It’s November 12, and I’m not on my honeymoon.
For the past three years, until this August, I’d planned to get married yesterday, on 11/11/11. Eleven has been my lucky number since I landed on square 11 and won a cakewalk when I was in kindergarten. In numerology, 11 is a master number; for gamblers, it is lucky. But as the date neared and my three-year relationship faltered, we both knew that getting married was too big a gamble. This date upon which I’d fixated was just a number, I told myself as the wedding looked less and less likely. It’s just a date. But 11/11/11 loomed on my horizon like a great big failure.
In August, I visited Irum, my yoga mama in Costa Rica. I told her about my disintegrating wedding plans and my inability to let go of the dream. “It is OK, Robyn,” Irum said. “It is always OK to have desires. It is the attachment to the desire that makes us crazy.” We did 108 sun salutations and burned up attachments in a fire ceremony during the full moon. I went home and ended the relationship, and we are both better off. But when November rolled around, I felt again the loss of this dream.
So I hopped a red-eye for Jamaica. I’m here on a press tour with six lovely women and two Jamaica Tourist Board representatives whose lilting cadence and sunny demeanor make it impossible to feel sorry for myself for long. I landed at the Round Hill Hotel and Villas and headed for the spa, where Winsome (appropriately named) worked all the sadness out of me, along with the rocks in my shoulders. I felt the power of my perceived losses melt away, and I began counting my blessings. I opened up to realization that I was exactly where I needed to be.
When my massage was over, Winsome suggested that I choose a stone from a basket in the reception area, think of a wish, and toss it into the ocean during the walk back to my room. I picked an emerald green stone and started walking, past rocky caves and lush junglescape, listening to the waves crashing on the beach. Life felt so good that I had a hard time coming up with anything to wish for. I had everything I could possibly need—and so much more.
I passed a local sitting on the beach, and I waved. “One love, mon!” he said, and I found my wish. “I wish to be surrounded by unconditional love,” I said as I tossed the stone into the crystalline blue water. I stopped a minute because it didn’t feel complete. I thought about Irum and Winsome and all the powerful, nurturing women who have helped me with my self-induced hurdles over this past year. “I wish to be the source,” I added. “I wish to give it back.”
That’s officially three wishes, I guess, but I’m pretty sure the Universe isn’t counting. After all, it’s just a number.
At Jamaica’s Round Hill Hotel and Villas, a good massage can help emancipate us from mental slavery. It may be the best medicine.
