Abby Rosmarin's Blog, page 21
July 29, 2014
Day 358 of 365: Homeless Services Pt 2
Five people were signed up for the class, but only one ended up showing. I had just sat in on a class that I will to be a substitute for in a few days, and I ended up essentially copying her sequence for my class. I'm still finding it a challenge to create and teach gentle sequences for beginners or people with limited mobility. Before I got serious about teaching yoga, I hadn't taken a gentle or beginner class in years.
A second person showed up to the class about five minutes after it started, went through a few poses, and immediately left, talking about how his shoulders hurt and he'd probably have to go to the hospital. After the class, the director would tell me that that particular person most likely had nothing wrong with his shoulder. Apparently it's incredibly common for that individual to back out of things, using whatever dramatic excuse he can muster.
My one student was incredibly inquisitive and ended up telling me about the variation meditation techniques he does. Aside from the fact that he immediately popped out of the final resting pose, the rest of the class is incredibly uneventful. I thank and say good-bye to the people in the offices and make my way outside.
Outside, a couple in a few of the plastic chairs by the entrance yell out, "Hey! Where you going?" I laugh and yell back, "Home!" -- which I immediately cringe at. Over to my right is a guy from my first class sitting in another plastic seat. Last week, he was essentially the yoga helper, rounding up people who were interested in the class but had been given the wrong time. This week, he's slumped back with a glazed over expression on his face.
I run into the director on my way to the parking lot, and we end up talking about the class and what we could expect in terms of attendance. After a few minutes, the guy who attended class last week gets up from his chair and saunters over, apologizing for missing the class. He then tells us about a fight that happened in the park last night -- a nearby park where the homeless now congregate at ever since the hours were cut back at the homeless services center. He's slurring his words and drooling out the left side of his mouth.
The center itself is essentially deserted. Aside from people signed up to attend my class, no one is allowed in the center after 1 pm now. The director had warned me that there will be days where people are in my class purely as an opportunity to stay inside. On a day like today, when the weather is perfect, I might not see much of that, but once winter hits, there will be a lot of people in my class purely to be in a heated place.
Before the director and I say our goodbyes, a tall man with a scowl on his face walks past. He gives the director a curt, "hey," before walking down the street. When he's out of earshot, the director tells me that he specializes in getting with the homeless women in the area, only to attempt to pimp them out for drug money. When things inevitably go awry, he sees nothing wrong with beating them senseless. He's apparently gone through 5 different "girlfriends" in the last 6 months.
I make my drive back home, past the park where every bench has at least two or three homeless people on them. The officials wants them out of the parks, but also wants to scale back on shelters and services. As if there's a dividing line in the city, I quickly go from the "bad" neighborhood to "good". Before long, I'm driving past recently-created neighborhoods with 3000 square foot homes lined up and down the streets. I get to my own neighborhood and collapse on my couch. As we had learned yesterday, there have been a few burglaries in our neighborhood in the past few months. The neighborhood watch is on high alert and apparently a few teenagers have already been caught attempting to break into another house. For the first time since we bought the house, I'm more aware of locking doors behind me, closing easily-accessible windows, and keeping my laptop out of plain view.
A second person showed up to the class about five minutes after it started, went through a few poses, and immediately left, talking about how his shoulders hurt and he'd probably have to go to the hospital. After the class, the director would tell me that that particular person most likely had nothing wrong with his shoulder. Apparently it's incredibly common for that individual to back out of things, using whatever dramatic excuse he can muster.
My one student was incredibly inquisitive and ended up telling me about the variation meditation techniques he does. Aside from the fact that he immediately popped out of the final resting pose, the rest of the class is incredibly uneventful. I thank and say good-bye to the people in the offices and make my way outside.
Outside, a couple in a few of the plastic chairs by the entrance yell out, "Hey! Where you going?" I laugh and yell back, "Home!" -- which I immediately cringe at. Over to my right is a guy from my first class sitting in another plastic seat. Last week, he was essentially the yoga helper, rounding up people who were interested in the class but had been given the wrong time. This week, he's slumped back with a glazed over expression on his face.
I run into the director on my way to the parking lot, and we end up talking about the class and what we could expect in terms of attendance. After a few minutes, the guy who attended class last week gets up from his chair and saunters over, apologizing for missing the class. He then tells us about a fight that happened in the park last night -- a nearby park where the homeless now congregate at ever since the hours were cut back at the homeless services center. He's slurring his words and drooling out the left side of his mouth.
The center itself is essentially deserted. Aside from people signed up to attend my class, no one is allowed in the center after 1 pm now. The director had warned me that there will be days where people are in my class purely as an opportunity to stay inside. On a day like today, when the weather is perfect, I might not see much of that, but once winter hits, there will be a lot of people in my class purely to be in a heated place.
Before the director and I say our goodbyes, a tall man with a scowl on his face walks past. He gives the director a curt, "hey," before walking down the street. When he's out of earshot, the director tells me that he specializes in getting with the homeless women in the area, only to attempt to pimp them out for drug money. When things inevitably go awry, he sees nothing wrong with beating them senseless. He's apparently gone through 5 different "girlfriends" in the last 6 months.
I make my drive back home, past the park where every bench has at least two or three homeless people on them. The officials wants them out of the parks, but also wants to scale back on shelters and services. As if there's a dividing line in the city, I quickly go from the "bad" neighborhood to "good". Before long, I'm driving past recently-created neighborhoods with 3000 square foot homes lined up and down the streets. I get to my own neighborhood and collapse on my couch. As we had learned yesterday, there have been a few burglaries in our neighborhood in the past few months. The neighborhood watch is on high alert and apparently a few teenagers have already been caught attempting to break into another house. For the first time since we bought the house, I'm more aware of locking doors behind me, closing easily-accessible windows, and keeping my laptop out of plain view.
July 28, 2014
Day 357 of 365: Always on the Brink
It's not exactly an easy time in the world. The body count in the Israeli/Gaza attacks keep creeping up, Russia is making us all invoke Gowdin's Law... and then there's the ongoing issues, like the bloody civil war in Syria, the frightening anti-semitism in countries like Greece (and Russia...geez...)... Combine that with the precarious position that every other first world nation is in (including America), and it's easy to think we're on the brink.
And, hell, maybe we are. Maybe we're about to see what the global version of post-empire Rome looks like. Or maybe we've been "on the brink" for centuries now.
Today marks the 100-year anniversary of the start of WW1. I wonder how many people growing up in the early 1900s saw what was happening in WW1, and then WW2, and felt that the world was on the brink of collapse. I wonder how many people who are part of the Baby Boomer generation looked at the Vietnam War and the Cuban Missile Crisis and Watergate and felt that the world was about to collapse in on itself.
You can honestly go back to every single religion from any single region on Earth: there is always some prophesy about the world ending, and it always is prophesied to end within those particular people's lifetimes. Maybe it's evolutionary, maybe it's built into our DNA for a reason, but, either way, feeling like things are about to end is part and parcel of the human experience.
And maybe it's for the best: I mean, this is finite. Our lives our finite, this planet is finite -- shit, this universe is finite. And pretending it will last forever even in the abstract is an exercise in despair (and I swear this isn't me trying to get all nihilistic. From a biological standpoint, this shit gun end). Worrying that things are going to end forces us to appreciate the now. I know after, say, reading an article on peak oil, I can't help but feel incredibly appreciative that -- at least for now -- I can just drive around in my car.
Only time will tell what happens with us. Maybe Russia starts WW3. Maybe the conflict in the Middle East boils over into the rest of the world. Maybe the sun goes supernova tomorrow and we're all good and cooked. Who knows.
All I know is that you have to appreciate today for exactly what it is, even if part of that day involves watching the news and shaking your head.
And, hell, maybe we are. Maybe we're about to see what the global version of post-empire Rome looks like. Or maybe we've been "on the brink" for centuries now.
Today marks the 100-year anniversary of the start of WW1. I wonder how many people growing up in the early 1900s saw what was happening in WW1, and then WW2, and felt that the world was on the brink of collapse. I wonder how many people who are part of the Baby Boomer generation looked at the Vietnam War and the Cuban Missile Crisis and Watergate and felt that the world was about to collapse in on itself.
You can honestly go back to every single religion from any single region on Earth: there is always some prophesy about the world ending, and it always is prophesied to end within those particular people's lifetimes. Maybe it's evolutionary, maybe it's built into our DNA for a reason, but, either way, feeling like things are about to end is part and parcel of the human experience.
And maybe it's for the best: I mean, this is finite. Our lives our finite, this planet is finite -- shit, this universe is finite. And pretending it will last forever even in the abstract is an exercise in despair (and I swear this isn't me trying to get all nihilistic. From a biological standpoint, this shit gun end). Worrying that things are going to end forces us to appreciate the now. I know after, say, reading an article on peak oil, I can't help but feel incredibly appreciative that -- at least for now -- I can just drive around in my car.
Only time will tell what happens with us. Maybe Russia starts WW3. Maybe the conflict in the Middle East boils over into the rest of the world. Maybe the sun goes supernova tomorrow and we're all good and cooked. Who knows.
All I know is that you have to appreciate today for exactly what it is, even if part of that day involves watching the news and shaking your head.
July 27, 2014
Day 356 of 365: Walking Out With A Job
I walked into the Open House for the studio I teach tai chi at and I walked out with a substitute job.
This whole "waiting out the summer" has been a huge frustration for me. Aside from the fact that summer is a hard time for the fitness world, people tend to frown upon hiring someone who is "finishing up" her 200-hour RYT training, especially when there are a million other yoga instructors looking for some extra gigs.
And then there's the fact that practically no one wants to learn tai chi during the summer, which has caused me to scale back tremendously. You would think I would be all about that: get the summer essentially off in a situation where I'm not in financial need of getting a steady job. But I take pride in this new career I'm building for myself and I'm not a fan of taking a few steps back, even temporarily.
So, I started talking with someone who also teaches at the studio. Within two minutes, we realize that we're both part of the same yoga teacher training program, only she's in the 500-hour program and I'm in the 200-hour program. She then tells me that she is going to need a substitute for a few weeks, starting in October, and wanted to know if I would be interested. She told me she was thinking of just cancelling the classes, but she would be okay with having someone who already knows the studio to step in.
A temporary sub job isn't exactly landing a major timeslot at a popular studio, but I will take it. We all have to start somewhere. And I'm excited for all the opportunities I have been getting before I fully complete my training. It's something I can easily forget when the potential opportunities are few and far between (and I never hear back from them, not even for a quick phone interview).
For me, it's not a case of bringing in a little extra money (although, when you have a mortgage and a car payment looming over your head, additional income is always welcome). I am a neurotic, high-strung individual. But I am not that when I am practicing or teaching yoga. Yoga helped keep my head on straight even as I dealt with some of the most grueling times in my life, and I want to pass some of that peace of mind on. It's why I want to teach beginners, even though they're actually some of the most difficult people to teach. It's why my fingers are crossed about being able to teach yoga to, well, teachers, because I remember how important going to class after a particularly nasty day was for me.
So while I don't expect people to start lining up to try out my tai chi class, I'm pretty psyched that I have another yoga gig in development. It's been an insane, zig-zagged path, but I have faith that it's bringing me to where I'm supposed to be.
This whole "waiting out the summer" has been a huge frustration for me. Aside from the fact that summer is a hard time for the fitness world, people tend to frown upon hiring someone who is "finishing up" her 200-hour RYT training, especially when there are a million other yoga instructors looking for some extra gigs.
And then there's the fact that practically no one wants to learn tai chi during the summer, which has caused me to scale back tremendously. You would think I would be all about that: get the summer essentially off in a situation where I'm not in financial need of getting a steady job. But I take pride in this new career I'm building for myself and I'm not a fan of taking a few steps back, even temporarily.
So, I started talking with someone who also teaches at the studio. Within two minutes, we realize that we're both part of the same yoga teacher training program, only she's in the 500-hour program and I'm in the 200-hour program. She then tells me that she is going to need a substitute for a few weeks, starting in October, and wanted to know if I would be interested. She told me she was thinking of just cancelling the classes, but she would be okay with having someone who already knows the studio to step in.
A temporary sub job isn't exactly landing a major timeslot at a popular studio, but I will take it. We all have to start somewhere. And I'm excited for all the opportunities I have been getting before I fully complete my training. It's something I can easily forget when the potential opportunities are few and far between (and I never hear back from them, not even for a quick phone interview).
For me, it's not a case of bringing in a little extra money (although, when you have a mortgage and a car payment looming over your head, additional income is always welcome). I am a neurotic, high-strung individual. But I am not that when I am practicing or teaching yoga. Yoga helped keep my head on straight even as I dealt with some of the most grueling times in my life, and I want to pass some of that peace of mind on. It's why I want to teach beginners, even though they're actually some of the most difficult people to teach. It's why my fingers are crossed about being able to teach yoga to, well, teachers, because I remember how important going to class after a particularly nasty day was for me.
So while I don't expect people to start lining up to try out my tai chi class, I'm pretty psyched that I have another yoga gig in development. It's been an insane, zig-zagged path, but I have faith that it's bringing me to where I'm supposed to be.
July 26, 2014
Day 355 of 365: Milo and the Pea
Let me tell you a story about Milo and the pea.
Yesterday I'm eating a heaping plateful of peas (because that's what happens when you have too many leftovers; sometimes you have meals of straight peas). Milo comes up to me to beg for food. Now, some cats beg by sitting next to you with an expectant glare, as if they're going to Jedi mind trick you into giving them your food ("This is not the chicken you are looking for."). Other cats will put a tentative paw on you, with big dopey eyes that are so pitiful that you can almost hear the cockneyed, "Pleez, ser, ah wun sum morwah." And other cats are assholes, shoving their wet nose into your skin and headbutting your arm to get whatever they want.
Milo falls into the asshole category.
After the fifth or sixth snot attack from Milo, I decide to give him exactly what he's asking, which is whatever it is I have on my plate. I give him a pea, expecting him to do the usual Milo behavior when it comes to vegetable: attempt to eat it, spit it out, try again, spit it out again, all the while looking at the vegetable with a betrayed/confused look that says, "Why are you not food?"
I place the pea down on the floor and watch as he starts this usual ritual. I go back to eating my food and suddenly feel a cold nose on my arm again. I look down, and the pea is gone.
Okay then, you fat chihuahua with identity issues, I think to my cat. If it's peas you want, it will be peas you get.
So I give him yet another pea, and watch as yet another pea disappears into the empty void that is Milo's stomach. I give him another, and another, and yet another, and watch him gobble it up as if I had given him kibble.
Looking back, this was probably not the smartest move, as giving cat some unknown-to-his-digestive-system vegetable. Thankfully a quick Google search after the fact showed that peas (in small doses) are actually okay for cats (also, you're welcome NSA for now getting to have, "Can cats eat peas?" as part of my internet browsing file). But, regardless, this further proves that I have a cat who does not know How To Cat.
However, this means only bad news for me. The days of defending my food from asshole begging cats by showcasing the foods that are not supposed to be appealing to cats are long over. Looks like I just need to eat my meals with long sleeves now.
Yesterday I'm eating a heaping plateful of peas (because that's what happens when you have too many leftovers; sometimes you have meals of straight peas). Milo comes up to me to beg for food. Now, some cats beg by sitting next to you with an expectant glare, as if they're going to Jedi mind trick you into giving them your food ("This is not the chicken you are looking for."). Other cats will put a tentative paw on you, with big dopey eyes that are so pitiful that you can almost hear the cockneyed, "Pleez, ser, ah wun sum morwah." And other cats are assholes, shoving their wet nose into your skin and headbutting your arm to get whatever they want.
Milo falls into the asshole category.
After the fifth or sixth snot attack from Milo, I decide to give him exactly what he's asking, which is whatever it is I have on my plate. I give him a pea, expecting him to do the usual Milo behavior when it comes to vegetable: attempt to eat it, spit it out, try again, spit it out again, all the while looking at the vegetable with a betrayed/confused look that says, "Why are you not food?"
I place the pea down on the floor and watch as he starts this usual ritual. I go back to eating my food and suddenly feel a cold nose on my arm again. I look down, and the pea is gone.
Okay then, you fat chihuahua with identity issues, I think to my cat. If it's peas you want, it will be peas you get.
So I give him yet another pea, and watch as yet another pea disappears into the empty void that is Milo's stomach. I give him another, and another, and yet another, and watch him gobble it up as if I had given him kibble.
Looking back, this was probably not the smartest move, as giving cat some unknown-to-his-digestive-system vegetable. Thankfully a quick Google search after the fact showed that peas (in small doses) are actually okay for cats (also, you're welcome NSA for now getting to have, "Can cats eat peas?" as part of my internet browsing file). But, regardless, this further proves that I have a cat who does not know How To Cat.
However, this means only bad news for me. The days of defending my food from asshole begging cats by showcasing the foods that are not supposed to be appealing to cats are long over. Looks like I just need to eat my meals with long sleeves now.
July 25, 2014
Day 354 of 365: The Power of Lists
There are some days where I am just on top of my shit, getting shit done, making shit work. And then there are days when I don't do shit.
The difference between the days where shit gets done and days where I don't do shit all boils down to one thing: lists. Did I make a list of things to do that day?
Certain things are given: if I'm teaching a class, I already know the time frames that I need to have open in order to do my job. But, given that a solid chunk of what I do these days is in the freelance or student department (which doesn't exactly create a set schedule for you), I am given a lot of weird open time to do with as I please. And -- like I've said before -- I'm not exactly an intrinsically motivated person; I just really like getting results and am willing to kick my own ass to get them.
Without lists, I can get pretty directionless. I know there are some things I gotta get done, and I might halfass a few of those things, but that's about it. Because, again, I'm not inherently motivated. With a list, I know exactly what shit I should be doing today and I know the steps I need to take to get those jobs done.
Maybe you can blame my obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Maybe you can blame my ADD. Maybe you can blame the fact that I am so pro-results that I tend to scatter myself, which leaves me with a lot of half-finished projects and no gains. Either way, making a list can really make a difference.
And you know what's been on every list? "Write blog post." The frightening thing is, is that, in about ten or so days, I won't have that as part of my list. Frightening.
The difference between the days where shit gets done and days where I don't do shit all boils down to one thing: lists. Did I make a list of things to do that day?
Certain things are given: if I'm teaching a class, I already know the time frames that I need to have open in order to do my job. But, given that a solid chunk of what I do these days is in the freelance or student department (which doesn't exactly create a set schedule for you), I am given a lot of weird open time to do with as I please. And -- like I've said before -- I'm not exactly an intrinsically motivated person; I just really like getting results and am willing to kick my own ass to get them.
Without lists, I can get pretty directionless. I know there are some things I gotta get done, and I might halfass a few of those things, but that's about it. Because, again, I'm not inherently motivated. With a list, I know exactly what shit I should be doing today and I know the steps I need to take to get those jobs done.
Maybe you can blame my obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Maybe you can blame my ADD. Maybe you can blame the fact that I am so pro-results that I tend to scatter myself, which leaves me with a lot of half-finished projects and no gains. Either way, making a list can really make a difference.
And you know what's been on every list? "Write blog post." The frightening thing is, is that, in about ten or so days, I won't have that as part of my list. Frightening.
July 24, 2014
Day 353 of 365: This Is My Nightmare
Well, that's a bit extreme, but in terms of reading a certain book, it doesn't get any worse than this for me.
My husband has been slowly but surely getting me into the world of Sci Fi/Fantasy. And there has been some reasonable success: I loved The Darkside series, and Patrick Rothfuss is easily one of my favorite writers of all time (if you don't check out his books, at least check out his blog. He has a seriously Whedonesque sense of humor). There's one particular book he has been trying to get me to read since forever: The Way of Kings. He even bought me a copy and had it signed by the author himself, with the message, "Now you have to read it."
During the height of teacher training, I had no time to read. Between essentially a textbook a month plus anatomy homework, the last thing I wanted to do was look at more print. But with school winding down, I'm finding more time to actually do some reading. And I'm excited to get back into actual reading. I've noticed that it has been downright agony trying to get any editing done as of late -- and I've also noticed that there is a strong correlation between the amount I read and the amount I write or edit.
So, after dealing with some seriously horrendous books, I finally give The Way of Kings a stab. It's been at the bottom of my pile, even though my husband is super excited for me to read it, even though the author signed it with a demand o' reading for me.
And why? Because I am very particular when it comes to the types of books I read. And I don't mean genre or style (although keep me the fuck away from Twilight et al). But I prefer trade paperbacks over mass market. No, strike that: I downright hate mass market. And the bigger the page count, the more my disdain shows through. Small print + thin pages = eyesore Abby.
Plus, I have been leary of fantasy novels because of the huge info dump that usually happens in the first chapter. "Alright, within 20 pages you are going to learn about this particular brand of magic, the races of people that live on this planet, the lineage of the royalty who live there, and -- oh yeah -- all the characters, who have crazy fucking names."
So... guess what The Way of Kings has? You guessed it: it's a 1200-page mass market paperback with a massive info dump within the first 50 pages.
My. Nightmare.
But I'm pressing forward anyway. The last time I trusted my husband with a book, I became a Patrick Rothfuss fanatic. My husband is also the reason I'm fanatical about Joss Whedon in the first place. I trust his judgment. But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't cringing over sloughing through that first 50 pages, while squinting my eyes and turning thin pages.
Here's to hoping this all works out. Who knows: maybe I'll end up a Brandon Sanderson fan at the end of this.
My husband has been slowly but surely getting me into the world of Sci Fi/Fantasy. And there has been some reasonable success: I loved The Darkside series, and Patrick Rothfuss is easily one of my favorite writers of all time (if you don't check out his books, at least check out his blog. He has a seriously Whedonesque sense of humor). There's one particular book he has been trying to get me to read since forever: The Way of Kings. He even bought me a copy and had it signed by the author himself, with the message, "Now you have to read it."
During the height of teacher training, I had no time to read. Between essentially a textbook a month plus anatomy homework, the last thing I wanted to do was look at more print. But with school winding down, I'm finding more time to actually do some reading. And I'm excited to get back into actual reading. I've noticed that it has been downright agony trying to get any editing done as of late -- and I've also noticed that there is a strong correlation between the amount I read and the amount I write or edit.
So, after dealing with some seriously horrendous books, I finally give The Way of Kings a stab. It's been at the bottom of my pile, even though my husband is super excited for me to read it, even though the author signed it with a demand o' reading for me.
And why? Because I am very particular when it comes to the types of books I read. And I don't mean genre or style (although keep me the fuck away from Twilight et al). But I prefer trade paperbacks over mass market. No, strike that: I downright hate mass market. And the bigger the page count, the more my disdain shows through. Small print + thin pages = eyesore Abby.
Plus, I have been leary of fantasy novels because of the huge info dump that usually happens in the first chapter. "Alright, within 20 pages you are going to learn about this particular brand of magic, the races of people that live on this planet, the lineage of the royalty who live there, and -- oh yeah -- all the characters, who have crazy fucking names."
So... guess what The Way of Kings has? You guessed it: it's a 1200-page mass market paperback with a massive info dump within the first 50 pages.
My. Nightmare.
But I'm pressing forward anyway. The last time I trusted my husband with a book, I became a Patrick Rothfuss fanatic. My husband is also the reason I'm fanatical about Joss Whedon in the first place. I trust his judgment. But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't cringing over sloughing through that first 50 pages, while squinting my eyes and turning thin pages.
Here's to hoping this all works out. Who knows: maybe I'll end up a Brandon Sanderson fan at the end of this.
July 23, 2014
Day 352 of 365: The Great North
A long time ago -- long before this blog existed -- I made the move across the border to a town called Nashua. The move itself wasn't that extreme: we were only 45 minutes from our slightly-north-of-Boston apartment, and we were literally a stone's throw from Massachusetts (step to the edge of the apartment property, huck a stone, watch it hit Massachusetts territory. I never tried it, but I'm confident it would work). But somehow that seemed to open up the rest of New England for me. Friends would come up to visit me and we'd spend our day driving to Portsmouth, Concord, towns up the Maine seacoast, etc, etc.
Maybe it's because Boston is as egocentric as it gets (I love my city, but sometimes you gotta call a spade a spade) and the idea of just nonchalantly going to, say, Vermont, just because, seems out of our wheelhouse. It's far easier to go Down The Cape instead, even though that's the same drive (and possibly longer because Rt 3 traffic south of Boston is where cars and dreams go to die).
My husband and I have been getting into the habit of just going on drives -- not exactly out of the ordinary, given our love of road trips -- and seeing what the little towns around Manchester and Concord and Portsmouth have to offer. These types of drives never happened when we lived in the Boston area but, then again, who would want to drive around congested streets for fun?
And somehow, moving more up north helped crack open the wonders of traveling through the Great North, crossing borders and exploring places I might not have thought of exploring before. There's something about removing an hour to an hour and a half of travel that suddenly opens the doors to areas you would've considered a big to do to get to before.
Which is what we're doing right now. I'm keeping mum about the details of our next little adventure, at least publicly. One, I hate talking about plans unless they're already in the process of coming to fruition (and even then, I worry about jinxing things) -- and, two, I was recently made privy by a friend to a very interesting set of coincidences, facilitated by someone who has a history of shamelessly copying what I do, so I think I'll wait until we're packing our bags to talk about that.
But, regardless, it's thrilling to recognize just how much of this region feels more open for travel. Whether that's because we once drove to San Francisco and back (and drive yearly to Ohio) and therefore what's a 3 - 8-hour drive seems like nothing ("what, we're only driving for one day, and we could be there before dinner? Sign me up!"), or because crossing the Massachusetts border really did kick the egocentric habit of treating anything outside of the Boston area as a huge thing to plan out, I don't know. All I know is that I feel the need to quote Calvin & Hobbes: It's a magical world out there ... let's go exploring.
Maybe it's because Boston is as egocentric as it gets (I love my city, but sometimes you gotta call a spade a spade) and the idea of just nonchalantly going to, say, Vermont, just because, seems out of our wheelhouse. It's far easier to go Down The Cape instead, even though that's the same drive (and possibly longer because Rt 3 traffic south of Boston is where cars and dreams go to die).
My husband and I have been getting into the habit of just going on drives -- not exactly out of the ordinary, given our love of road trips -- and seeing what the little towns around Manchester and Concord and Portsmouth have to offer. These types of drives never happened when we lived in the Boston area but, then again, who would want to drive around congested streets for fun?
And somehow, moving more up north helped crack open the wonders of traveling through the Great North, crossing borders and exploring places I might not have thought of exploring before. There's something about removing an hour to an hour and a half of travel that suddenly opens the doors to areas you would've considered a big to do to get to before.
Which is what we're doing right now. I'm keeping mum about the details of our next little adventure, at least publicly. One, I hate talking about plans unless they're already in the process of coming to fruition (and even then, I worry about jinxing things) -- and, two, I was recently made privy by a friend to a very interesting set of coincidences, facilitated by someone who has a history of shamelessly copying what I do, so I think I'll wait until we're packing our bags to talk about that.
But, regardless, it's thrilling to recognize just how much of this region feels more open for travel. Whether that's because we once drove to San Francisco and back (and drive yearly to Ohio) and therefore what's a 3 - 8-hour drive seems like nothing ("what, we're only driving for one day, and we could be there before dinner? Sign me up!"), or because crossing the Massachusetts border really did kick the egocentric habit of treating anything outside of the Boston area as a huge thing to plan out, I don't know. All I know is that I feel the need to quote Calvin & Hobbes: It's a magical world out there ... let's go exploring.
July 22, 2014
Day 351 of 365: Homeless Services
When I walked into the Homeless Services Center, I heard one guy holler, "You're the yoga instructor? Well, sign me up for yoga!" I laughed it off and walked over to the front desk lady, asking where the director was.
For all my concerns about teaching yoga at a homeless services place (which is a lot different than a homeless shelter), I didn't expect the director to come in, hands pressed against his head, going, "I completely messed up and told everyone that the class would start at 2."
In a way, that little mess up was exactly what I needed. I spent countless hours wondering if certain poses would trigger people, turn people off to yoga, make them give up half through... I worried about fights breaking out in the class and I worried about the mentally unstable snapping in the middle of class... But I had never worried about an administrative error.
The class itself was a lot calmer than I could've imagined. Aside from one man grumbling that he couldn't do a certain pose, the class went off without a hitch. The students fidgeted during savasana and were a little quick to sit up, but that's okay. That's expected for any level.
The best part of the class was overhearing one of the guys tell his friend that he appreciated being able to focus on one thing at a time instead of a million things at once. That's what I want; that's why I do what I do. If I can give even one other person the tools needed to sort out the bottlenecking thoughts, then all this training and fussing and applying for yoga teacher positions that won't come to fruition will be worth it.
So I might've spent the first half of the day quelling the urge to fret, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. And I do get to do it again, as I'm officially on the roster as a yoga instructor there. So, yeah. Here's to new chapters, and all that jazz.
For all my concerns about teaching yoga at a homeless services place (which is a lot different than a homeless shelter), I didn't expect the director to come in, hands pressed against his head, going, "I completely messed up and told everyone that the class would start at 2."
In a way, that little mess up was exactly what I needed. I spent countless hours wondering if certain poses would trigger people, turn people off to yoga, make them give up half through... I worried about fights breaking out in the class and I worried about the mentally unstable snapping in the middle of class... But I had never worried about an administrative error.
The class itself was a lot calmer than I could've imagined. Aside from one man grumbling that he couldn't do a certain pose, the class went off without a hitch. The students fidgeted during savasana and were a little quick to sit up, but that's okay. That's expected for any level.
The best part of the class was overhearing one of the guys tell his friend that he appreciated being able to focus on one thing at a time instead of a million things at once. That's what I want; that's why I do what I do. If I can give even one other person the tools needed to sort out the bottlenecking thoughts, then all this training and fussing and applying for yoga teacher positions that won't come to fruition will be worth it.
So I might've spent the first half of the day quelling the urge to fret, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. And I do get to do it again, as I'm officially on the roster as a yoga instructor there. So, yeah. Here's to new chapters, and all that jazz.
July 21, 2014
Day 350 of 365: Conmigo, Nada Es Facil
Tomorrow, I start teaching yoga at a homeless shelter.
I've been working on a proper sequence for weeks now. Something simple, something grounding, something that a beginner with not the best past in the world can do. This is not exactly an easy task.
I've also been worrying myself about being able to handle a room of homeless people. To quote a friend, "You're 5'11". You were an imposing figure even before you started putting on all the muscle. You'd honestly be shocked at how intimidating you can actually be." Granted, that doesn't mean much when you still feel a bit small within your own skin, but it's still reassuring.
There are easier jobs for a first-time yoga instructor. Far easier jobs. But then again, "easy" hasn't exactly been in my vernacular for a while now. I've always tended to jump headfirst into things; I've always tended towards multitasking and taking the hardest possible road up. I think about the multitude of things I juggled when I was getting married. I think about how quickly we settled our house so we could have a housewarming party before my husband's mandatory OT. I think about how my first day as a preschool teacher was spent with a substitute who didn't even know the schedule and 17 kids who had no idea who I was (which also gives you some insight on the type of environment that kickstarted my very-short early education career). I tend to go all in. And sometimes that doesn't work out for me. But sometimes it does.
I have to take my own advice on this one: do everything in good faith, with the best intentions, and filled with the utmost love, and everything else will fall into place. There's a reason why I felt compelled to contact that shelter director. There's a reason why I met a yoga instructor who teaches to inmates not even days after having a tour of the place. I just have to be open to the idea that this is leading me to wherever I need to go.
There's a line in a Shakira song that goes, "Conmigo, nada es facil," -- with me, nothing is easy. I used to joke that this was my life motto. Back then, I said it because I used to fall to pieces over every single obstacle in life. But, really, I don't like things being easy in my life. I like challenges. I like having that moment when things feel so overwhelming that you worry you're going to drown. That's what defines you. Those are the memories that stick with you.
So I'm going to practice my sequence by myself one last time, agonize over the right music to play, and go from there. And whether that's to the left, to the right, or straight on, is only for the future to know.
I've been working on a proper sequence for weeks now. Something simple, something grounding, something that a beginner with not the best past in the world can do. This is not exactly an easy task.
I've also been worrying myself about being able to handle a room of homeless people. To quote a friend, "You're 5'11". You were an imposing figure even before you started putting on all the muscle. You'd honestly be shocked at how intimidating you can actually be." Granted, that doesn't mean much when you still feel a bit small within your own skin, but it's still reassuring.
There are easier jobs for a first-time yoga instructor. Far easier jobs. But then again, "easy" hasn't exactly been in my vernacular for a while now. I've always tended to jump headfirst into things; I've always tended towards multitasking and taking the hardest possible road up. I think about the multitude of things I juggled when I was getting married. I think about how quickly we settled our house so we could have a housewarming party before my husband's mandatory OT. I think about how my first day as a preschool teacher was spent with a substitute who didn't even know the schedule and 17 kids who had no idea who I was (which also gives you some insight on the type of environment that kickstarted my very-short early education career). I tend to go all in. And sometimes that doesn't work out for me. But sometimes it does.
I have to take my own advice on this one: do everything in good faith, with the best intentions, and filled with the utmost love, and everything else will fall into place. There's a reason why I felt compelled to contact that shelter director. There's a reason why I met a yoga instructor who teaches to inmates not even days after having a tour of the place. I just have to be open to the idea that this is leading me to wherever I need to go.
There's a line in a Shakira song that goes, "Conmigo, nada es facil," -- with me, nothing is easy. I used to joke that this was my life motto. Back then, I said it because I used to fall to pieces over every single obstacle in life. But, really, I don't like things being easy in my life. I like challenges. I like having that moment when things feel so overwhelming that you worry you're going to drown. That's what defines you. Those are the memories that stick with you.
So I'm going to practice my sequence by myself one last time, agonize over the right music to play, and go from there. And whether that's to the left, to the right, or straight on, is only for the future to know.
July 20, 2014
Day 349 of 365: Breakfast Interview
I always wake up way earlier than my husband. In terms of getting things done, there's not much I can do until he wakes up (the only drawback to a super open floor plan is that sound echos like nothing else). The only real option is to plunk down in front of the laptop, which I've been trying to avoid (since there are few things in this world as soul-unsatisfying as sitting down to your laptop first thing in the morning). So, as quietly as I could, I made myself some breakfast, sat down at my kitchen table, and conducted an early morning interview over breakfast. With myself.
I've mentioned before that, despite my original decision not to, I'm going to attempt a third year of NaNoWriMo. I have the beginnings of an idea for a YA novel (I cringe at that title but, meh, what can I do? The story is about a 16-year-old and a lot gets lost if I try to change the age). It's mostly background at this point, with most of the plot still uncharted.
As I've also mentioned before, I've been trying to do a "morning meditation" with my coffee, sitting and sipping and trying not to think of anything in particular. That hasn't exactly been the biggest success: something pops into my head and I abandon my coffee yoga in light of completing whatever it is I suddenly realized I needed to complete.
Today, I sat down with my breakfast and my coffee, looked out the patio door, and essentially asked myself 20 questions.
Silently, of course. Because: 1) I have a loud voice and can easily wake up anyone in the house, and 2) It's accepted human behavior to think intensely to yourself. It's considered insanity to talk to yourself.
But I asked the questions any person attempting to write a novel: who is the main character? Who are his or her friends? What is the catalyst for everything that's going on in the book? What are the obstacles? What are the initially flawed or inefficient ways of overcoming these obstacles? What actions happen in the character's life to drive the story forward? What is the ultimate decision that they have to make?
You're not going to get all the answers you want, but at least thinking them puts the questions somewhere in your mind, allowing whatever it is you've got concocting in your brain to focus and potentially narrow. A proper story arc is a lost concept these days; all I have to do is point to the meandering mess that was the Twilight franchise as a starter. Thinking up the world and characters and plot in very specific ways can help create a good and dynamic story.
Of course, NaNoWriMo is not for another three and a half months -- and some consider it blasphemy to think of ideas before the month begins -- but I like playing by my own rules as a writer. Which includes interviews with myself while my nightowl of a husband sleeps in.
I've mentioned before that, despite my original decision not to, I'm going to attempt a third year of NaNoWriMo. I have the beginnings of an idea for a YA novel (I cringe at that title but, meh, what can I do? The story is about a 16-year-old and a lot gets lost if I try to change the age). It's mostly background at this point, with most of the plot still uncharted.
As I've also mentioned before, I've been trying to do a "morning meditation" with my coffee, sitting and sipping and trying not to think of anything in particular. That hasn't exactly been the biggest success: something pops into my head and I abandon my coffee yoga in light of completing whatever it is I suddenly realized I needed to complete.
Today, I sat down with my breakfast and my coffee, looked out the patio door, and essentially asked myself 20 questions.
Silently, of course. Because: 1) I have a loud voice and can easily wake up anyone in the house, and 2) It's accepted human behavior to think intensely to yourself. It's considered insanity to talk to yourself.
But I asked the questions any person attempting to write a novel: who is the main character? Who are his or her friends? What is the catalyst for everything that's going on in the book? What are the obstacles? What are the initially flawed or inefficient ways of overcoming these obstacles? What actions happen in the character's life to drive the story forward? What is the ultimate decision that they have to make?
You're not going to get all the answers you want, but at least thinking them puts the questions somewhere in your mind, allowing whatever it is you've got concocting in your brain to focus and potentially narrow. A proper story arc is a lost concept these days; all I have to do is point to the meandering mess that was the Twilight franchise as a starter. Thinking up the world and characters and plot in very specific ways can help create a good and dynamic story.
Of course, NaNoWriMo is not for another three and a half months -- and some consider it blasphemy to think of ideas before the month begins -- but I like playing by my own rules as a writer. Which includes interviews with myself while my nightowl of a husband sleeps in.
