and very very cute. We had an early bedtime, which I was grateful for, as I was expected to wake up with the sun to receive my assignments for the following day. Eventually, I fell into a sleep laced with stress of what the morning would bring.
It came easily, though. I woke up to Binky, ready for his walk. Ilma walked me out and asked if I knew where I was going. I said I would take the walk back to the metro station to re-familiarize myself with the path, and I could feel her skepticism slowly melting.
However, once she took off on her bicycle, Binky had other plans. Should I pull him in the direction of the metro, which Ilma seemed to think was a responsible choice, or let him lead the way? It seemed like he was putting me to the test, and I could either pass or fail. I let him lead, and I’m glad I did because we spent the morning watching the sunrise over a sparkling lake with feeding swans and ducks, whom I became acquainted with over the following week.
When I got back to the house, Ilma was in a flurry (which I soon learned was her constant state) preparing to pick up the next guest. She asked me if I found my way back to the station, and I braced myself before telling her that Binky lead me in a different direction. She seemed grateful that I honored Binky’s wishes, and her skepticism melted a little more.
“Before I go do you want to do a meditation?” she asked. I did. She threw two pillows on the floor, about a foot away from each other, and we each sat cross-legged, in close proximity, staring straight into each other’s eyes. She asked me why I was there, what I wanted to get out of the experience. So, despite her not wanting to become my therapist, I did what I try and do in therapy and said what was true.
I told her that I was scared to come here; that, after meeting her via Sykpe I was nervous because, while part of me knew I was capable of achieving the tasks that she would ask of me, another part of me wanted to hide from the challenge and discomfort of newness. I didn’t want to be coddled – I didn’t want to make easy choices that left me in my comfort zone. I wanted to prove that good things come from making the difficult choice.
The last of her skepticism melted away. She thanked me for being open with her and apologized if she came off as tough- she simply didn’t want to be taken advantage of. Understandable.
Then we meditated for about 3-minutes before she took off to pick up the next guest. I was to wait there, clean the kitchen and walk Binky when she returned.
About an hour or so later, she returned with Carolin, a young German woman who, minutes after arriving, expressed the desire to help me walk Binky. Were guests allowed to fraternize with the help? I could tell Ilma was taken aback- this wasn’t protocol, but she begrudgingly gave way.
Binky was slow, and stopped every minute or so to piss and sniff, but Carolin didn’t seem to mind. She was laid back and warm, easy to talk to. We bonded over Ilma’s… unique… personality and as our relationship grew stronger we would giggle about the barely there differences between Carolin, a paying guest and me, a “paid” guest’s, experiences. Turns out, Ilma was equally as firm about her expectations with the guests as she was with her helpers.
“This is not really what I expected a yoga retreat to be like,” she confided in me.
“This is unlike any retreat I have ever heard of,” I replied. We giggled, knowingly, yet appreciated the simplicity of it all.
Over the next couple of days I would scrub the kitchen floor, the bathroom floor, and help Ilma paint the ceiling. Ilma explained to me that this was humbling work; everything is one thing, she said on her hands and knees, demonstrating how to scrub, “and these tasks that some might deem beneath them are a way to connect and make sure everything within your environment thrives.” Sure, it sounds cheesy, but the vibrancy of her place seemed to sing its truth.
The yoga portion of the yoga retreat was decided daily by Carolin… would we participate in the morning or evening… and we would have sessions in the living room due to the cold weather and rain outside. It wasn’t like yoga practices I had done before.
At first, it was I who was the skeptical one. The style yoga we were doing was much looser than what I was used to. There were no sun salutations or even downward dogs… no opportunity to show off flexibility or form or strength- it didn’t feel like a routine at all. I thought I was maybe too advanced, but the more my ego boasted, the more challenging simple poses became. These moves weren’t about those other things; they were about energy shifting within.
Upon completing our yoga sessions I felt more invigorated than I ever have after finishing a class. I sank deep into a blissful meditative state that I could only describe as “light.”
Carolin and I, when left to our own devices, would head into the city together, and upon returning to the apartment, share stories and I found myself laughing more heartily than I had in months. At night we listened to beautiful music in languages we didn’t understand. Ilma would move her body to the music as Georgia, Carolin and I bonded and laughed, too self-conscious to join Ilma in her freedom.
One day Ilma had a friend over for a lunch of cooked, fresh and local vegetables. Sitting around the table we took turns talking about struggles we were overcoming, and things we were grateful for. The conversation was more than just words. It lacked the artificiality that often surrounds this dialogue. We weren’t trying to get anything from it. We were human beings… strangers, really… deeply connecting despite our differences, about responsibilities and figuring out how to live.
I was sad when Carolin moved on to her next adventure, and I didn’t get the opportunity to say goodbye to Georgia, who was staying at a friends my last night in town. When it was my turn to leave, Ilma woke up at 5am (not much of a stretch for her) and offered to drive me to the airport- a favor that I knew wasn’t offered to all of her helpers.
I felt different as I took off for Quentar, like I had a secret I could carry with me and pull out whenever I needed a reminder of how beautiful life could be.
I thought, “I should get out of my comfort zone more often.”
