What it means to retreat
and the joy of a music festival
What it means to retreat
One week ago, I was arriving at Pendarvis Farm in Happy Valley for my favorite weekend of the year: Pickathon.
This was my fourth Pickathon, and my first Pickathon, pregnant. I went into the weekend, confident I would have a good time, but also a little nervous that it would feel different. I wondered how camping would be for my body, how dancing would feel, if I would get overstimulated by all the sounds and sights and people… My nerve endings are living closer to the surface now, and my heart, more tender than usual.
Some things did indeed feel different: I had to take breaks to put my feet up; sleeping was not as comfortable as it usually is; there were a few times I had to run away from a loud speaker because I thought my head would explode; I even noticed I couldn’t laugh as much as I wanted, because laughing hurts my belly (definitely the cruelest trick of pregnancy).
But even with all this, it was also still one of the most delightful, wonderful, nourishing times I’ve had all year: I listened to music, I danced, I ran into so many friends, I rarely looked at my phone… I felt connected, patient, and appreciative - things that I do not feel when I am busy, distracted, or anxious. It was, for me, a retreat.
When you think about it, “retreat” is kind of a funny word. One cannot retreat from something without moving closer to something else. Last weekend at Pickathon, I retreated from work and productivity, and moved toward presence and spontaneity. I moved away from news and information and toward music, feeling and connection. I gave myself space to be where I was.
As I return to my regular, everyday, non-music-festival life, I am trying to remember that I always have the option to retreat from some things, and to move toward others. One weekend away is not, in itself, life changing - it is how we continue to retreat and move toward that matters most.
Looking ahead to next month’s retreat, I am trying to stay grounded in the present. I am trying to remember that, as long as the essentials are taken care of, I do not need to over-plan or worry. This will be my tenth retreat, and my third that I’ve organized and taught, solo. I trust in my skills as a teacher and planner, and even more than that, I trust in my ability to be present with my students; I trust my students’ ability to be present, too.
It’s a time of big transition in my life, from working and having no kids, to several months of not-working and a lifetime of kid-having. I am certain that I will soon need to retreat from many things that I have, until now, been immersed in; I am also certain that this transition will all but force me to move toward many other things that I have been avoiding. I know transitions never end, just as the oscillation of retreat-advance-retreat-advance never ceases. I cannot wait to see what this change of season brings.
To read more about my Fall Equinox Retreat, check out this little ditty on my website. To get a flavor of what the retreat was like last year (same place, different season), check out this IG reel that still makes me cry. And to hear more about my philosophy on retreats in general (and to see some beautiful footage from Yelapa, Mexico!), take a lil peek at this sweet video my friend, Dillon, made. We have a fabulous group of humans signed up already, and there is room for you, too.
Sending you all so much love and tenderness. Keep dancing, and resting when you need it,
Abby
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