This year, I've been doing my best to put up a new yoga video just about every week! We'll see how that goes now that I'm back to working full-time, but so far, so good. This one targets the hips, or the Sacral Chakra. It's the third in a series of chakra videos that work on opening up different areas of the body. You can check them all out here.
As always, I hope you are enjoying them or courteously ignoring them. Feel free to send over any requests!
Once regret that I will never leave behind (mostly because my dad and uncle will never let me live it down), is that when I was some-age-around-middle-school, my sister and I had the chance to visit Australia and we didn't want to go. I remember being at a party or a picnic where we met some of my dad's IBM colleagues who were living in Australia, and they invited us to come for a visit. Just like a few years earlier when I'd cried about being stuck visiting my uncle in Bermuda and missing the first day of our 5th grade sleep-away field trip, I was not having it. I didn't want to miss school or any chance to be cool around my cool friends, and so I was not about to hop on a 24-hour plane ride to hang out with kangaroos and my dad's work associates. No thank you.
I am proud to say that my priorities have changed drastically since then. My dad's work associates have given me numerous tips on what to do while traveling the world, and they've taken us skiing or joined us on other adventures. Since I'm a nepotistic girl living in a nepotistic world, I was eventually able to make some global IBM colleagues of my own and visit them in cool places, too. April took me to Laguna Beach to visit my friend Steph, who I met while working in Austin and who was wonderfully hospitable to welcome me into her beautiful beach life.
We enjoyed some much needed seaside walking and happy hour time as I got to explore another part of this new state. I'm glad I've become much more of a travel "Yes" woman, and I'm grateful for kind coworkers and friendly faces everywhere that have a way of making the whole world feel like home.
Did you know I didn't like it here in LA the first time I came? I didn't like it even one bit. That first visit was about 5 years ago, my sister and I were driving around at the end of our full California road trip, and we had no idea where to go. We took the metro to Hollywood with a lot of smelly people. We found Hollywood to be disappointing (or at least I did, but my sister might have been satisfied with seeing the sign and Ellen DeGeneres' star). We spent a day and a half here and the flight home couldn't come soon enough, although we did stay in an adorable Airbnb which provided our safe haven.
I certainly didn't think that one day I would wind up living here. Things in the city have changed since our Airbnb hostess told us to only turn left at the end of our street, never right, if we wanted to preserve our safety. I found out that it's full of interesting things to see and do, beyond the star walk and Santa Monica Pier. And there are still plenty of unsettling strangers to yell at you on the sidewalk.
The biggest surprise for me about LA has been the availability of nature and outdoor explorations. I didn't know it during my first visit, or my second or third, but there are a great many hikes to be had around here. While it appears so concrete and traffic ridden to an outsider, the mountains and parks are very accessible once you live here.
I've been squeezing in as many hikes as possible during my free hours. It's hard to get myself on the stairclimber at the gym when I know there are such beautiful hills nearby. I'm envisioning myself becoming part of the group of early rising elitists that does a morning hike before the start of the workday, or (more preferably) one that at least breaks up the commute with a climb on the way home.
And for you, wherever you are, I hope it's not snowing and that you are remembering to go outside. <3
Big news! In the past week, I have found that the best things in life are.... NOT free! They are $46.00 and they are tickets to the annual Pups at the Park night at Dodgers Stadium.
Are all baseball teams doing this? I hope so! If not, why not?
My friend Katherine filled me in just in time. First of all, Dodgers Stadium is a nice place for a ballgame. You can see California palm trees all along the walk in, and sunsets from your seat.
Second of all, dogs. A lot of them. They're out in public; they're all in one place along the right field fence; and many of them are wearing pet-fitted sports uniforms.
Third of all, there are unlimited hot dogs, nachos, popcorn, and peanuts, but you should probably always impose your own limits on these types of food items. I imagine the freebies are due to the potential hassles of wrangling dogs, wallets, and trays of baseball treats, but I didn't ask any questions.
The girls were a little tired by the 9th inning, not to mention unimpressed with the disappointing 1-9 loss, but I think it's safe to say we got what we came for.
Hi friends! Last week, which began with my 30th birthday, I went on a little stay-cation to the luxurious (seriously!) Crowne Plaza LAX airport hotel to participate in training for my second year of AmeriCorps. For the next year, I'll be serving as an AmeriCorps VISTA with Bright Prospect, an organization that helps low-income high school students get into and through college.
I've been pretty open about my move to Los Angeles, but I haven't told many people why I'm here and what I'm doing. That's partially because I'm always doing a lot of different things, and partially because I felt slightly silly to be a 30-year-old signing on for another year of AmeriCorps.
If you're not familiar, AmeriCorps is a service program where volunteers work in underserved communities for a year or two (sometimes more) to make life better for the people living there. We act like full-time employees, but receive a very modest stipend that is designed to give us the experience of living in the communities in which we serve. VISTA is a program that specifically aims to fight poverty in those communities, and I'll be doing that by making sure high-potential high school students have access to higher education, regardless of their income level.
During my first year with AmeriCorps, I worked in a low-income elementary school and provided 1-on-1 reading instruction to 10-12 students per day. I wanted to test if I'd eventually like to become a certified teacher, and quickly found out that I did not! (Although 5-8 year olds can be pretty adorable.) When the year ended, I decided not to return from my leave of absence with IBM, and instead took some time to teach yoga, travel, and drive for Uber while I figured things out. I also also took a few courses in Graphic Design to pursue some personal and semi-professional interests on the side.
6 months later, I was finishing up my work/trade in Nicaragua and considering next steps, dreaming of Southern California like I had for a long time. I’d done a couple interviews in the area, but nothing really stuck. I kept getting the dreaded, “Contact us when you get out here!” But I wasn’t brave enough to move to one of the priciest places in the world without the promise of a job.
One day, I finally decided to browse the AmeriCorps jobsite-- just to see! I had mixed feelings about my first year. I learned so much about what humans are capable of; I was part of an awesome and irreplaceable team; I felt on fire about pursuing my passions and working with equally passionate people. At the same time, it was hard to record 1600 service hours for a stipend that barely covered rent. I also worried about how it would look. AmeriCorps is popular with the fresh out of college, idealist crowd, so almost everyone in my first program was 22 or 23. I'm 30 now, and I hear your 30’s are supposed to be about expanding your career, planning for a family, developing expertise, etc.
BUT the job seems perfectly aligned to what I’m looking for: it will be a lot of writing, putting my new graphic design skills to use, building experience in non-profit marketing, and gaining entry to the Golden State. This is a dream that I'm now living-- using the rewards from my previous more comfortable job to fund adventures and service projects that are important to me. What better way to invest? (The stock market, 401Ks, and personal property that would deliver long-term returns, you say? Nonsense! That's not for the life of a wandering spirit!)
I’m sure it will be a challenge going back to the 9-5 schedule, but I’m positive it will be a rewarding learning experience. And you can bet that the yoga teaching has already started and will continue on every evening and weekend possible. Thank you for following along and being here to read this! I'm so grateful for your continued support.
Recently my roommate asked me if, when I’m talking about myself, whether I refer to myself as a girl or as a woman. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, too. Girl. Always, but I’m trying to start thinking and saying woman more and more. My roommate says she doesn’t want to be called a woman because it sounds too stern and boring. I say that I do want to because I believe we are free to bring our own definitions to the label.
I am a woman, although I still get carded at every drinking establishment and, earlier this year, at an R-rated movie. I meet people and, if we talk about Vegas, they say I don’t look old enough to gamble. If I order food at a bar they say I don’t look old enough to be in there. I am a woman. I’ve been old enough to be in there for almost a decade. I’ve lived so many lives, more than most of those who say I’m not enough.
I wasn’t always ready to be called a woman, but I’m ready now. It’s kind of like at the ski rental office when I have to indicate whether I’m Level I Beginner, Level II Intermediate, or Level III Advanced, and the guy at the counter asks what he should put down for me. I am uncomfortable calling myself Level III Advanced just like I am uncomfortable saying “Hey, listen to me, I am a woman.” Of course I’m Level III Advanced. I have been skiing every winter for my entire life. But I can’t say it because I don’t want to seem like a show off to the counter guy. Or I worry that if I say it, then I might go out and fall and someone will think, “Wow look at this Level II Intermediate who dared to say that she was Level III Advanced.” I can’t remember the last time that I’ve fallen on skis, but this seems like a very real possibility.
It’s kind of like when a 40-something male passenger in my Uber asks if I want to go into the restaurant and have a drink with him. I decline, and he asks if I have a boyfriend. I respond that if I had a boyfriend I probably wouldn’t be driving for Uber at 9pm on a Friday night. He asks if I’m a girl who likes boys or a girl who likes girls. I let him out and say have a nice night. I am neither. I am a woman.
I am trying to change a few of my habits, which I will share with you here so that my dedication to changing them becomes more formal. So, if you see me doing the opposite of any of these, feel free to remind and correct me, gently:
1.) I will now only lock my car from outside, using the key button, instead of from inside using the door button. I have locked my keys in my car three times in the past two years, which is not that much, but enough for me to have a locksmith’s personal number on speed dial and for him to recognize me while stopping at the gas station. Enough is enough.
2.) I am working on inserting just a bit of silence in between my sentences. Since I started filming yoga videos, I’ve noticed that when I’m nervous, I add “um” or “and” at the end of every sentence, which causes it to run immediately into the next one. Then I end up starting the new sentence before I’m exactly sure of what I want to say. It’s a mess! I’m starting to take a breath in my videos and in normal conversation.
3.) I promise to be more decisive in my ordering at food and drink establishments. This could be a big time saver. I’m usually explicit about what I want, at first: “I’ll take a regular coffee, please.” Then it starts to waver: “What size?" "Um. Medium.” “Medium or dark roast?” What does that mean? Will choosing one make me sound like I know more about coffee than I actually do? “Ummm, medium. I guess.” “Room for cream?” I never get cream, but I hesitate, “Ummmmm, no.” “Anything else?” Oh boy. Do I want anything else? “Um….” Time to look at the goods. Ooo donuts. “Ummm…” Should I eat a donut today? I haven’t eaten many sweets lately. “Ok, I’ll take a donut.” “For here or to-go?” “Uh… to-go.” “Would you like a bag for the donut?” JESUS CHRIST SO MANY QUESTIONS. “Ummmmmm….” A bag? Do I need a bag? “Yeah. A bag would be good.”
I have gone to a lot of coffee shops over the past few weeks, so who knows how much time has been wasted already. These LA baristas are alert and on point, so I know it’s not them, it’s me. I’m working on the pause, quickly followed by a clear and direct response.
Last weekend was about as good as it gets up in Mammoth Lakes, CA. On Thursday, my dad picked me up and we drove to Mammoth for a ski weekend and my early 30th birthday celebration. What a dad! He left home in NY at 5am, drove down to NYC, flew across the country, then scooped me up in a rental SUV with 4WD to take us 5 hours to Northern California. We weren’t sure if we’d need the 4WD, but were glad to have it as we drove into Mammoth in a snowstorm. I probably should’ve driven the California leg of the trip, but my dad is very strict about rules and my name wasn’t registered with the rental company. Who knows what could have happened. So I just stared out the window as we went from rain to sun and back again. I saw a bunch of rainbows, Joshua trees, and interesting rock formations.
We skied an amazing day at Mammoth Mountain on Friday, and another at the well kept secret June Mountain on Saturday. Sunday had us back at Mammoth in a morning blizzard, but it all cleared up by lunchtime to return us to these beautiful views.
My head has been pretty clear, and I realize how lucky I am to be on this life vacation where I don’t really have anything to worry about back at “home”. It feels strange calling it home since I’ve only lived there for two weeks, but I'm definitely enjoying the transition. I can't think of a better way to explore my new state and celebrate the onset of a new decade of life!
Last week I had an emotional day. Maybe it was all the rain, or that I was PMS-ing since I wanted to eat every chocolate bar within arm’s reach all week. I went to aerial yoga in the morning where we did a lot of deep stretching, so maybe I released something in a chakra somewhere.
Everything started out fine. I left yoga class and thought I should visit the DMV since I had the time. My umbrella and folder of materials were already in the car, so I went. There was a free parking spot and the line *only* took an hour. I had all the right stuff to get my license, and the employee told me there were 5 minutes left to take the written test, so did I want to take it or come back another day? A test? I’ll come back next week when I register my car. No, no. I’d better do it now. I tried to keep a positive outlook, but I was feeling anxious because I’m not very expert in official road safety and I was in the last group rushing in before the testing area closed.
…
Well, I failed. I don’t remember which questions I got wrong because, apparently, there were a lot. And now I would have to return someday to bring my smog certificate and retake the test. You can take it up to three times. My cheeks burned with shame as I tried to log back in and retake it before anyone noticed I’d failed, but the screen wouldn’t load fast enough, and I heard a guard approach. “Ma’am, did you fail the test?” Yeah. “You have to come back another day. You can’t retake it right now.” Ok.
My eyes were starting to water. I was a failure! I’d had a feeling I would fail because common sense tests always tend to make me doubt my instincts and think everything is a trick question. But, yup, I failed. I was trying to gather my belongings and get out of there to my car where I could contemplate all of my failures alone in solitude, when this much older man whom I had talked to in the waiting area earlier stopped me to ask for my name and if we could exchange phone numbers. He’s been in LA for 6 months and is looking for a friend. I don’t know what commonalities our friendship would be based on, other than both having waited at the DMV for an hour, so I said “No, thank you” and tried not to feel bad. I thought back to the time in Nicaragua when I gave a guy my number out of discomfort and guilt, and he sent me 100 unanswered Whatsapp messages in two days before I blocked him.
I got to my car to cry about not knowing the rules of the road and thought maybe I should have taken his number in case I fail again and need someone to drive me places.
Yesterday I intentionally left my phone at home while I walked the mile each way to the yoga studio. I said good morning to every single person I passed, and to some animals, too. “Good morning businessman in your suit!” “Good morning potentially homeless woman carrying many bags!” “Good morning husky dogs on your stoop!” “Good morning hipster guy talking creatively to yourself!” “Good morning asexual-looking transgender couple!” “Good morning Outdoor Voices-clad mat-toting yoga girl who’s just like me!” I'm disconnected and engaged with my environment. I pass the local elementary school and two boys flag me down to retrieve their soccer ball from across the street. I toss it over the fence and trot along on my merry way.
I feel like I’m in a movie. It’s the one about another white girl (woman!) coming in to gentrify a historically Hispanic neighborhood. I speak Spanish, though, so at least we can talk about it? Does it count as gentrification if I have to live with three housemates and couldn’t afford to live anywhere else? I try to eat at the Antigua bakery and the Viva Azteca taco truck, but I’ve also visited the new bookstore/record store/barbershop and the fancy coffee shop where the lattes come standard with almond milk. What a luxury!
Anyway, I'm glad to be here with the grassy slopes, sweet little bungalows, fruit trees, and all the yoga. Lots of love.
I read in an article recently that humans are much more likely to undergo big, life-altering feats in the year before they reach certain age milestones. 29, 39, 49, 59. They’ll run marathons, change jobs, move across the country, start businesses, and take on other bucket list type adventures. For me, this year was true to the theory. I left a job, accepted a new one, traveled to Asia, self-published a book, made a big move, and, as of yesterday, visited IKEA for the first time.
I didn’t need much, just a set of drawers for my closet and a small trash can for under my desk. My sister asked why I didn’t just go to Bed Bath & Beyond or Homegoods--some of our usual home furnishing haunts. “No, no,” I said, “I want to have the IKEA experience.”
I knew enough to avoid weekend crowds by going in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. I even found ground level parking right outside the store. My tummy was rumbling since I’d come from the gym, so I stopped in the restaurant first. In my imaginings, based on what I’d heard from friends, there would be platters of complimentary Swedish meatballs along every aisle and a fountain of all-you-can-eat frozen yogurt waiting at the end of the maze. I didn’t see any of that yet, but was impressed by the food court offerings. 4 meatballs for $1 and veggie options as well. I filled my belly and began the trek.
I should say that modern European design is not really my taste, so I’m not sure what I was hoping to find there. I’m more of a cozy wooded cabin or, in some cases, beachy bohemian kind of gal. White walls, light colored wood, and all those sharp edges just seem sterile to me. I perused the showrooms. There was so much to see, but none of it that I wanted. Closet organization systems, plastic plants, and squares upon squares. I walked past a model micro-apartment, which apparently singles in cities are flocking to these days. I imagined living there, dying there, and felt sad.
“Grab a cart! You’re about to have your hands full!” The end-cap signs warned. Full of 69 cent plastic wastebaskets, glass cacti, and various lamp shades that somehow all managed to look the same. I twisted and turned, exhausting my feet and eventually settling on some new towels that I kind of needed so no one would question me at the register.
The warehouse at the end seemed convenient and slightly robotic. So many boxes in so many rows. I remembered reading an online forum post once about what it was like to live in Stockholm. The author said that although almost everyone was polite and open-minded, if you had moved from another place and, for example, tried to host a taco dinner on a Tuesday, no one would show up, explaining, “Oh no, not on a Tuesday. Everyone knows Tuesday is pizza night here.”
Just kidding; there's not really a Part Three since the last day of the drive only took 4 hours. I just passed through a bunch of Star Wars desert, then there were some mountains where it started raining, and then I was in Los Angeles.
California Cori. That’s me now. I suppose I’ve read enough about spirituality to know that the place in which you live doesn’t have much to do with who you actually are, but I would like to think that I’m made up mostly of sun and sea. I hope I could be a little bit of succulents and fruit trees. And I’ll be damned if I’m not at least partly avocados and In-N-Out Burger.
I live here, and it feels like I’m wandering in a dream. It's been raining-- it rains here, who knew-- which was not ideal for unpacking a fully loaded car, but which could be symbolic of my renewal and rebirth. I'll take it.
The house is a testament to putting full faith in Craigslist findings. I had only seen it and met the roommates via FaceTime before driving out here, but so far everything seems to be surpassing my expectations. I had wished for down-to-earth people, in-home laundry, and an included parking spot. I arrived to find that the room is bigger than it looked in the photos. The whole house is brighter. Outside there is a patio, a garden box, and a lemon tree. The backsplash in the bathroom makes it look like a hotel and makes me feel like my toiletries aren’t nice enough to be there. The roommates have a friendly dog and cat that kept me company while I hung up clothes and shifted boxes.
On the first full day, I went out for breakfast with my new roommates. There was vegan cheese, avocado toast, and $7 lattes, and it felt like I had officially woken up here. Later, I ran to the park, past a man screaming at the top of his lungs in the street.
(6:50am)
It’s 24 degrees when I start the car. I tiptoed around the ski cabin, careful not to wake anyone since we started drinking yesterday around 2pm when the ski area handed out free PBR’s after the races. Most of us didn’t stop until about 10pm.
Hour 1- I’m tired. Possibly too tired for an 11 hour drive. At least the visions of mountains are enough to entertain my mind.
Hour 2- The sun rises over the mountains. I breathe deeply. Everything’s going to be fine.
Hour 3- I stop at Chick fil A for breakfast. Starbucks and Panera are right next door, but Chick fil A is my road trip food and I think this is the only one I will see.
Hour 4- Why have I done this to myself?
Hour 5- I call my dad to tell him how we went skiing one day and hiking the next. He says maybe I should be moving to New Mexico instead. I tell him New Mexico might be too weird for me. He says Austin is weird, California is weird. I say Yeah, but New Mexico is weird in a trailer park with meth head neighbors way. He has been here. He agrees.
Hour 6- Two of my best friends now live in NM. They’re from Texas and Tennessee, and I think they are reconnecting with their southern roots. Everyone I met was from Texas or Oklahoma and I said I was from New York, but not in the proud way like I sometimes say it. I said it in the way where I quickly follow up with, “Upstate, not the city” like when I want the listener to know that I’ve gone fishing and ridden four wheelers through the woods.
Hour 7- 468 miles of I-40. Dear God.
Hour 8- I call my grandma. She is excited that I’m going to stay with her brother tonight. I haven’t seen him in about 20 years. She asks what if I have so much fun that I want to stay another night and postpone my drive to LA. We’ll see.
Hour 9- There is another Chick fil A in Flagstaff. Soon I will be moving in with two vegetarian girls and will probably become a vegetarian, so what’s one last chicken sandwich? I ask my great aunt for their address and discover that they live another hour past Vegas.
Hours 10 & 11- @#*/>!
Hour 12- My car climbs the mountains over Las Vegas. My grandma calls again and tells me about her visit here and says I have to visit Death Valley. Later, her brother tells me that they ran out of time to take her to Death Valley. I’m not sure who to believe.
I’m in Pahrump, NV. It’s 74 degrees.
After the 12-14 hour first day road trip, I woke up in Red River, NM. It was a ski day where the sun was shining and the tickets were half priced for me, since I was there to visit my friend who is working as a ski instructor. I was thrilled to have ski friends because I hadn't had any of those since at least early college. I was on my own on that first morning while everyone else clocked in for work. The chairlift was slow and quiet. The trails were uncrowded and groomed. My headphones were back at the apartment, so it was just me and my thoughts.
I got a satisfied feeling like when you gaze around and life looks the way you used to dream of it looking. Here I was skiing at an almost-empty mountain on a warm day, my friend is working at the resort and she knows all of the ski crew and bartenders in town. 16 year old Cori would be proud.
(6:20am)
Today is the day where I leave Austin and I don’t come back. I don’t have plans to come back. I drew the Cloak of Christ card from my roommate’s Rumi deck. I held my hands up to the barely lit sky asking for universal protection on this journey. It’s the longest I’ve ever driven on my own.
Hour 1- I listen to 102.3 The Beat radio station to see how far it goes. I cry, not in a heaving, debilitating way, but in a gentle, nostalgic way that comes with an accepted goodbye. Austin deserves a good cry.
Hour 2- 102.3 The Beat makes it farther than I was expecting-- all the way north of Austin where there’s nothing left but churches and cattle fields, and probably much less interest in urban hip-hop radio stations.
Hour 3- I have to pee already, but can’t let myself since it’s only been two hours. My friend Brianne calls me from Argentina. We’ve lived far apart for 8 years but she continues to get me.
Hour 4- I stop to pee and get coffee. I try to leave it black like a healthy person who is bothered by all the nasty stuff in Coffee-Mate, but I see they have pumpkin spice and I pump away.
Hour 5- I listen to Radiohead and the new Khruangbin. I’m dance-driving.
Hour 6- I stop at Torchy’s Tacos in Lubbock, TX and the line from the counter out the door takes my breath away. It’s my last Torchy’s though, so I have to stay. I sit at the bar, but it takes a while for anyone to come for my order. I go back to the line. It moves quickly and soon my tacos and I are back at the wheel.
Hours 7 & 8- Lots of windmills. Very flat. I decide to definitely go to see the Cadillac Ranch art installation outside of Amarillo.
Hour 9- The terrain gets more exciting. The dirt turns red and starts forming into mounds and swirls. I see the car art.
Hour 10- The terrain turns back to flat nothingness.
Hour 11- I call my grandma. She tells me she went to her first chair yoga class so she would feel connected to me. She asks if I will get together with my aunt and cousin when they’re in LA next month. I say yes. She asks me again ten minutes later.
Hour 12- I make it out of Texas. The time changes. I call my dad, my mom, my sister. The Torchy’s and the Cadillacs and the peeing have set me back 2 hours. I don’t mind.
Hour 13- I listen to mp3s from my life coaching course. I see that the sunset is putting on a show for me right as mountains appear on the horizon. Perfect timing. I am thankful.
Hour 14- It’s dark and the road is winding through the mountains. I discover that I can make a cool buzzing sound if I bend my tongue in a certain way and hum behind my teeth.
I arrive in Red River at 7:20pm. That wasn’t so bad.
I have some explaining to do! My stuff and I have left Austin for the foreseeable future. It was a fast moving move, but one that I'd been anticipating before I landed back in the U.S. I have dreamed of living in California for a long time, and now here I am in California living. I have a job which I will tell you about soon because it deserves a post of its own. I moved into a house that is a testament to putting full faith in Craigslist findings. I had only seen it and met the roommates via FaceTime before driving out here, but so far everything seems to be surpassing my expectations. The two roommates are kind and inspiring, they have a cat and a dog, and there is a lemon tree outside my window. I am here.
When I told friends and strangers I was moving to Los Angeles, almost everyone had an opinion. Some gave words of warning and others offered encouragement. There would be traffic and crowds and money needed to buy things. But there would be art and talent and vibrancy as well. I was (am) looking for change and growth. Austin had become so familiar to me that I started to take it for granted. The longer I stayed, the more time and money I spent going on adventures elsewhere. I was running out of activities and places to tick off the checklist and, while I'm trying to cut back on my constant seeking of novelty, I felt the need for something bigger and new.
I didn't want to have a going away party from Austin, since it seems like I'm always going away from someplace or another. And I'm one of the ones who comes back to visit as much as I can. Plus there's always the frightful chance of everything completely falling apart and the possibility having to return a few months later. "You can't Irish exit a city," my roommate told me, and I'm glad I listened. Having all my friends together in one place with too many beers made my heart happy.
Thank you for being such a big part of me for the past 5 years. <3
Earlier this year, as my time wound down in Central America, I found myself interested in squeezing every last drop of global movement into as few flights as possible before re-potting my roots back in the U.S. of A. I had my mind on my travels and my travels on my mind. Miraculously, I figured out how to get to Guatemala, Los Angeles, Boston, and back to Texas for pretty far under $1,000, and that was sounding like a perfectly swell amount of vagabonding for me. By the end of it, I was happy to be back in Austin, staying in my room and sleeping in my bed for many days (weeks!) in a row. So you might be wondering how a few weeks later it came to pass that I was jet-setting over to Orlando, Florida to hang out with a group of aerial yoga teachers and dress up like a mermaid on the beach...
To explain, we must go back to the lakes and lagoons of Nicaragua, where one day, at one of them, I happened to meet a girl named Margie. I was just there to eat some colorful vegan food, swim a little bit, and check out a retreat center for future international teaching endeavors. Margie had purple hair and was at the Apoyo Lodge teaching yoga. We ate lunch together and talked about yoga experiences, spiritual centers, and meditation retreats. We exchanged contact information and went on with our days. I didn't know it then, but Margie is an amazing aerial yoga instructor, worldwide traveler & filmmaker, and online business coach.
A couple weeks later, while I was still in the travel-planning-take-over-the-world mindset, I found out that Margie would be hosting a small retreat for aerial yoga teachers and studio owners in Orlando during February. The price was right, and I still had enough reward points leftover on my Chase Sapphire Card (pay me, Chase!) to get the flight for free. What's that you say? I don't practice aerial yoga, teach aerial yoga, OR own a studio where anyone does yoga or aerial yoga or any type of yoga? I know, I was nervous, too. On top of that, it was a sparkly pink and purple unicorn/mermaid themed weekend, and I'm usually much more of an earth-toned kind of girl. I didn't know if I would have the knowledge, skills, or sparkle to hang with a bunch of full-time teachers and aerial studio owners. I did know that I was excited to do yoga and hang upside down, that I was inspired to meet a bunch of female business-owners who are doing what I love, and that a lot of circumstances had to come together to put me at the same lunch table as the Aerial Yoga Goddess herself.
So about two weeks after landing in Austin, I was on a plane again, headed back to the east coast to spend a weekend doing flips and learning the some of the tricks of online yoga business. My mom asked if I was staying at an Airbnb with a group of girls from Austin, but nope-- I'd never met any of them and we had arranged everything online without knowing what to expect. We were coming from all over the country, united by our love of yoga, flash tattoos, and living out our dreams.
There was no need for all the worry--I found myself bonding right away with my fellow mermaids, and the trip gave me a chance to put my fancy purple wig to use. We spent the weekend setting up and playing on aerial yoga rigs and silks in the house, on the lawn, and at the beach. It felt right to be around a group of awesome ladies who I can both look up to and be fully myself around. My lack of experience was even a bonus, since it left my mind completely open to new ideas and my ears interested in hearing everyone's stories about owning their studios and keeping up with this lifelong practice. I had booked the trip hoping to learn a few aerial yoga moves and have fun playing dress up, but I came out of it with an heartwarmingly supportive group of friends, role models, and spirit sisters. Maybe that's the type of travel reward I was looking for all along.
In case you didn't notice from reading this blog or on various forms of social media, I recently started a yoga-themed YouTube channel (it's here). Sometimes it feels like something very silly to me, and other times it seems like something very relevant and necessary. It's a difficult balance of the brain, going back and forth between doubting ourselves and pursuing our passions. I enjoyed this blog post about it: here.
I'm pretty adept about having ideas and taking those first steps to put them into action-- I don't like to let them linger around for years-- but usually after the first or second day, doubt starts to creep in and overshadow my hopes. It tells me maybe the original idea wasn't that good, or who was I to think I could take on something like that? Fear sweeps in to keep me comfortable, safe, and fine existing just the way I am.
That's nice, but in order to grow, sometimes we have to be a little uncomfortable or at risk. We must step outside our familiar boundaries to expand our horizons. Fear arrives to test our commitment. "Ok, so you said you were serious, but how serious?" it asks. "And how about now?" as another potential roadblock appears.
But the trick about dealing with fear is to know that you can't go wrong. If you're following the voice deep inside from your heart or soul or wherever those ideas come from, you can't make a mistake. Sure, sometimes your idea doesn't take off, or your plan doesn't quite go as expected and you're forced come up with a new one later on, but, man, it feels so much better to do it and see what happens than to wonder "what if" for the next few years down the line. You'll always end up where you need to be, despite any detours, and the people you need and who need you will be there to support you. Even if it's something small, like taking an art class or visiting a new place in your town, why let fear stop you from doing the things that feel right to you?
Thank you for watching, reading, writing, or just being you and being here!
I'm just beginning to work my way out of the choco-coma leftover from last week's festivities. Being a solo participant in the holiday is actually not that bad because your friends and family tend to take pity on you and send extra sweets and other good things. Whether as a single person or part of a couple, I've never been someone who hates Valentine's Day. Unless you're in elementary school with a mandated one-card-or-candy-per-classmate policy, you're really never forced to buy anything (get creative! make a craft! go on a picnic!), and it's just a day to tell the special people in your life that you love them. I've been calling it Pal-entine's Day for a long long while now.
This one was not my best February 14th because, when I showed up to the yoga studio to teach my nighttime class, I found that there was a huge pug-themed and pug-filled Valentine's basket waiting on the front desk. If you know me, you probably know that the axis of my life is spinning around those furry, wrinkly balls of joy, but, sadly, the basket included a card addressed to "Mummy" and, thus, was not for me. I was disheartened, but glad it was there to make someone else happy, and I could go on to do some yoga (and eat a lot of chocolate) with my own class.
Romantic valentine or none, I was still showing up in pink clothes with my heart earrings on, and I was still showing up for love-- love for my friends and family who take good care of me, love for life, and just the general idea of love as an energy that exists and propels us toward connecting with each other and being our best selves.
Here's a video if you ever need a little extra:
It's strange to be back in Austin on what seems like a "temporary visa". When my plane touched down beside that misplaced field of longhorn cattle grazing next to long-term parking lots, I didn't know what to feel. The weather was cloudy and rainy. Not exactly the warm, bright welcome I'd come to expect from the pretty city that has been my home for the past five years. "How does it feel to be back?" asked my friends and family members during run-ins and phone calls. It felt good, and it felt weird.
After a long backpacking trip, I've found that it's always a relief to be able to stay in one place where all your stuff is, and where you don't have to unpack all your belongings just to find your toothbrush or clean socks. It felt weird because I wasn't coming back to many commitments. I had tickets to a concert that night, a longtime fulfillment around which I'd arranged my return trip. But what would I do when the week started, with no work to go to or classes to attend?
I had some job applications, interviews, and decisions to make that were keeping me in the limbo phase. I knew I wanted to get back to teaching yoga as soon as possible, but it's hard to ask for a permanent class at a studio or apply to new jobs when you're not sure if you might be gone in a few weeks. My personal practice was struggling, too. In Austin, studio teaching jobs and work trades had spoiled me into getting my yoga on a budget. I wanted to ask for my work trade job back at my favorite studio, but I was nervous. It's a pretty good deal-- manning the desk in between classes for your monthly membership. I didn't want to ask for freebies from yoga teachers, since I am one and I know how hard they work.
I was very close to clicking the link to sign up for a $39 for 30 days pass at one of the fancy downtown studios when I remembered the trick to ask for what you want. Wouldn't my studio rather have me work for them than spend my money somewhere else? I emailed the studio manager and asked if she might need any help over the next two weeks while I was sure to be in town. She replied that it was the perfect time to ask, because there were a few days she needed coverage before the end of the month. I returned to the studio for class and training the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. Ask and you shall receive.
