March 2015 – Britt Skrabanek

Cat Yogi

One night last week I decided to treat myself to a Yin class. Usually I go for Vinyasa, because I adore the active flowing movement of this practice.

But, I’m also a firm Yin believer—especially with go, go, go people like yours truly.

I’ve been incorporating Yin into my practice for the past three years. I stumbled upon it accidentally, since I had a teacher that specialized in that particular style.

I remember the first class I took was so different from anything else I tried. In fact, I was confused.

Because though it looked like we weren’t doing much, it was one of the most difficult classes I have ever taken.

Mentally and physically Yin is ridiculously challenging. The poses are usually held for five minutes and rather than fighting the emotion and the body, you have to surrender.

For you Type A people like me, surrendering is just something we don’t do. Which is why I love Yin. It is a true test of what I am capable of, when I explore this unfamiliar stillness.

Well, there’s someone else that loves Yin in this house. Someone that looks a lot like a stuffed animal.

For any Yogi with pets out there, you understand the struggle with having a regular home practice.

When you’re on the floor, you’re fair game. You will be licked, mounted, and humiliated.

Aphrodite the cat usually gets kicked off my Yoga mat once sun salutations are in full swing, but she always comes back at the end of class and we do Savasana together. (It’s her favorite pose.)

So, when I took an advanced Yin class the other night—meaning seven minute holds instead of five—she took the entire class with me.

No, she wasn’t stretching next to me. She was on me.

I realize that grabbing an iPhone to snap pix and take videos during any Yoga class is taboo. But I needed to show proof to the world that humans aren’t the only ones that like Yoga.

Cats like it too.

I know, I know. We’re the cutest.

To tell you the truth, even though I’m usually irritated with my cat for “disrupting” my Yoga class, the other night I was fascinated with our time together.

She moved with me, from pose to pose, because I let her be. It’s an interesting concept—to let things be and see what happens.

(Some of you have seen this video already on social, but in case you missed it, here we are in Pigeon Pose together. Being awesome.)

Bend…Beer Mecca

For the longest time, I didn’t like beer. Because I was doing it wrong.

Like most youngsters in the US drinking under the legal age of 21 (gasp!), I drank what I could get my hands on. Typically that was watered down piss masquerading as beer which guaranteed a blinding hangover.

The first time I had real beer was in Munich when I studied abroad in college. I was on a bike tour and we stopped at the English Gardens for a beer break. Never one to like beer previously, someone recommended I try a Radler—half lemonade, half beer.

Though I was skeptical, I was soon enjoying my second glass, a changed woman forever. You see, I’m half Czech and part Irish, and a love for beer is in my blood.

Besides water, tea, and coffee, that’s all I drink now. Occasionally a little wine or a Moscow Mule, but I’m all about phenomenal beer.

When we moved to Portland last year, Bend was on our getaway list. For Mr. H’s birthday last weekend, we finally went. (If you missed last week’s post about Bend’s nature, be sure to check out Beautiful Misery.)

If you bring up Bend around any Portlander, you will get the same response from everyone…I love Bend!

And, we could see why.

Besides the high desert climate with soul-stopping ~~mountain~~ volcano views, Bend is a small, laid back town with happy people who have a knack for two lovely things. Food and beer.

While one can certainly take the predetermined Bend Ale Trail around town, we narrowed it down to three breweries that were non-negotiable.

BONEYARD

To tell you how much we love Boneyard Beer, we go to specific restaurants in Portland JUST because they have their glorious IPA.

Why? Because you can’t buy it in any store. Seriously, my boss even tried buying it for me for my birthday since it’s my favorite—and he just plain couldn’t.

You’ll notice in the picture above that the brewery is located in an old auto repair shop. People cram into the tiny tasting room, stand around because there is nowhere to sit, and drink delicious beer.

It’s not a fancy place to hang out it and be seen. It’s all about the beer.

And that rebellious no-frills atmosphere made us adore Boneyard even more. In case you couldn’t tell by the ridiculously goofy smiles we have on our little faces.

CRUX

But if you want amazing beer with some frills, Crux Fermentation Project is the place to be. Earlier that day was our epic hike at Smith Rock, so we were ready for lots of food and beer.

When we walked up, we were afraid there was a private event going on. There was a tent outside with people drinking beer everywhere. Not just adults, but entire families were hanging out.

We had stumbled upon their Sundowner Hour, with specials a half hour before and after sunset. And that particular day was crystal clear and sunny.

So we joined the sunset party, which consisted of everyone enjoying damn good beer and waiting for the big show. An amazing sunset.

It was a celebration of nature and beer. Everyone stood around watching the sunset together, smiling and quiet, sharing an unbeatable moment.

SILVER MOON

On our last night, based on several recommendations by fellow beer enthusiasts in Portland, we headed over to Silver Moon Brewing. A dive bar through and through, locals with thick beards and/or cowboy hats filled the place.

With St. Paddy’s just a few days off, we lucked out with a live performance by Five Pint Mary, an Irish/Celtic/Eastern Euro rock band from Bend. By the end of the night, everyone was dancing, including yours truly.

It doesn’t matter if you can’t dance or don’t know how to dance to such music, everyone was moving. Here’s a little tipsy video clip I shot…

All around Bend gets a huge thumbs up from us. We shall return when our bellies and livers are ready.

Beautiful Misery

Dramatic title, I know.

Don’t worry. This isn’t about Kathy Bates breaking somebody’s ankles with a sledgehammer. (Shudder.)

This post is about this other crazy bitch…

Yep, you’re reading that right.

Misery Ridge Trail. Most difficult.

And, we hiked it.

Wondering if the trail lived up to its name? I would have my ass and legs tell you, but we’re still not on speaking terms.

At around 3,000 feet in elevation, the huffing and puffing as you climb this steep trail humbles even the savviest hikers. There was seriously a moment when I wanted to stop, turn around, and give up.

Yeah, me.

Yet, determination came from somewhere inside. I thought of nothing else but making it to the top. Everything faded away and it was only me, Mr. H, and nature—bound together, beneath the bright sky.

Eventually, we conquered that damn rock.

We were still in Oregon—Smith Rock, to be exact—but it seemed like Mars. The high desert was so different from the mossy wonderland we were used to.

In central Oregon, there is still a hint of what lies on the other side of the mountains. It’s half desert, half forest.

And, holy shit is it gorgeous!

A climbers paradise, every time you look up, you see one human or a whole group of humans hanging on the side of the giant rock.

They move with slow precision, choosing each movement as if their life depends on it.

Because it does. One false move is all it takes for these daring climbers to have a really bad day.

Which is why medical huts with crutches and stretchers are strategically placed throughout the park.

At the start of our adventure on Misery Ridge Trail, it was all about this deep internal discovery. What we were truly capable of when fatigue and doubt set in.

After all of that was done and the trail leveled out, our breath slowed and our smiles returned. But we were different, walking with a newfound energy, almost bouncing the rest of the way.

Hell, I even skipped a few times. And obviously, a Yoga tradition was a must.

There were times of difficulty, but we never gave up. There were times when I slipped and his hand was right there.

Climbing that rock together was a bit of a defining moment, a beautiful misery where it was only us against the rest of it.

Kind of like life. Hmm…

How about you guys…any defining travel/sport/adventure moments that changed you in some way?

The Life Enthusiast Chronicles with Julie

Last month Abby Smith reminded us that we should never turn away from difficulty, that we should embrace it and learn from it to truly live. In my monthly series, The Life Enthusiast Chronicles, phenomenal people from across the globe chat about why life is so amazing.

Today I’m excited to bring you guys this awesome gal in Paris I’m happy to know, Julie Klene from Les Petits Pas de Juls. This lovely thing just makes you smile. Her travel blog is absolutely delightful, with beautiful imagery to compliment her zest for people, culture, and life.

If you need a regular dose of positivity and adventure, I suggest you follow her. You’ll instantly see why I invited her to be a part of this series, because she embodies the Life Enthusiast spirit like it’s nothing.

Connect with Julie on Facebook.

I don’t know Britt outside of this little space we share on the internet. But I’ve come to see her as someone important, because her words always reach something delicate in me.

I know she has that ability with many more people out there. So, I was very moved when she thought I’d be Life Enthusiast Chronicles worthy.

Thank you, Britt, for trusting me here!

I don’t know if I’ve always been like that or if it happened slowly over the last few years.

All I know is that I’ve always loved hanging out with friends and family, enjoying the little moments with them, cherishing each kiss and embrace, and the opportunity to take off almost any time to see what it was like someplace else.

Somehow, everything might be related to Dead Poets Society. Robin Williams kind of looked like my dad, and “Seize the Day” has always resounded in me like something I should listen to, in order to avoid that moment “when I came to die, [and] discover that I had not lived” (Henry David Thoreau).

When I think about it, it must have started a few months after my father passed away; I was 15, he was 42, he shouldn’t have left me there and then.

After he left, I told myself I’d live the life he would have been proud of seeing me live.

A life I’d be proud of too, a life that would bring me happiness, love, and through which I’d be able to share love and happiness around me.

I took every opportunity as the best chance to show him he should have stayed. Him, my uncle, my grand-fathers and my god-father. To show them all they should have stayed.

And then, I flew away.

When I came back to France from living in Montana, USA, as a foreign exchange student when I was 18, I headed straight to the University to become a Sign Language Interpreter because I had discovered in the USA that it was what made me tick—it still does, today!

I found the job of my life and I enjoyed every little thing about it, being the bridge between two worlds, so people from each could reach to the other.

At the same time, I met some super interesting people, who made me discover that I loved bungee-jumping, driving a motorcycle, sky-diving and traveling far.

I got married, thought I was on the right track and fell off my happy cloud when I realized I had completely misjudged that happy moment. But, then, a friend who had gone on her own before-I-turn-30-world-trip, showed me the way again.

After she came back from her trip, I sold everything I owned, took a year off from work and left. As easy as that; it felt right even though I didn’t have a difficult life.

Finding myself on the road by myself (5 months in South America, 1 in Australia, and 4 in Asia) opened my eyes on a world I had only had a glimpse of before, opened my eyes on who I really wanted to be, opened my eyes on Life.

On that road, I realized I loved hiking—and could hike way up high! I loved eating at markets, I loved hearing the locals’ stories, I loved scuba-diving, I loved traveling on my own but also loved meeting new friends along the way.

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed my brother’s company when we met in Thailand, I learned I could be me even if that new “me” was not what other people would have “me” be.

And, most of all, I met Raul, who is now the best husband I could ever dream of.

I have been traveling for the past 5 years now, Living the Dream. Every time I’m in a new place, I feel like that child in front of a Christmas tree, ready to unwrap all the gifts that place has to offer.

I climb up towers, I hike far, I push myself to the limits, I make new friends, I go back to them, I work in Patagonia because I’ve found there a kind of peace that’s indescribable.

I come back to France and enjoy my birth-country much more that I did before.

I learn.

Back to work now! My friends in France wanted me to stay a little longer and offered me a job position I couldn’t refuse: working in Paris as a Sign Language interpreter again.

And, although Raul has had to go back to Mexico for a few weeks, I know we’re on the right track, I know we’ll find our own pace, here, there or somewhere else.

Because we have each other and we know what makes us tick.

Travel, Enjoy, Love, Give, Live. And “Carpe Diem” always!

Jul’

Bloom Amongst the Gloom

I don’t write about positivity and life enthusiasm on this blog, because I think I’m an expert. I have crap days, I carry a bouquet of insecurities, and I wonder if I my life has purpose.

And, I know I’m not alone.

Common answers I hear from my incredible guest bloggers when I first ask them to write for The Life Enthusiast Chronicles are…

Who me?
I’m not really a Life Enthusiast.
Are you sure?

My answers are…

Yes, you.
Yes, you are.
Yes, I am.

Hey, I get it.

We think a positive person looks, acts, and lives a certain way. We think that positivity is this unattainable thing reserved for a select few. A select few we’ve never actually seen in real life.

We are so hard on ourselves. Hell, when we hear that we are “good” rather than “bad”, we almost don’t know what to do.

I go through a range of absurd emotions—from blushing to stuttering, from crying to rushing away.

Back when I started this blog, I didn’t know what the hell I was going to write about. I just started writing.

What I did know was this one thing. I wanted to inspire without the bullshit.

I don’t like fluff and I don’t like dishonesty. I like what’s real—what makes us vulnerable and human. What makes us who we are.

Last weekend I saw this tree at the end of my hike.

Spotlighted by the sun, it was the one tree on this section of the hill that was blooming. It was leaning over, but another fallen tree was keeping it from crashing down.

Man, you guys, I just had a rough week.

Monday morning we had to rush Hazel the cat to the vet, because she got really sick, really quickly. She’s okay now, but things got pretty dicey.

The workweek was CRAZY busy, and the whole time I was still mentally recovering from the kitty scare.

Last night after that long week, I was so exhausted that I could barely keep my eyes open or make a joke. And, I joke around constantly.

First thing this morning, I decided to check and see if I received any reviews for Beneath the Satin Gloves since running it for free on Amazon recently.

It was a successful run, with nearly 700 downloads. I realize that the majority will never read it, but my one hope was to get more reviews.

Well, I got my first review from the promotion on Goodreads. It was one star, with no comment.

With few decent reviews out there, that just drove my sad little average right down.

You know something? I’m not bulletproof, and I never will be.

The bad review jarred me. And yes, I even had the old “Why in the hell do I keep writing?” thought permeating my mind.

Then, I thought about that tree, blossoming when nothing else around it was. So, I brushed off the shitty week and the shit review and decided not to fall.

Dammit, today I’m gonna bloom.