a physical perspective – Britt Skrabanek

The End of A Physical Perspective

Many times I considered giving up on blogging. I always joke around with people that it’s a full-time job, because it kind of is.

If you’re not writing a post, sharing on social, responding to readers, and commenting on other blogs (tired yet?), you’re thinking about your next post and possibly the post after that.

But whenever I think about the “work” that goes into blogging, I think about the “awesome” instead. It’s actually quite easy to do, because there has been a lot of awesome.

Almost three years ago I started this blog, and I am not lying when I say that I had absolutely no freaking clue what I was doing. I knew that it was a big commitment, which is why I shied away from it before and why I refused to take on the responsibility at my job at the time.

I just knew. It’s a lot.

Back then I started a blog because I needed a platform as a writer, especially an Indie Author who nobody would have a chance of hearing about otherwise. I heard phrases like “build a tribe”.

Build a tribe? How in the hell am I supposed to do that? Is anyone ever going to read this crazy shit?

At first, nobody really did. Except for family and friends…thanks, guys. xoxoxo

But then, I started meeting people in the blogging community—people I had never met and had no association with my family or friends who might have forced them to visit. There were some likes, even a few comments, and eventually they shared.

I first came up with the title for this blog, A Physical Perspective, when I felt like I needed some sort of title.

It was thought of on a whim. I remember standing over my dining room table on an evening after work or something and writing it on a notepad.

It’s open to interpretation, which I won’t go into here, but I started thinking recently…who cares?

And, I listened to my people.

It’s very rare when any of you guys even use that name, because you say “Britt’s blog”. So, going into another wild year with this blog, I have ditched my old name.

Many of you were here the other day for Zen’s Life Enthusiast post, and you commented on the new look. Thank you all for your sweet compliments.

I think the space better represents who I am and what I have to say. There’s no need for a fancy blog title that leaves you scratching your head about the meaning.

This is Britt’s blog.

I am a flawed human just like everybody else, and all I do is write nonsense that sometimes makes sense. I am a Life Enthusiast, because I am flawed…and that means I’m alive.

Thank you all for being here. I’m excited to share many more of life’s ridiculously gorgeous moments with you…my tribe.

I’ll Be Happy When…

Happiness. We put so much pressure on that single word, don’t we?

It’s all too easy to get stuck in this mental cycle of thinking happiness will magically arrive once we get something we thought we wanted more than anything else—when we accomplish something we worked our asses off to get.

I’ll be happy when I get that promotion.

I’ll be happy when I buy that house.

I’ll be happy when I write that book.

Do we feel happy after obtaining or accomplishing any of these things? Not for very long. Like coming down from a high, we crash and we wonder where it all went wrong.

Hey, what happened to my happiness I deserve? I worked so hard for it, and now it’s gone.

The build-up we attach to thinking happiness comes after a certain thing causes this self-destructive roller coaster of emotions.

As a writer, I know this feeling well. And I see it all the time in other writers.

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Okay, that’s the teaser for the guest blog post I wrote over at Chris Stocking’s place.

To celebrate the relaunch of his website, my good friend asked me and a couple of writers to kick off christopherstocking.com with some good old fashioned writing about writing.

Head on over, read the rest of the piece, and check out his new pad. (And, make sure to bring Chris some good beer, since I know he worked hard on everything.)

Cheers, Chris!

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.)

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 Love Spy

Maybe it’s because spring comes so early here in the Pacific Northwest, but lately, love has been happening all around me.

Just this past week, I saw two different puppy love scenarios.

At the local pub we visit often, there was a young couple across from us at the bar. They were nose to nose, talking and laughing, genuinely into each other.

The petting was tasteful and they only had eyes for each other, like they were the only two inside the crowded bar—and, to hell with the rest of us.

Mr. H and I couldn’t help but smile at them. With love contagious in the air, we moved our barstools a little closer to each other and stayed that way.

Then the other day I went for my usual long hike up to the Pittock Mansion and ended up behind another couple the entire uphill journey. They matched my speed perfectly—and, I haul ass—so there was no way to pass them without sprinting suddenly like a weirdo.

I was annoyed at first, because hey, it gets really old staring at the same asses for an hour when you’re climbing technical trails, trying to enjoy nature.

There was a lot of hair flipping and giggling coming from her, while he strutted up the hill with his hands in the pockets of his baggy basketball shorts. Mr. Cool Guy.

They were heading to the same place I was, so I stopped being a cynical asshole and decided my fate was tied to the bouncy cute couple until I reached the top.

At the top of the hill, where Pittock Mansion is, lies the lovers bench many of you have heard me go on and on about for the past year. If you need to get up to speed, you can check out The Fate of the Lovers Bench.

I thought I could peek at the new bench to see how many love carvings had come about since last fall. Back in October, Portland Parks & Rec replaced the beautifully battered bench from before, because its old wood was unrecognizable from the romantic “vandalism” it had endured over the years.

As it was a Saturday, I assumed the bench would be taken. And, it was.

He matched the trees and she matched the roses next to the bench.

I felt a little guilty taking this picture, but like the couple at the bar earlier in the week, nothing else existed.

The bench was their world. Me and the other thirty or so people wandering around the grounds were invisible.

I didn’t stay long. I wanted to go home to my man. To be looked at, to be kissed, to be loved.