The Town Felt Small
Or maybe we were just hangry.
The Town Felt Small
My 17-year-old son and I were walking back from Indiana University’s campus in Bloomington.
Bright sky. Sunny. 50 degrees in February. Perfect college-tour weather.
We started the morning at a local breakfast spot. My son ordered a sandwich called The Jersey Shore — pork roll, egg, and cheese.
And yes — they called it pork roll. Which, if you’re from North Jersey, you know matters.
Already, we felt oddly at home.
If you’ve toured colleges, you know “fit” is everything. Big school. Small school. City. Rural. Public. Private. So many layers for a 17-year-old who wants independence but isn’t fully sure who he is yet.
So our approach has been simple: go see it. Walk it. Feel it.
That’s how we ended up in Bloomington — a big public Midwestern university known for being one of the country’s best college towns.
Before the walking tour, a freshman from Chicago gave the presentation. Business school kid. Funny. Confident. Laid back.
He warned us about the “excessively large squirrels” on campus. Apparently there’s even a squirrel-feeding club. Hence… the “excessively large squirrels.”
My son was engaged. Laughing. It felt like his kind of people.
Then we toured the beautiful campus. Student union. Business school. Sports media program. Club soccer. Big Ten athletics. The benefits of a large public university.
Our tour guide? From New Jersey. Her mom still lives in Hoboken.
So there we were walking IU’s campus, talking about PATH trains and shore summers.
The campus had big energy but it was also grounded. Friendly. Easy. Youthful.
We both liked it. Maybe even loved it.
And then around 3:30pm, the tour wrapped up.
I hadn’t eaten yet that day. My son is 6 feet tall and seemingly always starving. We had walked the entire campus plus the stretch from our hotel.
We were hungry.
Actually — hangry.
If you live in Hoboken, Jersey City, or New York, food isn’t a question. It’s an assumption. You want something at 3:47pm? It exists.
Bloomington, Indiana, between 3 and 5pm?
Different story.
We walked Kirkwood (the main street).
Closed.
Closed.
“Reopens at 5.”
“Dinner service starts at 4:30.”
And listen — I know hangry.
I intermittent fast about 20 hours most days. My team at the studio can tell when it’s close to my “feeding time.” My eyes widen. My tone shifts. I’m not my best self.
So I recognized the signs in my son.
His voice got sharper.
His body language more aggressive.
That’s when he said it:
“This place feels kind of small. There’s nothing here.”
I took a breath and paused a second.
Coming from Hoboken and going to school in Jersey City — where Manhattan is basically our backyard — he’s used to People. Action. Movement. Options.
Bloomington has about 80,000 people. Jersey City has over 280,000. New York City… 8 million.
But here’s the truth:
Perspective shifts quickly when you’re 17. Reality can seem elusive or at least constantly changing.
I reminded him dining halls are open all day. Swipe your card. You can eat whenever you want. Problem solved.
But when you’re 17 and starving, logic doesn’t land.
I started to scramble too. The first restaurant I tried - Farm Bloomington - wasn’t open despite what Google said. An Italian place we walked to had no tables. I felt myself starting to spiral.
Eventually we landed on Upland Brewery. I called an Uber. Ten minutes later we were seated.
Crisis averted, I thought.
But the narrative had already started forming:
“There’s nothing here.”
“It’s one street.”
“I want a city.”
And that’s where this story stops being about food.
The Yoga
In the Yoga Sutras, Patanjali speaks about viveka — discernment. The ability to distinguish truth from distortion. Reality from reaction.
When you’re hangry, perception gets cloudy.
Not just from food — from stress, ego, exhaustion, fear.
We all do this.
We make decisions from a foggy state and call it reality.
Teenagers choosing colleges.
Adults choosing careers.
Big decisions. Small ones.
Happening every moment of every day.
And guess what? Yoga doesn’t remove emotion.
It just helps us see through it.
It teaches us to pause first and then ask:
Is this actually true?
Or is this just the cloud covering the reality? The distortion covering the truth?
That’s discernment.
Three Ways to Practice Discernment
Check the state of your body first. Hungry? Tired? Overstimulated? Don’t make big decisions from a distorted place.
Delay the conclusion. When a strong opinion forms quickly, give it space. Sleep on it. Revisit it later.
Separate fact from feeling. “There’s nothing here” is a feeling. “Most restaurants are closed between 3–5pm” is a fact.
That small gap between reaction and clarity? That’s what practice helps us develop.
The Life Part
At some point, you realize:
It’s about clarity.
You can feel lost in a city of 8 million.
You can feel grounded in a town of 80,000.
The place doesn’t make the person.
But the ability to see clearly — that will.
And that’s something yoga is helping us cultivate.
Keep practicing,
Patrick
P.S.
Retreat works the same way.
It’s a shared container — practice, meals, conversation, silence.
You show up.
You participate.
You practice discernment.
You leave with clarity.
Tour With Me
🌲 Maine Retreat – June 4–7, 2026 | Yoga & Writing in Nature
🌊 Portugal Retreat – July 5–12, 2026 | Madeira Island
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