A Summer Feast

It's been a while since I've written a food post, but this week's haul from the farmers market and a desire to try a little bit of everything, has me inspired and I thought I'd share my recipes.

The first thing I made was what I thought would be a pasta sauce, but what I'm now calling Chunky Tomato and Summer Squash Sauce with Beans. I served it over couscous, but it would be great over pasta or any whole grain, or on its own with a hunk of crusty bread. Keep in mind that it's just as good at room temperature as it was warmed up, so it's a great option for a summer picnic or a quick dinner.

Next was Raw Kale Salad with Creamy Tahini Dressing. I cut a large bunch of what I thought was kale, but once I got home realized was probably collard greens, into thin strips. I rinsed and drained it well, then put it in a large bowl. I made a batch of the dressing and drizzled about half of it over the greens, tossing it all together. The result was a tangy, nutty, raw salad. I only wished I'd had some sesame seeds to sprinkle over it. To use up the remaining dressing, I sliced three kohlrabi heads and tossed them with the dressing, making a bowl of crunchy kohlrabi matchsticks that I'll probably add to the Kale Salad at some point.

I also cooked up some red potatoes, green beans and a couple of hard boiled eggs to make my favorite potato salad. And I bought some tomatoes, fresh mozzarella and a bunch of basil for the sole purpose of having a Caprese salad.

With all that to choose from, I couldn't possibly pick just one dish to have for dinner. So I served myself a small portion of each and made a little feast. The flavors all went well together, and I didn't have to overeat to enjoy a variety of dishes.

In case you're interested in giving some of these recipes a try, the tomato sauce and kale salad recipes are below, and you can link to my previously posted recipe for Potato and Green Bean Salad.

Raw Kale Salad with Creamy Tahini Dressing

Ingredients:

1 large bunch kale, stalks removed, cut into thin strips
3 TBSP tahini
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
5 TBSP lemon juice
1 clove garlic, pressed
1 TBSP soy sauce
sea salt to taste (a dash is all that's necessary)

Instructions:

Place the kale strips into a large bowl. In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining ingredients for the dressing. Drizzle about half the dressing over the kale and toss to coat well. Add more dressing to taste. Store the remaining dressing in a sealed container in the refrigerator for up to 10 days.


Tomato and Summer Squash Sauce with Beans

Ingredients:

1 TBSP olive oil
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 yellow onion, chopped

1 medium zucchini, halved and thinly sliced
1 medium yellow squash, halved and thinly chopped
4 or 5 large ripe tomatoes, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
1 (15 oz) can Cannellini or Kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar


Instructions:

Heat the olive oil over medium heat until shimmery. Add onion and garlic, and cook until garlic is fragrant and onions are beginning to turn translucent, stirring often. Add the zucchini and squash, sprinkling with pinch of salt and freshly ground pepper, and cook until just tender, stirring occasionally to make sure they don't stick. Add the tomatoes, beans and vinegar and stir to mix completely. Cook just a few minutes more, until the tomatoes and beans are heated through.

Serve warm over pasta, couscous, rice, or any other grain. Can also be eaten as a room temperature salad, over a grain or on its own with a hunk of crusty bread.

Happiness Is Not Right Around the Corner

If you haven't ever read Tiny Buddha, I suggest you take a few minutes to check it out. Trust me, the pearls of wisdom I've found there are well worth the time. Last week they shared an article on realizing you're complete and it struck a nerve with me.

For much of my life I've put my energy into getting to some endpoint, all the while holding off on trying new things or taking chances until that magical point when everything would be perfectly in line to do so. I waited for the right time, the right place, the right relationship, the right number on the scale. And as those destinations continued to evade me, I let opportunities pass me by and made excuses for not working toward my goals. "Someday I'll" and "when I finally" prefaced all my plans. I don't know exactly what I was waiting for, but I knew that once I found it, once I reached that journey's end I'd finally--FINALLY--be happy.

But I never got where I thought I was headed, and so I never seemed to find that illusive happiness. Until recently anyway. Until I stopped hanging my happiness on some achievement I might make in the future and started finding it in everyday experiences. When I began looking for happiness in each moment and stopped expecting it to magically appear when everything was just right, I found out I could be happy right now. I didn't have to wait for anything.

There will always be something new to strive for, some goal unreached, some dream unrealized. It turns out that if I can't find happiness where I'm at, then no achievement or momentous occasion or experience or anything will ever make me truly happy. So I choose each day to do whatever I can to find happiness. That way, when I finally reach those goals and see my dreams come true, I'll be able to experience the happiness of those accomplishments even more deeply. Happiness is not right around the corner, waiting for me at some end-point. It is right here, right now.

Becoming a Yogini

Seven months ago I started a journey that seven years ago I couldn't have possibly imagined. In the wake of my recent breakup, I wanted to do something to take my mind off the pain, to help me heal, and to prove to myself I was strong enough on my own. And I did just that.

I walked into my first yoga teacher training session with apprehension and excitement. I didn't know what to expect exactly, but I was certain my life was going to change in big ways. A little over a month ago I finished the training portion of the program and I can say without a doubt that I was right. I've learned so much over the last seven months that it's hard to even put the lessons into words. For the sake of summary, I'm going to give it a try though.

1. I'm stronger than I think. Whether it was making it through 108 sun salutations or getting over a failed relationship, I realized that I am physically, mentally and emotionally stronger than I've ever given myself credit for.

2. I can do anything I put my mind to, as long as I just keep breathing. The teacher training program I chose was not easy. It was time consuming, and emotionally and physically demanding. It required a serious commitment for an extended period of time. There were the classes I had to take every week, the weekends I had to dedicate almost entirely, not to mention all the studying and reading that I had to squeeze into my already tight schedule. And yet I managed to get through it all by reminding myself to breath, focus and keep moving. I made the time for it all because it was something I wanted.

3. It's important to have a tribe. After ending my relationship, I realized that I didn't have much of a support system in my area. Sure, I had friends and family who loved me, but most of them were out of town or state. I found myself reaching out to nearby friends more, and I discovered that they were more than happy to help me through a tough time. I also discovered a brand new group of loving and supportive friends through the teacher training. While these friendships are just beginning to bloom, I feel a deep and powerful connection to my fellow trainees and know that connection will last a lifetime.

4. Taking chances opens doors. When I started the yoga teacher training, I didn't really know if I wanted to be a teacher. In fact, my intention was to explore yoga more deeply and "maybe teach some day". But by the time the training was over, I was already built up a small private class that met a couple times a month, and was committed to teaching two classes a week in the studio. Sometimes when we take the first step, opportunity meets us half-way.

5. I will always be becoming. The thing that strikes me most about finishing the teacher training program is that I still don't feel like a teacher. I am not yet a yogini in my eyes. Even though I stand in front of classes of students and lead them in their practice every week, I still feel like a student myself. And I don't know if that will ever change. I've realized that even when I've finally arrived at a what I thought would be the end point, there will always be another lesson to learn. I will always be becoming a yogini.

Tales from the Dating Trenches

It's been 11 months since I broke up with The Ex, and I haven't really written much about how I've been dealing with the end of that relationship. I've had my reasons, mainly that I've been busy processing it and growing from it. But now that I'm well over it, I'd like to start filling you in on what's been going on in my social life.

I've never really dated, even prior to my relationship with The Ex. I was either in a relationship or I wasn't. There was no in-between for me. Not to mention that I wasn't particularly confident and didn't think guys wanted to date me anyway. With that attitude, it's needless to say the men weren't really busting down my door.

After the breakup, though, I decided it was important to see what was out there, to experience the dating world and discover what it was I really wanted. Since I had no idea how to go about meeting men in the real world, I figured online dating was a safe bet. And it was. I signed up for an online dating site and during the first few months I went out on several dates. I met some interesting people and learned some lessons about how to open up, or not, in a dating situation. I also learned quite a bit about what I want, and don't want, in a relationship.


My dates weren't all bad, but bad ones make the best (and funniest) stories. I'll be sharing some of them here. Being a single, thirty-something in the dating trenches ain't pretty, people. Trust me.

Floundering to the End

Just one more teacher training weekend, an anatomy test, a take-home exam, and a few class assists and I'll officially be a certified yoga teacher. I can't believe the end is really that near. It's sad to realize that I won't be seeing this great group of fellow trainees each month anymore, that this incredible phase of my life is coming to an end. And even though I've already started teaching the occasional private class and will soon be taking over two morning classes at the studio, it's hard to imagine my life as a yoga teacher.

I taught my first paid private yoga class on Sunday and found myself fumbling terribly despite my preparation and previous experience with this group of students. I gave the wrong name for poses, stumbled over instructions, forgot posture benefits and didn't give a single adjustment. I thought I had the teaching thing down, thought I was getting the hang of it. Apparently, that was not the case. I laughed off my mispronunciations and stumbling instructions with a self-deprecating, "Wow, I'm a little off today." But I felt like I was completely floundering.

Later that day, while ruminating on all the mistakes I had made, I realized that I'm always going to be learning and improving. Not just as a yoga teacher, but as a writer, a friend, a lover, a human being. Like so many times during my exploration of yoga, I began extrapolating what happened in that class to other areas of my life.

I will never "arrive" at some magical end-point, some moment when I'm complete and perfect. I won't always give the clearest instructions, write the most lyric sentences, or be the best person I can be in this world. I will flounder through life making mistakes. And through those mistakes I will change and grow. Sometimes I will fall on my face. But I will get up, brush my knees off, and try again.

(Photo credit: Moffet)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Peace with Food

Confession: I hate being hungry.

I know, no one likes to be hungry. But my aversion to hunger seems to go beyond what I would consider normal. At some point early in my life, hunger became something I avoided at all costs. The sensation actually made me anxious, and I do everything I can to avoid feeling that rumbling.

As soon as my stomach starts to feel empty I immediately seek out something to quell the sensation. In fact, I'm often thinking about what I can or will eat long before hunger even makes an appearance. Which means food has always had power over me.

That desire to avoid emptiness eventually transferred into something more sinister, a disordered relationship with food that extended from eating at the slightest hint of hunger to eating whenever I felt emotionally empty. I know I'm not the only one. I realize that most women, and a good number of men, have some sort of strained relationship with food. But I'm pretty sure my problem crossed the line on more than one occasion from simple emotional eating to what I would have called binge eating. I never purged, but I could eat more than a thousand calories in less than an hour. This binging has subsided over the last few years, as I've discovered ways to better deal with that emotional emptiness, but that fear of hunger still remains.

So imagine my anxiety when I found out that my yoga teacher training group would be completing a juice fast together. At first I was excited to face the challenge. I even volunteered to fast for an additional day. I was caught up in the excitement of the group, interested in experimenting with my diet in a new way. Then the fear started creeping in.

What if I couldn't do it? What if I got really hungry? What if the cravings were too much? What if I wasn't strong enough? The self-doubt and insecurity crept in one question at a time.

To deal with the anxiety, I started planning immediately. I weaned myself off caffeine. I decreased my sugar and white flour intake. And I bought plenty of juice--apple, pomegranate, white grape and cranberry--and vegetable broth

After my dinner on Thursday night, a dinner which I enjoyed slowly and mindfully knowing that it would be my last meal until Sunday afternoon, I settled into the knowledge that my diet would consist only of liquids for more than 60 hours. Then something unexpected happened.

I felt relieved.

Friday I drank juice, water or herbal tea when I was thirsty. If I got hungry, I had a cup of broth. But I never once worried about what I would eat, where my next meal would come from, or when I could finally have solid food again. The anxiety was gone. I knew I would eat on Sunday, and in the meantime, I didn't really think about food. And I felt so alive, it was like every cell in my body was vibrating with energy.

When teacher training started Friday evening, we had a group yoga practice and I found myself able to get more deeper into some poses than I'd ever been before. My focus was intense. My body was responding in new ways. Saturday was a bit more difficult. By the afternoon I was starting to feel a bit more lethargic and the physical hunger was becoming more intense. The anxiety never came up, though. It seemed I was moving beyond my fear of hunger and into a new phase of my relationship with food. It had no control over me anymore.

I could trust that I would never have to eat anything unless I chose to. That would be my challenge once the fast was over. To maintain my sense of control over food. Not for the purpose of going to the other extreme and severely limiting my food intake. But for the purpose of allowing myself time and space to be hungry, to really experience meals when I did choose to eat, and to recognize the effects different foods have on my body.

When we finally broke fast together on Sunday afternoon, every bite was like a flavor explosion in my mouth. After tasting nothing but water, diluted juices, vegetable broth and unsweetened teas, the taste of a strawberry was powerful. The saltiness of a peanut made my mouth water. The crunch of a carrot felt like a blessing.

Almost two weeks later, I'm still having revelations about that fasting experience. Each time I find myself eating when I'm not really hungry or mindlessly munching on a snack during the day, I remember that feeling of power that came with emptiness, and I relax. I've finally found some peace with food. I have the power now, and I know how to use it.

(Photo credit: Shermeee)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Chaotic Garden

This is a fiction piece written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from The Red Dress Club.

Julie pulled on the gloves and sighed. The sun was already getting hot and she had a long morning ahead of her.

The day her realtor brought her to this house, Julie was hurried and barely interested in the listing. It was smaller than she wanted, in a neighborhood she wasn't familiar with and the price was slightly above her budget. When she walked through the front door, into the open, airy living room that looked straight through the dining room and into the modern kitchen, her mood brightened.

It wasn't perfect, though. The upstairs needed some work. The bathroom hadn't been updated, the closets were practically non-existent, and the bedrooms needed a new coat of paint. And then there was the postage-stamp sized backyard.

It was an absolute mess, an eye-sore, really. The ivy and honeysuckle vines were taking over the fence, covering almost the entire length of it. There was a pile of broken bricks in the back corner, and an overgrown patch of what seemed like purposefully placed weeds along one side of a small, cracked patio. The chaos of it seemed to reflect the chaos of her life. All she could see, though, was the flower garden she could put in along the fence. The herb garden she could grow where the wild patch was. The bistro set she'd place on the patio so she could drink coffee and read books in the sun. It was the potential of the small backyard that sealed the deal.

Three years later, she still hadn't tackled the project of tangled vines, weeds, broken bricks and cast-off items. It was still a mess. After the honeymoon period of painting and decorating and unpacking was over, she just hadn't found the time or energy to pull out the gardening tools and trash bags and transform the yard into something she could enjoy. She had purchased the bistro set the weekend before as an incentive. It only needed a place to go.

The weather was getting warmer, the days were getting longer, and Julie refused to go another summer drinking her morning coffee and reading books indoors. She picked up her trimming clippers and got to work on the vines. This messy, overgrown backyard was an oasis waiting to be uncovered.


This post was written in response to the new weekly prompt at The Red Dress Club created to help develop memoir writing skills.

Write a short piece, either fiction or non-fiction, about something ugly - and find the beauty in it. Word limit is 600.

Constructive criticism is welcome.

(De)Caffeinated Yogini

Ask fifty adults practicing yoga whether they drink coffee, and there's a good chance at least half of them will say yes. But traditionally, yoga and any stimulant did not go well together. Many yoga teachers recommend letting go of caffeine as you become more dedicated to a yoga practice. Other well-known yoga teachers show up to class sipping coffee from a Starbucks cup.

There's no rule that says you can't drink coffee if you're a serious yoga practitioner. Why then, did this yogini decide to let go of caffeine? Excellent question.

I've been a near-daily coffee drinker for years now. My morning routine during the work week entails me entering the building, taking off my coat and brewing the coffee for the office. I've usually finished my first cup and am going back for my second by the time the rest of my coworkers start trickling in an hour later. I like the smell of it, the taste of it, the way it warms my body. Coffee has been my quiet-time companion for a long time. But I wasn't addicted. There were weekends when I would go completely without coffee (but not necessarily caffeine) and saw no real changes in how my body and mind functioned. No headaches, no sleepiness, nothing to indicate that I had to have coffee.

Still, I had started getting the feeling that caffeine was weighing me down. Not literally, of course. But as much as I had convinced myself that caffeine didn't control me, I found myself drawn to that pot every morning, like a fly to honey.

During our last teacher training weekend, we started discussing preparations for our upcoming juice fast, the topic of caffeine came up and the conversation got a bit heated. "How many of you are addicted to caffeine?" our instructor asked. About half of the group raised their hands. "And how many of you drink coffee but don't think you're addicted to caffeine?" Most of the rest of us, myself included, raised our hands. Then the instructor challenged us to explore that idea.

Like so many things I've been doing lately, I took that challenge seriously and decided to experiment with letting go of caffeine. I truly didn't think it would be that difficult. I only drank a couple of cups of coffee most days of the week, and some days I didn't have any. How hard could it be to let that go?

Surprisingly hard.

I started my week with one cup of 1/3 decaf. At about 2:00 that afternoon I thought I was going to fall asleep at my desk. I got irritable and so very sleepy. At first I couldn't figure out why. Then it occurred to me that I usually had a cup of black tea or a diet caffeinated soda after lunch. Maybe I'd been drinking more caffeine than I thought.

The next two days I stuck with my 1/3 decaf blend. Just one cup. I was miserable during the day. But I was also sleeping soundly through the night, when I would normally wake up three or four times.

On the fourth day, I shifted to one cup of 2/3 decaf and did that for two days. On the sixth day, I had a decaf Americano. And on day seven, I went coffee-less.

It's been almost three weeks now, and aside from the two decaf Americanos I've had, I've been caffeine and coffee free. And I feel fantastic. I'm sleeping so much better. I have more energy. I'm alert and wake during the day without the aid of any stimulants. That's not to say there aren't days when I feel like I could really use that jolt of caffeine or when I want a hot drink, but for now at least, some deep breathing, a brisk walk around the block or some herbal tea are doing the trick. I can't promise that I won't ever drink a caffeinated beverage again, but right now it feels great to be a decaffeinated yogini.

(Photo credit: Demion)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Washed Away

This week's response to the Red Writing Hood prompt is an exploration of my (somewhat fuzzy) memory of a day during the summer after my junior year in high school.

Early summer afternoons at the Harbor Market could be extremely boring or very busy. It was hard to predict from day to day. On this day, it wasn't particularly busy. I stood at the cash register, methodically keying the prices of a customer's grocery selections into the machine and bagging each item. I took the customer's money and quickly but carefully counted out the change.

"Have a great afternoon," I said, smiling.

As the customer walked away, the phone rang. "Hi honey," my mom said. "You're not alone there, are you?"

My heart beat faster, pounding in my chest. That question never preceded good news.

"No, Stacie's here. And Penny. What happened?"

"There was an accident at the jump off. Tom and a friend were swimming with some girls and the water's really choppy today," she said.

I interrupted her. "Who was the friend?"

"I don't know his name, honey. They didn't say, but I think it was the one he's always with."

"Marc? Was it Marc?" I asked, frantic to know the details.

"I'm not sure."

"What happened? Are they okay?"

She paused for a moment, probably wondering how much detail she should give me. "Tom and the girls are fine. Shaken up, but they're okay. The undertow was really bad...it pulled the friend under. Tom tried to get him, but he lost his grip. He couldn't hold onto him. Search and Rescue is looking for him now, but the chances aren't good."

I just listened, silent. It couldn't be. She was wrong. This was a mistake. I knew it was Marc. It had to be. But he was too young. I just saw him. They'd find him. But what if they didn't? What about Marc's brother Todd? What about his parents? How would that survive losing him?

My mind raced with logical explanations and dozens of reasons why Marc couldn't possibly have drowned. I don't remember hanging up the phone, or even leaving the register. I found my way to the back of the store where Stacie and I held each other and cried, waiting for more news. Waiting for confirmation that Marc was gone.

They found Marc's body, which I never saw again, along the rocky shore of the harbor. The water had claimed him, taken him violently from us. That summer our small high school, so many of whom knew Marc personally, said good-bye to a vibrant, fun-loving young man in the prime of his life. We said good-bye to our invincibility, to our innocence. The water washed them away, along with Marc's last breath.

It was as if Marc's death came with a message: "Life is hard. The world is full of threats and danger, and we are all vulnerable."

How could we not be when even our beautiful, peaceful lake could take our loved ones away without a second thought?

This post was written in response to the new weekly prompt at The Red Dress Club created to help develop memoir writing skills.

Water gives life. It also takes it away. Write a short piece - fiction or non-fiction - inspired by one or both of these statements. Word maximum is 600.

Constructive criticism is welcome.

Leftovers

I hadn't opened the drawers in that dresser for months. Not since we'd cleaned out what few of his belongings he'd deemed unnecessary enough to leave at my house while he continued to live in his own apartment. We had placed all his things in a single trash bag while I cried hot, heartbroken tears. It's fitting that we used a trash bag to pack up the things he'd left behind over the six years we dated. It felt as though I was throwing away everything by sending him away.

Eight months later, I finally decided it was time to move my own things into the dresser I'd adopted from a friend especially for his clothes, hoping that he would feel more, what? Obligated to move in? Comfortable with the idea of cohabitation? Whatever I had been hoping for, it never happened. And so I pulled out a few of the empty drawers and began transferring socks and tee-shirts and pajamas. When those drawers were full I pulled out another and found myself staring into a pile of stuff I wasn't prepared for. A work uniform, tee-shirts, a sweatshirt.

Sitting there on my knees in front of that drawer, I didn't cry. I didn't hold his shirt to my nose, hoping for a whiff of his scent. I didn't even consider the future I had dreamed up for us, the one that never materialized. Instead, I pulled the clothes out of the drawer and piled them in a box, making room for my own things.

Later, when I was putting away some books, a folded piece of paper floated to the floor. Before I opened it and reread my words, I knew what it was. A letter I wrote to him on the last anniversary we celebrated together. I read it a second time, feeling not sadness or regret, but a lighthearted distance, a gratitude for my ability to love another so deeply and a hope that I'd be writing letters like that once again.

On another day, I opened the closet in the guest room looking for wrapping paper and found a tie he must have missed when folding his suit and adding it to the trash bag. The suit I bought him so he would come with me to the wedding of a friend. I laughed at the memory of the two of us struggling with that tie in the parking lot for so long that we were almost late for the ceremony.

The memories rarely elicit tears anymore. They are facts of my life--nothing more, nothing less. Oh, there is that DVD we watched together on one of our first dates. Here is a plate he borrowed from his mother to bring me dinner one night. A pile of greeting cards I gave him that he never took home to his apartment. A purse, a sweater, a necklace he gave me for this holiday or that celebration. The emotion I once attached to these things has dwindled. The memories have become soft around the edges. Not neutral, but not negative either, and rarely sad.

They are leftovers, plain and simple. Like bread crumbs trailing behind me on the path of my life, they remind me of where I have been. But I leave them there for the birds. I don't need to find my way back.


This post was written in response to the new weekly prompt at The Red Dress Club created to help develop memoir writing skills.

Write a piece - 600 word limit - about finding a forgotten item of clothing in the back of a drawer or closet. Let us know how the item was found, what it is, and why it's so meaningful to you or your character.

Constructive criticism is welcome.

Valentine's Day Doldrums

I'm a day late posting this because I just couldn't bring myself to write it yesterday in the midst of all the hearts and love and flowers and cards. I honestly thought I'd take it better. I thought it would be easy to get through if I just focused on the love I do have in my life.

But it wasn't. Especially when friends and co-workers started talking about the flowers and gifts they were receiving while I sat at my desk and wondered if I'd ever have a Valentine again.

The thing is, this Valentine's Day didn't feel much different to me than it has the last few years, despite the fact that I'm now single. For six years I did have a Valentine, and that still wasn't enough. Even when I was in a relationship, Valentine's Day rarely brought a card or flowers or gifts. It was just another day when I would give all the love I had and would end up feeling spent and empty because he gave me so little in return.

It was that realization, that remembering, that made me sad on Valentine's Day. Not the absence of flowers or a box of candy, not even the absence of a significant other, but the undeniable truth of how little I had settled for in my last relationship, how little I had loved and cared for myself.

Feeling sad and lonely, I came home to find two Valentines in my mailbox. The first was from a blog friend who seems to have a knack for sending me the sweetest gifts and notes exactly when I need them (thanks, Jen!). The second was from a long-time friend who has proven herself to be a true Valentine, showing me a love that is full and complete and entirely unconditional. By the time I fell asleep last night, after reading and rereading her card, I felt buoyed by the love I do have and reminded that Valentines Day is just a day like any other day. Today, just like yesterday, is an opportunity to be someone's Valentine, to be my own Valentine, to give--and just as importantly to receive--love completely.

(Photo Credit: seyed mostafa zamani)

Finding Strength in Yoga

We've all heard the celebrities swear that yoga makes their bodies tight and toned. And I have to admit that when I started yoga teacher training, a rather large part of my motivation was the potential physical benefit of a regular yoga practice. As you can probably tell from my blog posts of late, it seems that I'm getting much more emotionally, mentally and spiritually from the dedicated practice of yoga than I am physically.

That's not to say my body isn't changing. I find myself wishing I'd taken "before" photos, so that I could share my physical progress with you all. My butt is lifting, my waist is more defined, my shoulders are stronger, my biceps and triceps are actually cut and visible. I'm able to do things that I doubted I'd ever be able to do, like balance in Bakasana and lift fully into Urdhva Dhanurasana. And I'm working my way toward headstand, slowly but surely.

One of the biggest things I'm learning about the physical practice of yoga (asana) is that it's such a small part of what yoga truly is. There are actually eight limbs of yoga, only one of which refers to the physical postures. So while I'm actively working to move more deeply into Downward Facing Dog and to practice better form in Chaturanga Dandasana, the real work is coming in other areas of my life.

I suspected that might be the case when I signed up for the training. After all, I'd just ended a six-year relationship and was planning to submerse myself in an intensive program. I knew emotions would come up and I'd run into walls. How could I not? But here's the thing: I had no idea the extent to which yoga would open me up and reveal who I truly am.

The lessons I'm learning on my mat through my physical practice--to keep breathing, even when I'm uncomfortable; to listen to my body; to trust in my own strength; to push myself gently, and handle myself with care--these lessons don't just end on the mat. I see myself applying them in my life when I'm in a stressful situation, starting to become irritable, and I calm myself with a few slow, deep breaths. Or when I'm feeling exhausted by a hectic schedule and treat myself to a hot bath and an early bedtime instead of forcing my body through another long day. Or when I recognize I'm making excuses instead of fully living my life and I forgive myself and then begin to carefully push myself, taking the first hesitant steps toward my future.

Yes, yoga is giving me a fit body. But it is also strengthening my mind, my spirit. Then again, maybe yoga is just quieting the noise and clearing away the underbrush so that I can see what was there all along.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

108 Sun Salutations: A Perfect Ending and Beginning

I took two yoga mats home with me. Two. Because I was hoping to not only get in plenty of yoga on my own, but also practice my teaching skills on some friends and family. The mats didn't get used nearly as much as I'd planned, but what use they did get was good use.

On Christmas Eve morning, I woke up bright and early, turned up the faux fireplace in my mom's den and unrolled my mat in front of the lit Christmas tree. I practiced for an hour in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of that morning. It was a beautiful start to my vacation.

I had planned to take a couple of classes at a studio in the area, but one of them ended up being canceled, and I missed the other because I took my nephew ice skating instead. Ice skating itself was a practice in patience and focus, though. I haven't been on skates in years, but it was so much fun to find my footing again and start floating across the ice like I did when I was a kid. We went to a rink that I'd gone to a lot when I was in school. As I skated around and around the ice I couldn't believe all the memories of birthday parties and hanging out with friends that came back to me. I'm pretty sure I was grinning ear-to-ear the entire time I was out there. My nephew, on the other hand, had enough after about 10 minutes and then watched me for the next 45 minutes or so. I could have stayed out there all afternoon, getting surer and surer on the thin blades. I'm not skilled enough to do turns or even skate backwards, but man was I having fun!

Later in the week, I taught a mini yoga class to my stepsister and her girlfriend. It was a great experience and I learned a lot about my teaching style and how I can adjust it for different types of learners. One of them is a visual learner and needed a lot more demonstration, while the other was very good at following my verbal instructions, so I tried to demonstrate more of the poses as I described them, giving them both the tools they needed to benefit from the practice. I also appreciated that they asked a lot of questions. Neither of them have taken yoga before, so they asked about anatomy and benefits of different poses, challenging me to remember all that I've learned during our training weekends and in my studying.

Before I knew it, New Year's Eve had arrived. I woke up early that morning and decided that for the last day of 2010 I wanted to do something challenging. I rolled out my mat in front of that Christmas tree again and set out to complete 108 sun salutations. The last time I completed more than 100 sun salutations was my first teacher training weekend, and it wasn't pretty. I had to take breaks often and was so sore for a week after. I didn't know if I'd be able to get through 108 straight, but I promised myself I'd do as many as I could.

The first 25 were relatively easy. I thought, I'd gotten through almost a quarter of them so maybe 108 was doable after all. By 54, my confidence was starting to wane. My arms were getting Jello-y and I was sweating like crazy. Still, I was half-way there.

At 72, two-thirds of the way to 108, I started to see the sun. There was no way I was quitting at that point. I pushed through to 100, where I paused for a moment at the top of my mat to catch my breath and consider how far I'd come. Just a few months ago, I wasn't able to do even 50 straight sun salutations, much less 100. And there I was, having just finished 100 sun salutations, ready to complete 8 more. For the last 8, I moved slowly, dedicating each series of poses to something different: my family, my friends, my enemies, the earth and all the creatures on it, the universe and all that it holds, my past, my present, and my future.

When I was finished, I stood in silence, stunned by my strength, my perseverance, my dedication. I may or may not have lost count a couple of times, but I found a groove and just kept going, moving with my breath in no hurry to finish. I moved my way through doubt and exhaustion, and ended 2010 stronger than I started it.

How's that for a perfect ending and a new beginning? Whatever 2011 holds, I know I can handle it. And if not, I can always do 108 sun salutations to make myself feel better.

(Photo credit: kevindooley)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Breathing Through Discomfort

There's a point during almost every yoga class I take where I've reached my physical (or mental) limit in a pose and all I want to do is get out of it. I mentally beg the teacher to prompt us into another position. I fidget. I grimace. I sweat. Sometimes I even come out of the pose altogether, tired of struggling. Then I spend the rest of the class, or at least the next few minutes, silently berating myself for my inability to sustain the pose. It seems like a never-ending battle. I want to grow, to build mental and physical strength, and yet I don't want to feel the discomfort associated with all that change.

It's not just in my yoga practice that I experience this conflict either. I'm starting to recognize a similar resistance in my life at large. I'm especially seeing it lately where my writing is concerned. I want to write and publish my writing. I put time and effort into formulating ideas, putting them on paper, molding them into moving stories, and editing them over and over again. But then the resistance comes. The story might not be good enough yet. It might be too personal, might reveal too much of myself. It might--no, it will--be rejected. I don't want to feel the discomfort that comes along with all that. Instead, I leave the unfinished or unsubmitted pieces in a folder on my laptop. Or I pull them out and rework them, yet again. I do everything but send them out into the world. I just haven't been able to figure out how to move beyond that fear.

The answer came to me on the mat, as they so often do these days--but that's another post in itself. I was folded into Pigeon and my right hip flexor was stretch its limit. There wasn't any pain, just a nagging discomfort that my mind wanted to avoid. I started wishing we could move back into Downward Facing Dog. I rocked my hips side to side looking for a way out of the tension. I shifted a little more to the left and the discomfort disappeared, but so did the benefits, the pleasure, of the stretch. So I moved back into the pose, where the discomfort was still waiting.

At just that moment, the teacher spoke up. "Remember to breathe. If you feel tension, try sending your breath into that area of your body." I followed her lead, inhaling and exhaling slowly, deeply. The resistance waned. My mind relaxed as I focused on the air moving in and out of my lungs, and my body responded by relaxing a little, too. I even moved a teeny-tiny bit deeper into the position, as my hip flexor released ever-so-slightly.

Understanding flickered in my mind. The discomfort won't last forever. In fact, if I take the time to breath, to experience the discomfort and allow it to pass, I might just find that I'm able to move more fully into an experience--whether it's on the mat, in my writing, or in my life.

The next time fear, discomfort or tension arises in my life, I promise myself that I will breathe into the discomfort and wait for it to pass, because it always does. Then, when the discomfort subsides, I will move forward into the things that are waiting for me on the other side.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

All That Is In Me

Two years ago in January, I made a trip to Arizona to visit my sister. At the time, I was feeling out of sorts, lost and confused about my life. I was in a relationship that I now know wasn't going anywhere. I was taking tiny steps toward a freelance career that I couldn't seem to get off the ground. I had lost all spiritual direction and was struggling to find peace in the midst of my chaotic life. So I hopped a plane and headed to a new land hoping for a revelation.

I can't honestly say that I found what I was looking for during that trip, but something new opened up in me. I had been practicing yoga for a while, and being around such interesting natural beauty stirred up the yogic instinct to be present and open in the face of new experiences. I enjoyed moments of laughter and long conversations with my baby sister. I stood on a rock on our way to Sedona and found myself reaching into Tree pose (Vrksasana). I sat beside Slide Rock, watching and listening to the water rush by, feeling my body relax and my breath steady and deepen. I watched the sun set over the Grand Canyon, recognizing the timelessness of both the canyon's existence and my own. And yet I still found myself wondering when the lightening bolt would strike, when the "ah-ha" moments would appear. Would I ever find the peace and strength that I was looking for?

For the two years that followed I began to hear that still small voice of my own spirit a bit more clearly, to explore the deeper places of my mind and heart, the ones that I had shut off for way too long, fearing the effort they might require and the discomfort they might evoke. Looking back I can see that trip for the awakening that it was, but while I was there, even in the midst of what I now see as revelations, I was still looking for something more.

This month, I'll be returning to Arizona for a trip of a different kind--a short visit with my sister followed by a few days at a trade show demonstrating products for the company I work for. This time, I'm not searching. I have learned a valuable lesson in my yoga training so far: All that I am looking for is already within me. My last trip to Arizona gave me a flicker of that knowledge, and now, when I find myself seeking out something deeper, more meaningful, more powerful, just plain more, I am able to recognize the longing and remember that I am full and complete just as I am. It is not the "more" that matters, in the end. It's the experience, the process, the journey, the moments that make up those things, that will determine a life.

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Album Review: Norah Jones ...Featuring

Confession: I haven't bought  a Norah Jones album since Come Away With Me (2002). I still listen to that album (or tracks off of it) regularly, though. Jones's soft ballads make a great soundtrack for life when you want to slow down or relax a bit. So when I had the opportunity to review her new album ...Featuring, I signed up immediately*. In fact, I signed up so quickly that I didn't even realize this was a compilation album.

It turns out the collection includes songs performed with a variety of artists from a broad range of genres (from rock to country and blue grass, to hip hop and rap and everything in between), as well as performances from her side projects El Madmo and The Little Willies. The tracks were recorded throughout her career and, placed side-by-side in a single album, you can clearly see just how musically flexible Jones can be.


I've been listening to ...Featuring over and over since it arrived in my mailbox a couple of weeks ago, and each time I listen I discover something new. It occurs to me that I've listened to and enjoyed many of these songs before, songs like Q-Tip's "Life is Better" and The Foo Fighters' "Virginia Moon", but wedged among sons like El Madmo's "Bull Rider" and Jones' own version of Blue Bayou featuring M. Ward, even the familiar songs have a fresh feel to them. It's an eclectic mix that on the surface seems discordant and jumbled. But I enjoyed the variety of sounds and voices, all connected by the cool, sultry voice of Norah Jones.

I'll definitely be putting my favorite holiday song, "Baby It's Cold Outside" (covered by Willie Nelson) on repeat this season. And since everything in my life seems to come back to yoga these days, I've can't help thinking as each track plays which yoga class playlist it'll go on. Talib Kweli's "Soon the New Day" will be perfect for a Vinyasa Flow class and Ray Charles' "Here We Go Again" has to be included at the end for lower-key stretching and cool down. I think that's what I like most about this album. There's something on it that fits every musical mood, something that will connect with everyone. My one worry for ...Featuring is that, unless there are a lot of die-hard Jones fans out there who have as eclectic music tastes as I do, there's not enough of a single sound on the album to connect with any one group of listeners. That won't stop me from recommending it, though. I think everyone could stand to broaden their musical horizons a bit, and this album is a safe, comfortable way to do that.

For more info about Norah Jones and her music, check out her website or find her on Facebook and YouTube.

*Disclosure: You can rest assured that all opinions expressed in this review are my own. However, I received a free copy of ...Featuring through One2One Network and by writing this review I was entered in a contest to win a gift card.

When Doubt Creeps In

Last weekend I spent three days with my fellow yoga teacher trainees practice teaching, learning new postures and assists, discussing the ethics of yoga (the yamas), practicing mindfulness, and meditating. It was an awesome weekend filled with love, laughter, hard work, and doubt. Yes, I said doubt.

Every now and then I'd glance around the room and wonder what I was doing there. Am I really cut out to become a yoga teacher? Do I have what it will take to knowledgeably, accurately and gently teach others not just the physical but also the mental, ethical and spiritual aspects of yoga that I'm only now beginning to wrap my own mind and body around? Will I ever learn all those Sanskrit terms?

Sometimes I'm not sure what to do with this doubt. I try not to judge it, knowing that it rarely lasts long. I remind myself that every yoga teacher started as a beginner student. I begin to trust that in time I will grow into the teacher role, just as I have grown into the student I am now. I remember that I have a teacher's heart, that I love sharing knowledge and experiences with others, that I have always imagined I would teach in some form throughout my life.

When the doubt passes, I see myself changing. I look back over the eight weeks since our last training weekend and I can see vividly how much I've learned and accomplished in just two months. Poses that I thought were completely out of my reach, that I was sure I'd never be able to achieve, are now part of my regular practice. Just last night, I balanced in Crow (Bakasana) for 10 full breaths. Two weeks ago, I pushed myself fully into Wheel (Urdhva Dhanurasana) and remained there, steady for 10 deep breaths, as well.

Of course, some postures (Head Stand, most of the arm balances, and even Bow) are still out of my reach. And there will always be days when even the postures that usually come easily, like Tree (Vrksasana) and Bridge (Setu Bandha Sarvangasana), are more challenging than I expect. It's those things, those perceived failures, that I too often focus on. I judge as good or bad everything I attempt, and it's the bad on which I usually dwell.

So with my intention set on ahimsa (one of the yamas, meaning nonviolence or to do no harm), I will try to recognize my self-judgment and let it pass. Until our next training session, just a few weeks away, I will be kind to myself, knowing that every day, even when it's not noticeable, I am growing like a tree, my roots sinking into the ground and my branches sprouting new off-shoots toward the sun.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

The Space Between Effort and Rest

Last weekend I took a morning yoga class and the teacher started the practice by telling us we would be focusing on the balance between effort and rest. There are yoga postures that depend on this balance. Put in too much effort and you topple over or fall out of alignment, but exert too little effort and you get the same result. There has to be a balance between the two, and when you find that balance, you find the fullest, strongest expression of the pose.

Take Warrior III, for example. For those who don't practice yoga, or don't yet know the names for all the poses, Warrior III is a balancing pose. You stand on one leg, with the other leg extended toward the wall behind you, your torso parallel to the ground and your arms extended over your head, pointing toward the wall in front of you. To stay strong in this pose, you must be pressing your standing leg firmly into the ground, while extending your other leg and your arms with equal effort in opposite directions. Once you find that balance in effort, stretching equally in both directions, you can rest in the pose. This rest isn't so much a relaxation, as a settling in.

As I listened to the teacher talk about how we sometimes lose that balance in our practice, pushing ourselves deeper into a pose when we should be resting at our limit or holding back our effort when we could breath into a fuller expression of the pose, I knew I was about to learn a lesson I could take with me outside of that yoga studio and into my life.

You see, I tend toward too much effort--on and off the mat. I'm a control freak. Anyone who knows me knows that. I like to know what's going to happen and how it's going to happen. And when things get a little out of control, I like to put them back in order. I'm always working to make sure things don't fall apart, always trying to make things go my way. Here's the thing, though. It doesn't work. I can't control the weather. I can't control the actions or reactions of others. No matter how hard I try, there will always be things outside of my control.

So I took this lesson to heart and I listened carefully to my body. Throughout the class, as I found myself pushing too hard here, or not trying enough there, I brought myself back to the balance, that space between effort and rest, where I was settled, strong, and stable. I've been able to continue recognizing effort imbalances when I'm on the mat, in other classes, with other teachers.

Unfortunately, finding that balance in the world has been a bit more difficult. I'm still trying to find that place of balance where I know I'm making my best effort without pushing or pulling or straining too much to make something happen. There is peace in that space between effort and rest. I know, because I've seen it. And with practice, I'm certain I'll see it more often.

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

Walking Tall

I've been noticing lately that after just a few weeks of consistent, dedicated yoga practice, I'm walking taller. My stride is more sure.

I don't know the exact cause of this change. Maybe it's the strengthening and development of my core muscles. Maybe it's the strengthening and development of my confidence, my spirit, my "core". Whatever it is, I know I'm not the only one who has noticed.

After seeing a friend at her baby shower recently, she sent me a message and mentioned that I looked great and should keep doing whatever it is I've been doing. At first, I wasn't sure what she was talking about. I hadn't lost a pound since the last time she'd seen me. But then I saw a photo of us at her shower and I saw what she saw. My smile was wide and I recognized a confidence, radiance even, that I'm not used to seeing in myself.

The same weekend as that shower, I was at the beach with a couple of girlfriends. At one point, as we walked along the boardwalk in the late summer breeze, chatting about our lives and catching up with one another, I realized my walk had changed. At some point over the last couple of months, I'd started standing taller. Shoulders down my back, heart open and head held high, my steps confident and solid.

It seems these changes in my appearance, at least in the way I stand and walk, started when I began practicing yoga more regularly, which makes complete sense. I am strengthening my core muscles, the ones that support my torso and hips, with every class I take. I’m strengthening my mind and spirit, too. I definitely feel more confident on and off the mat as I begin to see what my body is capable of, making progress in both basic and more complicated poses.

Then again, maybe that radiance and confidence has more to do with my recent breakup. I made the choice to move on with my life, with or without The Ex, and then, when he couldn’t go forward with me, I stood my ground and took that step alone. And here I am, still standing. Confident. Alive. Better at being me. Wavering now and then, but still standing despite the winds of emotion.

Maybe it’s the yoga. Maybe it’s my choices. Or maybe it’s something else. Some combination of things I’ve yet to recognize. Whatever it is, I’m happy to be walking tall.

This piece was cross-posted at bookieboo.com, where I'll be journaling about my experience as I learn to teach yoga (and become a more dedicated yoga student in the process).

(Photo credit: lululemon athletica)

Growing in Gratitude

I've written about gratitude here before, but I'm finding that in the midst of major and unexpected life changes and a schedule that keeps getting more and more crammed with things to do, my practice of gratitude gets lost in the shuffle. Instead of recognizing all the things I have to be grateful for, I focus my attention on my long list of to-dos, my frustrations and my failings.

As I've become more dedicated to my yoga practice, I can see that I am becoming less judgmental and more accepting (of myself and others), and learning to be more present and grateful in my life. I generally find it easy to express my gratitude for the big things: my health, my family and friends, my job. But in the midst of all the busy-ness, I usually forget to be thankful for the little things, the things that make those big things so much more enjoyable.

This week I'm setting an intention to shift my perspective and practice gratitude in the little things. In fact, I'm starting right now with this list of things I'm thankful for, things that I've experienced in just the first few hours of this Saturday:

• An early start on this cool fall morning
• Sunshine after rainy days
• A free parking space
• A good hair day
• A challenging yoga class
• Openness to new things
• Productive writing time
• Childrens' laughter
• The pleasure of watching demonstrations of a parent's love
• Soft, warm bread and hot soup

They're not monumental experiences, but I'm grateful for them just the same.

We don't have to be utterly ungrateful to benefit from having more gratitude in our lives. So I plan to take this morning's attitude of gratitude for the small things throughout the rest of my day (and, with a little practice and patience, the rest of my life). I'm hoping that focusing more attention to the positives of the little things will help me to continue forward in this new phase of my life and not get caught up in what I sometimes think I'm lacking. Out of my gratitude, I know that contentment will follow.

Thanks to Christina Katz for the inspiration to write about gratitude this week. If you're feeling grateful, too, share your thoughts on Gratitude on your own blog and link up the post at The Prosperous Writer.