I live in a modest apartment. I use a secondhand dining room table as my rickety desk. I make words come to life by the speed of my thoughts and fingers.
This is how I write.
Along comes a cat. Yet I power through, attempting to ignore warmth for the sake of accomplishment.
Then, I surrender. Because a welcome distraction is always welcome. It reminds me of life—its tangibility, its humor, its comfort.
Today…get distracted.
After a lot of back and forth, I’m proud to say I’m finally going for my Yoga teaching certification. One weekend a month for ten months I will meet at Yama Yoga, a quaint gem of a studio, with a small group of eager minds to explore gravity-defying poses, anatomical prowess, and spiritual receptivity.
Then I will be unleashed into the world, ready to complete my new mission…Yoga’s for everyone.
No, really. It is.
I feel that Yoga is for everyone just as dance is for everyone, because we are humans, and humans were designed to move. Instead we spend the majority of our time sitting in front of a computer.
Hey, I’m guilty, too. Writing novels, manning social media fronts, and spearheading a blog make me a stationary perpetrator on the grandest scale.
More than ever it is important for us to move. Often scheduling that time in the form of a class is the only way we can commit. The beauty of a mat and bare feet? They’re portable.
The idea of Yoga may cause you to roll your eyes. I get it. I used to think the inner peace mumbo-jumbo was just a hoax myself.
I discovered Yoga about ten years ago when my mother encouraged me to take class with her in Forth Worth, Texas. Being in my early college years, there was some major eye-rolling on my part.
Despite my flexibility and agility, being a dancer actually worked against me in Yoga. No more turning out, only parallel. No more floor traveling, only stationary on a mat. It felt wrong.
And, meditation at the end of class? Talk about squirmy! My mind raced thinking about everything else but the now, and 5-10 minutes was about a century long.
Nonetheless, every time I left class I felt different. There was no denying it. Without bothering to be fully engaged, my mind, against my will, felt calm and clear.
A lifelong dancer and instructor, in recent years my body responded to dance like it was on cruise control. Movement began to lose its direction, circling around and around a cul-de-sac. In dance classes, I became antsy and wandering, just like when I was a college kid with a bad case of the Namaste wiggles.
Yet this time it was different…it was burnout.
So, I revisited Yoga. I have been consistently practicing, enjoying countless emotional and physical benefits along the way.
An impatient person, I have to work hard every day to overcome anxiety and stress. It doesn’t come easily for me. My high energy and drive are great for kicking ass, not great when it comes to sitting still. Yoga challenges me to face my weaknesses head on, cultivating them into strengths.
This is when I started thinking about sharing my unrequited love for Yoga with others. And a teacher was born.
My goals as a Yoga teacher will be the same as I have for dance: check the negativity at the door and leave inspired. Yoga is for everyone in my opinion: young or old, active or inactive, spiritual or skeptical.
Stress, whether instigated by external or internal elements, surrounds us one way or another. Yoga encourages us to search ourselves, something we don’t take the time to do when we’re rushing from point A to point B.
I strongly believe if we, as individuals, are happy and peaceful, the world will become the same way. Just as fear and negativity are powerful influences, so are hope and positivity.
If you haven’t tried Yoga, I hope you’ll reconsider. It’s nothing but good.
As the suited stranger next to me opens the airplane window, my bleary eyes impatiently adjust, eager to soak in the aerial wonders of San Diego, California. I’m a window seat gal, but I got stuck in the middle.
Me and the aisle guy peer over the window guy’s shoulder to catch a glimpse, hovering over his personal space like kids, no regard for boundaries.
Frankly, after being crammed in that stuffy tin can for hours—bumping elbows and knees, shutting out crying babies, playing musical chairs for bathroom trips—the three of us are war buddies.
Awake since 5am, I’ve journeyed 2,118 miles from Lake Michigan to the Pacific Ocean. I left my precious home, hubby, and cats for the first time in years.
I’m disoriented until that window opens. I relish in the nostalgia of the first twenty years of my young life—Los Angeles, not San Diego. Still, the comforting SoCal vibe soothes me as we make our descent.
Smog commandeers the skies, serving as the tollbooth of pollution. Palm trees dart into the air, posing like tall, skinny girls with unkempt hair. Backyard pools litter the terrain, refreshing the parched landscape in a casual manner.
The California girl is home.
What’s the best way to conquer jet lag? Lunch on the beach.
My gal pal Devon and I relax on the sandy patio of Poseidon. A calamari sandwich with fries and a couple of Bloody Mary’s perk me right up. It’s OK if you’re jealous of our view…
After a tight squeeze into my sassy, retro onesie and a generous coating of SPF 50, I’m whisked away to scenic Windansea Beach in La Jolla to meet up with my other dear friend, Naeiry.
My friends ask me why I’m so quiet and I blame jet lag. But, that isn’t the truth.
The beach and I are enjoying each other’s long lost company. I toy with the sand, digging past the dry surface until I excavate damp grains. I build unattractive mounds of absolutely nothing. I tag my blog in the sand, because I can’t refrain from writing.
The airplane stench is carelessly blanketed by a salty, fishy breeze. The tireless editing of my second novel is shushed by each lulling wave. Any stress becomes unimportant, wiped out by the ocean’s aggressive serenity.
The three of us decide to take a dip to cool off. Our trio makes the unanimous, rookie mistake of sporting our sunglasses in the choppy water. My beachy prowess is rusty and I squeal at the biting water temperatures.
You can probably guess what happens next…wipeout!
Remembering my sea legs, I dive under a commendable wave. It barrels forward, swallowing my unsuspecting friends. If you’ve ever been worked over by a wave before, you know it’s a humbling experience.
Devon proves her aquatic agility by holding onto her pricey shades. Naeiry loses hers during the hullabaloo. Upon resurfacing, off-kilter bikini bottoms are put back in their rightful places.
I whip around to come to their rescue, which of course turns out to be a monumental slipup.
I let the ocean have her way with me—flipping me upside down, stealing my sunglasses (cheapies, but brand new), and best of all, exposing one of my boobs to the lazing spectators.
Miraculously, our sunglasses are retrieved.
We all do the walk of shame back to our striped towel territory. I do my best to straighten out my wonky shades. We pull seaweed out of our suits, wipe our salty snot discreetly, and have a good laugh.
The sea is a finicky saboteur. She lures you in with her intoxicating perfume, her come-hither beauty, her complex tranquility. Then she steals your accessories, beats you up, and makes you flash everyone.
You know what, beach? You’re kind of a beoch sometimes. It’s a good thing you’re a looker. I guess we can still be friends. Love always…California girl.
Stay tuned for San Diego, Day 2: Chic’s Up, the city’s cosmopolitan side, on Friday.
This week I’m shamelessly pimping out my cats, Aphrodite (the black and white one) and Hazel (the stripey one). Some of you already met Hazel during her happy dance debut.
There are a few reasons for this obligatory cuteness distraction: first and foremost, I’m knee-deep in you know what editing my second novel, therefore my brain is fried; secondly, I’m a crazy cat lady; lastly, they’re really cute.
Whether you’re into dogs or cats, furry friends teach us nonstop humans important lessons every day.
I leave you with a few quotes from famous felines. (Warning…this is intentionally silly.)
So, do what Aphro and Hazel do best and change the world with a cuddle.
Recently I was showered with blog affection from two incredible lady bloggers. I am perpetually awe-inspired by the resplendent connectivity in the blogging universe.
Every day we write, we read, and we feel together. It’s magnificent.
Thank you all for being so warm and welcoming, spreading the good vibe into a world that can always use it.
You may have noticed a physical perspective had a make-over this week. I think she looks pretty jaunty, don’t you?
Alrighty, onward to the honorary festivities!
The Liebster Blog Award is given to up-and-coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers. I won’t be in this company for too much longer as my blog grows, so I am happy to snatch up this award while I’m still a pup.
Thank you to my fellow newbie over at Scribble Of A Happy Go Lucky Gal. Check her blog out for some guaranteed fun. She’s a sassy force over there!
First I must answer 11 questions she cooked up:
I couldn’t quite scrounge up the required 11 nominations as the other blogs I follow are very established with 200+ followers, or have been awarded by yours truly recently. So, I must cheat by nominating the following 6 for the Liebster Blog Award (some of you may have more than 200 followers, but congrats anyway!):
And, here are some kooky questions for my nominated Liebsters to answer:
This is my second time receiving the Very Inspiring Blogger Award and I am equally thrilled. Much gratitude to Gail over at The Jotter’s Joint for bestowing this prestigious honor. Take a moment to scope her out as well. She’s funny, she’s graceful, she’s cool.
To accept, I must say 7 things about myself:
Here are my 7 sprightly nominations for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award:
Britt Skrabanek 