The concept of “movement away” took me a while to understand–not with my mind, but in a visceral way. Here’s a clear example: At the University of Oregon where I used to work, parking spaces are at a huge premium. In fact, staff and faculty pay $400 a year for the potential of parking, with no guarantee of actually finding a space. One day, I needed to leave the university–and hence the sacred hard-to-find parking space–in order to go check a proof of our department’s brochure at the printer’s. I assumed (dangerous!) that since I would be returning within an hour–still fairly early in the morning–finding another spot would not be difficult.
When I returned, there were no empty spaces in the covered garage, so I crawled slowly around the outside lot. None there, either. So that leaves street parking. I finally found a space with a meter and dutifully dumped in two dollars’ worth of quarters which luckily, I had in my change purse. I plodded back to the office, mild resentment flickering through my body. I would have to move my car at lunch–using up precious writing time–and the university will not reimburse for the parking meter money. Did I mention the torrential rain?
That resentment is movement away—movement away from easy, flowing alignment with what was actually happening—an unexpected, ten-minute walk in the fresh, moist air.
© Skye Blaine, 2011
