January 1, 2022 by Amy
2022 Comes With…Teepees?
Happy New Year, friends! Kicking off 2022 with lots of good intentions for this next trip around the sun. My morning meditation told me I have to be open to new possibilities and to new people but my default position is to sit on my couch and not move so we’ll see how that goes. I did step way out of my comfort zone and sign up for a spring writers retreat in Cabo where I’ll stay in a teepee. Granted, it’s billed as a “luxury teepee” and comes with a king-size bed and a bathroom, so it’s closer to a conical hotel room than an actual teepee. It looks like a teepee on the outside, though, so let’s just stick with that.
A writer friend suggested this retreat and I looked at the link she sent and thought that looks really amazing but I could never do it. And then I realized that there’s no damn good reason why I can’t, so before I could change my mind I put down the deposit. That deposit alone has been worth every penny thanks to being able to announce to everyone over the holidays, “I’m going to stay in a teepee!” and watch the various looks cross the faces of my loved ones. It’s been a mix of horror, curiosity, and, “Should we be looking for a facility with padded walls for you?” Then I explain it’s a luxury teepee and then they just look skeptical. I usually have to show them pictures before they get on board.
The facilitator, Amanda, has requested that we each submit what we’re currently working on and what we’re looking to get out of the retreat. For us writers, that first part is called WIP, or works-in-progress. For us humans, that second part is called “you had me at ‘all cocktails included.’” The fact that I have about a bazillion WIPs going but have made no real progress on any of them is what’s holding me up. I struggle to find the motivation to sit down and actually write a lot of the time. I have the intention. I have the ideas. I even have the space.
Hey, look at my pretty space! I mean, it’s no teepee, but still. It’s kinda cool.
(This is me procrastinating doing the actual writing by thinking that I need to include a photo of my space but first I should tidy it up and oh look here are some papers to file and before you know it I’ve spent three hours doing anything but actually writing.)
When it comes to sitting down to start writing…ugh. Once I’m there, I can usually get the words to flow. I’m not sure what the hiccup is at the starting gate. So we’ll see if I can find something at the retreat to get me going. Who knows, maybe those teepees are stocked with sweet sweet motivation.
Retreatants are also asked to answer a few questions before we arrive:
Food: Are you vegan/vegetarian/gluten-free/lactose intolerant or do you have any other dietary restrictions or preferences? Any allergies? What are your least favorite foods? Do you eat fish? Do you eat raw fish/sashimi?
My answer to this is easy: I will eat anything you put in front of me so long as it does not contain one atom of coconut. It’s not that I’m allergic to coconut, it’s just that when I ingest coconut my taste buds immediately begin to riot worse than the people stuck at Fyre Festival once they realized they had no shelter or food and the alcohol had run out. There may be some dry heaving involved once my stomach gets wind of the antics going on up north. I immediately want to scrape my tongue with anything remotely sharp while simultaneously pushing back from the table and emitting some sort of sound that is a cross between a gurgle and a wail. I drink every goblet of water on the table and take out half a bottle of wine before I even realize what’s going on. Snails? Sure. Raw fish? Hundo P. Coconut? Hell, no.
Drink: What are your favorite non-alcoholic drinks? Coffee/tea/still water/sparkling water/sodas/juices? Do you drink alcohol? If so, what are your favorite beverages? Beer? Wine – red or white? Cocktails – what kind? Do you enjoy margaritas/mimosas/bloody Marys?
Well, Amanda, my favorite drink in the whole wide world is Dr. Pepper, followed closely by sweet tea. However, since I have grown older I have discovered that my intestinal fortitude is not what it once was. Gone are the days when I could down whatever mystery punch was served in a cast-iron bathtub on wheels in the basement of Sigma Nu at Wednesday Night After Hours with nary an effect. Now, one can of Dr. Pepper is the equivalent of that laxative-laced Gatorade they give you before a colonoscopy. Only it’s not as gentle. Beer has the same effect. No, these days this party animal sticks with water and unsweet tea (hot and cold), and wine. I can do margaritas and bloody marys so long as we don’t stray too far from the teepee for about 24 hours. Those don’t have quite the same effect as a colon-blow Dr. Pepper, but I don’t like to push it.
Exercise: Are you up for yoga or other fitness classes? Do you have any physical limitations that make stairs/sand/hills difficult?
I’m a freaking yoga badass at this point. I practice yoga almost every single day and have yet to seriously injure myself, so I consider myself an expert. I also love to walk. I can walk for miles and miles, especially if I have a good podcast or good company and I haven’t ingested sugar.
Have you ever participated in a sweat lodge? Would you be interested in trying one?
Amanda, do you know what happens to Bruce Banner when he gets upset? Someone pushes his buttons and the next thing you know Harlem is broken. I’m like this with heat on a slightly less physically destructive level. Heat me up and watch the emotional destruction begin. I can suffer through cold. I just keep piling on the layers and finding more blankets or snuggle up to either of the two humans I live with who seem to harbor internal nuclear reactors that cause them to continuously radiate warmth at high levels.
Heat, though…man. There are only so many layers one can remove in polite company to try to cool off, and even if I could remove all the layers I haven’t yet figured out how to peel off my skin to get away from the dripping sweat that I know is doing the job of cooling my body even though I don’t feel any cooler whatsoever. To add insult to injury, I am forced to wonder what the hell I ate to make sweat smell like that. I become so miserable that I will take the Pope’s head clean off if he dares to get near me with a blessing, much less any other less-holy being. It’s like being hangry only a million times more powerful. If I could harness this energy, I could rule the world. As it is I just sweat, stink, and suck the life force out of any living creature within a mile with my bad attitude. So that’s a hard pass on the sweat lodge. I’m coming to this thing with two friends. I’d like to still have them as friends when we depart.
Leisure: What do you think of lounging by the pool? A day at the beach? A massage on the beach? Hanging out by a bonfire?
Well, this all sounds marvelous. We don’t have to actually write anything, do we? That would spoil all the fun.
Here’s to 2022! May you all find teepees full of motivation and happiness this year.
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