On Becoming a Vegan

It’s finally happened. My yogi road has led me right to veganism. Okay, well it wasn’t a straight path or a fast ride. Even yoga couldn’t get me to jump right on the express train to veganism. But, low and behold, I’m now at that stop.

I started taking yoga classes to solely serve my running habit. Years of weekly runs was starting to take a toll on my body. Like many runners, I found myself sprinting to yoga to dodge running injuries. Yoga was simply a way for me to keep my body in running shape. Little did I know yoga would also sneak it’s way right into my belly.  

One of my favorite yoga studios is Atma Bodha Yoga Studio in Virginia Beach. In all honesty, this quaint studio situated right in the middle of a suburban outdoor strip mall puts most New York City studios to shame. The décor is incredibly inviting, the instructors are warm, attentive and hands on, and they almost always find a way to strike the perfect balance between kicking my yoga booty and awaking my spirituality. If you’re ever in the 757, drop in for a class. You’ll be in for a real treat.

Well, a vegan treat that is. Most of the Atma Bodha instructors are vegetarians or vegans. While meat eaters are more than welcome in the studio, they're not silent about their belief in nonviolence toward animals. The only time I ever left the studio not 100% content was when the instructor ended class with the warmly spoken encouragement “Stop eating animals.” In retrospect, it’s funny that I invited the instructor to gently push me to do all sorts of seemingly strange and uncomfortable things to my body (such as chaturanga a zillion times, attempt to stand on my head, and twist my body into a deformed pretzel), but I was completely disgruntled by his kind suggestion that I take on the impossible task of not consuming animals.

I love the little inspirational and motivational bits of knowledge yoga instructors  give during class. But none have resonated with me like “Stop eating animals” did. Although I kept chowing down on animals for many more days, that little sentence kept creeping into my mind. One day I listened and just stopped eating animals. Okay, most animals. I still enjoyed an occasional friend from the sea.

A little over a year after my resolve to stop eating animals, I’m giving part-time veganism a good try. Why now? It just feels right for me right now. That's the best I've got. All the reasons people give for being vegan make complete sense. But really, I've at a place in my life where it makes sense. So, why not?

I’m part-time though.  As a compromise, I've given myself permission to eat animal products from time to time. Real bona fide vegans might think that’s just silly. Maybe one day I will agree with them. But veganism is a big life change that isn’t all that easy to accomplish in our meat obsessed world. Try not eating any animal products for just one meal and you will see very quickly how reliant we are on animal products. Even products that appear vegan sometimes have “hidden” animal product ingredients. Veggie burgers, for example, are often made with eggs. Some pasta sauces (even the non-creamy varieties) include milk. Like chocolate? You'll have search far and wide for non-dairy chocolate. I'll help you out here and tell you to go right to Trader Joe's for their vegan friendly chocolate chips.

As challenging as it might be, veganism isn't impossible. Every day I learn a new way to eat my favorite foods without harming animals. Like all yoga practices, it just takes time, patience and a little support. I'm slowly and gracefully settling into veganism.

 

Space Equality: Stay On Your Own Mat

I adore my personal space bubble. That delicate bubble floats around my body providing space to breathe and move freely. In my utopia, every single soul is granted a bubble large enough to accommodate expansive swan dives and extended stick poses. Of course, you're free to welcome guests in your bubble. An invitation is an absolute requirement though. No ifs, ands or buts about that.

In the real world, personal space bubbles continuously inflate and deflate throughout the day. Under some circumstances our beloved bubbles actually burst and disappear completely. Sometimes it feels as if people in this city are armed with invisible bubble popping wands. It's a wand bubble war out there. You're lucky if you make it down the block with your bubble still intact. 

But that is just the way of life for New Yorkers. Less personal space is part of the package deal we signed up for.  You'll find it in the fine print right under ridiculously expensive rental rates and startling rat sightings. But, so what? If you can deal with the fine print, you get to live in one of the most energized cities in the world. Besides if ample personal space was a prerequisite for our happiness, we would've  invested in spacious three-story houses in the suburbs long ago.

I'll sacrifice a little personal space for the common good. But, I'm far from okay with the ridiculous inequality in personal space. I'm fed up with people obnoxiously squeezing their way into my bubble. Complete strangers, men and women alike, have literally sat on my body to give themselves more space. I'm not kidding. No one has had the audacity to put their entire bum on me yet, but have thrown a good portion of their leg right on top of mine. 

Space is a feminist issue. I haven't had the courage yet to ask those people if they would sit down like that on a man. But my guess is the answer to that question is a definite and resounding no.

Women are simply expected to take up less space. We're taught to keep our bodies slim and slender. Our movements should be tiny and dainty to stay within the bounds of our extra small bubbles. Women sit with their legs crossed, while men have the freedom have their legs opened wide taking up as much horizontal space as they would like.

And women's personal space is more easily invaded. People sit on, push, and shove me because they know that in all likelihood I won't retaliate. They know I'm not going to call them out on it or give them a big push back. Even if I tried, most likely I would lose the fight miserably. To stay safe, I begrudgingly surrender my precious personal space and go on about my day.

Unlike bubbles, yoga mats provide visible and clearly defined personal space boundaries. I'm on my mat and you are on yours. Even in crowded classes, it's customary to leave little bits of space between mats and be mindful of your neighbor's space. You wouldn't put your mat right on top of your neighbor's. And all yoga mats are just about (if not exactly) the same size. The standard mat is large enough to accommodate a variety of body sizes and shapes comfortably.

There's no need to fight for personal space in yoga class. It's automatically granted to you no matter who you are or what you look like. Here's to taking the yoga with us when we leave class. May we always remember to stay on our own mats.

Pack Patience For Your Road Trip

The last few moments of yoga class are often the sweetest. Yogis take this time to join a small chorus of Oms, embrace humble silence, and express gratitude for another lovely day of practice. This week one of my instructors filled our last moments together with reflection on this Chinese proverb:

"If you are patient in one moment of anger, then you will escape a hundred days of sorrow." 

All day long I was having run-ins with anger and a few of its closest relatives, disappointment and frustration. Some of my nearest and dearest were struggling with life changes and annoying hassles that were putting up impassable roadblocks between them and their happiness. Before I stepped on the mat, I was annoyed and angry at them for wallowing and refusing to just let it go and move on. It was a classic case of anger begetting anger. Those words of wisdom were timed perfectly that afternoon.

I'm not opposed to anger. It's a completely normal and sometimes healthy human emotion. Sometimes a little bit of well-expressed anger can go a long way. When our rights are crumbled up and tossed in the trash like yesterday's AM New York, fiery anger can motivate us to stand up for ourselves and demand our angry voices be heard. Healthy doses of anger seem almost required for social change. No need to trouble ourselves with changing something if it doesn't conjure up our angry alter ego.

But when anger is only a feeling and not also a motivator for some sort of progress, it does nothing but get in the way of our happiness. Momentary anger can indeed put us on a road to lasting sadness. Angry people say things they don't mean and behave in shameful and regrettable ways.  Anger makes us damage (sometimes beyond repair) relationships we would otherwise wrap our loving arms around and lay a few big smooches on.

As the wise proverb advises, patience is the answer. A few deep breaths and a little patience give us time to hit the breaks and make that U-turn back on the road to happiness. Patience gives us the green light to bypass Anger Avenue and its jarring potholes altogether. So why then is it so ridiculously hard to stay patient and stop ourselves from giving the bird to the guy in the car behind us?

In his The Varieties of Religious Experience, William James, the Father of American Psychology, wrote:

If we were to ask the question: 'What is human's life's chief concern?' one of the answers we should receive would be: 'It is happiness.' How to gain, how to keep, how to recover happiness, is in fact for most men at all times the secret motive of all they do, and of all they are willing to endure. (pp. 67)

If James was right, even the things we say and do in anger are attempts to find happiness. We might be driving the mercedes when we should be in the jeep, but we are still just trying our darnedest to get up that big mountain to happiness. Fueled with anger, we are probably driving too fast to realize we are actually in the wrong car for the trip.

In those last few moments of yoga class, I realized that my angry friends are all just aimlessly searching the map for happiness and I was buckled in the passenger seat next to them. The mix of their anger with my anger might just make them drive right off the side of the mountain. But with patience we might all slowly pull into the rest stop to stretch our legs and rethink our itinerary.

James didn't claim that we all find happiness only that we are all looking for it. Maybe patience is what sets those who have happiness apart from those of us still speeding past the right turn.

Melanoma: Is that Beautiful Tan Really Worth it?

Oh how lovely it would be to be one of the lucky ones to soak up the sun's rays for hours upon hours without worry of the punishing sunburn. Born with pale skin speckled with freckles, I've will never enjoy that kind of freedom. Buckets full of sunscreen, big sunglasses, and a wide-rimmed floppy hat are a must before I can even so much as think about placing a toe in the sand on a hot summer day. It's annoying, frustrating and just plain scary. 

Skin cancer is no joke. Melanoma took my father's life before he could blow out the candles on his thirtieth birthday cake. I didn't know him, so I don't know exactly how he ended up in that incredibly devastating situation. But given the time of his youth, I'm guessing he spent countless hours in the sun without knowing how to, or even that he should, protect himself from those intense rays.

That was a different time. I cringe when my mom tells stories about laying out with her friends in the sun slathered from head to toe in baby oil. If she discovered I was doing something as inane as that today, she'd have to talk herself out of banging my head against the wall to knock some sense into it. I'd let her have at it though. Even though it would be hypocritical, she would be right. She and my father grew up in a different time. I know better. 

We all know better today. We are well aware of the risky combination of the big, beautiful sun and our bodies. It's no secret today that everyone must coat themselves in SPF to protect their health. Why then are the rates of skin cancer on the incline, especially among women in their 20s and 30s? 

Experts at the Mayo Clinic predict that one of the culprits is indoor tanning bed use. 

Indoor tanning bed use?! Oh my. That is much sillier than just forgetting to reapply the sunscreen. Using a tanning bed is synonymous with laying your beach towel out on the blazing sun itself. Skip the tan and go right to the coffin. 

That is harsh. I know. But maybe that big dose of that fear will help us all to throw away the obnoxious idea that a year-round, glowing tan is a prerequisite for being beautiful. Maybe we need it to finally have the courage to say it just isn't worth it anymore. 

Muster up that courage sisters and say fuck you to patriarchy's unhealthy beauty ideals. Throw your money at the sunscreen companies and let the tanning salon go bankrupt. 

Live long enough to blow out well more than thirty candles on your birthday. 

I'll Have Ahimsa With a Side of Fries Thank You

Summertime, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Time off. Beaches. June's pool. Sunny early mornings. Fresh veggies. Flip flops. Slurpees. Ice cold water. Big straw hats. Even bigger sunglasses. Freckles. Bathing suits. Watermelon. Hiking. Afternoon naps. Fireworks. Evening running. Lightening bugs. Shorts. Sangria. Cheaper fruit. Roof top evenings. Ice cream trucks. Cookouts.

Ugh. It pains me to do it, but I'm scratching (at least traditional) cookouts off my list of summertime faves.

Firing up the grill and throwing on a few hamburgers used to be the hallmark of a good ol' summer day. Add one or two generous glasses of wine and some good friends to the mix and that just might be my own self-made heaven. Alas, those days are nevermore.  I said adios to the traditional cookout last summer when I stopped eating meat altogether.

Many yogis adopt vegetarian or vegan diets because of the ahimsa. Ahimsa is sanskrit for non-violence or non-injury to all living beings. Although yogis have different interpretations of exactly what ahimsa means for everyday life, for some not eating animals or animal products is a definite requirement. Some even sweep the floor as they walk to avoid harming any small life forms in their path. It can also mean causing no harm to your fellow humans or yourself.  Whatever the specifics of ahimsa are for you, it's easy to understand that choosing non-violence is generally a good idea.

I'd like to wave my yogi flag high and attribute the end of my meat eating days to my devotion to ahimsa. But the truth is ahimsa wasn't on my mind last summer. Yoga philosophy just wasn't part of my repertoire then. Even if it had been, I'm not sure ahimsa would have convinced me to stop eating animals. Yogi or not, I don't believe humans are naturally herbivores. Our predecessors ate flesh for a reason. The human evolutionary trajectory would've been a bit different had our ancestors been able to survive off of a leafy green and berry only diet.

Going sans meat was simply a health choice for me. I'm grossed out by all the preservatives, dyes and other chemicals injected in the meat stocked in the average supermarket. The links between red meat consumption and diabetes, cardiovascular disease and cancer don't sit too well with me either. Since I wasn't head over heels for meat to begin with, replacing it with more veggies and tofu just made sense.

So, on a hot and humid July evening I took one last savory bite of a big, juicy burger and then vowed to never do it again. I opted to eat a mostly plant-based diet with the occasional fish dish. Pescetarianism was a compromise, omega-3 fats are important and the thought of living without sushi was somewhat devastating to me.

Turns out that day to day being a mostly-vegetarian (or pescetarian if you prefer) is easy as veggie pot pie. As long as I plan my own meals or preview the restaurant menu before plopping down in the booth, my belly is usually happy. Of course, there were some things to get used to. Loving and living with meat-eaters means sometimes prepping both meaty and veggie options.  I also learned very quickly to bring my own fruit, nuts and veggies when traveling. Chicken seems to be a prerequisite for almost all airport grab and go food. Unless you are willing to have a few potato chip meals, you learn to make room for the snacks in your carry on. And accepting a dinner party invite means either hoping the host is a fan of meat-free dishes or pestering them with your dietary restrictions in advance.  Albeit sometimes annoying, these are small sacrifices to make for a healthier body.

That is, until cookout season. Thanksgiving was hard too, but it was just one day. Cookout season is months and months long. You might think the chances of bumping into a cookout in the concrete jungle of NYC would be slim. Just the opposite, here public spaces are everyone's backyard. You can fire up the grill on the open sidewalk if you so desire. On any given weekend run, I'm sure to sprint past a cookout or two.

It's always the smell that gets me. As soon as that meat on the grill smell hits my olfactory bulbs, visions of burgers start dancing in my head. Bonafide 100% real meat burgers.  Clean and healthy veggie patties don't exist in that little daydream. There's no denying it, the smell of meat on the grill is captivating even for a mostly-vegetarian like myself. It takes every little bit of self-restraint I have to keep from giving my never-ever-going-to-be-a-vegetarian boyfriend the please share with me eyes when he enjoys his deliciously fragrant burger within nose reach.

My choice to go meat-free didn't start with ahimsa, but somehow that's where this summertime cookout temptation story ends. I didn't mean for it to happen, but resisting the burger cravings has become one small way for me to embrace non-violence. With two convincing reasons, my health and non-violence, I have a stronger defense against that alluring grilled meat smell.

No matter how you choose to interpret ahimsa, it takes considerable time, effort and buckets full of patience to live a life of non-violence. I won't go so far to say that humans are innately bad, but it only takes a quick glance a the front page of any newspaper to remind us how easily humans can act violently. All of our acts of violence might not be front page worthy, but they are equally tempting and challenging to resist. So we put our minds to practicing ahimsa and hope that someday it will come with ease.  

Lessons From the Dog: Put Some Doggie Kisses in Your Headstand

Meet Dodson Bernard Rima-Noga, my little fabulous chihuahua-something mix friend. I found this little guy on Craigslist about five years ago, and he's been tucked in my arms, under my feet or snuggled up at my belly ever since. At this very moment he is curled up next to me on the couch. That is, after about ten minutes of incessant circling he finally plopped down to take his first morning nap. You can place almost any list of positive adjectives in front of his name and still fail to put into words Dodson's incredible awesomeness. I paid more for him than I'd pay for almost anything on Criagslist, but he's still the best deal I'll ever get.

All day yesterday I was craving a few peaceful moments of solitude on the mat. My day was filled with early morning teaching, course prep, hot and sticky subway rides, madhouse grocery shopping in stores the size of most people's closets, apartment hunters popping in and out of our apartment for viewings, and unrelenting back pain. Yoga was my sweet little vacay from a hot and hectic June day.

The first chance I got, I rearranged the furniture in our tiny bedroom/living room/dining room to make space for a yoga mat and delicious wide-armed swan dives. For those of you haven't yet visited or lived in NYC, ridiculously small apartments are just a way of life for the not so filthy rich like myself. Multipurpose rooms have a completely new meaning in this city.

Finally in mountain pose, I smiled and blissfully settled into my practice. Slowly, the downward dogs, warriors and goddess poses were soothing my mind and rolling the kinks out of my body. I flowed through the asanas delighting in their juiciness and enjoying the sound of Om as it floated peacefully through my head.

And the there were the inversions and the sweet soothing came to an abrupt end. My mind and body were taking up arms against each other right there on the mat. My mind was battling for a strong, sturdy inversion practice and my body was going awol. During a long child's pose, a comprised was reached: a no-expectations headstand near the wall (actually the front door because we don't have enough empty wall space to make room for a headstand!).

I slowly and cautiously made it up on my head and enjoyed a second of upside down strength and balance. Literally there was only a second because before I knew it a little ten-pound canine bounced at me and laid a billion little, wet doggie kisses all over my face.

I love my dog. But we have a no licking the people's faces rule for him. Anyone who has witnessed the multitude of things dogs grace with their tongues, including the sidewalk and their own bums, might also just say no to doggie kisses on their face. Dodson was happily and guiltlessly breaking the rule. Dogs can be very obedient when it matters, but they are insightful enough to know when it's worth it to ignore the humans and just go for it.

With my hands tucked behind my head for a stable headstand, I was completely defenseless. There was nothing else to do but to give in and let out the laughs. That's when I learned a yoga lesson from none other than the dog.

Doggie yoga lesson #1: Keep the love and laughter in yoga. Or, in doggie terms, put some doggie kisses in your headstand.

I thought the solution to my mind-body war was to make it up into that headstand. But it wasn't the headstand that lightened my mood and gave me a big fat smile. Dodson's carefree, happy prance up to my face and subsequent smattering of doggie kisses did that for me. With a little bit of love, the dog turned what was becoming an all too serious yoga moment into a joyful and playful one.  I'll say he deserves a good belly rub or two for that one.

Some (Unsolicited) Advice on How to Avoid a Fucking Judgmental Yoga Practice

Yesterday morning, my cousin emailed me a link to a blog post titled Yoga is Fucking Judgmental. My first thought was "That fucking catchy title makes me want to read that blog." But I was walking into my Intro to Psych class, so I begrudingly resisted opening the link and delving into the post right then and there. I'm working on living in the moment, and right then the moment was all about fighting the uphill battle of making research methods interesting to college undergrads.

Class dismissed and hidden in my office, I opened the link and gave the post a good read.  I was right. It was more interesting than correlations and experimental design and would have most definitely kept me from living in my teaching moment. The author, Micah Baldwin, is witty and delightfully frank about his Bikram yoga experiences. He also makes interesting parallels between yoga practice and startups (of which I know absolutely nothing, so I'd better just leave it at that).

But if the blogosphere were a classroom, I would have eagerly raised my hand and kindly disagreed with the statement that yoga is fucking judgmental. Can we have a judgy yoga experience? Yes, of course. Yogis are people, aren't they? People, whether naturally inclined or socially conditioned, do sometimes (okay, often) judge. This yogi will admit that yogis are no exception.

It makes me cringe to write this, but I've done it. The brutal honest truth is that I did it just last week. During an Aerial yoga class, I judged the woman in the neighboring swing for being too scared to try the upside down postures. Thinking she was an uptight drama queen, I was silently screaming at her to suck it up and just do it already. So, yes we do sometimes have judgy yoga moments.

But it is the yogi that does the judging, not the yoga. Yoga is completely nonjudgmental when yogis stop being so fucking judgmental.

It's every yogi for herself though. If you expect everyone who plops down on the mat next to yours to relinquish all judgment, you will be sorely disappointed. If you expect every person who plays teacher to let go of all judgment, you will be let down. All any yogi can do is find ways to create their own nonjudgmental yoga practice.

If that's what you wish for, here's some (unsolicited) advice on finding a judgment-free practice from one yogi to another:

1.   Try on different styles of yoga. Like fashion, we all have different tastes in yoga. Yoga styles differ in emphasis on the level of physical exertion, time spent in relaxation, length of time to hold poses, and attention to spirituality. Try on any and all styles available and decide which style harbors the least amount of judgment for you. For me, Integral Yoga or any Vinyasa Flow class taught by an easygoing and attentive teacher usually does the trick.

2.    Shop around for yoga teachers. If you thought your doctor was judging you every time you walked into her office, you would probably start knocking on a different doctor's door. Apply that logic to your choice of yoga teachers. If you typically leave class feeling judged by the instructor, stop rolling out your mat during her class. There are plenty of other yoga teachers in the sea, no need to spend time with the ones who just don't do it for you.

3.  Be loyal to outstanding teachers. When you find teachers who make you feel on top of the world before, during and after class, follow them wherever they go. Many instructors teach classes in several studios in the area. Make friends with the ones you love and find out what studios they grace with their presence. Most yoga instructors find immense joy in having loyal fans.

3.   Consider boycotting mirrors.  Many yoga studios have a strict no-mirror in the studio policy. Others are plastered with mirrors for yogis to self-evaluate their body position during asanas. Mirrors and I have a love-hate relationship. Sometimes my reflection sweetly whispers instructions for small adjustments and pleasant compliments. Other times it screams ugly judgment right back at me. Consider how the mirror helps or harms your practice. If you find judgment encroaching on your yoga, try the sans mirror approach.

4.  Have a self-guided home practice.  If other yogis aren't in the room, they can't judge you when your crow pose ends with you face planting the floor. When you have a home practice, you can take joy in working on asanas that you're nervous about trying in public. Finding the pose at home might give you the confidence you need to you find it in class. Just make sure to get instruction on how to safely complete asanas before trying them out on your own. Here's some free online instruction from Yoga Journal.

5.  Decide you don't fucking care about others' judgments and, simultaneously, adopt a nonjudgmental attitude.  Usually people are too preoccupied about what is happening on their own mat to judge what is happening on yours. But on the off chance that your yogi mates are judgy, make a conscious decision to just not care. Instead devote all your energy to your practice and attitude. Send good wishes to your fellow yogis in hopes that they can do the same.

At the risk of being punched in the face, I'll be the first to be impressed and immensely happy for you when you make it through your yoga practice with no judgment whatsoever. That's a yoga experience worth celebrating. But even if some judgment does keep sneaking into your practice, I agree with Micah Baldwin on this one. It's still worth jumping on the mat.

HPV infection rate on the decline: Nods of gratitude all around

 Holy moly, turns our the HPV vaccine is actually working! In fact, rates of infection are on a greater decline than predicted. And, here's the biggest surprise, teenagers are still having sex. Did I get you with that one? Likely not. That hasn't and probably will not change, but now fewer of those teenagers will suffer from cervical cancer. If you're wondering, its also likely that fewer of them will have unintended pregnancies thanks to their decisions to use birth control.

Here's a nod of gratitude to modern medicine. And a second nod of gratitude to all of those who are unwavering in the fight to protect our health.

The HPV vaccine hit the market while I was in graduate school and in the middle of my feminist awakening. And, coincidentally, I was also becoming a women's health nut. No one had to convince me to get vaccinated. I enthusiastically jumped up on the doctor's table and, like a good southerner, politely requested the vaccine. Thanks to outstanding student health insurance, I also didn't have to go broke to protect myself.

But, of course, there was a backlash wrapped up in this empowering moment of history. Protect your daughters! The HPV vaccine will permit them to have even more sex than they are inevitably going to have when they're teenagers. Blah, blah, blah.

I was already in my 20s, and free as a bird to decide if I wanted the vaccine or not. But, I wasn't exempt from the backlash. I remember being asked why I would get the vaccine even though I was in a monogamous relationship at the time. Wasn't I committed to my partner? What did I have to worry about? Ummm... how about rape? Or the crazy possibility that this relationship, like many relationships we have when we are 20-something, might result in a break-up?

Turns out it didn't. My 30-something self is still completely in love with the partner my 20-something self chose. But I think he would also admit that we didn't know at the time that would definitely happen. And we certainly don't know the fate of our (right now imaginary) children's futures. We can only hope that we will have the privilege to supply the tools they need to manage whatever life throws at them. Those tools come in many forms, such as love and support, access to education, knowing how to advocate for themselves, and the power to protect their health and bodies. 

A third nod of gratitude to all the parents who gave their children the HPV vaccine tool.

Summer Solstice in Manhattan (no need to pack the bikini)

Oh how lovely, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, is tomorrow. Many thanks to the sun for allowing us to bask in its glorious light for just a few extra moments tomorrow.

This is my first solstice. I've lived through others, but this is the first one I will notice and celebrate. So, what will I do with my extra moments of daylight? Dig my bathing suit out from the bottom of the drawer, plop a big straw hat on my head and make my way to the beach? That's how I would have celebrated if I still lived in Virginia Beach.  I might have made a pit stop at the yoga studio on the way, but I would have felt the sand between my toes and the cool breeze from the water touching my face before noon. I would have closed my eyes, lifted my face toward the sky and thanked the sun for its kindness (and hoped my sunscreen was going to do as the label promised!).

But, that's not a Manhattan solstice. Like most things in NYC, solstice here is much bigger and louder than a day at the beach. Its thousands of people gathered together in the most chaotic and flashy part of the city. It's a scheduled day filled with big yoga classes in the middle of Times Square. 

Yoga in Times Square?! 

Last March I ran the NYC half-marathon right through Times Square. I was in awe during that entire stretch of the race. I was mesmerized by the fact that we were running right down the middle of Times Square. There were no cabs, tourists or statues of liberty on stilts. All that could be heard were our shoes hitting the pavement, our steady breath and encouraging cheers from the crowd. I'd lace up my running shoes in a heartbeat to do that again.

But solstice in Times Square? A quick review of the history of the solstice will tell you that solstice celebrations have been colorful, vibrant and likely loud in the past. So it isn't completely insane to spend your solstice in Times Square. In fact if you wear a costume, it might just be perfect.

But, it doesn't feel quite right to me. The solstice is about renewal. Its about taking a few extra moments of daylight to refresh our intentions with the change of the season. I was grateful to Times Square for distracting me from the pains and toil of running a half-marathon. But I don't want to be distracted from the reflection, peace and quite that I hope my yoga practice will bring to me on the solstice.

So, I'll settle for imagining the "Om" vibrating throughout Times Square as I flow through my practice in a more intimate, quite and distraction-free yoga studio. I'll also have to settle for imagining the sounds of the ocean and children playing in the sand. All of those sounds mixed together might just make for my perfect solstice celebration.

Happy Solstice to you! May you be find happiness and joy in whatever Solstice celebration you choose. Namaste.

No apologies, the f-word belongs in this blog title

I'm sort of embarrassed to admit this, but feminism didn't inspire me to start this blog. The universe certainly knows we need more feminist voices gracing the internet blogosphere. Yet I didn't think to live my feminism openly on the internet until just now. In a way I don't quite understand yet, yoga brought me here and inspired me to become a feminist yogi blogger.

Although I haven't always had a label for it, I've been a feminist from the time I could string words together into coherent sentences. I've also been a self-identified feminist long enough to know the wrath that identifying with the f-word can bring. So, why risk it? Why not stay safe and avoid the f-word altogether?

Okay, I'll say it. I was tempted to just omit the feminist part. I had convinced myself that I could host a blog that was implicitly feminist without actually using the f-word. And then there was an aha moment when I realized how incredibly silly it was to think that I could be simply implicitly feminist. Or, more importantly, when I realized that I shouldn't be simply implicitly feminist. (I know it isn't yogi-like to "should" myself, but I think this is a warranted exception.) 

There are many reasons to dare to use the f-word in my blog title, but I'll keep it short and sweet and give you my top three:

1. I'm a feminist. Among other things, yoga teaches us to how to be true to ourselves. Choosing to hide my feminism here wouldn't be very yogi (or really feminist) of me. 

2.  To borrow and modify a tried and true feminist slogan, this is what a feminist looks like and everyone should know it. Misconceptions about feminists are ubiquitous and sometimes dangerous. The moment I step out of safe feminist spaces, I'm quickly reminded of the abundant misperceptions about feminists. By no means do I represent all feminists (that is sort of the point), but proudly wearing my feminist badge everywhere is my small attempt to dispel these misperceptions.

3. Yoga isn't exempt from misogyny, racism, sexism, classism, fatism, homophobia and all other forms of oppression. My experiences with yoga thus far have been beautiful, peaceful and completely accepting. But like all other societal institutions and practices, yoga is also vulnerable to the dangers of patriarchy. For me, the only way to have a healthy, happy and safe yoga practice is to have a feminist yoga practice.