Heaven at the Hyatt
Last Friday night, Stan and I splurged on a hotel room……in Short Pump. Which was, unfortunately attached directly to the mall. Also unfortunately the Jacuzzi was out of commission for the season and the bathtub I thought would be big enough for two was the size of a dish pan. Still, it was a luxury.
“Why do you and dad have to get a hotel room?” Henry asked while I was packing.
“So we’re not distracted by everything else and can really spend quality time together,” I told him. “Plus, my therapist recommended it.” I love my therapist. She’s always encouraging me to find new and exciting ways to take care of myself. She encourages me to say no to things I don’t want to do and yes to things I do. She encourages me to trust myself and my body. and set strong boundaries and be gentle with myself. She’s a true revolutionary.
Stan and I did not swim or bathe Friday night, but we were able to eat Peter Chang in bed with the ironing board as our table. We were able to connect and reconnect and not feel like we should be doing anything else. We were able to luxuriate in the total empty, quiet of the nothingness around us. It had been far too long. We used to look for God in new churches and synagogues but in more recent years the only shared religion we need requires 24 hours notice and a credit card.