Believe it or not, I am 6 months into my stay at the Himalayan Institute (or was, as of Monday). It's tempting, for me as a writer, and for you as a human in the modern era of attention deficit disInstagration, to quantify the experience. And I can easily do that:

Asana practices done: 180 (if I do only one thing each day, it's this. For sanity. For joy)
Gratitude Journal entries made: 108 (108 is an auspicious number in yoga, so I suppose I auspiciously stopped after 108 days)
Weekend workshops attended: 7
Books read: 7
Times baked for the Institute: 4
Rugs knitted: 5
Paintings painted: 2
Pints of ice cream consumed: dozens
Entire seasons of television shows watched: 20+ (don't judge me)
Storms weathered (external): 4 snow-type, 10 lightning-type
Storms weathered (internal): ...

But then it gets hard. It's easy to look at life as a series of quantifiable tidbits, but like a picture examined from too close up, life loses its bigger meaning, its purpose, when you think about it in terms of how many times you brushed your teeth or went to work. Frustratingly, in life the bigger picture isn't always clear until much later.

So if I haven't written much, it's been because I don't, as yet, have any great revelations. And maybe those won't ever come. But I've been finding a lot more peace -- if not joy -- in the mundane, more freedom in the routine, and less stress about the uncontrollable. And for now, that has to be enough. I have to be enough.

Next week (really!), I'll tell you about how awesome my new job has been, and how cool it is to finally work in the creative space, given that I've been there in spirit since I can remember.