Could a Buddhist Watch Hockey?

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Windemere Isand, Bahamas
Photo by: Liz Kriston

When I invited myself to stay at my friend and mentor’s Bahamian condo, I envisioned a week of pure relaxation. Thanks to the calming turquoise water; the balmy breezes; the miles of pink, soft sand and the solitude, I pretty much got what I was in search of.

The last year has been a taxing one. I was about ready to explode with stress and strain the weeks leading up to our departure date. The only thing that kept me from sprawling on the floor of my shower and crying in great heaping sobs in search of a release from my stress was my daily reminder that soon I would be sipping rum while seated at the edge of a Caribbean blue sea wiggling my toes in the soft sand.

One of the features of this vacation that most excited me was the fact that the private haven we were escaping to had no internet, phone or television services available. I would be able to completely unplug and escape the constant influx of political discontent, weird presidential tweets and news of unrest and violence throughout the world. The only thing I would know for certain was whether it was high tide or low tide.

I planned on immersing myself in a good book or two. I anticipated exploring the islands getting familiar with the Bahamian people, food and ways. I longed to discover underwater worlds of pretty fish and coral reefs. I dreamt of kayaking with sea turtles and rays. I yearned to float in the warm salt water of the Atlantic and Caribbean seas as I watched puffy clouds pass overhead. I was in pursuit of my utopia, even a temporary one.

This was my chance to heal my broken self and find a way to appreciate the little things in life; to remember that amidst all the craziness of my life and the world, peace does exist.

All of this would have been possible if the Pittsburgh Penguins had not made it to the Stanley Cup playoffs.

I am not a hockey fan, but, alas I was not traveling alone. I brought the husband and kids with me. Honestly, I would not have had it any other way except that as a wife and a mom when one of them is unhappy, I am unhappy. That’s not because I am an overly empathetic person. It’s just that their bad moods rain on my parade. They torture me with their discontent so then I lose my own sense of contentment.

One moment I am quietly listening to the waves crash on the shore and then the next I am shocked out of my revelry by my daughters fighting over one of them locking the other out of the bedroom. One minute I am gazing at a sky full of the biggest and brightest stars I have ever seen and the next I am listening to my husband curse because the internet connection he decided he had to have to listen to the hockey game cutout.

Over the course of the week we were in the Bahamas, three hockey games were aired. As I watched my husband pretend to be happy to listen to the game rather than watch it I wondered: “Could a Buddhist watch hockey.” What I mean is, can any sports fan ever find the joys of deep relaxation like a meditating Buddhist while emotionally engaged in the competition of a heated game or championship series?

Was my husband doomed to have a tension filled vacation when the Penguins bested the Ottawa Senators to make it to the finals?

My husband’s inability to enjoy our vacation may have been a direct result of the constant unknowns and anticipation of whether his beloved hockey team would retain the Stanley Cup. Though he blames Bahamian’s and their relaxed ways of doing everything, I think he was too tense to laugh at all the mishaps which occurred throughout our vacation and take solace in the beauty of the island because his adrenaline was boiling over with sports dreams.

While my blood pressure dropped his was probably at heart attack levels.

After the first day or two, his posture and face became so tight it nearly froze into a grimace which seemed impossible as warm breezes and air scented with tropical blooms ruffled his hair and tickled his cheeks. While he scowled and sneered, my muscles relaxed and a small smile permanently stayed on my lips. We were in the same place seeing and smelling the same things, how could our experiences be polar opposite? When I asked him to lay back with me and gaze at those giant stars, he could barely tip his head back enough to see them because he was so knotted up with stress. It was like rigor mortis had settled into my very alive husband.

A ray swimming through the clear waters of the sound
photo by: Liz Kriston

Seriously, how could one exist in the beauty of a Caribbean island and not chill out, “mon”? I asked him to breathe deep and notice the blues of the water. All he managed was a little huff and puff. I pointed out a sea turtle and a ray as they swam past and he scoffed. I offered him books to help pass the time and take his mind off all the things that irked him. He actually laughed at me.

He was determined to not have a good time.

Despite his obvious irritation, he did not let his mood ruin my good fun. He went along on all my half-baked and poorly planned adventures. He drove on the “left mon” to wherever I asked. He beat and wrestled the parts of the car that busted as we navigated down treacherous, rutted roads to nowhere. He even picked up a book on the last day and read it with gusto. It was a book which depicted Bahamian’s as disorganized and indifferent. He had found an ally in the author. In fact, he insisted on reading me excerpts to prove that he was not alone in his attitude about the culture of the citizens of this island nation we were visiting. I was unconvinced, I liked this place.

I have tried too hard in the past to make sure others enjoyed vacation. I sacrificed my good time to try and make them happy. Fortunately, I have learned my lesson. I can only ensure that I get the most out of my time. I can only adjust my attitude and perspective. Maybe my fun will rub off on them, or maybe not.

I’m positive Lord Stanley was not a Buddhist.

I don’t imagine too many Buddhists watch hockey or other competitive sports. Perhaps golf or synchronized swimming is more up their alley. I can’t imagine any monks being able to stay focused on their mantras or prostrations while wondering whether they would be able to purchase a saffron robe with 2017 Stanley Cup Champions emblazoned on the back.