Wagons and Wine


It’s been a while. And by a while, I mean….a while. More like, a shit-ton of time. The settling down, the union of pen with paper and usually, blissfully,….some wine.

To write. To put all of the hullabaloo and the mumbo-jumbo that passes through my noggin’ on the daily into some semblance of cohesive form. Writing makes me think about my life more.  Encourages me to dig just a little bit. deeper.

Forget about the fact that I just opened a new business. It’s a valid excuse, not to write, if one were prone to accepting the bullshit we like to cover up in the name of “excuses”. I felt like somehow I had to censor myself all of a sudden. Project only a certain facet of me, because now I wear the “boss-lady” label. Who is going to read this? Is it going to affect sales? God forbid people know that I GASP/HURL/SPITTLE…drink wine.

Oh honey. I drink wine.

The truth is, my writing was always THE most truthful side of myself. And I think for any of you who might still be clinging onto the potential next “edition”; the one thing that made reading it worthwhile was my willingness to bear it all…because in our ability to be authentic, we start to realize that only semantics separates you from me.

So fuck censorship. I’m back.

There might be a select few of you who have been here since the beginning. This all started when I first did my teacher training and then continued, writing and posting every single week (until, aside from the intermittent smatterings, I fell face-mother-fucking-first off of the wagon a couple years ago).

We lose ourselves from time-to-time, don’t we?

You followed me through Central America to Kentucky and Prince Edward Island; to Montreal, Brazil, L.A. and in a 1985 tin-box Vanagon across Canada.   You followed me through some shitty relationships, and then (more shitty relationships) but always, there was yoga.

There was always yoga.

And now, I own a yoga studio. I will spare you the details of the process, (you can read for yourself) but shall we say “diplomatically”–aka—me, censoring. just. a little bit—building it was no picnic in the park.

Now this fucking studio is open and it’s so damn beautiful sometimes I can’t even believe it’s real. I can barely fathom that five years ago this was an idea in my head. A hippie at heart and definitely not a planner, not much in my life has walked the distance between pre-meditation to follow-through.

But. Here I am now.

We’ve only been open just over a month and people are coming, and they are coming back and they are CHANGING. THEIR. LIVES. They are coming every day; committing themselves privately to their own 30-Day Challenge, without pomp or circumstance, without acknowledgment or accolade—they are just showing up. They are nicer, softer, more relaxed and open day-by-day. They are sharing with me the things that they struggle with, and sometimes it’s not even in words. It’s the clenched fists in Savasana. The frenetic searching for breath while trying to find balance on one leg. It’s the gentle learning of who they are and then, the grateful gaze as they leave silently out the front door, with only understanding linking our eyes.

It is magic, being here now. And it is only the beginning.

I won’t make promises and I won’t make excuses, but I can tell you this: There will be writing. There will be yoga. And, oh yes, there will be wine.



Memoirs of a Downward Facing Dog

I could sugar-coat the facts and tell you that it’s all hunky-dory, that life is what you make of it and I am living the dream.  I could tell you that my social calendar is filling up faster than Justin Bieber’s prescription refills and when you open yourself up to the Universe, it’s just astounding what flows in.  And while most days that is my general belief, today, it’s a Porta-Potty full to the brim.  So, I’m throwing a pity party…for one.

The honeymoon phase has worn off.  The adventure and the road are but a fond and distant memory.  Gone are the distinct recollections of harrowing road conditions and impending snowstorms; strange locations and newfound friends. 

What I am left with is a sobering dose of reality. 

Living in a new town, with no network, no friends, no social life save for the occasional yoga class I teach and a restaurant job, though it is an adventure of sorts, it’s starting to get a little bit lonely.

So, I took my lonely ass out on “me-date” the other night.  Headed straight for the movie theaters after work for a 10 o’clock show.  The perks of the theater were wine and a spicy tuna hand-roll at your cushy, couch-like seat.  The movie was Her.  And it got me thinking….

Over some generations, we’ve been taught that it is noteworthy and important to be independent.  We live and die alone, or so “they” say.  And while independence is normally my default setting, isn’t that also just a little bit sad?  Haven’t we evolved as a species because of our ability to work, think, create and live…together?  Nary, a solo cave man would’ve faired so well against the pointy tusks of a sabre-tooth tiger if he weren’t sufficiently backed up by his Cro-Magnon cohorts.

Automated operators, online dating, online shopping, self-checkout lines, bank teller surcharges, social-media sites (which are the most anti-social thing EVER).  I mean, we’ve built so many layers and boundaries around ourselves to protect against actual, real, human interaction. 

So why can’t we admit that deep down inside, we just want connection?

Is it wrong to want someone who just gets you?  Who laughs at your jokes and gets your geeky interest in whatever it is you geek out about.  To crave a person with whom you can investigate, learn and scratch deeper into than the veneers of our profiles? Who is loyal and supportive and in it for the long haul?  Does that make me co-dependent to crave what seems a natural, human, social inclination?  And, while I firmly believe in doing my best to make the most of what Life throws at you, what if this is it?  If this is all there is, is it wrong to be unsatisfied?

While normally I try to douse myself in positivity, today the pep talks fall flat.  And in the spirit of being authentic in 2014, today this is me. 

Starting over.  Questioning, quiet…and struggling. 

Unabashed Authenticity

be real

If there is any one thing one should strive to “be” in life, it is to be real.  Nothing more and nothing less than exactly who you are.  Because the moment you lose your ability to be authentic, is the moment you live your life as a lie.

It’s not always easy, to be real.  We sometimes get wrapped up in our need to please others or to not make someone angry or to just be liked.  But when we exchange our realness for the needy, greedy insecurities of the ego, it is a disservice to all parties involved.

Consider this:  in the dating world, for example.  Boy meets girl.  Girl meets boy.  (Or girl meets girl.  Boy meets boy. )  You meet this prospective partner, who at the get go, seems all shiny and new.  The attention is lovely and for the first time in a long while, you feel wanted and desired.  You don’t want this attention to fade and so you “play the game.”  You project yourself as someone more sexy, more confident, tough, independent, flirty, mysterious, supportive, adventurous, talented, non-committal, enthusiastic, altruistic, witty, etc., etc. than you actually are.  This prospective partner sees a highly-polished mirage of you and gets to know a “you” whom you are not.  Follow?  The real you gets put on a shelf as you struggle to stay in someone’s favor and consequently gets buried under layers and layers of false pretences.  And when you finally reach that stage in your relationship when you start to feel comfortable, when the real you starts to shine through….you know the stage:  the farting, passing out in front of the TV without sex, and unflattering underwear stage, and suddenly your partner is completely disenchanted, because “you” are not whom they thought you to be at all.

Who exactly, does that game serve??  Nobody, in my opinion.  What if we could just be ourselves?  And rest easy, knowing that we are wanted, liked and loved for exactly who we are.

My best friend tells me that I have a habit of email “bombing” people in my life when I feel misunderstood.  An email bomb from me usually consists of a lengthy and well-thought-out account of heartfelt feelings and verbose emotional meanderings.  If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you might have noticed that I do tend to lean towards more candid communications.  The recipients of my letters are usually past boyfriends, and without generalizing, in general, such blatant displays of effusive emotives usually make my men willy-nilly, nervous-Nellies, in other words:  highly uncomfortable.

Could I change?  Yes, I could.  I could curb the need to connect on a deeper-than-superficial level in order to “play the game”.   I could pretend that my emotions are not important to me, and that I don’t ever struggle with doubt, fear and insecurity.  But I don’t want to change.  Because one day, there will be someone who receives one of my gush grenades and he is going to appreciate that I trusted him enough to share my feelings, privileged to have had a glimpse of my vulnerability, and invested enough to accept all that I am and all that I am not.

So whether you are a freak or a geek, a wallflower or a communicator, an introvert, a lover, a fighter, a dreamer, a goth, a hipster or a hip-hopper, be unabashed in your authenticity.  Live your truth.  All that you are, and all that you are not, be really REAL at that.

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