Last weekend, the husband and I got out of dodge and headed up to a bluegrass festival in the Berkshires. My intention was to put myself in a musical bubble of goodness for three days and take a break from every last thing that has been weighing me down.

Alas, wherever you go, there you are.

Our first stop was the Airbnb, a carefully vetted spot just outside of the music venue. It was a historic home with an attached apartment and we would be living alongside the host family. Well, in no time flat, we realized that our hosts clearly were not of the same political slant as us. Any other time in the history of my life and this would be a non-issue. Last week, yikes. I couldn’t help entertaining a host of questions: If they knew where I stood, would I still be welcome? Would my people be welcome here? Perhaps I was writing a story but how, how, how could I not given our current state of affairs? These thoughts pricked away at me and my perfect bubble almost immediately (and they would gnaw at me all weekend.) 

Thank goodness for the music festival. It will fix this!

The weather, the vibes, the music, the good people, yes, it was all incredibly lovely. But, in all honesty, it didn’t take long for my mind to be pulled by the fair share of inconsiderate people and oblivious people and the infernally hot mid-day sun and the goldenrod and have I mentioned the Port-o-Potty situation? As beautiful and near-perfect as it all was, I could see how easily my experience was swayed by the inescapable variables within my perfect bubble and the story my mind would write about them. By Sunday morning, it dawned on me: Wherever you go, there you are. And, there they are. And, actually, there everything is. I can try to ward it all off, but as long as me and my mind are the common denominator, wherever I go, there will, in all likelihood, be trouble. Shakespeare was right. Whether I’m loving the moment or at war with it, it’s “my thinking that makes it so.”

On an idyllic field teeming with the best possible energy, I found it hard (just like everywhere else) to let my brain rest. However, as I thought things through, I remembered that inherent in any given moment, there is a seed of duality—something beautiful and something not-so-beautiful to observe. What I choose to look at is, well, my choice. For the remainder of our time. I let myself love the festival for what it was and the people-y people for who they were and when I noticed my tendency to seek out the faults, I worked to re-focus on the beauty at hand and the unity in music. It was work and, to be honest, I’m still plugging away at it. 

I recently had a teacher say, “Is it a problem to be solved or a reality to be accepted?” In the end, we left the Airbnb a day earlier than we originally intended. It was an action that was well with my soul and a solution to a certain degree of angst for me. But mostly, the weekend was about accepting my reality—a mix of conditions that was gorgeous for the majority of the time and people-y for some of the time and chock-full, as always, of self-study opportunities and the world’s best sweet potato fries.

Wherever you go, there you are, indeed.

Much love, Crystal