I didn’t like the guy. I didn’t like the look of him. I didn’t like the way he was talking to other people. I even didn’t like way he was sipping his coffee. 

I was sitting in a coffee shop in Springdale, Utah – outside the entrance to Zion National Park. It was raining. And not one of those cute rains that you’ll see couples holding hands in, swinging their arms, and lovingly looking into each other’s eyes while saying things like, “Oh how delightful,” or, “The world is so enchanted.” No, this was one of those rains where couples un-grip each other’s hands to shield their eyes as they squint while scurrying to the nearest cover. 

I was at doorstep of one of the most beautiful parks in America, and I was stuck inside, consumed with anger for Mr. Patagonia wearing, privilege drenched, climber, latte sipping, strategically placed but unopened journal, pen, and thick pretentious looking novel dude –  listening to him say things to the string of women and men that talked to him like: “Oh this book? Yah… It’s long isn’t it? I mean, I don’t read fiction very often, except for Booker Mann Prize winners.” Or: “It’s hard on rainy days when you live in a van -- even a nice one like mine -- but it’s part of the life style,” or “Me and Amanda, well really it was me, but Amanda came along, I guess, anyway, yes, I broke the record last year for the fastest climb ever of something indiscernible in six … no five …  or was it four hours?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I packed up my stuff, went back to the hotel, curled up in bed, and put on a movie, even though it was 2pm on a weekday. Maybe some “me time” was the cure for this malaise.

Or maybe not. Watching the movie, I couldn’t rest. A thought kept nagging at me. Why had that guy bothered me so much? 

Earlier this year, I learned a new way for thinking about complaints. Rather than analyzing if they are true, I should try to think about what “goodies” they are giving me. The theory is that if it didn’t somehow feel good to complain, I’d be able to let it go. So, I asked myself, what were my complaints about the coffee shop guy getting me? 

That morning, even before I got to the shop, I was feeling a bit lost and wracked with doubt.“Where is this journey headed?”I wondered.“Is this still a good use of my time?” “Have I gotten everything out of this that I should?” “Am I still affirming my values or just running away from life now?” Seeing the coffee shop dude, and complaining about him, helped me avoid grappling with those questions. Instead, I was spending my energy finding points of comparison on how I was better than him. “I may be lost, but at least I’m not that guy!”

But on deeper level, I felt lonely. Yes, traveling alone has opened up so much for me as I’ve written about before. Yes, I love getting emails, texts, and calls from friends and family far away. Yes, I am learning to find sufficiency in myself. But I don’t aspire for just self-sufficiency in my life. I aspire to have a life grounded in confidence in my own worth, AND ALSO defined by lived connection with others. Life is undoubtedly richer when experienced within a loving community. The truth is, as much as I need to do it for myself right now, traveling and sleeping alone day after day can be very lonely.  

So, turning back to my coffee shop man, and seeing him (him of all people!) seemingly making connections so easily while I was feeling alone hurt. Demonizing him was helping me justify my own sense of isolation, and my decision not to be more proactive in combating it. “If that’s who I have to be to connect with others, I don’t want any part of it!” or “If that’s who these people are, I’m better off being alone!”

Once I’d identified why it was so pleasurable to complain about him, I tried to think about what that complaint was costing me.  

First, it was costing me my power. Specifically, it was costing me my power to choose the course of my afternoon and my life. As I mentioned, I’d identified several crucial fears about this journey. Getting answers to those questions will fundamentally change how I choose to spend the next months of my life. And yet, instead of grappling with them, I was letting myself get carried downstream in non-action and judgment of someone who should have had no control over my life.  

Second, it was making me feel physically ill. One of my insights about myself this winter was that when I think negative thoughts about other people, or when I compare myself to other’s success, the costs to me are both psychic and bodily. This time was no different. I realized that despite the rain I’d gone into the shop feeling happy, but I left feeling angry about the rain, physically exhausted, and my head throbbed. 

Third, it was preventing me from having the opportunity to fight my loneliness and potentially connect with anyone else at the coffee shop. I was so busy justifying why I was alone, that I didn’t see that I was playing a big part in that. After all, who is going to come and introduce themselves to the guy in corner judging everyone? Or, how likely am I to take initiative and introduce myself to a stranger who I am thinking negative thoughts about?

My mother used to tell me, “You can learn something from everyone.” I always thought that was one of those annoying mom-isms. But on this journey, again and again I’m learning how true it actually is. 

Here was a man who was on his own journey. Like me, he looked like he’d once been a yuppy but left that world (but not the uniform) behind. Like me, something about the west had deeply resonated with him, and he’d clearly spent months of his life exploring it. He had probably grappled with many of the same questions I was struggling with now. It’s very possible that I would have disagreed with all of his conclusions, but think how much I could have learned hearing him talk about how he made them. Moreover, think of the wealth of knowledge he must have had on places to see, people to meet, experiences to have in this part of the world.

For all I know God (or the Universe, or whatever your worldview is), may have actually put this man in my path. But instead of following the nudging of the universe, I separated myself from him, observed him like a scientific specimen, dissected his faults, and ensured that we never spoke. 

Despite that personal failure, the more I thought about it, the funnier I found the whole situation. For goodness sake, on a superficial level people might have mistaken me for him. I can imagine an exchange between two strangers that observed us both going something like this: “Oh honey, did you see the clean shaven, non-bohemian 30 something dude, wearing a Patagonia jacket, and boldly pronouncing to the world he wasn’t working so he could explore the west and climb mountains during the week…” “Which one, honey? The one in corner in the blue jacket or the one in the other corner in the green jacket?” 

The last step of analyzing complaints is to ask: Now that I know my real need, the need that made complaining so satisfying, can I let the complaint go? Can I take my power back, and take charge of fulfilling my needs directly?

I scrawled in my journal: “Stay with work. Don’t be a victim to loneliness. Take initiative. Don’t judge. Only connect!”

So, I thought, how can I change the course of today? What small act can I do now to take back my power?

A thought came to me immediately, find a yoga class, introduce yourself to some strangers. So, I opened up google and searched for a yoga class. As I scrolled through, my eyes did a double take, there was a studio forty minutes away that was affiliated with Baptiste Yoga (the type of yoga I got certified to teach in). I called the number listed. A woman answered and said there was a class in an hour. 

The studio was beautiful. Nestled into the back of a small mountain ridge, attached to the owner’s home, up an outside staircase, across a patio, and into a sun-drenched, high ceilinged, space for 12. Andrea, the owner, warmly welcomed me with a wave from atop her perch on the patio as I drove in. I was the first person there. But only a moment later, and to my shock, two women from my teaching training appeared!

And not just any two people. One of them, Ronda, had been one of the most impactful people for me in my training in February. We had completed an exercise together where we had to stand in silence and look into each other’s eyes for somewhere between 15 to 20 minutes. (I will spare you the details of why it was so impactful until a later post). But for now, let me just say, I had no idea she lived in Utah, and I never thought I’d see her again. 

Beyond the sheer joy I felt unexpectedly seeing Ronda and Tara again, I loved everything about my afternoon at the yoga studio. The practice was physically demanding, and was an affirmation of community. Andrea’s style of teaching made me feel so connected with everyone else there, despite the fact we were all finding different expressions of each posture. We breathed in unison. She asked us to share our feelings with the whole room at different points. And lest you think this was some exercise in forced positivity, it wasn’t. I was struck when one man at the beginning told everyone he didn’t want to be there, and that he was feeling “somber.” At other times, Andrea let the whole class know when someone had made a breakthrough, and everyone cheered for them. However, my favorite moment was near the end of class when Andrea read a provocative quote and asked everyone (one by one) what they thought it might mean. When she asked me I was upside down in shoulder stand. Given this, I had trouble getting my answer out. So she asked me to repeat myself, twice. Perhaps at another time I would have found this frustrating. But that moment, and in that state, it made me laugh.

By the end of class every face was glowing, even the man who’d come in feeling somber. And after class nearly everyone stayed outside on the patio to talk, laugh, and share their lives. Some people (like me) for over an hour.

The whole experience felt like such an affirmation of my insights from earlier in the day. “Stay with work. Don’t be a victim to loneliness. Take initiative. Don’t judge. Only connect!”

Yes, more of this in my own life, I thought.

As I drove the forty minutes back to my hotel I felt so full – full of energy, full of joy, full of community, and full of life. What a transformation from my drive back to the hotel earlier that day.

And I thought, I’m so thankful that I saw that man in the coffeeshop. Mom was right (even without talking to him) he sure did have a lot to teach me. 

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Post script – if you are enjoying these posts, I’d love to hear what is resonating with you. Just send me a note or post a comment directly onto the website. And if you think someone else would enjoy them, please consider inviting them to read along as well. It’s been such a joy to share this journey with a growing community of old friends, new friends I’m meeting on the road, and strangers who have decided to follow-on too.