BALANCE - tying it all together

I started this blog with the goal of attempting to bring a bit of balance to my life and to do so by examining my experiences through the purusarthas - or the four aims of life: duty, wealth, pleasure and liberation. My hope was that these reflections would resonate with others and that they would find some comfort in reading them. Now, at the end of this year-long journey, as I comb through old half-finished blog posts, it seems fitting to share them with you, and to try and tie them all together.

KAMA & ARTHA - Secrets (February 2010): One day at my old job, I was on the hunt for some coffee when by chance I discovered a beautiful place across the street from my building. It was the lobby of the Palmer House, with its impossibly high ceiling, Grecian frescoes, and tall sofa-style chairs. The furniture was arranged in groups of four, creating an easy atmosphere for small groups to chat or drink. But I loved it because I could sit there and disappear. Many a lunch hour was spent huddled in front of my computer, creating blog posts or reading a good book, while watching tourists mil about the lobby. I began to refer to it as "my secret hiding place." It became my escape; the place where I did my best and deepest thinking. I told no one about it and because of that, it remained special. I think it's important to have a place like this, a hidden space where you can indulge that part of yourself that is inaccessible to others.

DHARMA - Saying yes (July 2010): When my friend Katie told me she wanted us to take a trip to Iceland, I thought she was crazy. But in the spirit of keeping my mind open, I said I would think about it. Not that I was actually going to say yes, I just figured this bought me some time to come up with good reasons to say no. Then I googled "Iceland," saw pictures, and realized that something about this place was magical. Like Harry Potter magical. So I said yes. Without over analyzing or thinking about it too much. This "yes" led Katie to pose more scary questions, such as, "let's go on an overnight hike with an Icelandic hiking group," and "let's climb a glacier," and then, "let's follow these people to their campsite." And for some reason, I kept saying yes.

Katie was right about Iceland. I've never seen a landscape that beautiful or dramatic before. And I would never have seen those wonderful things if I had not just jumped in. There was a moment while I was standing on top of a glacier, looking down on the world when I realized how liberating it is to let go of doubt and just say yes.

MOKSHA - Exits (November 2010): I hate goodbyes. Hate. them. If I could get away with it, I would just use the "french exit," and slip quietly out the back door without anyone noticing. However, I have been told that this is not "thoughtful" or "socially acceptable." So I muddle through goodbyes.

Exits have been on my mind lately as we approach the end of a year and prepare for the beginning of a new one. For as much as I abhor saying goodbye, I love the idea of starting over. I love making plans to rearrange life to look differently, love wiping the slate clean and beginning anew, determined to get it right this time. Love making lists of healthy habits that are life affirming, and vowing to leave behind the parts of myself that are not.

And so, as we approach the end of a year of blogging, I pose the question that applies as equally in yoga as it does in life, and has been the ultimate question in my quest for balance this year: What is more important: rigidity or flexibility?

In yoga, there are poses that require certain parts of your body to remain fixed and rigid, but other parts must remain soft and flexible in order to achieve the asana. It seems so much easier to distinguish between the two in yoga than in life. But really, it is no different. You know which areas in your life demand a certain level of rigidity - the places where you tend to excess; the unhealthy non-life affirming excess that tips you over and destroys any semblance of balance. But yet, too much rigidity also defeats balance, where in becoming too fixated on doing or not doing something, you insulate yourself from trying in the first place, and remain unable to move forward.

Neither is more important than the other: both rigidity and flexibility are needed to create balance. So how do you know which one you need? I think it requires belief that you will figure it out despite the not knowing. This year-long journey has not led to balance itself, but instead to the tools that allow me to work toward balance. I love being surrounded by people, but I have discovered that creating a special place where I can go to find peace is also necessary. Saying yes to new adventures sustains me and allows me to explore new areas of myself, but saying no to those things I recognize as destructive and self-defeating is equally as important.

So, thank you to those who have helped me throw my life out of balance this year and thank you to those who have helped me try and restore it. And mostly, thank you to those of you who have been following this blog. Your comments and encouragement have been the best part of this experience.

So, my wish for us all in the new year is to strive and struggle for sustainable balance, remembering always to breathe, laugh and be kind. Cheers!

(most special thanks to Alisha, Courtney, and Mia for their rigidity and flexibility and to Meghan for giving me space to breathe)

MOKSHA - Mysore

I have finally begun a Mysore style yoga practice. Ummm.... what does that mean? Great question...

Mysore is a teaching style of Ashtanga yoga, named for the place in India where it originated. In a Mysore class, beginning to advanced level students practice side by side at their own pace. Each individual receives one-on-one instruction from teachers who walk around and make adjustments as the students progress through a set sequence of postures, starting with the Primary Series, which is a series of about 75 asanas done in a flowing Vinyasa style. The entire series takes about an hour and a half to two hours to complete. It begins with sun salutations and moves on to standing poses, seated poses, inversions and backbends before relaxation.

This style of teaching is very different than the traditional guided classes that most of us are used to where an instructor calls out the positions and slowly leads you through asanas. A Mysore class, in contrast, looks chaotic and confused. Some people are standing, some are seated, some are moving through a vinyasa, while others hold a pose. The self-lead practice style allows each peron to set her own pace and to take time to work on difficult asanas.

In a Mysore class, each student can only go as far as her body will allow. When a posture proves too challenging, the student will finish that day's practice. The idea is that repetition will allow one to eventually access the posture and move on, which is why a Mysore teacher ususally requires students to attend at least 4 classes a week.

When I found out I was moving to DC, I decided that I needed to have a healthy way to deal with the change. And having just come off training for a half-marathon, I also longed for something that would challenge me. A close friend has been practicing Mysore for years and I have watched it transform her in wonderful ways. Selfishly, I longed for something that would work a similar magic in my life. So, I googled "Mysore and Washington, DC" and came up with two studios that offer Mysore-style Ashtanga.

Many people think yoga is yoga is yoga. But there are vast differences between styles of practice. Mysore is not that common and also requires a heafty morning commitment. Which meant that in order to actually start a practice, I needed to live within a close walk of one of these two studios. Which also meant that I would have an hour-long commute to work each day. I struggled with this at first, but eventually realized that chosing to live close to a yoga studio is no stranger than choosing to live in a place due to its approximation to an office where you are required to go each day: you choose what's important to you. It's more important for me to be able to practice this type of yoga than to live a stone's throw from work.

Most mornings, I wake up at 5am, have a large cup of coffee and head to the studio. By the time I get in, there are already a few people deep into their practice. I grab my mat, say a quick thanks for the ability to be there, and begin. I work my way through the series of asanas, gradually warming up my body and muscles, so that I can feel myself able to reach further in certain positions, can sense that my body is adapting to these asanas. Then I get to Marichyasana A. This is where I must end my practice each day, since I cannot yet fully get into this position. Click here.

I stop myself from continuing on and repeat this same position over and over. Each day in class, the instructors come around when they see that I am close, offer me encouraging words, prep me for the asana and often physically move my arms into the position so that I can grasp my fingers behind my back and feel what it's like to get "the bind." There are days where I get it and we celebrate; there are other days where I don't and we sit and talk about how the body can be fickle. Then I stop and rest and repeat the same mantra that I have been saying since I started practicing: "Praise your body for doing a wonderful job, your mind for letting it happen."

As I leave the studio each day, I am amazed at how alive I feel; how fully I occupy the space within my own body; how peaceful everything seems. Yoga makes me feel strong and connected to what's around me - even if it only lasts the few steps it takes to get back to my apartment.

DHARMA - Tough Days

You know what they look like. They start like any other day, but quickly morph into something heavy; cumbersome. You feel like every step is a fight to keep moving forward. Maybe it's a meaningful day; a sad anniversary, or maybe it's just Tuesday. No matter what, it's a hard day.

I had a tough day last week. It started out with me dreading the plans I had made; knowing that I had to go and ended with me just wishing I could curl up in my bed and forget the world. It was a day about fighting: me fighting the feeling of a tough day, someone fighting with me, two ninjas fighting behind a closed door....

A wise cousin told me before I left for D.C. that "every new beginning is hard." Oh, man, is this true. But the companion to change is discovery. And I have already learned so much about myself from the hard stuff. I can tell you for certain that I value my friendships, a comfy couch and decent cookware. I have also discovered that I have no use for cruelty that stems from insecurity or for half of my purses.

And I have managed to stop and actually appreciate some new stuff. Stuff that has taken my breath away or stopped me in my tracks: the sun rising over the Potomac, a deer running next to me in Rock Creek Park, a single, continuous 200 foot escalator at my metro stop. The stuff that fills us with joy or contributes to a realistic fear of getting injured.

Tomorrow is a new day. It is not a sad anniversary or a hard moment. It is a day of new beginnings where I get to start over and be me again for 24 hours. How lucky I am.

(Thanks to my favorite woman soldier for the "it's just Tuesday" reference.)

MOKSHA - Falling flat on my face

When I was in college, my good friend and I always set two New Year's resolutions at the start of each year. The first was concrete. This was the public resolution, the one you could easily share with others when asked. This year, my concrete resolution was starting this blog. There was always a second resolution, however. One that was more private, and not openly discussed. This is the one I want to share with you.

At the beginning of this year, I resolved that this would be the year I would fall flat on my face. I know. It sounds strange. Let me explain...

In a now famous commencement speech to the graduates at Harvard, J.K. Rowling surprisingly discussed the importance of failure. She said that one cannot go through life without failing at something unless one lives so cautiously that it is almost like not living at all.

This struck a chord with me. I recognized myself in that description of one who can live too cautiously. I am uncomfortable with the idea of failure, but risk is an important byproduct of living fully. So at the beginning of this year, I resolved that I would risk failure in all aspects of life and make this a year of really living.

And, Lord, what a year it has been! I have fallen flat on my face in relationships, in self-discipline, in my work life, and in making smart decisions. I have risked and failed. Tried and quit. Started and left unfinished. I have been reckless and allowed my heart to take me to dangerous places. I have cried, felt confused, woken up and kept going. But there have been successes as well. Wonderful treasures that sprung from great risk. This experiment in living has helped me shake off the extraneous parts of my life and allowed me to rethink what I am capable of.

We all have ideas about what our limitations are: I could never run a marathon, I am doomed to be a clerk forever, I could never go back to school. But what a magical moment it is when we shirk off the labels we set for ourselves and step forward to try something scary.

And so here I am, in Washington DC, miles away from the life I had planned out in my head, saying yes to new adventures. Yes to not knowing how it will work out, but just trusting that it will. Heading towards new risks and new loss and new ways to get my heart broken. Hallelujah!

DHARMA - Growing up

After college, I lived in a tiny studio apartment in Baltimore. My apartment was furnished mostly with college furniture. I mean that literally, as my friends and I had actually stolen some of the furniture from our dorm rooms at the end of our senior year. While I managed to accumulate a lot of stuff, I had very few “nice” things at that time in my life.

At the end of my second year of teaching, one of my student’s mothers gave me a beautiful glass pitcher with two margarita glasses. It was that heavy glass with a cobalt blue pattern woven throughout. It reminded me of summer and entertaining and sitting on a deck grilling and enjoying good conversation. Nevermind that I had no deck, grill or actual space to entertain. For me, it represented the hope of having these things.

When I got home, I carefully unwrapped the entire set from its mounds of packaging material and cleared a space for it. But when I tried to put it in my kitchen cabinet, I realized that the pitcher was too tall to fit. I can still remember the disappointment of that moment: all I wanted was to have one beautiful item among my hand-my-down IKEA dishes. Instead, back into the packaging material it went to be stored away for another time. I made a promise to myself, though, as I sat in that dorm room chair that I would start to make an effort to transition away from college into adulthood. And that I would do this by getting some nice things; just a few special items to make me feel like more of an adult.

A few years later when I was living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Evanston (upgrade from the studio), my margarita set finally found a comfortable home in the cabinet above the kitchen sink. I still had no deck, or grill, or actual space to entertain, nor do I recall actually ever using the set. But whenever I opened that cabinet, I would remember the quiet promise I made to my 23 year old self. The cobalt margarita set served as a reminder that growing up did have a place in my life and that I needed to make a small space for it.

Then, one day, as these things tend to happen, my boyfriend was getting something out of the cabinet when one of the margarita glasses fell and shattered all over the floor. Now, please let me preface this by saying that I am not someone who freaks out about breaking glasses. Which is why my boyfriend looked so shocked when I began yelling about “destroying my dreams” before running into my bedroom and slamming the door.

I know. It’s just a thing. And it was a thing, I’ll remind you, that had never actually been used. But for me, this was a symbol of my first cognizant desire to be an adult; this item had bridged the gap between youth and growing up and now it lay shattered on the floor. It was kind of heartbreaking to me.

Here’s the tricky thing about becoming an adult, though. As you grow up, you begin to realize that tiny losses are a part of life: things break and fall apart and get shattered. You can choose to dwell on what you’ve lost, or you can look at your life, shift things around a bit and then continue on. You can mourn the loss of not being able to entertain two people with your nice things, or you can serve one person a very large pitcher of margaritas.

Since that day, I have used the pitcher countless times. Most recently making strong drinks for a group of women gathered at my house for an intellectual discussion that ended in a drunken bullfight and lots of pictures involving an eye patch. So, maybe I haven’t quite made the full transition into adulthood yet, but I like to think that for the moment, I have arrived at a nice balance.

MOKSHA - Evil thoughts

A friend recently confessed having thoughts she alternatively describes as “evil”, “bad”, and “cruel.” When she shared her secret, I was fully prepared to hear her describe a scene from a horror movie. But her confession merely revealed that she had been dealing with feelings of confusion influenced by hormones and rash decision-making: a pretty typical day in your early 20’s.

Although I have tried to assuage her guilt, she is afraid that confronting her feelings will only create pain for others. She has decided it is better to avoid them all together.

Problem is – avoidance doesn’t get rid of the feelings. They are still there, lurking under the surface like tiny landmines. I know from personal experience as well as countless romantic comedies that you can pretend all you want that you aren’t really interested in that CEO of a Barnes and Noble-type corporation or that guy who designs masculine furniture pieces, owns a dog and has a country cabin, but eventually you’re going to end up getting drunk and yelling “I love you!” outside his apartment or running into him at the park when his adorable golden retriever brings you together again.

Bottom line: every emotion you have is a valid emotion. Period. There is no such thing as a feeling that is good or bad, right or wrong. Feelings just are. Feelings strain against the cages of shame and guilt; they want to be allowed to roam around for a while, they want to cozy up to you on the couch and relax, they want to notify you of their presence and have you pay attention to them. That’s all. They just need to be given air and brought to light in order to fulfill their duty. When we start to deny them their birthright, we also tend to pick up unhealthy habits to help us continue the cycle of repression. Self-loathing and self-punishing behaviors that allow us to turn against ourselves because we feel undeserving.

So, how do you cross the gulf from self-punishment to self-acceptance? Face those feelings. Let them give voice to what they must say. They are mini-kamikaze fighters who must crash their planes into the ground and be done. Let them. And when the dust settles and you can open your eyes again, you can come out to deal with any destruction they have left in their wake. The important part is that you will be able to come out. You will be there to face the damage in front of you, instead of constantly waiting for it to come crashing down. You can begin to breathe again and rebuild.

“Sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness.” Allow yourself to feel the range of your emotions and you will see your true self, complete with all your flaws and mistakes and hurts and disappointments. Lovely the way you are.

MOKSHA - Home practice

Starting one’s own yoga practice is a bit like starting one’s own blog: you begin with all these thoughts, but halfway through you have no idea where you are going.

Cultivating a self-taught yoga practice has been a pretend goal of mine since I started doing yoga. I say pretend goal because it should be a goal – it’s cheaper, you can do it from the comfort of your own home and you don’t have to worry about people seeing your boobs if your shirt flies up when you’re upside down.

Despite these obvious benefits, I have never really been moved to practice by myself. At first, I thought it was because I was kind of a slacker – that’s why I wouldn’t do all the poses, wouldn’t hold them for as long, would always opt to skip the vinyasa and just move into the next asana. But that’s only part of the reason.

It really has to do with energy and space.

There is a certain level of camaraderie with fellow yoga practitioners. Don’t get me wrong – yoga peeps are not a warm and friendly bunch. People will smile at you, say “hello” but ain’t no friends being made in yoga class. Even so, the presence of other people moving through the poses and focusing on their breath gives off an energy in the room. Everyone present can take from that energy and use it in their practice. When you first begin to do yoga, you may be too self-conscious to be aware of this, but once you are there for a while and can settle into the flow of class, you will begin to perceive a hint of gratitude flowing through each person. Gratitude for the space, the quiet time, the marvel that is your own body creating these movements.

There is also something special about the space itself. Entering a yoga studio is a bit like entering a church or a temple; there is a sacred feel to the space. You can put a treadmill in your second bedroom and run while your girlfriend is on the computer, but yoga cannot be practiced this way. It is important to not only have a quiet space, but one that takes you away from your world for a bit.

This week I attempted to replicate the energy and sacredness of a yoga class at home. While in supta baddha konasana, my dog came over and began licking my face, my brother’s alarm starting blaring and my dad yelled “hey, you want more coffee?”

You know, for now, I think I’m just gonna keep going to yoga class.

DHARMA - Brothers

I had just walked in the house from a defeating day. All I wanted to do was get into my pjs, curl up in my bed and fall asleep. I took off my coat, threw my purse down and started up to my room. Then my brother walked over, put his arm around me and said, “Do you know what you need?” “What?” I replied. “A beat down.”

Then suddenly, he had his arms around my shoulders and in one move, lifted me onto his back, then pretended to slam me onto the floor, and repeated this motion, yelling “Beat down!” while the dog barked furiously and my parents scolded him, pretending that this was inappropriate behavior in our house. By the time he put me down, I was smiling again. I gave him a big hug, told him I felt better, then with my sweetest face looked at him and said, “Cobra Strike!” and launched my hand, which was bent to resemble the head of a cobra, straight into his chest. “Damn,” he said, “you got me.”

Brothers, unlike any other man in the life of a woman, can tackle you, grapple with you, pick you up and spin you around, and fight with you, all without incurring a phone call to the police or a restraining order. They may be the first ones to physically assault you, but brothers are also the first ones to rush to your defense, give you the rest of their fries, or just let you talk, even when it’s boring or they don’t feel like listening. They are treasures.

For you women who don’t have brothers or for you men who don’t have sisters, you may find this all a little horrifying. But I assure you; both kindness and physical violence are important parts of how brothers show their sisters they love and care about them.

And I strive to be a good older sister, too. I discourage him from making bad choices, but can’t stop laughing when he tells me the stories that ensue when he does. I talk to him about his job, friends, life, but don’t push him when I get one-word responses. I adore, yes, really adore his girlfriend. And once in a while, I sneak up behind him and punch him really hard in the back, just to remind him how much I love him.

MOKSHA - Timing

I have always liked the phrase “timing is everything.” I like it because it implies that encounters with others are outside of your control. In fact, the times that I have tried to manipulate timing so that I magically appeared at the bus stop when he was getting home from work, or just happened to run into him at the post office, have blown up in my face, been palpably awkward, or just plain didn’t work.

My new favorite guilty pleasure is reading the “missed encounters” section on craigslist. These are tiny gems of timing failures:

“I was getting on the elevator in the lobby, and you held the door for me, around 3:30pm or so on Thursday. I had long brown hair and a dark gray coat. You had a dark suit on, and smelled so, so good. I know we only crossed paths for a second, but would love to chat sometime if you're interested.......”

These encounters leave you reeling, and you can’t often articulate why. You know only that you felt the brief spark of a real connection. And for days afterwards, you ask yourself over and over again why you didn’t say something in the moment. Maybe you were surprised, you were distracted, you were in a rush. There are a million reasons to explain why two strangers can’t form the words to address each other.

Or maybe it’s because that simply wasn’t your moment. We have a hard time recognizing that you can have a chance encounter with an intriguing person that will never develop into more than that. But instead of chalking it up to “it wasn’t meant to be,” there is a part of us that wants to force it into being. The moment seemed so perfect; the guy seemed like the right kind of guy. Everything had so much potential.

So to all the “missed encounter” people who are going to keep pursuing the lost moment: Forge ahead if you must! Post your personal information on the internet in the hopes that the other person is trolling for it. But to the rest of you: be gentle with yourselves, absorb the moment, and then let it pass you by.

And to Meredith with the ripped-up nikes, there is a man on the blue line thinking about you. And to sad, scruffy Hyde Park produce guy, you have a secret admirer in the milk aisle.

ARTHA - Ode to my unsung favorites

Oh favorite things! Here are 10 unsung favorites, in no particular order...

1. R. Kelly: R. Kelly is a man who knows what women want to hear and he tells them. Explicitly. While singing. When R. Kelly is trying to win back a woman he has hurt, he sings "When a woman's fed up, no matter how ya beg, it ain't nuthin' you can do about it." When he's trying to woo a lady he sings, "And when you need a break, I'll let you up, I'll let you breathe, wash your face, get sometin' to eat, then come back to the bedroom." And when he wants to tell you what he wants to do to you, well, he just says it. Like a boss.

2. Coffee: As I pack up my apartment, I realize how much this wonderful substance plays a part in my everyday life. The only piece of equipment in my kitchen that is not in a box is my coffee maker and a solitary coffee mug. You have provided me with sustenance, happiness, an excuse to meet people, leave the office, and a good reason to go to Iceland. Thank you.

3. Drinking movie games: who doesn't love a good drinking game? Quick overview - you watch a movie that you have watched before, ideally many times, and create rules so that you drink each time these things happen. Example: In Oceans Eleven, drink every time someone says "Terry Benedict" or every time Brad Pitt eats.

4. T-Pain cameos: Even before "I'm on a Boat" the distinctive T-Pain autotune was gaining popularity. Since then, T-Pain has cameoed in countless videos, songs, and Superbowl commercials. Keep doing your thing, Teep!

5. Sirens in Reggeaton songs: There are three things that every good Reggeaton song possesses: 1. Puerto Rican slang, 2. Misogyny, and 3. a siren.

6. Creating theories: I have a theory for everything. Some recent theories I have latched onto: Core Competency theory, which involves eating only food that a restaurant is known for. The Exotic Animal theory, which is mostly about how you are attracted to people who are different than you precisely because they are different. The Men love crazy bitches theory, which is pretty self-explanatory.

7. Bank robberies: My favorite crime. So much risk (federal prison), so little reward (a couple grand). You don't see people making movies about driving on a suspended license, identity fraud or simple battery - but everybody has seen a movie with a great bank robbery.

8. Unsolicited advice: I have received some gems over the years from random people at random times: "You never lose in learning something", "Every emotion you experience is valid", "If it fits, buy two", "Don't ever buy coke at a gas station."

9. The Zipper: The best jankey carnival ride ever. Chris Mengarelli, Kelly Pearson and I used to get so excited for this ride in middle school. I miss the days when we would take our jar full of change to the bank, turn it into money for rides, and ride the Zipper until our parents made us go home. And sometimes we would get chased by carnies. But that's a different story.

10. The "Come to Jesus": The Come to Jesus is the talk. You know the one. It always starts with the phrase "Ok, here's the deal..." It's the talk where you and another person are gonna get things straight or lay it out on the table. The one where you're gonna tell that person what you really think. I love The Come to Jesus.

Mad props to Karen Bird and Marco for the core competency theory - and to Natasha Ruser for introducing me to the Come to Jesus.

KAMA - Falling in love

I remember when I was a kid, I thought that falling in love was like the movies. When someone loved you, they stood outside your window with a boombox blasting Peter Gabriel. They ran past security in airport terminals because they couldn't let you get on that plane to London without first telling you the quirky but endearing things they loved about you.

As I grew up, I learned that in real life, if someone stands outside your window and won't go away, you can usually get a restraining order. And if a guy runs past airport security to try and find you, it's probably because he has a bomb. What looks like love in movies, is more like mental illness in real life. So I dismissed that kind of love as crazy and reckless.

And maybe a little beneath me. I was an educated, practical person who knew that real love was less about losing yourself to the other person and more about daily acts of kindness. That crazy love was for those people who weren't quite as smart as I was. The love I experienced was a loftier form of love.

And so it went for me. The first time I fell in love, it was the long, slow process of coming to trust and know someone intimately and while there were moments of excitement, it was generally a peaceful experience. And so I settled into this vision of love, knowing that it was the right approach. It was comfortable and safe.

And then I got knocked on my ass. At the time, I was not paying attention. He appeared in my life in the usual way - as someone to whom you pay a moment's notice before continuing on with what you were doing. And somehow within a few days time, I was unable to breathe without thinking about him. I found myself doing crazy, uncharacteristic things, like not eating or getting my work done on time so we could hang out.

I tried to reason my way out of it, but my brain peaced out on me. I tried to talk my way out of it, but it didn't matter how many times I said, "this is crazy" or "this isn't me" or "I should really put down this boombox": I couldn't stop. So I let myself fall.

There is no right or wrong way to love. Love is both the slow buildup of affection and the crazy reckless passion: the running through the airport and the quiet car ride home from the store. It just manifests itself differently for each of us throughout our lives. You can shore up your heart, but we are all eternal victims to its pull.

MOKSHA - Resistance

So I walk into yoga today. It's been one of those days where I desperately need my favorite yoga teacher. And I look into the room and see the worst thing ever: a substitute. Damn. For a moment, I think maybe I should leave. Go to my second favorite source of stress relief: a bottle of wine and a phone call to my cousin. But, I'm already here and it would be kind of hard to bow out at this point. So I take a deep breath and walk into class.

Megan is the substitute and the first thing I notice about Megan is that she looks like me. Not that you would get the two of us confused or even see the resemblance - but in yogaland - she definitely looks like me. Most yoga teachers are tiny. Many are former dancers, or type A personalities that have type A bodies. Megan, however, has boobs, a stomach, and a booming voice and I immediately like her.

She welcomes everyone to class and asks us what areas of the body we want to work on. Hips. I, like many people, hold most of my stress in my hips and need to alleviate some of this pain immediately. And then, like someone who can see right through you, she looks right at me and asks if anyone is working on letting anything go "off of the mat": family issues, ex-boyfriends, job stuff. I slowly nod and she winks at me like we just told each other a secret.

She tells us all to lay on our backs and let go of everything that happened today, releasing it into the ground. We move into "pigeon pose" and she calls it "pige." Megan gracefully guides us through poses and encourages me in "crow pose," even though I can only seem to hold it for a moment. She laughs and reminds us that yoga is playful.

Then she comes over to me and tells me this next pose is for me and winks again. She pulls over another student and says we are going to be partners. Mande??? There are no partners in yoga class.

We are instructed to lie on our stomachs, grab our ankles and flex our feet so that our partner can sit on them while pulling our shoulders up away from the floor. Holy shit. Adrian and I are partners and she has these cool dove tattoos on the back of her shoulders. So I tell her this and she says "Flex your feet so I can sit down." "Right." I say. And when she reaches around my chest, all I can think about is that a stranger's ass is sitting on my sweaty feet while I grab my ankles and her hands are pulling my chest and torso off the floor. And I smile - Megan was right. This pose is exactly what I need. Because there is no way you can continue to be resistant in this pose. So I take a deep breath, smile and let Adrian sit on my feet.

Attachment to what is comfortable and customary makes me feel safe. The problem with attachment is it brings resistance to change. And change is the lifeblood of growth. Yesterday I was reminded that sometimes your guard must come down and you need to allow someone to help you open up your heart, even if it involves risking an uncomfortbale moment between two strangers.

DHARMA - Relationships

Human beings are messy creatures. We are this jumble of emotions, hormones, thoughts and feelings, which can make us both fun at karaoke bars and walking minefields. We set noble intentions for ourselves, then add alcohol, dancing, and a credit card and wonder why we woke up in New Jersey married to some dude with a Calvin and Hobbes tattoo. We believe that we will always make good decisions that fulfill us and don't cause harm to those we love. In short, we are crazy.

Despite this, I do find that people generally aim to do what will cause the least amount of harm to others. However, we are driven by complex motivations, and there exist parts of ourselves that desire immediate fulfillment, despite the damage it may cause. For example, right now I desire to eat the rest of my roommate's hummus. But I know she will come home and be mad. But it's "Sabra" roasted garlic hummus, so it might be worth it.

I have always felt that Karma was the cosmic justice that would restore the balance in our lives for both the good and bad things we did to each other. Not the Hindu version of Karma, but the lapsed-Catholic superstitious version, which strongly resembles "death" in the movie "Final Destination." A Karma that seeks revenge.

I have been targeted by this Karma before. In those moments when I thought that I was safe from it, that whatever I'd done happened so long ago that Karma couldn't possibly remember, it appeared like a ninja and threw a ninja star right in my face.

Then, when I was in law school, I thought I could outwit Karma by offering tiny "karmic donations" into the universe to make up for all the bad shit I was inevitably going to do later. Especially around exam time when I needed extra good karma, I would buy Streetwise magazines from homeless people and over tip the baristas at Starbucks. Essentially, I would try and buy myself good karma.

Karma, however, was not down with this plan. Karma had other ideas for me that involved my wallet getting stolen from my purse in the second floor women's bathroom at law school. Fine, Karma, you win.

I don't think Karma rules relationships between people, though. There is something else that is a far more beautiful way of restoring balance between the hurt people inflict upon each other. Grace. Unearned forgiveness. An unspoken blessing passed between two people. Acknowledging the existence of a hurt and quietly setting it aside. I think the gift of grace between two people is the single most beautiful act of love.

And so - to those in my life who are falling in love - enjoy! And remember in the moment you are first hurt by an unkind word, or an angry response, grace is the bridge that allows you to come back to each other. Through grace, you have the power to block the ninja star of Karma, that would otherwise demand retribution.

And to those in my life who are not sure if they can remain in love - grace toward yourself is a way to move beyond guilt and allow yourself to breathe again.

And to the rest of you who are somewhere in between - try and make peace with your Karma, however it is that you can. Ignoring your trespasses on the universe will only provoke it more. So on this Valentine's Day, offer Karma some flowers, take it out to dinner - do what you have to do. But treat it like a fragile girlfriend for a while and you will avoid being struck by lightening on your way home from the gym.

ARTHA - Old Times

I've been thinking a lot about "old times" recently. You know, the days when you didn't have any responsibilities and would pack up your friend's blue volvo, light a cigarette and drive for hours listening to Dave Matthews, or if you believed yourself to be especially complicated, early Radiohead.

After a recent visit from my "old times" crew, I've been thinking about those days. People always reference their college years not to demonstrate the achievement of a higher education, but as an experience from which one now compares one's life. "I can't drink like I did in college." "It's not as easy to meet people as it was in college" or "It would have been easier to beat this rape charge back in college."

I've been thinking about what is it about those times that was so special. Perhaps it was the unique combination of youth, just enough responsibility to make you feel productive, and a tiny bit of money. The stuff of long days of doing whatever it was we felt like. A favorite plan during my "old times" was to take epic road trips to uncommon destinations like Mobile, Alabama or Nashua, New Hampshire. We would drive for hours smoking cigarettes and drinking that bad flavored coffee you can only get at a gas station. Somebody was always playing guitar and someone always had a frisbee. These were important props in our lives.

And each of us had our own role to play during those days - like characters in a comedy. I find there are days I am still shedding the skin of that role 8 years later. But during those years, it fit me just fine. Cause we were all a part of something larger than each of us as individuals; an experience in growing up that was unique to us because we believed ourselves to be the only ones interested in truth, adventures, and figuring out who we were.

So now, as I approach the milestone of another decade, I am reminded of the days when I wanted nothing more than to see a blue volvo pull around the corner or just to hear one more folk song before going to bed. And for a moment, I am again the 22 year old who wrote terrible love poems and believed the best thing in life was the company of my best friends and a good story.

Ahh, good times, indeed.

KAMA with a MOKSHA hangover

Hello, my name is Greta, and I drank too much last night. The realization dawned on me in many ways: 1) when I ordered a second... (third) shot of Patron, 2) when I was telling the bartender about the first guy I had a crush on in high school, 3) when I checked the text messages I sent, and 4) oh, when I woke up to searing pain in my head.

Last night started out in the usual way: I got ready, put on my coat, put my "Hardcore Rap mix" on my ipod and walked to the L to meet two friends for dinner. Just your typical Saturday night. On the way back from dinner, I had big plans to watch TV, read a magazine or make some popcorn and troll the internet for shoes and purses I can't afford. Again, pretty typical.

However, something changed all this - something small and seemingly insignificant: A text message with the words "If you are still out, we are too..." and BAM, like Batman to the Batmobile, I was headed to a bar.

Some of you have had the distinct pleasure of experiencing a night out with me. Holla! I'm not sure if it's the Irish heritage or the Catholic upbringing, but for whatever reason I am quite skilled at drinking. And last night was no exception - I drank like a champ.

And it was indeed a lot of fun. I hung out with my cousins, who are the best versions of friends I could have dreamt up. And we made many new friends: Alec from Macedonia, Sung, and Bald Ben. Friendships that will last a lifetime.

However, I woke up this morning with the distinct feeling that this drinking like a champion business has its downsides. One major one being that I felt awful and couldn't seem to get off the couch to get anything done. And I like getting stuff done. I'm actually pretty good at it. There is a whole world of possibilities for the day, including yoga classes, reading, or having basic contact with other humans. Yet, there I sat, feeling too zapped to do any of it.

After a lot of gatorade and a pep talk from a friend who told me to shut up, put on some clothes and go outside, I made it to yoga class. (Everyone needs a Courtney in their lives)

As I lay in supta baddha konasana (which roughly translates to "bottoms of feet together, legs splayed"), I was feeling pretty down about myself. Then the yoga teacher began by setting an intention for the class: try not to be perfect. Work on accepting the positive AND negative parts of yourself because all these parts work together to make you who you are - and without both, you are not a whole person.

You know, that's a good goal. One I could work on. Self-acceptance at the present moment; the good and the bad. Because all that stuff is me. Sometimes I drink too much and send embarrassing text messages. Sometimes I smoke cigarettes and forget to take care of myself. So there are some negative parts I would like to banish, but I do make sure to floss and I'm a good listener. I make it to yoga class and I recycle. I'm a kind person and I'm working on accepting the rest.

MOKSHA - Disappointment

Well, disappointment, you're back in my life, you son-of-a-bitch.

I thought that I had rid myself of you forever, but like a jealous boyfriend, you show up at the restaurant where I'm eating dinner or when I'm on the phone with my mother. You are back when I least expected to see you.

No one likes being disappointed, but I don't like it the most of everyone in the world. It feels terrible every time and like loss of love or dignity (something I know a thing or two about), is cured only with time.

And since I desperately want you to go away, I feel inclined to listen to any suggestions to get you out of my life. A good friend of mine once told me that the only way to avoid disappointment is to lower your expectations of others. If you expect less from other people, you will not be hurt when they don't rise to meet the bar that you set for them. Hmmm... Expect nothing and when you get nothing in return, you won't get hurt... I think Eastern Europe was built on that philosophy.

I am tempted to buy into this idea. Not just because it would be easier to avoid feeling the pain associated with disappointment, but because maybe it's not fair to have such high expectations of people. Expectations can often be silent traps that we set for others. But can I really get rid of expectations? Will that make disappointment go away?

I think disappointment is really just the loss of hope. Hope for something better, more interesting, more fun... or just different. The key to forward movement and what allows us to come back from the most terrible of tragedies.

There is only one place in the world I go to regain my sense of hope. And it's not the Whole Foods on Sheffield, although that ranks a close second. It is a book - an essay, actually. Once I have read it, I always feel strong enough to pull it together and get back in the game. It's by Barbara Kingsolver, and she concludes, "We love and we lose, go back to the start and do it right over again." Ahh. You make it sound so simple.

And like a fool, I begin to believe again that it is just that simple. One foot in front of the other and keep moving. And hold on to those expectations, despite your brushes with disappointment. They are what allow you to hope beyond what is right in front of you. And yes, people will disappoint you. Over and Over again. But hope, like coffee, can be made fresh each day.

KAMA - Just some good stuff

Some good stuff to pass along:

1) Ben Gruswitz's Birthday is today. Happy Birthday, Bendix!

2) Rent the move Paper Heart - it will make you feel very happy inside.

3) Read this editorial. A friend passed it along to me and I think it's really good.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/15/opinion/15brooks.html?hp

DHARMA - Patriot Language

Ted Olson, former solicitor general of the United States who famously argued (and won) the Bush v. Gore case before the Supreme Court, is taking on a different kind of case. Mr. Olson is currently representing two same-sex couples in California, bringing a constitutional challenge to that state's prohibition on gay marriage.

In a recent NYT editorial, Mr. Olson commented to Maureen Dowd that "there's something the matter with you" if you don't care about the harm caused by prohibiting equal access to the right to marry for gays and lesbians, saying, "We're not treating them like Americans. We're not treating them like citizens."

If this were a bait and switch, this would be the "switch." See, this blog entry has nothing to do with gay marriage. It has to do with semantics.

I believe words are important. They have the power to make us laugh, move us to tears, divide us, unite us, and to exclude those who live among us. Words can shape perception in a palpable way. For example: "My client has 3 convictions." versus "My client has 3 convictions, but they all occurred before his 18th birthday."

Of all the kinds of language usage that get under my skin, it's not foreign language (hablo espanol), not poorly used language (I totes apprech your sitch), not even misogynistic language (Akon's just trying to find to words without being disrespectful). What really bothers me is "Patriot Language." Phrases such as "These colors don't run," or "Love it or leave it." Phrases that oversimplify a relatively complex set of emotions and suggest there is a "right" and a "wrong" way to feel.

This is not a liberal vs. conservative issue, as both parties are guilty of this. That being said, George Bush was particularly good at using Patriot Language. "Either you are with us or you are with the terrorists." "America will never seek a permission slip to defend the security of our people." "You can't put democracy and freedom back into a box." This led to people saying things like "Hell, yeah! We don't need a permission slip to defend ourselves!!" Of course we don't. Who would sign this permission slip? Where would we turn it in in order to receive our Market Day pickup? Phrases like this obscure questions that should be addressed, such as "What responsibilities do we have when engaging in the act of war?" or "What is the scope of our engagement?" Using phrases like "These colors don't run" is a way for a people to unburden itself of a sense of responsibility.

A more subtle form of Patriot Language exists when we say things like, "we're not treating them like Americans. We're not treating them like citizens." I've thought a lot about what is being implied with this language. Is this phrase implying that withholding certain rights and privileges from those who are not citizens is ok? If someone is not American, is it ok to deny them basic constitutional freedoms? (The irony is that Mr. Olson was trying to invoke outrage at the way a marginalized group has been treated, by using language that contributes to the marginalization of a different group).

I don't think there are easy answers here. There ARE reasons for withholding certain rights and privileges from those who are not citizens. But it does make me think about the millions of people living in this country who fall into that category. And I wonder about the subtlety of that language and whether it aids in drawing a tiny line between people or opens up a small area where division is allowed to creep in. I really don't know. It just makes me think.

Full credit is due to Mia Wilson for the Akon line. You're my gurrl for life.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/17/opinion/17dowd.html

MOKSHA - Coffee and hip-hop

I was at this seminar recently and one of the speakers was talking about ways to figure out what you're good at. One way, according to him, is to take note of the first thing you do when you get to work in the morning. Do you check your email, start returning phone calls, cross off items from your to-do list? Supposedly your answer will help you figure out what your natural strengths are.

Using his method, I deduced that my natural strength is brewing strong coffee. I am really good at putting a filter in the machine and filling it with a large amount of coffee grounds before adding water. Brewing coffee is also something I like to do. A hold over from my college years as a barista.

The point of the exercise is to discover what you most enjoy about what you do. But it also made me think about how the things we enjoy are things we are also good at. And that makes sense. We humans have a tendency towards activities that involve pleasure and things that make us feel good over things that make us feel like we are struggling or are inadequate.

For example: something that is not my natural strength: Intermediate hip-hop class.

I went to a hip-hop class on Wednesday with a friend. And to use a cliche hip-hop term, I got served. Hardcore. By some crazy good dancers.

I could tell from the minute I walked in that this was a real dance class. It was like that moment in Bring It On when you realize the cheerleading team is not made up of real high schoolers, but actors who are also professional cheerleaders. However, in this scenario, I am still just a normal high schooler who wanders into cheerleading practice. Now you understand.

It was really hard for me to enjoy this class because 1) I could barely follow the steps, 2) I am not a professional dancer, and 3) I am white. This put me at a great disadvantage.

Some people see this kind of thing as a challenge and would strive to go back and do it again. I, however, am Catholic and therefore am only motivated by shame and guilt. And me dancing at this professional dance class came as close to shame as I've been in a while. What I am motivated to do is a little dance I like to call "Saving Face" and it involves me never seeing anyone from that dance class ever again.

I'm sure the motivation to go back and try it again will kick in at some point, because I really like the idea of hip-hop dance class, but right now my pride is wounded (hence the picture of me looking sad, but wearing a felt hat to invoke the image of dancing).

Until then, watch out coffee drinkers of the world. Cause I can take you. For reals, yo.

DHARMA - Fighting 101.

There was a fight at work yesterday. One person said something hurtful to another person and the fight escalated in the way such fights often do in a professional environment: with the angry crumpling of paper and throwing (but missing) the wastebasket.

I love fights. I know it's not "appropriate" to encourage fighting, but I think fights are awesome. Which is why Jersey Shore is amazing. Someone is always hitting someone and I am on the couch eating popcorn and can't get enough (of the fight and the popcorn).

I don't love the actual violence of a fight. I just think it's a more efficient way of releasing one's anger. The intellectual fights are just not as satisfying. You always leave feeling like you could have phrased something better or should have brought out a more clever argument. But if you leave a real fight having punched some guy in the face, you're like "Hell, yeah, I punched the dude! Right in the face!"

But I was not jazzed about this fight. I am not interested in witnessing an intellectual battle of two co workers.

It's awkward when two people are intellectually fighting in close proximity to you over something that is totally irrevelant to you. What is the protocol in that situation, you ask? I have come up with two simple steps. I call this "How to politely stand next to a fight."

1) Remain neutral. The key to neutrality is to avoid eye contact. I can avoid eye contact like a pro. But this is not enough. 2) Appear busy and use props. It needs to look like something more important than the fight is going on right in front of you. It is often a good idea to use the items on your desk to appear busy. I began to look very carefully at my notes. Then I took a piece of tape and covered a sentence in my notes. Then I stapled the piece of paper to itself. Then I took out my tiny gavel and began pounding it. Then I drank some water. Then I put on lip gloss and wrote with a red sharpie. By that point, the crumpled paper was on the floor next to my trashcan and I was safe and fully hydrated once again. But also secretly hoping that one of them would deck the other one. :)

MOKSHA - Learning to receive

So I was at yoga class last night. I love the Monday night yoga teacher. She plays good music and lets everyone do their thing without making you feel bad if you can't wrap one leg around your head or put your face behind your ear.

Normally in the beginning of class you are asked to set an intention for your practice. This can be as simple as "get through class" or as lofty as "reach nirvana." The idea is to focus on what makes sense for you in the present moment.

Last night, however, our teacher set the intention for us: Receive. Receive the healing that yoga brings without trying to figure it out. And let go.

Ahhh, to let go. A lofty goal, indeed. It is stunning how hard it is to do just that. My tendency is to filter what I receive into categories of judgment. Good. Bad. Unnecessary. Jankey.

We are conditioned to judge what we receive because it is what grounds us in our individuality. I know who I am because I know what is "not me." To receive without filters is a vulnerable act. It shakes up who you are. But it is also what enables you to transcend your fixed ideas of what is possible in your life. It's what allows you to go deeper into a pose, open yourself up to someone you like, or start your own law firm.

I like the idea of letting go. It is amazing to think that this act will allow in all kinds of wonderful things I never envisioned through my lens of judgment. So that's my message tonight. Let go and receive what comes.

ARTHA - The balance between 70 and 71.

It is cold in my apartment. Not just now, but all the time. Usually when people come over they say things like, "Did you pay your heating bill?" or "Do you have a thick Irish wool sweater I can borrow?"

You may think that we keep our heat low because we are trying to save money. Not true. The real reason is because the heating system is trying to kill us.

We leave our heating system at 70. Pretty much all the time. This is a great temperature because it allows you to walk around your apartment as you normally would in the winter (with socks, a cape and a tiny hat) and feel comfortable. However, every night around 10:30, something strange happens: 70 degrees begins to feel very cold. Too cold for just the cape. So I put on a sweater and turn the heating system up to 71 just before climbing into bed.

Then during the night, while my roommate and I are sleeping, a tribe of tiny heat demons climbs into the heating system and redirects all of the heat in the entire apartment directly into our bedrooms. This usually leads to waking up at 3am feeling like someone is trying to smother you to death with hot blankets. Each morning, my roommate and I look like we've suffered through a case of typhoid or one of those other Oregon Trail illnesses that ends in a spiked fever and death.

One night, tired of waking up destroyed, I left the heat at 70 and put on a heavier sweater. That night I slept peacefully and woke up refreshed. It seemed that as long as we kept the heat at 70, we wouldn't risk spontaneous combustion every night.

I don't really get what's motivating our heating system to try and destroy us. I'm not sure what the heat demons get out of forcing us to turn our heat up to 71. A big demon pizza? The evil satisfaction of making someone else suffer? Who knows.

Around 11:00 last night I could feel the room get colder - more than usual. That damn heating system taunting me to turn it up to 71. I caved. This morning when I woke up kicking my sheets off and screaming "Dear God get me out of this inferno!" I could swear I heard tiny laughing voices coming from the heating vent.

KAMA - The Sports Bar

Last night I went to a Sports Bar. The likelihood of this happening is akin to me saying "last night I flew to france" or "last night I participated in a competitive roller derby."

Up until now my general understanding of sports bars has been that they are bars with lots of TVs, filled with men and women who desire to watch sports and purchase beer in a commemorative plastic cup displaying the name of their favorite sports team. Boy, was I wrong.

Sports Bars are magical wonderlands filled with men who want to talk to you and hear what you have to say. I know, I know, you thought such places only existed in romance novels. And it's not just some men who want to talk to you, all the men in a sports bar will have a conversation with you at some point. They bring up contemporary issues and want to know what you think about these issues. For example: Dude: "Did you just see that pass?" Me: "What pass? You mean on TV?" Dude: "Don't you think McKnabb is going elsewhere next year?" Me: "Who's McKnabb? You mean like on a vacation? I think France would be a fun place to visit." As you can see, I was on fire last night.

At first, I was shocked. I have not had that kind of open conversation with so many men in a bar in a long time (read: ever). Then, it suddenly made sense. Usually in a bar, guys need some kind of approach to go up to women and women are always ready to deflect unwanted attention. And even if step one occurs, it's hard to keep up a conversation with a total stranger. And this is why Sports Bars are magical. Men can come up to you and say "Go Eagles!" or "Can I have some of those steak nachos?" without it feeling like they're hitting on you. And if they want to keep talking, there are no shortage of conversation topics: why everyone hates Dallas, or why Tony Romo only likes blondes. These conversations can last for hours and the awkward "so what do you do?" conversations go by the wayside.

I didn't tell anyone that I was a lawyer, nor did I have the "I work in immigration" conversation which more often than not ends with me having to listen to someone else's ideas of "what we should do with the illegal immigrants in the country." Thanks to my experience at the Sports Bar, I was able to talk to all kinds of fun, interesting men. I was also able to offer my opinions: "People probably hate the Cowboys because it's so hot in Texas," and "I think McKnabb should play for the Bears because he's from Chicago and his family is here and he should be close to his family." Strangely enough, no one asked for my phone number.

DHARMA - The Bar Exam

So I went to visit a friend from law school who recently returned to Chicago. She lost her job in the way many have, because of poor revenue not poor performance. Thankfully, she is blessed with a plethora of talents and compassion - so she toyed around with the idea of teaching for a while. Eventually, she settled on a more concrete and seasonally appropriate task: taking the Illinois State Bar Exam.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Illinois Bar Exam, it is a two-day exam designed to test your knowledge of "the law" and if you score high enough, you are admitted to the Illinois State Bar and allowed to practice as an attorney within the state of Illinois. I imagine the Bar exam to be similar to the hazing rituals that serious fraternities inflict upon new recruits: It's painful, but at the end you can high-five each other and get so drunk that you forget most of the terror and humiliation of the experience.

While studying for the bar takes approximately 7 weeks, it starts out in the way studying usually does. You listen to a 2-3 hour lecture, you take some notes, maybe you review those notes. You go have lunch with your friends, update your facebook status and watch an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer before doing the assignment for the next day.

However, there is a turning point that happens, usually around week 5. You begin this week as you begin any other week: listening to lectures, reviewing notes, doing an assignment. But then, all of a sudden, the classes end and the powers that be tell you that you have all the information you need, now you just need to memorize it. From that moment on, what motivates you to study is Fear. And what a great motivator it is. Studying begins early in the morning and lasts until the evening. Then you trudge home, quietly mumbling tenants of law to yourself on the L, go to sleep and do it again for the next 2 weeks.

This is the moment in a movie when the clever protagonist quietly sneaks away from the crazy person. Anyone you know who is taking the bar - make a note in your calendar around the second week of February that says "Get out now" or "Bat shit crazy" to remind yourself to stay away from that person.

My friend began studying for the Bar exam yesterday. I sat with her for moral support (read: to distract her with youtube videos) and to spend some time together the way we used to in law school. We chatted about what we remembered from torts. Short conversation. We talked about life, love, goals, new years resolutions, changes we've made since graduating law school. It was a rejuvenating experience to see her and be able to talk face to face. But quietly, while we talked about other things, I wrote in my calendar on February 12th, "Run."

4 Aims of Life - A beginning

Today I had to keep from laughing during yoga. I went to a new teacher tonight. During shivasena, or the final relaxation pose, he rang a bell three times and said "May the fear of death leave the room!" in such a serious voice that I had to pretend to cough to keep from laughing. Then on my way out of class I overheard two students talking about the best recipe for making sage blueberry cookies. I don't ever want the words "I made you some sage cookies" to come out of my mouth. I love yoga, but I also love pizza and beer.

That's what this blog is about. A normal person's quest to find balance in 2010 using yoga and all other means necessary. Each entry will reflect on one of the four aims and how it relates to daily life in the hope that this helps other regular peeps find a little bit of balance in their lives as well. :)