فصل 14

14

Life Takes Charge

Surrendering to the flow of life may have seemed like a bold move, but the truth is, I wasn’t all that exposed to life’s challenges. After all, I was spending most of my days alone on my land in quietude. There was one exception, however. I was officially still in graduate school until I completed my qualifying exams and dissertation. That meant I remained on a fellowship at the university and was responsible for teaching one course a semester in either micro- or macroeconomics. My classes generally met three days a week for an hour. I would do my morning and noon yoga practices, run into town to teach, and then run right back out to the land. I doubt I was a real joy to be around in those days—I was completely unsociable. Unless a student had a question after class, I would do my best not to get into conversations. I always wore the same clothes: jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I was either in sandals or barefoot. This might not seem extreme for the philosophy department, but these were junior-level courses in a southern business school. The department tolerated me only because I was a very popular teacher, and my students did really well on the departmental exams.

I will recount one specific class session that was over the top. My challenge to myself was to see whether I could drive into town, teach the class, and return home while keeping my mind reasonably still. To do that I had to practice maintaining a meditative state at many points throughout the day. I would do yoga on the field before I left and do some controlled breathing exercises in my van before going to class. I would even pause to quiet my mind while standing in front of the class before I started and completed a lecture. On this particular day, I drove in, did some breathing, and walked into a large lecture hall full of students. For some reason they started whistling catcalls when I walked in. It took me a moment to come down to earth enough to realize that when I had gotten off the yoga mat out at my place, I had slipped into my jeans but had forgotten to put on a shirt. I was standing there barefooted and half naked. It didn’t disturb me—I just asked the class whether they wanted to cancel today’s session or have me go ahead and teach it. The response was unanimous, so I gave the lecture on macroeconomics without regard to my attire, or lack thereof.

Month after month went by while I was adhering to my strict meditation lifestyle. I was supposed to be using my time to prepare for my doctoral qualifying exams. Needless to say, I had not opened a single book, and I had no intention of doing so. I was done with that part of my life. Or so I thought.

One day, after I finished teaching my economics class, Dr. Goffman met me in the hallway and said he wanted to talk to me. The voice in my head immediately told me that now I was in trouble. He was still chairman of the department, and for sure he had heard about the no-shirt incident. As usual, that voice was wrong.

Dr. Goffman proceeded to tell me that he had received a call from the governor’s office in Tallahassee. Apparently, the powers that be had decided to build one of Florida’s leading community colleges in Gainesville. To do so they would need a powerful leader who could not only handle the educational responsibilities, but also be in charge of fund-raising and financial management. With that in mind, the committee had selected one of the state’s leading bankers to be the president of the newly expanded Santa Fe Community College. During the entire time Dr. Goffman was talking, my mind kept saying, Why is he telling me this? What has it got to do with me? I should be getting back out to my land.

I soon got my answers. It seemed that Florida law required the president of a community college to have a doctoral degree. The banker the committee had chosen, Alan Robertson, did not have his Ph.D. So what did they decide to do? Help him earn his doctorate by partnering him with a top doctoral student who had a similar academic background. As amazing as it seems, the doctoral student they chose was me.

The voice in my head went nuclear. I watched it screaming inside, No! I can’t do that. I’ve dropped out of all this. I need to devote my time to my practices. There is no way I’m going to start pulling down all my old economics textbooks—I’m done with that. In the midst of all that protest, I remembered my recent commitment to surrender to what life brought before me. That voice I was watching was not my spiritual adviser; it was my spiritual burden. This was the perfect opportunity to get it out of the driver’s seat.

Meanwhile, Dr. Goffman was waiting for a response. But the words of acceptance I was trying to utter refused to leave my lips. Finally, I heard myself say out loud, “Yes, I would be glad to help out. I will tutor him.”

In that one moment, the die had been cast. This great experiment in surrender had truly begun.

I was no longer in charge of my life.