Stumbling on a Cult
The summer between my Freshman and Sophomore year at University of Alabama I wanted an internship, but found a cult instead. My major at Alabama was Personal Wellness, a discipline I made up, combining nutrition, fitness, and psychology to forge a path toward someday running my own health spa. I had never even been to a health spa, nor had anyone I knew, but nonetheless I was constantly sketching the blueprints for the one I wanted to own: a place where people could do Step aerobics, lift weights, barely eat, and get a facial. I needed an internship. I pored over the health spa classified sections in the back of fitness magazines to start learning what existed and where. That’s how I discovered Canyon Ranch in Lenox, Massachusetts, the fanciest health spa on god’s green Earth. I sent away for their brochure and when it arrived I looked at it so much I practically memorized the glossy extolment of the Canyon Ranch lifestyle from my dorm room in Tuscaloosa. I didn’t want to just go to Canyon Ranch. I wanted to live there.
I soon wrote more or less a love letter to Jennifer, the general manager of Canyon Ranch, which landed me a meeting with her over Christmas break. I borrowed my mom’s car for the three hour drive from Marshfield to Lenox, and my dad wrote me four pages of directions in cursive, never mentioning so much as a single exit number but instead describing the landmarks I’d see on my drive and which ones to turn at. Over a ridiculously light lunch in the main dining room of the Gilded Age estate that is Canyon Ranch I proposed my idea to Jen,
"For my entire life (more like the last six months, but whatever) I've wanted to own a health spa." I told her. "Canyon Ranch is where I’d like to learn how to do that.”
I began crying.
I told her I would live on the premises. In a guest room. Just like a guest. I’d do every exercise class, even the one called feldenkrais which looked lame, even low-impact aerobics which I hate. In the dining room I’d try everything on the regular menu as well as the new ground-breaking low-calorie menu. I’d start smoking now just so I could attend smoking cessation classes. I’d eat granola bars and walk around in a robe and slippers. Every seminar on how to lower your cholesterol I would be in attendance. I’d learn How To Cook Fat Free At Home and try every spa service offered. Insider shit. I’d be Jen’s little soldier, her eyes and ears of The Ranch. I’d report every detail back to her, and together we’d make this place even better. Basically, I told her, I’ll be like your personal spy.
“Wowwww,” she said after a long pause more offended at my audacity than impressed.
“No.” She concluded and smiled politely.
I was given an internship in Guest Services. I would welcome guests, pass on any real problem to properly trained folks, and walk down the hallways while young and smiling.
“Do you babysit?” Jen assumed.
“Constantly.” I lied.
She found me free housing. I would stay with Dan, the yoga teacher at Canyon Ranch, and his wife, Deb, and their daughter, Reya, in exchange for child care while interning at The Ranch. I was in.
My parents dropped me off at Dan and Deb's home in the Lenox, MA on a Sunday afternoon in June 1994. My dad was still pulling out of their driveway giving me a thumbs-up and laying on the horn in support of my bravery when Deb turned to me and said with weight in her voice,
“We're not really Dan and Deb. We’re the Sanskrit names our leader has given us, Ranjit and Kuntal.”
I spun around to see how far my dad’s car was from where I was standing to gauge if they would be able to hear me when I yelled for help, but they were completely out of sight.
Instead I turned back around and answered with enough enthusiasm to hopefully convince myself, "Oh my god that is so cool!"
“Well, let’s get ya moved in.” Kuntal encouraged me as she took the suitcase from my hand and began walking toward the house. “Your bedroom is right across the hall from ours.”