Last night, at a back to school night, I saw a good friend reach into her bag a pull out a small container of pacifier wipes; I was intrigued. Along with the usual purse items of wallet and keys, her Mary Poppins bag contained a bag of lollipops, more snacks, drinks, diapers, wipes, tissues, a notebook, pen and a depth containing additional unseen tricks of the trade.

I, on the other hand, in my seven plus years of being a mom of three, regularly forget essential items such as diapers and wipes as well as the luxury bits of snacks, drinks and what my friend Fran calls a “busy box,” filled with assorted toys & activities to occupy growing minds.  (Note: Others might think what I consider luxury to be essential, therein lies another hint to my behavior.)  In any event, I never have been, nor do I expect to become one who is always prepared.  I say, always, because there are those times when clarity covers me like a blanket and I deliberately, with extra mindfulness, load a small cooler with enough drinks & snacks to cover additional children and a full “busy box” to distract the little ones at restaurants, and perhaps even a wad of tissues makes the cut for the occasional running or bloody nose.  As satisfying as those times are, they are rare.

The moment I watched my friend dig effortlessly in her bag for the pacifier wipes lasted long enough for me to travel back in time.  I realized, in that brief moment, that the person I am today is a reflection of the person I’ve been until now.  When I first lived in NYC almost 25 years ago, I was in college studying theatre.  On studio days when classes were held in Midtown, we were often away from home all day.  My friends would carry everything they would possibly need for their day in over-packed back packs, duffle bags, or urban-style mail bags.  I, on the other hand, did not care to be that bogged down (nor was I able to anticipate what my needs might be throughout the day); I often left in the morning with only the essentials, usually what was required for class that day and enough coin to buy lunch and drinks.

I lived most of my nearly 17 years in the city that way.  When it came time to consider the realities of raising a family, the city no longer seemed a reasonable option.  Forget the cost (which was a big factor), the lugging of all the extras involved in kids’ needs without benefit of a car was just too much to bear.  Even simple trips to the park, grocery store or restaurants seemed ladened and heavy.  I have many friends who have elegantly made that transition and who wouldn’t have it any other way.

I think Yoga appeals to me, in part, because all I need to bring to the experience is my mat and myself.  Extras like a towel, water and other props are often provided or otherwise available; when they’re not, I learn to adapt and go deeper into the experience without them.  My mat is many things: safe haven, magic carpet, foundation, wings, cushion, home.  The practice animates the mat and infuses me with a sense of limitless possibility.  Like Popeye, I rejoice in the fact that, “I am what I am,” whenever and wherever I may be.  The mat is a potent reminder.

So, instead of feeling like I’m lacking something by not trying to fit my round self into a square hole, I know that all I need to do is show up and bring myself, fully.  Where someone else brings snacks, I may bring levity; one brings extra wipes, I bring extra hugs.  What I bring to any experience may be different from what my more “prepared” friends may bring, but when we all share our gifts, we all benefit.  What I like to take with me most of the time is the ability to be surprised, in myself and others.

Namaste.