Productivity, defined

Good lord I’ve been productive today.

Used to be, productive meant getting at least ten things crossed off my to-do list, maybe running an errand or three, writing something, reading something, making something. Like, the actual definition of productivity.

When I’m in Mysore, the definition changes: a day where you go to Loyal World (Target, sort of) and wash your yoga clothes is hugely productive, something worth tweeting home about. What do I do the rest of the time? Practice, read, nap, meditate, chant, have breakfast with folks. The kind of thing that has no real measurable outcome, at least not day-to-day.

So no, I’m not currently in Mysore, but it occurs to me that having a two-month-old is a lot like being there, at least in the how-much-I-need-to-get-done-to-feel-really-good-about-myself arena. Today, as of this writing, a few minutes past noon, I did pranayama, taught 27 students in Mysore class (February slump? No such thing), had a hot breakfast, practiced (before noon? the holy grail), had a hot lunch, and oh, kept my child alive and happy as well. And that, my friends, constitutes a successful day. The boy and I might even venture out into the neighborhood with the stroller today; there is a new coffee shop that just opened a few blocks away. Hashtag win.

And speaking of the boy, he may be starting to wake up. He keeps faking me out: he’ll let out a cry, just one, open his eyes and thrash his head around, then fall immediately back asleep. I’m going to investigate.

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