Want

A few years ago, Esalen had a slackline set up on the lawn outside the lodge. It was only a few feet off the ground, and the people who were walking it made it look easy and fun. So I gave it a try:

More humbling than it looks.

Hey! Looks like I'm doing pretty good here! I'm not clutching my cohorts' hands! I'm not off-center! I'm on one foot!

For about a second and a half.

The nylon line really quickly started to vibrate and swing back and forth. I pitched off, propelled and twangy and grassy.

My man just now sent me a link to Phillippe Petit's new classes in NY. Considering the slackline I tried was pretty much two-dimensional and still as hard as hell to stay upright on, I just can't imagine walking a metal rope that vibrates and twists. But damn, do I want to learn.

Just as easy as it looks.

Time to turn the raisin back into a grape.

Twice a year, I go here:









To do this:

With this guy:










Who also happened to perform my wedding ceremony, in which I married this guy:








Which is wonderful.

But I'm ready to go to the coast. I've had one day off since the beginning of July, if you don't count sick days, which I don't. I've been writing and reviewing marketing content for more than 50 hours a week, every single g-ddamn week. I've become so intimate with the nooks and crannies of the conference rooms at the office that there is nothing new for me to discover there.

So off I go to Esalen.

Organic food, endless processing (Esalen is very gestalt-y), a soft down comforter on chilly ocean mornings. No phone. No computer. Hardly any booze. Ornamental chickens. And humidity. I will plump right up. The crow's feet will disappear. My hair will get curly. I'll spend hours naked in hot springs with people whose names I do not -- and will not ever -- know. And we'll weep when we part at the end of the week.

Send me now.