Okay, the title sounds weird, but it's staying. It's Monday, the weather is smashing, and I am embarking upon SUCH a good thing. This: The Taco Cleanse. Last week I had a damned awful cold which I'm still navigating my way up and away from, but in my internet roamings I did a search for vegan tacos and found *that*. And I started *that* today.
Straight up, it speaks to me. I'm sick of juice cleansing and fasting and hearing about how gluten is Satan. I'm a smidgen burned out on green smoothies, even though I do love them. (I just need a break. Not a breakup.) BUT - moving back into living at top volume from a recuperative 40% has me seeing a need for a rebooting cleanup of some sort. This makes sense. When I make tacos, my fillings tend to be whole foods that are easy-to-pronounce. Those combinations make the BEST things ever. Sweet potato and black bean? Oh, baby. Get in mah belleh! Zucchini, red beans, and mushrooms with cashew sour cream? C'mere. Now. But beyond that - tacos are fun comfort food for me. Will I get tired of tacos? Not likely. I once ate them for about three weeks straight without fully realizing it. I *get* the soultastic aspect of this as much as I *get* that as a dietary reboot, it can totally work.
I'll admit - that monster stack of white corn tortillas in my kitchen and first round of filling supplies is a little intimidating, though. It's been a long time since I expressed my inner kitchen wizard. I've been on whatever seems easiest and will keep me off my feet the most for a good while, my arsenal of seasonings has dwindled, and I really feel like I'm learning to really *cook* all over again. I didn't realize that until today when I went to make lunch and froze up. Ideas are one thing, but bringing those ideas to fruition? Uhhhh.....huh? How do I do that? That response surprised me. So there's another reboot aspect at play here - getting me back into the kitchen and doing something I love.
And the margarita supplements? Do I even have to address that? Get down with your hell yeah self. I'm seeing it as a requirement to go to the Mexican restaurant across the street from the studio on Saturday afternoon to have a margarita on their patio. I think calling it "Vitamin Time" sounds stellar. In fact, I think I'm going to do that. Saturday, after I get back into town from this amazing thing, I will be having Vitamin Time at Poblano's. Hells yesses.
(If I wasn't recovering from a cold, I would SO move Vitamin Time to today!)
(Margaritas have vitamin C, don't they?)
30 September 2013
27 September 2013
From the front of the room...
Ever wonder what it's like to be a yoga teacher? Straight up: Somedays, you're ON. You're a ROCK STAR. You will confidently lead your class, in the moment from the beginning to the end, and want to do it all over again as soon as class wraps up. And then, there are the other classes. Welcome to inside my head during one of THOSE classes:
"Two chocolate Zico's for breakfast, baby! Let's PLAY!"
"How long have I had them in this opening child's pose?"
"I just told them to breathe for the fifth time in four minutes. Is it only four minutes?"
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"Holy hell, I just Sun Sal B'd on the right side three times."
"Fuck it, I'll Sun Sal B on the left side three times."
"Am I jogging around the room? Damn."
"That person's pissed about this twist. Wait - am I in people-pleasing mode?"
"Why am I standing on one leg?"
"Okay, so joking about hugging your legs together like you've got to pee in Eagle wasn't a good choice this morning."
"Totally didn't mean to teach Twisting Triangle there, but it's like that."
"I still really have to go to the bathroom."
"I need to write down that having to go to the bathroom while teaching backbends might lead to teaching them with too great a sense of urgency."
"Damn. Same goes for abs."
"How the hell am I at hip openers with only ten minutes left?"
"Eight more minutes until I can go to the bathroom."
"Six."
"Yep. Leavin' that water bottle the hell alone."
"Two more minutes."
"Ten seconds."
"I will NEVER drink two chocolate Zico's before teaching again."
It's good to keep it real, right? Create a fantabulous weekend!
"Two chocolate Zico's for breakfast, baby! Let's PLAY!"
"How long have I had them in this opening child's pose?"
"I just told them to breathe for the fifth time in four minutes. Is it only four minutes?"
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"Holy hell, I just Sun Sal B'd on the right side three times."
"Fuck it, I'll Sun Sal B on the left side three times."
"Am I jogging around the room? Damn."
"That person's pissed about this twist. Wait - am I in people-pleasing mode?"
"Why am I standing on one leg?"
"Okay, so joking about hugging your legs together like you've got to pee in Eagle wasn't a good choice this morning."
"Totally didn't mean to teach Twisting Triangle there, but it's like that."
"I still really have to go to the bathroom."
"I need to write down that having to go to the bathroom while teaching backbends might lead to teaching them with too great a sense of urgency."
"Damn. Same goes for abs."
"How the hell am I at hip openers with only ten minutes left?"
"Eight more minutes until I can go to the bathroom."
"Six."
"Yep. Leavin' that water bottle the hell alone."
"Two more minutes."
"Ten seconds."
"I will NEVER drink two chocolate Zico's before teaching again."
It's good to keep it real, right? Create a fantabulous weekend!
24 September 2013
Rambling on...
Sometimes I get random because it feels good.
I realized something this morning. I started blogging as GoKittenGo in (gulp) 2001 - maybe 2000. On *Diaryland* - - I can't even get to those entries now. I used to link to them through this blog ages and ages ago, but it's all good that I can't get there. I have them archived somewhere. I swear and complain a lot, and make many references to being stylishly intoxicated. They're funny, but also a little toxic. At times I was downright mean.
I've tried on different "names" - the most recent being One Little Yoga Chick. I've had moments when any time I left a part of my past behind or went through some immense event, I would think I needed to take on a new "thing". Seriously? The fuck? Those never last long. I never want to write under them - it's like taking notes in a borrowed notebook. In short, it's not me.
And that's what that was, kind of. Yeah, I love yoga - that's a given what with this yoga teacher and owning a studio thing - but I was making yoga a wrapper of my life. Yoga's not the wrapper, yoga's the framework. It's what everything else hangs on, supporting me so I can get into all the other stuff I love at full expression. Everything, from my love of my amazing superfly dog, Totsi, to my obsession with top fuel front engine dragsters, my daydreams of owning a teardrop camper and a rat rod Beetle, and diving into how my love of music manifests in listening jags to the Ramones, Hank Williams, Chopin, Link Wray, Flat Duo Jets, Patti Smith, Cheap Trick, Small Faces, the Action, and so forth. I practice Baptiste yoga (and teach Baptiste-inspired), and a concept that's addressed is hugging in to create full expression out. (Whoa.)
*THAT*. That, exactly, expresses what I was about to write 1,000 words trying to express. When I hug into my practice, I create full expression out, everywhere. Yoga is as much the framework of my life as my skeleton is to my physical being - it's that integral a thing. If you imagine being without a skeleton, that's what my life without my practice is. And when I let it become the wrapper, I began to limit myself - who wouldn't suffocate when turned inside out? Beset by plastic namaste-coated shoulds, I shut down creatively because I edited every thought, concept - - every single everything. Would it fit my new path? Again - - THE FUCK? I mean, my Toms are comfortable - but they're nothing to my creepers, Vans, and Converse.
And - - - NEW? I've been practicing yoga since 1999. So - new? Not really. Not really at all. A few months ago, I started to see the ways I tried so hard to keep myself in the wrapper - here's an example: There was a sweet tea experiment. I am Southern, so sweet tea is a part of my existence - as much as yoga, actually. It's deep. *I tried to make it with amber agave syrup because I thought I should.* I told myself it was the same. It's amazing how strongly I believed my own damned lie. (There's a topic for discussion!) But, you know, I had to do that so I would fit what I had written on that wrapper. What would have happened next had I not stopped? Sweetening the cornbread? (Actually, hell would freeze before I let that happen.) Or - - the grits? Might I have started putting sugar in the grits? Hold on. I'll be back. I have to go confess at the sacred grotto of Dixie Lily for even having thought that. Might need to make a cleansing pilgrimage to the temple of Anson Mills.
I let my core become the wrapper, tried to make the wrapper look good (ohh, that concern for looking good AND not wanting to be seen), and wound up not being able to breathe. Awareness of that hit me back in February, at Level One with Baron Baptiste in Hawaii. And I said, "Shit." I didn't even realize I had been doing it. But even as I came a little unglued over the spring, facing up to shit that the wrapper was holding together, winding up with gradual re-injury coming to a bang-up crescendo, something in me started to let myself chill and be seen. And now? I'm happier than I've ever been, because my core is back in its place. I have work to do, big trainings coming up, and am out of shape from pushing myself to reinjury - but it's good, because from this place I take ownership. I'm actually happy about the work because I'm not living from that reversed, masked place anymore.
My practice *supports* me again, and from that, I can create damned near anything.
I realized something this morning. I started blogging as GoKittenGo in (gulp) 2001 - maybe 2000. On *Diaryland* - - I can't even get to those entries now. I used to link to them through this blog ages and ages ago, but it's all good that I can't get there. I have them archived somewhere. I swear and complain a lot, and make many references to being stylishly intoxicated. They're funny, but also a little toxic. At times I was downright mean.
I've tried on different "names" - the most recent being One Little Yoga Chick. I've had moments when any time I left a part of my past behind or went through some immense event, I would think I needed to take on a new "thing". Seriously? The fuck? Those never last long. I never want to write under them - it's like taking notes in a borrowed notebook. In short, it's not me.
And that's what that was, kind of. Yeah, I love yoga - that's a given what with this yoga teacher and owning a studio thing - but I was making yoga a wrapper of my life. Yoga's not the wrapper, yoga's the framework. It's what everything else hangs on, supporting me so I can get into all the other stuff I love at full expression. Everything, from my love of my amazing superfly dog, Totsi, to my obsession with top fuel front engine dragsters, my daydreams of owning a teardrop camper and a rat rod Beetle, and diving into how my love of music manifests in listening jags to the Ramones, Hank Williams, Chopin, Link Wray, Flat Duo Jets, Patti Smith, Cheap Trick, Small Faces, the Action, and so forth. I practice Baptiste yoga (and teach Baptiste-inspired), and a concept that's addressed is hugging in to create full expression out. (Whoa.)
*THAT*. That, exactly, expresses what I was about to write 1,000 words trying to express. When I hug into my practice, I create full expression out, everywhere. Yoga is as much the framework of my life as my skeleton is to my physical being - it's that integral a thing. If you imagine being without a skeleton, that's what my life without my practice is. And when I let it become the wrapper, I began to limit myself - who wouldn't suffocate when turned inside out? Beset by plastic namaste-coated shoulds, I shut down creatively because I edited every thought, concept - - every single everything. Would it fit my new path? Again - - THE FUCK? I mean, my Toms are comfortable - but they're nothing to my creepers, Vans, and Converse.
And - - - NEW? I've been practicing yoga since 1999. So - new? Not really. Not really at all. A few months ago, I started to see the ways I tried so hard to keep myself in the wrapper - here's an example: There was a sweet tea experiment. I am Southern, so sweet tea is a part of my existence - as much as yoga, actually. It's deep. *I tried to make it with amber agave syrup because I thought I should.* I told myself it was the same. It's amazing how strongly I believed my own damned lie. (There's a topic for discussion!) But, you know, I had to do that so I would fit what I had written on that wrapper. What would have happened next had I not stopped? Sweetening the cornbread? (Actually, hell would freeze before I let that happen.) Or - - the grits? Might I have started putting sugar in the grits? Hold on. I'll be back. I have to go confess at the sacred grotto of Dixie Lily for even having thought that. Might need to make a cleansing pilgrimage to the temple of Anson Mills.
I let my core become the wrapper, tried to make the wrapper look good (ohh, that concern for looking good AND not wanting to be seen), and wound up not being able to breathe. Awareness of that hit me back in February, at Level One with Baron Baptiste in Hawaii. And I said, "Shit." I didn't even realize I had been doing it. But even as I came a little unglued over the spring, facing up to shit that the wrapper was holding together, winding up with gradual re-injury coming to a bang-up crescendo, something in me started to let myself chill and be seen. And now? I'm happier than I've ever been, because my core is back in its place. I have work to do, big trainings coming up, and am out of shape from pushing myself to reinjury - but it's good, because from this place I take ownership. I'm actually happy about the work because I'm not living from that reversed, masked place anymore.
My practice *supports* me again, and from that, I can create damned near anything.
18 September 2013
It ain't heavy, it's my lunch...
What in the hell is it with trainings? Whether I'm participating or part of leading/supporting, it happens: I get hungry for a few days once it's over. And I don't mean the kind of hungry that leads me to want an extra apple or another handful of raw almonds. I mean the kind of hungry that has me craving spicy, rich, dense foods in economy-sized portions. Obsessively. I fantasize about what kind of cheese might be best with that particular dark chocolate and ginger bar. I make hot chocolate so rich it takes a good hour to drink a cup after consuming crabby benedict (eggs benedict in which the ham is replaced with a crab cake) with a nice, spicy hollandaise. I could eat queso like soup with guacamole as a salad. (Hmm. HMMMMMM!)
This time last week, I was all about the green smoothies and salads and pasta with sunflower "cheese" sauce. This week? Give me the damned sandwich already, and please pass the pimento cheese so I can put more on this whole grain pita chip. Like, now. And where's the salt? Did I mention I need salt? Yeah, that - so hand it to me now, please. Got Sriracha? Give it here. I will bite you if you so much as take one step towards that hummus. And, yes, I do want that cinnamon roll.
There's an urgency to it. Food time is food time, and heaven help the poor soul who tries to interfere with it. I get a little protective of it AND my ice cream, which is never in the freezer except for such times as these.
Granted, it's not all three meals - my breakfast is a chocolate Shakeology shake. (OMG. O. M. G. So good.) Dinner tends to be small. But lunch? Step back and don't you damn dare touch my bag of tostadas, upon which I am going to put as many of these carefully prepared toppings as a single tostada can comfortably hold. Twice. With a tomato salad and a cup of hot chocolate to follow. Mid-afternoon, I will have my green smoothie or there will be a problem. Because by mid-afternoon, I am hungry again. Yes, after the huge lunch. I growl while I drink them. (Not quite, but close.)
Luckily, this only goes on for two or three days - not that I fear food, but my grocery bill increases exponentially after a training. And heaven forbid I wander into the grocery store if I'm hungry - I'll go in for laundry detergent and come out with the makings of a taco bar. Seriously. It's insane.
As insane as the call of that bar of dark chocolate I just remembered I have.
This time last week, I was all about the green smoothies and salads and pasta with sunflower "cheese" sauce. This week? Give me the damned sandwich already, and please pass the pimento cheese so I can put more on this whole grain pita chip. Like, now. And where's the salt? Did I mention I need salt? Yeah, that - so hand it to me now, please. Got Sriracha? Give it here. I will bite you if you so much as take one step towards that hummus. And, yes, I do want that cinnamon roll.
There's an urgency to it. Food time is food time, and heaven help the poor soul who tries to interfere with it. I get a little protective of it AND my ice cream, which is never in the freezer except for such times as these.
Granted, it's not all three meals - my breakfast is a chocolate Shakeology shake. (OMG. O. M. G. So good.) Dinner tends to be small. But lunch? Step back and don't you damn dare touch my bag of tostadas, upon which I am going to put as many of these carefully prepared toppings as a single tostada can comfortably hold. Twice. With a tomato salad and a cup of hot chocolate to follow. Mid-afternoon, I will have my green smoothie or there will be a problem. Because by mid-afternoon, I am hungry again. Yes, after the huge lunch. I growl while I drink them. (Not quite, but close.)
Luckily, this only goes on for two or three days - not that I fear food, but my grocery bill increases exponentially after a training. And heaven forbid I wander into the grocery store if I'm hungry - I'll go in for laundry detergent and come out with the makings of a taco bar. Seriously. It's insane.
As insane as the call of that bar of dark chocolate I just remembered I have.
17 September 2013
We get 'em...
Every year at this time, something happens. It's not magical, mystical, or remotely fun - at least if you're me. As much of a badass as I might be, and I do think I am a bit of a badass, there's something that will get me to screeching like this.....
....ever single time.
It's not spiders, although they do that. And, yes, this is the time of year for the big spiders building webs all over the place. They're doing their part in the great cycle of life, killing off the flying insects of summer for fall. I guess. That's what I tell myself. One in the back yard has made a fine tent for himself out of a leaf at the top of his web, and I tell myself I am amused with that and that it's cute to avoid thinking, "Damn. That fucker is huge and if he gets on me I will die."
Nope, folks, it's the roaches. The big boys from outside that mosey in during the summer. Every year, one or two will make an appearance, and it's always the same thing - I Carrie Bradshaw it up while swinging a broom and screaming for fire to kill it. This year, the biggest one I have seen since leaving Savannah got in. It was so big it scared the dog. NO SHIT. Totsi has been with me for eight years, so she's witnessed my reaction and has never been phased. This was all about the bug. She saw it first and set about getting the hell away from it. I followed.
And you know how dogs are. Once something scares them, they take time to recover. And when Totsi gets good and spooked, she heads to me for comfort, laying right on my chest like she did when she was a puppy. She now weighs fifty pounds.
So Sunday night there was another bug. I didn't see it first, Totsi did, and she alerted me to its presence by laying down on top of me. I tried to move her, but she made herself heavy. I know you know what I mean - she went from fifty pounds to one hundred and fifty in two seconds. I couldn't move. And she kept me there while that damned thing strolled up the wall and walked laps around the crown molding. Twice. It went towards the ceiling fan and I had this image, this horrifying image, of it falling and hitting the fan, flying right into my hair. That led me to try to persuade her to move some more - - and she made herself even more heavy. Ordinarily, I could eventually move her -- but I still have some weakness from my back injury, and it just wasn't happening.
I managed some Instagram photos. (I was checking my messages when she saw the bug, so I had my phone in my hand when she crawled on top of me.) This was taken one-handed with my left hand going over my head and then over my right shoulder while holding my breath. I still don't know how this made my right shoulder look like a wad of sweatshirt-covered something, but it does.
Here's another, after she had moved down a little. You can see my reflection in her eye - - as well as her very clear expression that I was NOT to move.
I was pinned for about an hour after a day of staying hydrated, if you get me. The bug finally left the room. Never did find it. Totsi stayed very, very close all through the night. Yesterday, I bought her some turkey "bacon" treats to reward her vigilance. I totally get where she was coming from. And I think she thought she was protecting me.
....ever single time.
It's not spiders, although they do that. And, yes, this is the time of year for the big spiders building webs all over the place. They're doing their part in the great cycle of life, killing off the flying insects of summer for fall. I guess. That's what I tell myself. One in the back yard has made a fine tent for himself out of a leaf at the top of his web, and I tell myself I am amused with that and that it's cute to avoid thinking, "Damn. That fucker is huge and if he gets on me I will die."
Nope, folks, it's the roaches. The big boys from outside that mosey in during the summer. Every year, one or two will make an appearance, and it's always the same thing - I Carrie Bradshaw it up while swinging a broom and screaming for fire to kill it. This year, the biggest one I have seen since leaving Savannah got in. It was so big it scared the dog. NO SHIT. Totsi has been with me for eight years, so she's witnessed my reaction and has never been phased. This was all about the bug. She saw it first and set about getting the hell away from it. I followed.
And you know how dogs are. Once something scares them, they take time to recover. And when Totsi gets good and spooked, she heads to me for comfort, laying right on my chest like she did when she was a puppy. She now weighs fifty pounds.
So Sunday night there was another bug. I didn't see it first, Totsi did, and she alerted me to its presence by laying down on top of me. I tried to move her, but she made herself heavy. I know you know what I mean - she went from fifty pounds to one hundred and fifty in two seconds. I couldn't move. And she kept me there while that damned thing strolled up the wall and walked laps around the crown molding. Twice. It went towards the ceiling fan and I had this image, this horrifying image, of it falling and hitting the fan, flying right into my hair. That led me to try to persuade her to move some more - - and she made herself even more heavy. Ordinarily, I could eventually move her -- but I still have some weakness from my back injury, and it just wasn't happening.
I managed some Instagram photos. (I was checking my messages when she saw the bug, so I had my phone in my hand when she crawled on top of me.) This was taken one-handed with my left hand going over my head and then over my right shoulder while holding my breath. I still don't know how this made my right shoulder look like a wad of sweatshirt-covered something, but it does.
Here's another, after she had moved down a little. You can see my reflection in her eye - - as well as her very clear expression that I was NOT to move.
I was pinned for about an hour after a day of staying hydrated, if you get me. The bug finally left the room. Never did find it. Totsi stayed very, very close all through the night. Yesterday, I bought her some turkey "bacon" treats to reward her vigilance. I totally get where she was coming from. And I think she thought she was protecting me.
11 September 2013
So this just happened...
I've been busy. Way busy. And not the busy that you create by working inefficiently - - damned well bonafide busy. So between things today, I put on my jam jams (pajamas, y'all) and settled down for a quick recharge and some chat time with Totsi. She was being very cute. I asked my Macbook to take a picture. Macbooks beep before they take pictures, and the beeping has an effect on my not-so-little one. Just two seconds earlier, this had been a minor victory. It wound up being a beep-fueled launch party off my side. I was finally going to have a picture of Totsi and me together that didn't involve what it wound up involving. Again.
The pattern continues. Eight years and counting of this pattern, everyone. Eight years. Strong the will is with this one, on both counts.
The pattern continues. Eight years and counting of this pattern, everyone. Eight years. Strong the will is with this one, on both counts.
10 September 2013
Oh, it's ALL about the bag...
No moral, just an account of this morning. I'm sure I've introduced you to my four-legged child, but I'll do it again. Meet Totsi:
She is a darling of great routine who tolerates no deviation. Her preferred morning:
Wake up at, ohhh, sevenish. Stand upon me and grunt. If it's a morning that I want to sleep in, she'll put her cold, wet nose right on my neck. When that doesn't work, she'll fall sideways on me and huff, then roll over to her side, put her feet on me, and push me towards the side of the bed. Yes, my dog pushes me out of bed. When I get up, she'll have a large happy dance and be escorted outside for her morning constitutional. Then she comes back inside and sleeps until about 11am. Diva? You think? What can I say - - I brought her up right.
This morning:
I booked a private lesson for today, Wednesday and Thursday at 6am. To give myself time to wake up, get to the studio, and heat it, I woke up at 4.30am. She waited until after I had finished my coffee to stir, and then she *stared*. After staring, she chose not to move until I said I needed to hurry up and go. When I said I was going to get a shower, she asked to be escorted to have her morning constitutional. Only she was *serious* about it. I know you know what I mean - dog or no dog. They get into their knowing, and they get *serious*. And Totsi wasn't poop-in-the-living-room serious, but she was close. Home girl was peeved.
I get it, I do. Really early mornings typically mean I'm going somewhere for a while - and I've been known to hide the suitcases from her until right before I leave to avoid upsetting her. As she trotted out the door onto the deck, I told her, "Mommy's got to hurry up and go." Big mistake. She decided to take a dark bath. (Well, there was no sun.) Then it was time to survey the woods behind the house from the left side of the deck. I reminded her to go potty. She chose to survey from the right side of the deck. Ten minutes later, she walked down into the yard after a brief stop to scan from the middle. Came back up. I called her inside, and she gave me a look of, "Oh, I'm clearly not up to anything at all..." - - and sauntered right back down the steps. A few more minutes passed. At long last, she slowly, and I mean slowly, made her way back up the steps, across the deck, and into the back door. Then she *walked* over to get her morning treat with great deliberateness, maintained this purpose all the way back to the bedroom with her treat in her mouth, hopped on the bed, dropped the treat, huffed dramatically, and STARED. I dashed upstairs to get ready for the studio, and when I came back down, she was STILL staring. Her treat had not been touched.
So I chose a small purse. No tote bag, no water bottle, no gear, nothing. Just one small purse, which I let her see me load up with just the essentials. And I showed it to her, saying, "See? Back SOON. Home SOON." She ate her treat and curled up to go back to sleep.
Never, ever deny the importance of choosing the right bag.
She is a darling of great routine who tolerates no deviation. Her preferred morning:
Wake up at, ohhh, sevenish. Stand upon me and grunt. If it's a morning that I want to sleep in, she'll put her cold, wet nose right on my neck. When that doesn't work, she'll fall sideways on me and huff, then roll over to her side, put her feet on me, and push me towards the side of the bed. Yes, my dog pushes me out of bed. When I get up, she'll have a large happy dance and be escorted outside for her morning constitutional. Then she comes back inside and sleeps until about 11am. Diva? You think? What can I say - - I brought her up right.
This morning:
I booked a private lesson for today, Wednesday and Thursday at 6am. To give myself time to wake up, get to the studio, and heat it, I woke up at 4.30am. She waited until after I had finished my coffee to stir, and then she *stared*. After staring, she chose not to move until I said I needed to hurry up and go. When I said I was going to get a shower, she asked to be escorted to have her morning constitutional. Only she was *serious* about it. I know you know what I mean - dog or no dog. They get into their knowing, and they get *serious*. And Totsi wasn't poop-in-the-living-room serious, but she was close. Home girl was peeved.
I get it, I do. Really early mornings typically mean I'm going somewhere for a while - and I've been known to hide the suitcases from her until right before I leave to avoid upsetting her. As she trotted out the door onto the deck, I told her, "Mommy's got to hurry up and go." Big mistake. She decided to take a dark bath. (Well, there was no sun.) Then it was time to survey the woods behind the house from the left side of the deck. I reminded her to go potty. She chose to survey from the right side of the deck. Ten minutes later, she walked down into the yard after a brief stop to scan from the middle. Came back up. I called her inside, and she gave me a look of, "Oh, I'm clearly not up to anything at all..." - - and sauntered right back down the steps. A few more minutes passed. At long last, she slowly, and I mean slowly, made her way back up the steps, across the deck, and into the back door. Then she *walked* over to get her morning treat with great deliberateness, maintained this purpose all the way back to the bedroom with her treat in her mouth, hopped on the bed, dropped the treat, huffed dramatically, and STARED. I dashed upstairs to get ready for the studio, and when I came back down, she was STILL staring. Her treat had not been touched.
So I chose a small purse. No tote bag, no water bottle, no gear, nothing. Just one small purse, which I let her see me load up with just the essentials. And I showed it to her, saying, "See? Back SOON. Home SOON." She ate her treat and curled up to go back to sleep.
Never, ever deny the importance of choosing the right bag.
09 September 2013
So! How'd that work out for you, personally?
Clearing is a powerful thing. I dug in after my last entry and took on my favorite kickoff exercise for doing so - free writing. I just *wrote*. And what I found was that in the end, I was taking way too much shit personally and then holding on like I would the most amazing, precious, rare Hello Kitty find ever. So today, I've decided to give you the advice I'm working on giving myself when I wind up in the brand of moments that lead me to take other people's crap personally. Example:
If you're supposed to be co-leading a presentation and the other person rambles on and on and ON and on and ON AND ON AND on and on and onandonandonandONNNNN, goes off on tangents, ignores you trying to interject, answers questions by going off on further tangents until someone in attendance flat out gets up and says they have to leave - - and YOU get mad, you might be taking their stuff personally. (I just totally channeled Jeff Foxworthy.) Sure, maybe your plan was for you both to be heard. You might be afraid the presentation just bombed. But consider why someone might take to grandstanding - why might they *need* the spotlight so much that they go into autopilot to that degree? Might it be a mask? They're not doing a damn thing to you, not really. It could be a fear of being seen leading them to put up what I call a "word mask", insecurities putting them into performer mode, or never feeling like they're being heard in other areas putting them into a place of, "OH HELL YEAH! It's finally about ME and I am going to SPEAK!" But it's got nothing to do with you, I'll wager, beyond they might feel a little competitive in team settings. Against *anyone*. Again - it's not about you. And it's normal to get pissed about not getting your full share of air time, but don't let it derail you from what you're up to outside of those few moments. The only time anyone tries to steal your sunshine is when they're sick and damned tired of their shade. Oh, hell. Hang on, I've got to - - I've just got to....
If you don't like that song, don't take it personally that I put it up here. But it's there, so you might as well play it and dance, right? Maybe just bob your head? I accidentally typed "boob" there instead of "bob" at first - what if I had left it and someone would have made a joke about it or gotten snarky and said I needed to proofread? Would I have been embarrassed? No. I've had a lot of coffee and type in excess of 100 words per minute. Sometimes shit happens. Would I have snarked right back at the proofreading comment? Mentally - hey, satya, right? But I'd also remind myself not to take it personally, that perhaps that person's being micromanaged somewhere in his or her life, or feels so wrong about stuff that they need to point out one....little.....thing because they just need to feel right about something. Are you ticked that I suggested you dance on a Monday when you have a million things to do and it's time to get down to business? It's an earworm 90's tune. That's all. Maybe you're ticked that I keep suggesting reasons someone might be ticked? It's nothing more than coffee and ideas. Maybe too much of both.
Today, don't take stuff personally. That's not a challenge, it's an invitation. Try it on. And, yeah, you might stand there in the grocery store checkout line after work wanting to slap the glittering snot out of the person who has too many items in the express lane - - but let it go. There could very well be someone checking Facebook on their phone in front of you when the stoplight turns green - - it's not about you. That's their gig. And I'm not telling you to let everything go and be a doormat, because sometimes you absolutely do have to assert yourself - but a lot of times, it's just someone else's shit. Nothing more. You'll know when it's time to do that - - just like you know when it's time to leave something alone. And once you get into that listening, and the little nuisances that used to get in your way become things you just have to walk around, life becomes more fun.
I'm going to go dance to that song now while I pour out the rest of this cup of coffee.
If you're supposed to be co-leading a presentation and the other person rambles on and on and ON and on and ON AND ON AND on and on and onandonandonandONNNNN, goes off on tangents, ignores you trying to interject, answers questions by going off on further tangents until someone in attendance flat out gets up and says they have to leave - - and YOU get mad, you might be taking their stuff personally. (I just totally channeled Jeff Foxworthy.) Sure, maybe your plan was for you both to be heard. You might be afraid the presentation just bombed. But consider why someone might take to grandstanding - why might they *need* the spotlight so much that they go into autopilot to that degree? Might it be a mask? They're not doing a damn thing to you, not really. It could be a fear of being seen leading them to put up what I call a "word mask", insecurities putting them into performer mode, or never feeling like they're being heard in other areas putting them into a place of, "OH HELL YEAH! It's finally about ME and I am going to SPEAK!" But it's got nothing to do with you, I'll wager, beyond they might feel a little competitive in team settings. Against *anyone*. Again - it's not about you. And it's normal to get pissed about not getting your full share of air time, but don't let it derail you from what you're up to outside of those few moments. The only time anyone tries to steal your sunshine is when they're sick and damned tired of their shade. Oh, hell. Hang on, I've got to - - I've just got to....
If you don't like that song, don't take it personally that I put it up here. But it's there, so you might as well play it and dance, right? Maybe just bob your head? I accidentally typed "boob" there instead of "bob" at first - what if I had left it and someone would have made a joke about it or gotten snarky and said I needed to proofread? Would I have been embarrassed? No. I've had a lot of coffee and type in excess of 100 words per minute. Sometimes shit happens. Would I have snarked right back at the proofreading comment? Mentally - hey, satya, right? But I'd also remind myself not to take it personally, that perhaps that person's being micromanaged somewhere in his or her life, or feels so wrong about stuff that they need to point out one....little.....thing because they just need to feel right about something. Are you ticked that I suggested you dance on a Monday when you have a million things to do and it's time to get down to business? It's an earworm 90's tune. That's all. Maybe you're ticked that I keep suggesting reasons someone might be ticked? It's nothing more than coffee and ideas. Maybe too much of both.
Today, don't take stuff personally. That's not a challenge, it's an invitation. Try it on. And, yeah, you might stand there in the grocery store checkout line after work wanting to slap the glittering snot out of the person who has too many items in the express lane - - but let it go. There could very well be someone checking Facebook on their phone in front of you when the stoplight turns green - - it's not about you. That's their gig. And I'm not telling you to let everything go and be a doormat, because sometimes you absolutely do have to assert yourself - but a lot of times, it's just someone else's shit. Nothing more. You'll know when it's time to do that - - just like you know when it's time to leave something alone. And once you get into that listening, and the little nuisances that used to get in your way become things you just have to walk around, life becomes more fun.
I'm going to go dance to that song now while I pour out the rest of this cup of coffee.
05 September 2013
The way out is through...
I often joke that my life is a cartoon, and that interesting things just - - happen. I'm the queen of random events that spring up and become part of the larger picture, or I'll find myself consenting to be part of things that wind up playing out as a hilarious mini-disaster, like the time my dad decided to use a shop vac to blow a clog out of the central vacuum system hose and dislodged a clog of Christmas tree needles and dust that cannon-balled out with a FOOOMP and made one hell of a mess. In the living room. Which was predominantly off-white. I'm also known for random ideas that double me over into a fit of giggles, sometimes at inopportune moments. But sometimes, other things happen that are equally as seemingly random - but not as much fun.
Lately, I've been waking up mad - and it's weird. I *like* my mornings. I enjoy writing in my journal while having coffee, dancing with my dog, and getting everything in check before I get into my day. Granted, I've been through a highly transformative year - almost nothing is the same as it was this time last year. So anxiety I could wrap my head around - but anger? Literally, "Oh, hell. It's morning, damn it.", will be the first thought that pops to mind.
And it's been heightening as I've been getting back on my mat on a consistent basis. Yoga taps into stuff, I know that. And as amazing as I say the clearings it's helped me reach are, navigating them isn't always what I want to be dealing with. I'm not saying 100% that I'm tapping into things on my mat - but the more I move back into practice, the more it's happening. As much as I would rather put on some cartoons and not deal with it, something I've heard in training after training comes to mind: The way out is through.
Whoa, Nelly - right? And right now, reading that? The first thought that comes to mind is, "I don't have time to sit down and deal with it." But I have time to write a blog entry, check the laundry, put a graphics order together, work on something on Facebook for a project that's in the works, sit and stare out the window. Oh, and make a shopping list. If I have time for those things, why do I not have time to sit down, check in, and get the gut-level anger that pops up every....single....morning into words? Writing is a great clearing for me. (It's also a great avoidance tactic. Watch! I can get another paragraph out here!)
So I'm going to do that. And if there's something gnawing at you that you think you don't have time to deal with? I invite you to face up to giving yourself the time to clear it. I've found it rarely takes long, and that the benefits are vast - as vast as the space in my life that clears when I finally sit down, dig in, and distill the swirl to just a few words, letting whatever comes up, come up. I promise - even if you're telling yourself you don't know what's creating something like what I've described - you do. You know.
Trust that knowing, and lets work through it.
(I swear I'm really going to do this.)
(Like, now.)
(Well, after I post this.)
Lately, I've been waking up mad - and it's weird. I *like* my mornings. I enjoy writing in my journal while having coffee, dancing with my dog, and getting everything in check before I get into my day. Granted, I've been through a highly transformative year - almost nothing is the same as it was this time last year. So anxiety I could wrap my head around - but anger? Literally, "Oh, hell. It's morning, damn it.", will be the first thought that pops to mind.
And it's been heightening as I've been getting back on my mat on a consistent basis. Yoga taps into stuff, I know that. And as amazing as I say the clearings it's helped me reach are, navigating them isn't always what I want to be dealing with. I'm not saying 100% that I'm tapping into things on my mat - but the more I move back into practice, the more it's happening. As much as I would rather put on some cartoons and not deal with it, something I've heard in training after training comes to mind: The way out is through.
Whoa, Nelly - right? And right now, reading that? The first thought that comes to mind is, "I don't have time to sit down and deal with it." But I have time to write a blog entry, check the laundry, put a graphics order together, work on something on Facebook for a project that's in the works, sit and stare out the window. Oh, and make a shopping list. If I have time for those things, why do I not have time to sit down, check in, and get the gut-level anger that pops up every....single....morning into words? Writing is a great clearing for me. (It's also a great avoidance tactic. Watch! I can get another paragraph out here!)
So I'm going to do that. And if there's something gnawing at you that you think you don't have time to deal with? I invite you to face up to giving yourself the time to clear it. I've found it rarely takes long, and that the benefits are vast - as vast as the space in my life that clears when I finally sit down, dig in, and distill the swirl to just a few words, letting whatever comes up, come up. I promise - even if you're telling yourself you don't know what's creating something like what I've described - you do. You know.
Trust that knowing, and lets work through it.
(I swear I'm really going to do this.)
(Like, now.)
(Well, after I post this.)
04 September 2013
Keep it simple, ______ ...and yesterday.
I bet I know where your mind went with regards to that last word. But I've been working the word "stupid" out of my vocabulary lately, especially with regards to myself. When addressing myself in situations that lead me call myself that word, I now say, "Keep it simple, Superstar!".
For a few months, I've been scheduling posts on two blogs and getting so caught up in other stuff that I see those two entries in my calendar and get a head cramp. So I'm going to keep it simple and come home to this one. I like this one. It's me. I don't know why I ever strayed.
Now, let me tell you all about yesterday. If there's a moral, I hope I'll find it as I write. Bear in mind that my intention for yesterday was to get to my studio for a practice.
I slept through my alarm, missing my appointment with my chiropractor. Waking up with a jolt set the energy well - before I had finished my coffee I had worked out a solution to quite the potentially epic mistake and called to reschedule a meeting working out that solution caused me to miss. My phone. It began to ring. And ring. No worries - I'm used to that, especially the day after a holiday. I decided to get out of the house - - and go to the grocery store. Straight up - somebody nearly ran over me out of impatience while I was selecting avocados, and I'm a fast picker. (I have a knowing when it comes to avocados.) I couldn't get down an aisle without someone turning their cart sideways in front of mine and answering a phone call. Decided to tone out a little, and went on one of my favorite quick excursions on the way home:
I stopped at the drugstore for a makeup fix to calm down. I *love* going hog wild on makeup at the drugstore. Picked a quiet one, that's usually not crowded, where I could browse aisles and cruise lipsticks. I was oggling a blue nail polish when I heard a cashier say, "She's down again! Call 911!" I thought he was joking about a fellow staff member. They weren't. A woman had pass out at the counter, gotten up, walked outside, and passed out again on the sidewalk - knocking out a tooth when she landed. It was awful. And while it had no direct effect on me - - you know. I went home.
I got home about ten minutes before the class I wanted to attend was to start, and decided to attend the next. Unloaded the car, put the groceries on the kitchen floor, and started to unload. Picked up a jar of half sour pickles and felt the beginnings of a back spasm. Went to lay down. Stayed the hell there. Let myself stay the hell there longer. Got up, heated the foyer, and had a practice. Ahhhhh. Except for...
I went into the bathroom to take my contacts out for bed, and there, on the door, was a roach the size of a fucking skateboard. It flew, I hollered, and it ran into the bedroom. Ridding my home of that monster took an hour. Just how big was it? *The dog was scared of it.* And she stayed scared until about 2.00am - sitting on my shoulder after I went to bed, not wanting the lights out, nudging me to wake me to make sure things were okay, hiding under all the pillows (Totsi weighs 50 pounds). She's still keeping at least one part of her body in contact with me right now, and if I move, she gets upset.
So - moral? I kept moving yesterday by keeping it simple. (I knew I could find one!)
Create an amazing Wednesday! It's so good to be home.
Namaste, baby!
For a few months, I've been scheduling posts on two blogs and getting so caught up in other stuff that I see those two entries in my calendar and get a head cramp. So I'm going to keep it simple and come home to this one. I like this one. It's me. I don't know why I ever strayed.
Now, let me tell you all about yesterday. If there's a moral, I hope I'll find it as I write. Bear in mind that my intention for yesterday was to get to my studio for a practice.
I slept through my alarm, missing my appointment with my chiropractor. Waking up with a jolt set the energy well - before I had finished my coffee I had worked out a solution to quite the potentially epic mistake and called to reschedule a meeting working out that solution caused me to miss. My phone. It began to ring. And ring. No worries - I'm used to that, especially the day after a holiday. I decided to get out of the house - - and go to the grocery store. Straight up - somebody nearly ran over me out of impatience while I was selecting avocados, and I'm a fast picker. (I have a knowing when it comes to avocados.) I couldn't get down an aisle without someone turning their cart sideways in front of mine and answering a phone call. Decided to tone out a little, and went on one of my favorite quick excursions on the way home:
I stopped at the drugstore for a makeup fix to calm down. I *love* going hog wild on makeup at the drugstore. Picked a quiet one, that's usually not crowded, where I could browse aisles and cruise lipsticks. I was oggling a blue nail polish when I heard a cashier say, "She's down again! Call 911!" I thought he was joking about a fellow staff member. They weren't. A woman had pass out at the counter, gotten up, walked outside, and passed out again on the sidewalk - knocking out a tooth when she landed. It was awful. And while it had no direct effect on me - - you know. I went home.
I got home about ten minutes before the class I wanted to attend was to start, and decided to attend the next. Unloaded the car, put the groceries on the kitchen floor, and started to unload. Picked up a jar of half sour pickles and felt the beginnings of a back spasm. Went to lay down. Stayed the hell there. Let myself stay the hell there longer. Got up, heated the foyer, and had a practice. Ahhhhh. Except for...
I went into the bathroom to take my contacts out for bed, and there, on the door, was a roach the size of a fucking skateboard. It flew, I hollered, and it ran into the bedroom. Ridding my home of that monster took an hour. Just how big was it? *The dog was scared of it.* And she stayed scared until about 2.00am - sitting on my shoulder after I went to bed, not wanting the lights out, nudging me to wake me to make sure things were okay, hiding under all the pillows (Totsi weighs 50 pounds). She's still keeping at least one part of her body in contact with me right now, and if I move, she gets upset.
So - moral? I kept moving yesterday by keeping it simple. (I knew I could find one!)
Create an amazing Wednesday! It's so good to be home.
Namaste, baby!
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