New year, new resolutions! Hey, why not, resolutions are meant to be broken, anyway right? That “firm decision to do or not do something” may actually work this year. Yeah, you should read that last sentence with as much sarcasm as you can possibly muster up. I am not being a killjoy. I am just being a realist. Honestly, I believe in reaching toward your goals and working hard to get there: realistically, steadily and without pause. BUT - Why not take a new approach this year? May I suggest, instead of resolutions, setting intentions to enhance your life? Before I begin teaching my yoga classes, I tell the students to set their intentions for class. Pretty much, asking them why they decided to step on the mat that day. Everything they do in that next hour or so should go toward that intention. An intention is an aim or plan, a thing intended. Have a plan, move towards it – realistically steadily and without pause.
So many people are stressed out right about now. Though we have different causes for the stress, one thing we can generally agree upon: a great place to relieve that stress is the gym.
I really should just name this “Top Pet Peeves” or “Don’t Be So Rude” or “Really? You Have your Phone???”, or “You Can’t Stop for Even an Hour??”. Anyway, enough of that mini rant, I am here to speak on cell phones in gyms, exercise classes and, yeah, yoga class. As a person who works out in the gym, teaches all kinds of exercise classes and teaches a LOT of yoga, I am amazed by the cell phone usage in a place when you are essentially supposed to be improving yourself and relieve stress, through movement and/or socializing with other like-minded people. Ya know, communicating. Face-to-face. A lost art.
Admittedly, my mom teaches etiquette professionally and I grew up with her stressing the importance of proper etiquette and being aware of others (constantly!) and that does influen...
I’m going to make this intro as quick and painless as possible. Or as painless as the truth can be.
Let’s get all the juicy stuff out of the way so we don’t need to have some huge Oprah-type reveal later: Some days I look in the mirror and I see a goddess, an African queen whose curves and muscles can carry the weight of a nation and simultaneously make you turn your head as I walk down the street, mesmerized by the sway of my hips and the confidence in my step. You become intoxicated by the trail of pixie dust of loveliness and stupendous beauty I leave behind as I pass you by. And other days, I feel like shit; the real funky, stink up your whole house (and your neighbor’s) type of shit.
You see, I suffer from dysmorphia, meaning what I see in the mirror is not a true representation of what really is. Or to put it another way, my brain refuses to see the beautiful, healthy and strong being in the reflection. When my mind was in full on toddler-tantrum, refusal-to-see-my-worth m...