Last Saturday, post an evening of whiskey bar shenanigans, I attended a two and half hour handstand workshop at the neighborhood yoga studio with Rachel. NOTE: this was only possible because in between the whiskey bar and the handstands, there was buttery popcorn, 10 hours of sleep, and lots and LOTS of water. I am not the seven-shot superhero I was back in Freshman year.
Rather, in yoga, I felt more like a child. We started off class awkwardly gripping our ankles and rolling around like stoned infants, eventually made our ways to our feet, and then back down to our hands as we cartwheeled across the floor to the tunes of Elbow and upbeat Iron and Wine. Full-grown newborns, we delighted in the way our feet looked clapping towards the ceiling.
The heavy thud of feet on a wooden floor. The strum of a guitar. The ocean waves of breath. Our own symphony of yogis.
Often in yoga classes, the instructor refers to the mat as a "safe spot." Your practice is always there waiting for you, like an immortal pup at the door, thrilled you have come back home. Recently, Ive felt the same way about this blog. For me, writing and yoga are similar. They both offer their own unique challenges and moments of frustration. They have me (literally!!) falling down and placing my face in my hands and wondering "HOW?!" and sweating and sometimes crying and replenishing all that sweat and tears with copious amounts of chocolate coconut water. But like a long and winding marriage, I love them. I want to make it work. Like in all art forms, the critique works as a separate voice. We are the ones judging, not the writing craft or the practice or the music or the palette or whatever. All practices are unique; they have to be. Our bodies make shapes, our words make sentences, and together, we weave stories.
Soooo to connect this to pancakes?! Let me try. I celebrate Julia Cameron's idea of "artists dates", or the general philosophy that one should make time to enjoy life's simple moments (aka, make yourself breakfast, homeboys and girls). Simple moments = peace. The safe place of a yoga mat, or a blank page = peace. Pancakes = peace, duuuuuudeee!!!!!!
This recipe is from Foodie Fiasco, and I am very excited about it. I added sliced bananas and a rainfall of agave. The end result was moist, coconut-y cakes, nicely saturated with nectar. Good morning, indeed.
- Stay cozy!