Tra-La-La Goes On

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The last Blogchatter BlogHop topic asked: how much do you really believe in eat, move, sleep?
What drives your career—think and grow rich or live in the power of now?
Do you envision wholesome family outings, or are you secretly planning your next solo escape?
And how exactly do mindful eating, exercising, and sleeping shape your 2026?

Very interesting questions. Almost suspiciously well-behaved.

Let me begin with Avadhoot Ashram—a place where my legally wedded spouse occasionally disappears in pursuit of higher consciousness. I accompanied him once. Purely for research purposes, of course.

What fascinates me is the spiritual gymnastics. In one breath, people declare, “I surrender to Guruji.” In the next, they’re passionately narrating how they’re stuck—with their MIL, their boss, their job, their life. Enlightenment, it seems, comes with a complaints package.

This whole “mindful living” business—somewhere along the way—has turned us into hyper-vigilant, self-monitoring, slightly judgemental beings. We are so busy observing ourselves living that we forget to actually live.

Now, ideally, I would love to return to my ancestral home—the one with the open hallway, cross-breezes, and a sense of belonging that didn’t need journaling prompts. That space doesn’t exist anymore. So I built it in my mind. It’s my private sanctuary. I visit when needed. No travel bookings required.

Meanwhile, in the real world, I have a roof over my head and food on my table. That, I’ve learned, is not a small thing. Gratitude, minus the hashtags.

There was a time I meticulously planned family holidays, only to watch my spouse choose his Guruji gang over us. Disappointing, yes. Dramatic, also yes. Then my mother said something that stayed: if he doesn’t spend time with his family, it’s his loss.

Strangely enough, that was liberating.

We had our own adventures—impromptu trips to Sawantwadi, Kittur, long road journeys that didn’t require spiritual approval. My spouse and I even biked from Goa to Ratnagiri once—proof that coexistence is possible without enlightenment.

The kids got their share of chaos and love too—vacations with my parents, and my mother’s legendary travel circuits with her girl gang. Now the kids are independent, my mother’s travels are local, and I’ve adapted. Work takes me places; I stay back an extra day for sightseeing. If family joins, it’s family time. If not, it’s blissfully me-time.

No labels. No guilt.

Somewhere along the way, I realised that all these grand philosophies—mindful living, thinking rich, living in the present—often reduce life to a well-structured timetable of existence. Efficient, yes. Alive? Debatable.

To me, life isn’t about finding yourself. It’s about creating yourself. And more importantly, accepting what you’ve created.

So I’ve stopped timeboxing my life.
If I crave food, I eat.
If I need a mood reset, I walk—or dance.
If I’m sleepy, I sleep.
If I’m not, I read.

Simple. Possibly scandalous.

I’m sure the evolved souls will diagnose me as someone who is merely existing, not truly living. My response? So be it.

As Robert Frost said, “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”

And Albert Einstein—a fellow “fishy person,” if you will—offered this: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

So here we are.

Are you surrendering… or controlling?