Something To Remember: Back To Basics

Here are a few wise words from my mother that helped me through today:
“Sometimes life is hard.
And sometimes it isn't fair.
But all in all you are held in the hands of the Divine Goddess.”
Thank you mom.

Now I’ll continue those wise words and tell you what I learned today:
Sometimes we have to go back to the basics in order to move forward, upward, onward to harder, more challenging endeavors
This morning for example, I went to a yoga basics class but I was really resisting because I was afraid it wouldn’t be challenging enough
I really wanted to sweat, you know?
Upon arriving to class I was instantly glad I went
I knew that I could make the class as difficult or as easy as I wanted
So, during class I focused on my core
I strengthened my insides
Being a smaller class, little cues and more one-on-one attention was given to each yogi
I was sweating within thirteen minutes, and enjoying the challenge I put forth for myself
Lying in Shavasana, at the end, I was really glad I decided to go to class
Feeling fulfilled and heroic
Returning to the basics only helped to solidify my understanding of the purpose and principles, both in yoga and in my own life

I’ll suggest it to anyone:
Get some finger paints
Find an easy reader, put down the philosophy
Simply take a minute and revel in the abundant life you live, because if you’re reading this, you have a computer and that makes you one hell of a privileged person, so enjoy that
Create space in your life for simplicity, it’s not boring, it’s a clearing out and starting anew
Smile at the sunshine
Rejoice in the rain
Remember to be kind to yourself
Remember that it’s not about how much you sweat or how sore you are after class that made it successful
It’s about how much you allowed yourself to grow, and how much you brought forth in recognizing that all ventures are learning experiences, no matter how simple or complex

In Each Day, Little Dances

Lips moving
Hands gesturing
Feet walking, running, peddling
Tongues tasting
Eyes smiling
Arms encircling, grasping, holding
As we eat, as we play, as we talk to one another
These are our dances
Tiny dances we create each and every day
Always dancing
If we are moving we are dancing
Coffee dances as is percolates
My banana dances in circles through my cereal
My fingers dance across the keyboard as I type these words
We dance to the music of our voice
We dance to the rhythm of our heartbeats
We dance to the sounds of our lives

Let's Go!

What will satisfy this restless girl’s appetite?
I have to limit my reading of the travel section on the NYTimes Online.
She has to still her itchy fingers from booking the first flight out of here.
This overwhelming need for anonymity consumes me.
I just know too many people who knew me.
I can’t focus, I can’t do my homework, I can’t even think straight.
All I can concentrate on are distractions and making cup after cup of different kinds of tea.
First Maté, then Bengal Spice, then Jasmine, then Lemon Grass, then Hibiscus.
I’m seeing a trend. Change.
Her impatient nature is profound, if extremely unproductive.
Perhaps a bike ride would help to clear the mind?
I’ll take you up on that offer, let’s go!
Go! Go! GO!

(P.S. There's not a cloud in sight!)

Another one of my brilliant ideas...

Another one of my brilliant ideas.
I secretly always wish to get caught in a downpour no matter where I am or in what kind of attire.
Well, today it was more like a “mushy hail-storm” as I rode my bike home from dance class.
It was fun for about the first fifty-seven seconds as I coasted down the first hill, feeling the breeze on my face and the slightly therapeutic sting of rain-hail-sleet as it blasted me head on.
Then, as I neared the road, and my second hill, I realized this wasn’t so fun anymore.
Cars rushed by, spraying me with filthy slush from the gutter.
Peddling as fast as my short legs would allow, I finally made it to the sidewalk.
(Yes Dad, I had to ride on the sidewalk, sorry).
Then traversing through traffic, trying to avoid the big puddles, looking like I had just come from a mud-wrestling contest, and lost.
Wiping the remnants of precipitation from face, I quickly zipped around corners, not stopping at the stop signs, but not really caring either.
Main objective: get home without eating too much sludge.
Up my driveway and under the dry overhang of my apartment.
Locking up my bike, I strode inside to assess the damage.
It was worse than I thought.
Mud on face? Check.
Mud on pants? Check?
Mud on backpack, shoes, fest, hair? Check, check, check, check!
Laughing, because after all, I asked for it, I put on dry clothes, and the others went in a basket, labeled: To Take To Parent’s/Sister’s House, because I don’t have a washer.
Now, sipping tea, feeling warmer and much dryer, I give you a piece of my day.
Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, at least for the first fifty-seven seconds.

The Subtleties of Movement

(Today, in my modern dance class)

The subtleties of movement
The impressions we have on one another
Standing, facing one another
Grasping hands we close our eyes
We take turns
He shifts his weight from side to side
I fallow, mirroring his movements, shifting my weight from side to side
Fast, smooth. Slow. Gentle, firm
Then, without words, keeping our eyes closed, I take the lead and he follows
How nice we flow together
In this simple gesture of reaching out, holding on, slightly pushing –
Giving our weight over to the movement
We float there, in space for what could have been two hours, but was only two minutes
Swaying from one foot to the other, dancing our little dance together

just waiting

I’m pretty sure I’ve told you before, but just to emphasize this point, let me tell you again, I HATE WAITING.

My father pointed out to me today that I am not happy unless I am doing, and to me, waiting is NOT doing ANYTHING.

Waiting is simply wasting time, space, and energy.

Waiting for others is the worst, because there is NOTHING you can do in the mean time because you don’t know WHAT to do because you don’t know HOW long you’ll be waiting, and eventually I forget WHY I’m even waiting. Then I get all upset because I feel as though I’ve wasted all this time, just waiting.

Sure, I don’t mind waiting for dinner to cook, that’s always nice, because you get to smell great things simmering, hopefully you have good company, you can even read a book, because you have an END date, a time to eat, enjoy, and be DONE waiting.

I can swindle myself, like waiting for the seasons to change, sure they will change for you (unless you die, but even then they’ll keep changing) so one can rely on that. It’s the WAITING that gets under my skin. Luckily there are remedies, like making a smoothie with last year’s strawberries, hidden in the freezer (gotta love frigidares!), deceiving myself that spring is really on it’s way.

But this, this is just ridiculous.

Waiting, what is it ABOUT waiting that I dislike so much? Well let me see, it possesses a passive aggressive nature. It looms over my head, behind my right shoulder. I find things to distract me, I things to “DO” in the mean time, but it’s still there, like the wind. Shifting and changing, but always clinging to me, there, there, there, always there, it’s waiting.

For me, waiting is nothing but stagnation, fermenting and festering. It whittles away at it my bones, and it has no human qualities. No compassion.

How can I be content with doing nothing? Content stilling my mind and quieting my restlessness. JUST WAITING.

I crave adventure, transformation and dynamicity.

So, I took my alter-ego out to lunch

Yesterday I did something I’ve never done before. I took myself out to lunch, armed only with my notebook and pen. It was fantastic. I’ve always felt sorry for those “lonely souls” out to lunch all by them selves. I’ve always found eating out to be a group (or at least a duet) activity, never a solitary endeavor. Sure, people do it all the time and love, it. My mom always tells me she loves it, did I believe her, of course not, she’s my mother! But even so, I just never saw myself being that type of person. I was always in the mindset of, if you’re going to eat alone, you might as well do it at home – boy, ways I wrong. (That’s funny, it’s sort of a relief to know that I’m wrong, it’s almost better then being right, and shit, I like being right!)

I procrastinated for about an hour, testing my fear, to see if the conquest was worth it. Yup, I was scared. Scared of what? Of being judged by people like myself, before the incident, I suppose. Now I can officially say I’ve crossed the unseen line of “being alone” (ooh boogie, boogie scary) and “being alone” (fact of life and part of growing up). It’s a nice feeling.

I enjoyed eating out alone, so much in fact, I want to try and make it a regular date with my alter ego. It’s different than coffee and a croissant, which if you felt the slightest bit of discomfort, you could take it and leave, or shove it every so daintily into your maw. No, this is a commitment to a meal, which should last at least 30 minutes to allow for proper digestion, but could take hours, if you’ve got the time and the intent. It’s an occasion to taste, savor, relish, write (if you like, read if you like) and just enjoy every moment of being alone with people to serve you AND do the dishes for you! Wow, doesn’t that sound nice, now where is my cleaning fairy…? (Have to get on her, man…) People watching and eaves dropping are taken to a whole new level when you’ve got no one chatting your ear off, or wanting you to divulge.

One might even find that they are not entirely alone. I just happened to be sitting next to a pair of animated talkers, and almost felt included into their conversation. Also, I started to notice that I was not alone in the “eating out alone department” either. And not only was he good looking, he looked way more awkward then I felt, so there’s that too…

And the best part was, the waiter took me seriously. Yes, that’s my “looking young, female, and blonde” complex talking, but still, it was brilliant.