My First Time

My junior year of college, four friends and I spent a week hiking and drinking around Puerto Rico for spring break.  We’d found round-trip tickets out of Philadelphia for $250, and you only needed a driver’s license to go, so we all packed in to an SUV and somehow didn’t kill each other on the drive from Columbus to Philly.  For two days we camped out on Culebra, an island off the East coast of Puerto Rico, and it was the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.  Once you’ve seen it, Culebra haunts your dreams. 

“I just want to make a bunch of money and then go live on Culebra for the rest of my life.”

“Fuck making money first!  Culebra’s cheap!  Let’s take off tonight.  There’s nothing for us here!  Nothing, I tell you!  We’ll sell Che Guevara jewelry and sleep in hammocks under the stars.” 

After a solid day’s worth of twisted effort, which included harassing and stalking small, school children; approaching seedy drug dealers; and walking several miles down the only road; we’d finally gotten weed from an alcoholic local named Mario who illegally taxied tourists around the island for a small fee.  Mario had affectionately nicknamed me his little “Idaho potato.”

“Idaho potato! My pretty little Idaho potato!”  Mario drunkenly said to me after we’d gotten out of his car at our campsite.  

“I’m from Ohio.  That’s a completely different state,” I explained.

“I’ll miss you Idaho potato! Call me if you need anything else.”

On the drive back to our campsite from our journey to find “el crepe,” cocktail in hand, Mario had been telling us about his lost love, a 74-year-old Jewish woman who lived in New York City.  He hated himself for it, but Mario was still desperately in love, despite having been rejected, and he was drinking away his pain while bouncing around Culebra with tourists hanging on for dear life. 

“It’s me, Mario!” Mario had yelled out of his car window earlier as he’d screeched away from the little convenience store where he’d picked us up minutes before.  Due more to being a crazy bastard, and less due to lack of space, my friend Joe sat in the trunk, feet dangling, chugging, and throwing empty beer cans behind Mario’s car us as we weaved in the tropical heat of our tiny, island paradise.  

Our first night there, I went out to the beach to relax and take in the stars with my two all-American friends; seriously, they’re Barbie doll and John Mayer.  Our two other friends, who spoke fluent Spanish due to studying abroad in high school in Peru and Chile, went to a rowdy barbeque with a bunch of Argentines at the next camp.  Since the Argentines were leaving the next day, they gave us the rest of their food – we had burgers and hot dogs and plenty to go around. 

So the next day, we invited our neighbors over for an afternoon picnic.  One of our neighbors was Jonathan, a man who camped out and exchanged favors for food on Culebra for half of the year.   The other half, he claimed, was spent in his very nice house back in the United States.  We were not sure if we believed him.  In exchange for lunch, Jonathan lent us his snorkeling gear, that he’d collected over time as it washed up on the beach, and showed us an untouched underwater paradise filled with bizarre, and beautiful creatures.  He’d also given us an unopened bottle of rum that campsite security had confiscated and thrown away from other campers – no glass bottles allowed on the beach.

Our other neighbor was Mimi, a yoga instructor who lived in New York City, worked as a bartender, and never shaved her body.  We all thought Mimi was about the grooviest girl we’d ever met.  She was camping out by herself for a week and had brought only nuts and berries to eat, so she was excited to have a burger.  In exchange for lunch, Mimi gave us some hash and a joint filled with psychedelic dream herbs.

“You all really need to diversify what herbs you smoke,” she counseled us,   “You’re cheating yourself by only smoking weed, there are so many great herbs that do different things for you.”

The next morning, after some psychedelic dreaming, I went with Mimi to the beach and did yoga for the very first time.  There’s nothing like the ocean waves lapping at your hands and feet as you press back in to your first ever downward facing dog.  

Lucy in the Sky with Leah

On one flight back to Vegas, my seat was by a wonderfully warm woman named Lucy.  She reminded me of my mother – she had the same quiet, sweet, intelligent way about her.  I could imagine being scared and alone and having her hug me, and how that would definitely make me feel better.  Obviously, I liked Lucy a lot.

            “How are you?” Lucy says to me.  I watch her closely as her fingers play nervously with a magazine sitting in her lap. 

            “I’m good.  Ready to be going home.”

            “You live in Las Vegas? 

“Yeah, for over half a year now.”

            “How is it living in Vegas?” Lucy asks.

            “Weird.”

            “I can only imagine.  This is my first time ever going to Las Vegas.  I’ve never done anything like this before,” Lucy says self-consciously. 

“What’s your name?”

            “Leah.  What’s yours?”

            “Lucy.  Nice to meet you, Leah.  I’ve got to tell you, Leah, I’m really nervous about this!  This isn’t like me!” 

            “What’s your story, Lucy?”

            “I’m going to meet a man I met online.  Well, I met him a week ago, Leah.  I’m newly divorced.  I was married for thirty years to a pastor, Leah.  And we’ve only been divorced for a couple of months.  This isn’t something I’ve ever done before.  I’m a long distance runner, and I met another man online who’s also a runner, and we met for the first time last week, Leah.” 

When I was a little kid, I wrote a song where “Leah” was all of the lyrics, and I aptly titled it “The Leah Song.”  So I was really digging Lucy’s “Leah” usage frequency.  Every time she said my name, I purred louder.   

            “And it went well with Internet runner man?” I ask.

            “Leah!”  Lucy gushes, she glows, she vibrates faster, “I’ve never experienced anything like this before!  We were so comfortable around each other immediately!  It was like being with an old friend!  And Leah,” Lucy’s energy causes me to levitate in my seat – a contact high. 

            “Leah, he’s just so handsome!  He’s a runner, Leah!  And he still has a full head of hair!  And Leah, he’s just so nice to me.”  That makes me happy.  I would never be anything but nice to Lucy as long as she promised to always say my name like that.  Leah.

            “My ex husband was never very nice to me.”  I watch a dark cloud descend, enveloping Lucy’s head.   I feel my forehead crinkle.  Only assholes are ever mean to wonderful, kind-hearted mothers.  What kind of monster is this pastor?

            “But now you’re going to Vegas to meet this far superior man!”  I remind her.  Lucy straightens and I watch her shake the clouds away. 

            “Oh Leah!  I’ve never done anything like this before!  I’ve only known him for a week, but he already had plans to come out to Vegas with some friends this weekend and he invited me to come along.  Every night this week I’ve spent over at his house though!  Every night since I’ve met him.  Imagine, Leah…”

            “That’s fantastic! I’m so glad to hear you’re on this new adventure!  You deserve it after 30 years with some man who didn’t treat you right!” I watch Lucy testing out her new wings. 

            “You know what the breaking point was, Leah?  Why I finally said enough is enough?  He was addicted to Internet porn.  He told me.  That was it – just one more example of him picking himself over me.   Thirty years and he never once put me first, Leah.  Internet porn.  That was really the last straw.  Imagine,” Lucy shakes her head.

            “I’m so excited for you!  It’s not every day you meet someone worth getting on a plane for.  Good on you.”

            “And how about you, Leah?  Any men in your life?”

            “No one worth jumping on a plane for, Lucy.”

**

            When we reach the luggage, I get to watch the whole slow motion reunion.  Lucy rides down the escalator to the luggage section, and waiting at the bottom, coming slowly in to view, with the biggest smile ever stretching across a tan face was a giddy man with a full head of hair.  I watch them hug each other as though it’s been years since they’d been together.  They turn in to little kids as he takes her luggage and her hand and says,

“How was your flight? I’ve missed you.” I smile.  Lucy had found her prince charming in running shoes.

Then I turned my back on the fireworks, and walked out to the taxi line alone. 

Oregon Trail!

            “Did you play Oregon Trail as a kid?” Lisa asks me.

“YES! Ah man!”  I can barely contain my joy! Oregon Trail! A classic part of so many of our childhoods!

How often have I ridden that lonely trail West?  In my dreams, will I forever be following that purple sun in to the distant unknown?  What rivers must I traverse in the future?  Can I sell my wife for some grain?  These are the questions that weigh heavy on a weary traveler’s mind…

            “Oh yeah!  I played some Oregon Trail back in the day!  I used to name a couple of the people going on the perilous journey after my enemies, that way if they came down with dysentery, it was great when they would die!  Like, ‘Oh, sorry girl who was mean to me today in gym class, but I brought a lawyer with us instead of a doctor!  Make your peace with The Force.  I’m going to go hunt some Buffalo!’

“And I’d always bring a gun, and a bunch of ammunition because it was the leader’s job to protect the others from starvation and robbers.  Conservation always weighed heavy on my mind.  

"The deer would go too fast, and Buffalo would always go to waste.  

"If only it wasn’t always surplus or famine, friends! 

"Always either too much, or too little!  

So many good people lost trying to make a better life for themselves.  My emotions run high with the memory of old friends never again to be seen in this world.  Those pilgrims were truly courageous, American warriors.”

“Yeah,” Lisa says, “It’s almost as much fun as you remember it being.  But not.”

“Oh. Cool.”

My 3 Favorite Pickup Lines

I've developed "man-game." Tucker Max has nothing on me.

1)   “What’s your story?”

“Well, I’m here in Vegas for a bachelor party, my friend Mike’s getting married.”

“Really? That’s cool! My story is Billy Goat’s Gruff. I like how determined the goats are to get to the other side of the moat. I also like that there’s a troll – I think trolls are scary.

It’s impossible to resist puns when you’re drunk in Vegas – they’re just too charming.

2

2)   
"“We have so much in common!”

We don’t actually have anything in common.

3)   “If you could have any superpower, what super power would you want and why?”

When they say they want to fly, almost everyone wants to be able to fly, ask them how much effort goes in to flying. Would it be like sprinting super fast and require amazing cardio fitness? Or would it be like floating effortlessly? And how fast do they want to fly? If you can fly faster than light then you could conceivably go backwards in time. Is this what they were thinking? Or just looking to glide along like a bird?

By the time they’ve answered all of these questions, rapport is successfully built. 

I Am a Leader and So Can You!

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.” –

HST

In middle school and junior high, “group work” meant teams of three: One A student, one C student, and

one complete dick head. 

Being the A student, this always meant that I was paired with one semi literate, almost competent person,

and one person I had to restrain myself from attacking with my mechanical pencil.

It would take me longer to edit the work of the C student than just to write it myself, and the best I could

ever expect from the dick head is that they would just shut the fuck up and not interfere with my

awesome academic prowess.

To get my A, I’d always be forced to do 90% of the work. I learned group work was just another way of

saying: everyone but the A students can take a free day! Just hand them your worksheet, go out to the

playground, and they'll do it for you.

In college

Group work went a little bit better. At least, I wasn’t set up to fail from the get-go.

Groups were assigned at random.

There was always a glimmer of hope that there’d be a “leader” in my group, and then, all I’d need to do

was follow along happily.

Nothing thrills me more than a competent someone assuming responsibility for my life while I doodle in my notebook and text boys.

Even if the group “leader” was less competent than me, or barely competent at all, I was fine with that. Their loud, self-important yammering was music to my ears. I was off the hook.

The protocol for college group work went like this:

Sit down in the group.

Everyone stares at each other, sizing one another up. Will anyone “hear the call?” Will anyone be “the hero” on this journey?

If after 5 minutes of silence, no one had bothered to speak, then I’d lower my head to my hands, sigh deeply, and say from between my fingers,

“Alright, we’re going to be doing our presentation on how much I hate people from Paraguay. Except we’re going to make it less blatantly racist… so our power point is going to be on “racial tension between different socio-economic tribes in the Western hemisphere. Rachel, go get me a coffee.”

Rachel would leave immediately to go get me a coffee.

No one ever questioned my role as the leader, men included.

It had become second nature for me to assign tasks for people to half-heartedly muddle their way through.

The role of leadership in “adulthood” has changed.

Now, I’m the dick head, but I’m still forced to pretend to be the leader.

Just like the good old days, I have no idea what I’m doing, but apparently almost everyone else has even less of a game plan than I do.

I, at least, have a “vague outline” of goals that need accomplished in order to have the money for the nice beer instead of the Natty – so I’m leading the charge.

My vague outline (take notes if you want – I’m sharing my genius for free here):

1) Move to Vegas

a) Write

b) Don’t starve

c) Don’t lose my mind

            i) Listen to live music

            ii) Dance all night

iii) teach yoga

iv) Go to the pool
v) Go hiking

d) Fall in love with a stripper ;-)   

e) Become certified in Envision yoga

g) Write lots of really good stuff at break neck speeds

2) Move to LA

a) Teach envision yoga to help inspire people to achieve their full potential

b) Don’t starve to death in the middle of a drum circle on Venice Beach

c) Write more really good stuff

e) Get paid for the really good stuff I’ve written! 

f) Buy a Prius (end game)

Yay, me! Fail proof plan!

My old “group work” members would surely agree.

And

So far, life is going precisely according to this vague outline (I’m currently on step 1e), and if I keep up like this, I won’t be starving anytime soon – hell, I might even “succeed!”

“I’d like to thank the Academy…”

But, as an obvious leader of men

My fear is that people will be encouraged to follow my lead…

If they do then

May God help their lovely, little, sheeple souls.

This isn’t as easy as I attempt to make it look. I’d consider packing it all in and going home if I had a real home to go back to…

But

I might as well have lived in a teepee for how settled I’ve been these past years.

Nomadic by nature - my gypsy soul is governed by wanderlust, and “home is wherever I’m with you,” and you’re currently busy writing music, and being electric, and getting enough money for your jet plane…

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“Nah, you can get one from Russia for only a couple million.”

So Imma follow this vague outline all the way to the Prius finale!

“I am a phenomenal creator, I easily manifest all of my dreams!” –Envision yoga mantra

Rage face officially on.

Off to do more yoga!

“Goodbye, stranger, it’s been nice. Hope you find your paradise.”  ;-) 

Summer Dance!

I grew up in a small, conservative, farming community in Ohio.

There was a church on every corner.

There was a video on Amish buggy safety in my driver’s education course.

There was a bimonthly meth lab explosion.

I never would have guessed that less than an hour away from my “dirt road off of a dirt road” a couple thousand dirty hippies were having an annual, weekend, drug infused, orgiastic, dance party in the woods called Summer Dance.

Why the hell didn’t someone mention this to me!?

I would have complained way less about my life situation – pinky promise.

A recap of this year’s Summer Dance:

To Bring:

Water – Keeping the endless drugs circulating through your system is an essential step to not dying.

Ensure vitamin drinks – You’re not going to remember to eat, so this is a quick way to keep your energy up and save money on your twentieth slice of Disco Pizza.

Flashlight – Without a flashlight, you are leaving yourself at the mercy of your tribe and this is lame. I lost my flashlight the second night and was forced to navigate my way back to my campsite using only my wits, my cell phone, and a pack of glow sticks.

Cigarettes – bad for you, so I hear, but crucial because they can be traded for food or supplies, or they can be given away to build good will and spread joy.

Arriving:

Summer Dance is still so grass roots organic that pulling in you’re handed this flyer:

*** Notice to Nelson Ledges Quarry Park Patrons ***

The sheriff is making arrests in the park. Anyone selling illegal substances will be arrested. 

Anyone looking to purchase illegal substances will be removed.

We cannot tell you how serious this is for the future of NLQP

Things must improve or music festivals at Nelson Ledges Quarry Park are in serious jeopardy

The subtext of this flyer says:

Seriously guys, this year you can’t just go camp-to-camp selling drugs to one another like Girl Scout cookies.

Try some Finesse.

Ask the person their name first before asking if they have any ketamine.

Ask them where they’re from before you start your sales pitch about the five strains of kind bud you smuggled in. 

Ask them how much they love Lotus before clinking your hits of LSD together and cheering to “enlightenment.”

Camping:

Tents – surprisingly comfortable after a night of wandering aimlessly in the woods trying to find drum circles to join.

Peeing in the woods – possibly my favorite thing in the world, but beware of poison ivy in the high grass. :/

The Music! :

Lotus is one of my favorite bands ever, ever, ever! And two nights of those beautiful sounds, played by those beautiful men, with some of my best friends in this world, next to a lake, under a clear, star-filled sky – well… that’s what us simple, country folk call “Perfection.”

Big Gigantic also killed it! Saxophone <3 Gets me every time.

The Ledges:

Gotta jump off of them in to the lake or you’re a loser. By that I mean, at life, you’re losing.

The Sling:

At 3 a.m., my tribe came upon a dub step party in the woods, and above the intoxicated hippie heads spun a girl in a hammock-like contraption. Hands to head, the vibrating masses took turns pushing her, spinning her faster.

A guy comes over to me:

“You want to get up in the sling?”

“You mean that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Hahahahahahah Noooooo! No! That’s the opposite of something I would ever want to have happen to me. But thanks for asking…”

Who says yes to this? What combination of substances makes this sort of thing sound like a good idea?

“Hell yeah! I love having no control while drunk assholes spin me for fun and refuse to let me down! If I could pick one thing to do for the rest of my life, that would be it! Bring me up!”

Glow stick paths:

Not to be trusted.

The first night, my tribe was trekking through the darkness. We had only one mini flashlight, a light saber, and some light up gloves to find our way.

Ahead of us there was a path built out of glow sticks, so obviously, we followed it.

Off to the left of the path was written “Duck” in glow sticks.

“Duck? What’s that about?”

We look up and around for something to duck under And… PUDDLE!

God damn hippies made a glow stick puddle trap!!  Genius!

My feet drenched, but laughing hysterically, made better by the fact that the other guy who was tricked in to the puddle at the same time as me is furious.

“Now my feet are all wet! Everything is awful! I’m so mad about the glow stick path shenanigans!” 

Too good.

Yoga on the beach:

Lost my tribe and started doing yoga alone on the beach waiting for them to wander out of the woods again. People started coming over asking to join me. Ended up leading a 30-minute session for eight music lovers who hugged me goodbye and thanked me for spreading the LOVE. Namaste :-)

To sum it up:

Summer Dance rocked my world for the 2^nd year running.

Thanks to all who made Summer Dance “groovy”! You know who you are, and I love you all heaps. Duh. :-) 

Driving is Still Weird in Vegas

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He Said, She Said - LOVE

“I do not regret it. Spending the day with you.”

“I will never not dance with you.”

“Nails are the entryway to the doors of perception."

“Are people going to think I’m strange? Or is it good? And creative?”

“I love you. I love you. I love you. Listen, to me. I love you. I don’t say that to many people. I Love You.”

“I like spending time with you, and I love fucking you.”

“The sound of happiness. Heard this today and thought of you.”

"I can be in a room with a hundred people who love me and I'll still feel lonely."


“Thank you for you.”

“I’m so fucking sorry. Super immature. You’ve heard it from me before, but I’m sorry.”

“I promise you that one day I’ll make you proud of me.”

“Don’t trust people who make promises, but I promise the next time I am with you, I’ll take you out dancing.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a relationship like this. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.”

“I make sense when I’m with you. We’re freaks together.”

“I’d marry you if you weren’t so naughty.”

Release the tension with the exhale.

“What are You doing Here?”

“It just gets so lonely, you know? I just let the bullshit get to me sometimes, even when I know I shouldn’t.”

“You are in my head constantly.”

Inhale the healing light.

Exhale your worries.

“You are missed.”

“My aura is turquoise!”

“Mine too!”

“Let the organization commence!”

“The first time we met, it felt as though we’d already known each other forever.”

“Hahahaha! It’s going to be so good!”

“You’re so great! Now I know how people feel when they meet me!”

“Just why!? Can you at least give me a why? Or are you not human enough even for that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know why, but talking about it isn’t going to do either of us any good.”

“I guess I’m not funny.”

“If I call will you answer?”

"You're definitely not a saint." 

“I’m feeling good.” “Yeah.”

“On the way.”

“What are we going to cheer?”

“Fate. You and me. Finding each other.”

“If we leave it with your last words still being “fuck off and die,” at least I’ll know I did my best.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking.”

“No! Keep talking.”

“You’re still an idiot, but you’re a beautiful idiot.”

“I can’t get you out of my head. I know you don’t care about me, but please let me take you out for dinner some night so we can clear this up."

“I’m just like blah blah blah.”  

“Did you know Pretty Lights got their name from a Pink Floyd poster? ‘Come and See the Pretty Lights.’” 

“I’m sure I can figure out the spacing, I just need to invest some thought.” 

Bill Hicks has been a favorite since 7th grade

"The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. 


The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it's very brightly colored, and it's very loud, and it's fun for a while. 


Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, "Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?" 


And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and say, "Hey, don't worry; don't be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride." And we … kill those people. 


"Shut him up! I've got a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! 


Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real."


It's just a ride. 


But we always kill the good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok … But it doesn't matter, because it's just a ride. 


And we can change it any time we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. 


Just a simple choice, right now, between fear and love. 


The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. 


The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. 


Here's what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. 


Take all that money we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace."


Bill Hicks is the man. 


http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Bill_Hicks

Ripping My Heart Was So Easy

It’s been a wild year!

One year ago, almost to the day, I had my heart unceremoniously stomped on.

Actually, that description barely does what happened to my poor little heart justice.

This is better:

A hacky sack circle was formed where a bunch of lousy stoners wasted an entire afternoon kicking my heart around before forgetting about it when they left to smoke blunts and watch Entourage.

So

That wasn’t Too Much Fun.

Then came the nightmarish aftermath.

That was…

Actually…

Pretty damn fun!

I mean. It sucked. I was lonely and despairing and all of that great junk.

I could listen to sad songs all day and have them really Mean Something.

Bawling along to Steely Dan’s “Reeling in the Years” - while one person’s tragedy – definitely, super funny.

“The things you think are precious, I can’t understand.”

I may have freaked out a man or two who showed interest.

“Do you want to get coffee sometime?” they’d ask me.

“Sure!” I’d answer.

“OR, instead of coffee…

“Do you want to sleep over at my place every night and cuddle and make food together and NEVER LEAVE ME?”

This is the subtle art of seduction.

No one is able to resist insatiable neediness. ;-) tip tip tipity tip.

So what was the fun part?

Well, you see

“Freedom’s just another word for Nothing Left to Lose.” :-)

Pre hacky sack heart I’d been thinking, “I could settle down in Ohio with this man, get my entry level job, have a little grow op and maybe a dog. Sleep through winters.”

Post blunts and Entourage: “Fuck it. I’m gonna Viva la Vida Las Vegas! And I’m Never Going to Sleep Again!”

My lack of mental stability allowed me to make a series of impossibly risky, unhealthy, and ultimately, super awesome decisions.

“Sometimes shattering defeat is the key to real success.”

One Year Later

I’m impossibly happy.

Happier than I even knew was possible.

My life is going wonderfully.

OR

I often suspect that I’m actually a schizophrenic old woman in an insane asylum simply hallucinating that I’m young, healthy, and free, living the life of (way better than) a rich old dude in Las Vegas.

I became a yoga instructor, and that has changed my life profoundly and beautifully forever.

I’ve gone on some of the most Wild Adventures of my life. And this is really saying something good.

I became my own best friend. I think I’m groovy. 

And, most importantly, I’ve met so many wonderful people. 

Each new person that inspires you makes you grow. Makes your light shine brighter.

Listen, baby, I AM bulletproof.

I lived my junior year of high school in Brazil as an exchange student.

It made me immune to fear.

“Wow! You’re really brave!”

“Thanks, but I prefer to think of it as completely shameless.”

Once I learned at 16-years-old, I could thrive in a foreign country where I knew no one, didn’t understand the culture, and literally, was not speaking the same language

Little things like driving cross-country alone to live in Las Vegas where I knew no one and had no job became EASY.

“Are they going to speak English when I get there?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I think I’ll manage just fine! That’s my first language!”

Turns out, the hacky sack heart incident has done the same thing for my emotional strength and stability.

Once I learned at 22-years-old that I could be crushed completely by someone I deeply and profoundly loved, and still love very much, and come out of it a better, more complete, more interesting person

Little things like almost anything else became Easy

Why Sweat the SMALL stuff When There’s Fun to Be Had and LOVE to Go Around?

Between yoga and meditating, I just don't get upset for all too long anymore.

I’ll feel down, but then after staring at my arms and legs in different wacky positions while breathing audibly in and out through my nose for an hour or more, I’m walking on sunshine again.

“Ania, look! I can put my leg behind my head! Ania! Are you watching me? Ania! Watch me!”

I yell to Ania from a mountaintop. I’m like a little kid in a pool to their mom.

She ignores me. :P Silly Ania. :-)

It’s you. And you’re breath. And this is More Than Enough.

MORE THAN ENOUGH.

So, happy one year of being over 100% single to me!

I’m looking forward to the two-year anniversary. I’m sure it’ll be even better.