permission to slow the fuck down

Life in the fast lane feels like those last few moments before a big trip. You've known about the trip you're about to embark on, but despite knowing you were going to be leaving three months prior, it's the night before your 6am flight and you're running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get your shit together. You haven't packed. You haven't done laundry. You haven't looked at the forecast and you sure as shit haven't checked in online yet. You have everything to do and all the time that you could have been preparing has come and gone. And now that you think about it, you haven't eaten anything all day because you've be so preoccupied with everything that you should have been doing but weren't, and now you're hangry AF.

I realize this sounds dramatic, but I'll be completely honest when I say that this is how I feel at least 6/7 days of the week. This kind of lifestyle lends itself to the there's-always-something-to-be-done-but-never-enough-time mindset and to be quite frank, I'm really sick of it.

Man, I get so caught up in living that fast life and thinking about time and ‘how little’ or ‘how much’ I have of it. It seems like no matter what I do, there’s always an excess or a shortage and when I have one, I long for the other. Oy. And then I get so flustered and frazzled thinking about how little or much time I have, all of the sudden I’ve missed the moment and I find myself smack dab in the middle of another one. So, what gives?

We all know the saying “time flies when you’re having fun”. Yeah, yeah. Sometimes I think that holds true. Most of the time though, I just feel like that phrase was coined by a sixth-year college student who didn’t want to give up binge drinking more nights (and days, if we’re being realistic) of the week than not, mingling with the coeds, sleeping in and skipping class. I digress.

I’ll get to the point eventually….promise.

Some context for you: I have been thinking a whole lot about time lately, and I have been actively working to change my relationship with it. This looks like limiting my Netflix binges and making time for reading, mono-tasking (apparently it’s a thing, who knew?), attempting to and mostly failing at cutting back on working and checking social media all day erryday, and continuing to ixnay words from my vocabulary like “busy” or “not enough” when it relates to time. Guys. I am so very emotionally exhausted. Do you know how hard it is to try and break free from old habits? Oh, I know you know. It’s just too damn easy to get home after a 10+ hour day and literally hurl myself onto the couch and flip the switch on my brain off. It’s usually all I can handle.

Okay, so the other night I hopped into bed earlier than usual so I could get a good start on my shiny new book before I inevitably fell asleep mid-read. But before I did, some interesting things transpired.

After what felt three hours, I reached over to check what time it was. It had been 22 minutes. Only 22! That meant I had, I don’t know, like at least 30 more minutes in me before I’d pass out. So I read on. After what felt like another 3 hours had passed, I looked over to check my phone again and make sure I haven’t stayed up past my bedtime. Now only 15 more minutes had passed. I continued to read. I probably repeated this three or four more times, each time getting more and more excited about how little time had passed. And eventually, I was out like a lightbulb. Sawing logs. Drooling all over my shiny new book. Can’t you just picture it?

So, if you’re thinking W-T-F was that the only interesting thing that transpired? Kind of, yeah. Sorry….I had to get you to keep reading somehow. But stay with me people.

When I accidentally (imagine air me doing air quotes and the use of accidentally makes more sense) serial watch a show on Netflix, I get eight episodes deep in what it feels like only two. I’m always left wanting more, I never feel satisfied, and I always feel robbed of time. This is probably because I am on my computer toggling between online shopping and writing emails, while scrolling Instagram on my phone, and watching (imagine more air quotes around watching) the series. But I think this is also in part due to how my time is being spent. I guess time really flies when you're attempting to do fifteen things at once. And I mean I love me some Parks & Rec re-runs and laughing out loud during Grace & Frankie, but at the end of the day TV just isn’t something that recharges me or brings me joy. Happiness, sure. But not joy. For the record: multi-tasking brings me neither happiness nor joy, only stress eating, anxiety headaches and bags beneath my eyes.

Have you ever tried to keep track of time when you’re with someone who makes your heart happy? Or when you’re hiking up a mountain? Or laying in the grass staring up at the stars? Obviously this list is different for you, but just think about it. Man, time just drags, and I mean that in only the best way. It feels like time is infinite and that nothing else exists outside of that exact moment. Except if you're checking your emails or seeing who posted what on Instagram every twenty minutes, that is. Oh boy, that's when time really gets away from ya.

I have discovered, while reading my book and obsessively and incessantly checking the time, that time slows down in those moments and periods of time when I am devoting my time and full attention to the people, places, and passions that make me happy to be alive.These are the moments when time is the closest it will ever get to standing still, and I am alllllll about filling my life full with more of them.

I've always looked at time as the enemy, but as it turns out, that's just me being an asshole and either being too distracted (squirrel) or fearful to look at what I'm doing and could be doing, or not doing, differently. Ugh, it's so much easier to put the blame on someone or something else, isn't it? But it's also so freeing realizing that I have so much more control over my life than I sometimes choose to acknowledge. Life feels fast, but as it turns out it doesn't have to.

My permission slip for today, and many days to come: slow the fuck down and prioritize the things that feel like warm fuzzies.

tattoos, timing, & trust

When I was 18 (or 19? Either way, too young to get something inked onto my body for all eternity, I’ve realized now that I’m so much wiser and older…) I got a tattoo on my right shoulder that reads, “We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated.” I loved the heck out of that tattoo—at least for a few years. While it doesn’t quite resonate with me the way it did when first got it, it’s still extremely applicable to my life and a constant reminder of my own resilience and conscious ability (and will) to recover time and time again after I’ve encountered hardship and disappointment.

Fast forward a bit.

In 2012 when I decided to get certified to teach Yoga Sculpt through CorePower Yoga (CPY), I was stoked. Oh, so freaking stoked. Full disclosure here, there was definitely a ‘cool factor’ influence that played a part (larger than I care to admit) in my decision. Yep, I said it. I was young, a little bit vain, and the glory of one day being a teacher at one of the most well-known yoga studios in the country was extremely appealing.

After I got certified, I did all of the things that CPY requires of teachers before they can begin teaching at CorePower, but I never made it past the audition phase. I auditioned twice, and each time I was sent a letter with feedback for improvement and, in short, rejected. I was mad. But really, the anger was just a not-so-clever way of disguising how sad and racked with disappointment I was. I was humiliated, so after my second go I decided to call it quits. Just like that. So much for the tattoo on my shoulder, am I right? When talking about it over the past years, I've lied to countless people or omitted the truth because I was too fearful of facing my shame.

Fast forward 3 years to the spring of 2016. I had just completed my 200-hour Power Teacher Training (through the same studio) and after successfully landed a spot teaching beginner-level classes at CPY. I was elated. Shortly thereafter, I was asked to audition to teach Yoga Sculpt – which I had sworn I’d never do after two ego-crushing rejections. With some convincing, I somewhat begrudgingly said yes—my aim to please often overshadows what I want for myself.

At first, I hated it. Oh my gosh, it felt like such a chore. I was self-conscious and constantly worrying about what people were thinking. Do people like my music? Can they see my double chin? Is my class hard enough? Are they bored with me? Can they hear me? Is the music too loud? Too quiet?

My preoccupation was less about the experience I was creating for my students and more what they thought about me and my offerings. Me, me, me. Without even realizing it, I was being a total fucking narcissist.

Fast forward again, this time just over a year to the present day, July 2017.

I am still teaching both vinyasa and sculpt classes, although at a different studio than where I first started to teach. I can now say with complete candor and heart that I love to teach—yes, even sculpt. There was never a switch that flipped, it just gradually came to be. Although I can’t pinpoint exactly what changed, during the year-long period from when I started teaching to now, I carved out a lot of time for reflection and put in serious work regarding my own personal development that has contributed to, in my own humble opinion, what feels like leaps and bounds of growth both spiritually and mentally.

The difference? First and foremost: timing. Timing is everything—I cannot stress that enough. When I first auditioned for CorePower, I took those initial rounds of feedback personally (which of course, they were not) and even more in the spirit of self-harming and stunting my own growth, I looked at them as ‘nos’ that metastasized into “not-evers’. I shut down entirely.

If I knew then what I know now (ha), I would have realized that those ‘not evers’ were ‘not nows’. I wasn’t ready—I can see that in hindsight. But rather than listening to the feedback that I was receiving, I threw up walls and with my tail between my legs, I quit. I was too proud, too stubborn, too ashamed to put in the necessary work to become a good teacher. I took the easy way out and accepted defeat rather than working for what I wanted.

Another big difference is that, ego and ulterior motives aside, in those years after I first auditioned I fell in love with my practice. I spent a lot of time on my mat and I learned a whole lot about my mind, my breath, and my body. The love that was cultivated there was as real is it gets. Like, feels-like-it’s-almost-tangible, rosy-cheeks, don’t-want-to-go-to-sleep-at-night kind of love. And when I went through my 200-hour training, it only intensified, expanded and transformed that love into a passion for teaching.

Today, I teach because I love and believe in, with my entire being, what I am teaching. And from that love and faith in what I do, I am open-minded, curious, and determined when it comes to creating classes that will best serve my students. I read books. I take classes to learn from other teachers. I constantly create new sequences. I watch YouTube videos and I spend a lot of time on Pinterest. Rather than a focusing on myself, my full, undivided attention is reserved for my students when I step through the doors of the studio. My motives for teaching started off as self-serving and, somewhere along the way, transformed into what I consider an act of service. I am proud—and happy—as hell to be able to say that I have the privilege of teaching yoga and that it’s simply because I love it; it fills my life with a sense of purpose and sheer joy to be able to share something with others that I have such a profound love for and that had such a profound impact on my life. I am grateful every damn day.

What I’ve taken away from these experiences thus far is this: Trust the timing of my life. A no is only a no if that’s what I decide. I must remain open to the possibility that maybe, despite how much I want something or how hard I have worked, what I think is best, what is right, what is due, might just not ready to come to fruition quite yet. Patience, grasshopper. At the same time, never give up on something that excites me, motivates me, and makes me feel whole. Stay curious, ask questions, be a student of life at whatever age or stage of life I find myself in. And most importantly, figure out what makes me come alive, that fires up the inner-nerd in me, and pursue the hell out of it, no matter how many speed bumps or ‘dead ends’ I encounter along the way. Oh, and if I decide to get another tattoo, I will make sure I'm going to want it in 10, 20, 40+ years. They're really permanent.

We may encounter many defeats, but we must never, ever be defeated.

why i do what i do

Oh man, you guys. I'm not going to lie, I've been feeling a little defeated as of late. A little context: I'm a seriously passionate person - I pour my heart and soul into everything I create and do. It's at the same time one of the best and most challenging things about me. I like to go all in. Once I set my sights on something, I obsess over it and pour every part of myself into it. It can be so, so rewarding, but it can also be exhausting.

If somehow you hadn't already gathered, writing is one of my passions. [Sidebar: I am so grateful for those of you who keep up with my blog and support me. I mean it, and I say that with my whole heart. Thank you.] And when I started blogging, I swore I would forever and always write simply because I love it, never with the goal of making money, although I'd never say no if someone wanted to pay me for doing something that brings so much joy to my life.

But like I said, I have this thing with going all in. If I'm going to do something I want to do it well, completely, wholly. I spend hours (seriously, hours) sifting through content on the .com about blogging - how to brand myself and my blog, how to increase my subscribers and drive traffic to my site, what kind of images draw the most attention, how to use Pinterest to grow my blog following, what I should and should not do, and the list goes on. It goes on for actual ever. Seriously, I could spend the rest of my life researching this stuff and I would still probably never feel like I know what I'm doing. Oy. I totally understand the use in all of this, I do. If you want to start a business, these are absolutely things you need to know.

Anyways, I digress. Where was I even? Oh, yes. Research. In my research, I check out a lot of other blogs to see what others are up to. And in doing so, I can't help but compare. I see those Instastars who have 50 thousand plus followers and get hundreds of likes on each of their photos, and I think how?  What do they have that I don't? Why don't people comment, like, or share my stuff? Why does no one read my blog? Is it me? Am I not skinny enough - or pretty enough - for people to be interested? (Sharing yourself on a platform that is based almost entirely on images is tough for self-conscious souls like me.) It just baffles me - not that people don't read my stuff, but the incredible followings these people have. It's incredible, but that's not my point. I'm getting there...slowly...I swear it.

And once I start comparing, I inevitably spiral into a dark corner where I am not enough, I am not doing enough, and what I create isn't enough. Like a wise man once said, comparison is the root of all unhappiness, which I couldn't agree with more.

When this happens, I panic a little. Ok, a lot. I start to read all these posts like, "What if Your Blog Never Takes Off?" or "Why Your Mom is the Only One Reading Your Blog," or "How to Start Making Money From Blogging." Full-blown panic mode (FBPM) shortly ensues. Shortly after FBPM come all of the drafts of "10 Must-See Beaches in New Zealand," "What to Pack for Your Year in New Zealand" and "Why You Should Quit Your Job and Travel." Yes, these are all real drafts - that will stay drafts - on my blog. First off, I kind of hate the beach. Second, I'm interested in everything but an expert in nothing. Shit, I don't know what you should pack for your year in New Zealand - I'm here, right now, and I still don't know. And third, I don't care for telling people what to do. Not my jam.

Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with these kinds of posts - I read this kind of content all the time and find it extremely useful and informing - but it's just not me, you know? For all y'all who know me, you probably see me veering in this direction and think, "WTF mate?" Trust me, I'm thinking the same dang thing.

When I start to create things from a place of scarcity, because that's what other bloggers are doing, and/or in the hopes of making money, it's so...weird. It's forced and surrriously awkward. It's like I'm at book club, it's my turn to pick the book, and I choose The Bible. Again, nothing wrong with The Bible (go Jesus), but if you knew me you'd know how random and unnatural that would be of me. You'd probably think I were possessed.

There is n-o-t-h-i-n-g more draining and soul-sucking than trying to be someone you're not for reasons that aren't in line with your values, wants, and needs. Nothing. But if I'm putting all of this time, effort and heart into it - I should be getting paid or getting thousands of visitors, right? Or what's the point? I'm just wasting time otherwise, no? I get so down and just plain depressed thinking about all of this heart and soul being put into my writing and having no ROI. (The blog posts are getting to me, can you tell?)

Well, earlier today, I opened my Instagram to see what I had been tagged in. It was a feature from an account called @leadlikeher and I had been mentioned in a post featuring my friend and fellow blogger Ashley Gilles (check her out, she's up to crazy cool stuff!). The post mentions that I was a huge influence for her when she created her travel blog. Wow. Holy goose bumps. I was so flattered, honored, and humbled that I almost started crying - and I never cry unless I'm channel flipping and I get caught on that damn ASPCA commercial about abused animals with Sarah McLachlan jams - I know you know what I'm talking about. It gets me every damn time. Again, I digress. My bad.

That right there is why I blog: the connection created with another person who feels something - anything - from reading what I have to say. The I feel that too. It's not about the fame - I don't care about becoming Instagram famous or a top-read blog. It's definitely not about making money, either. It's all in the name of connection. If the words I share can light a spark in just one person's life, than it will all have been worth it.

My big learning and note to self: never forget why you started. Hold onto your intention like it's all you've got, and use it to pull you back to safety (more like sanity) when you get distracted and start to drift into oncoming traffic. When you're feeling lost and enveloped by darkness, use your "why" as your guiding light out, for it will never, ever lead you deeper into darkness. It may zig-zag you around for awhile, sometimes it will lead you in circles, but in the end you'll always make it into the clearing safe and sound.

For anyone who made it this far, why do you do what you do? And if you're not pursuing your passion, why not? What's really holding you back? Feel free to shoot me a message directly or comment in the section below. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Cheers, friends. Stay wild.

why i really wanderlust

Wanderlust: a yoga and music festival - but also so, so much more.

Dancing. Meditation. Local and sustainable eats. Trail runs. Bungee jumping. Horseback riding. Hiking. Happy hours. Surfing. Speakeasies. The list goes on...

When I signed up for my first Wanderlust festival in Aspen-Snowmass, these were the types of things that drew me in - that and the opportunity to see old friends and meet new ones (not to mention all of the awesome Instagram material to follow...) When I went to sign up for my second festival in Great Lake Taupo, New Zealand, it was for all of the same reasons. There's something irresistible about the experience of being surrounded by like-minded people for a long weekend of mindfulness, moving and grooving.

So picture this: after a fun, playful, soul-filled class led by Jason Te Patu and Duncan Peak, a class of 100+ yogis gathered around in a huge heap of sweaty goodness - myself included. With our hands placed on the backs of our neighbor's hearts, we found ourselves intertwined in a web of pure light and love (not that we aren't always all connected, but you know what I mean). There's something so deeply profound about feeling the heartbeat and breath of another human being - I've never felt so alive, so vulnerable. We sat there on the floor chanting our mantra, eyes closed, but souls wide open. And once the chanting came to an end, we sat in silence for a moment - oh, what a sacred moment. No one was looking at me, but I felt seen. No one was speaking, but I felt heard. Even though I was thousands of miles away from my family, it felt like home. It was such a gift to feel a part of something bigger than myself - bigger than all of us, really. I practically floated out of the room after that transcendent experience.

Photo by Ali Kaukas

When I sat down to journal about my second Wanderlust experience, this was the first thing that came to mind when my pen hit paper. I got out of my head and into my heart, and the words started flowing. When I finished and went to reread, I realized that everything I had taken away from this four-day extravaganza had to do with people - the sense of community and the way-past-the-surface-level-connections, the big bear hugs and even bigger belly laughs, the eye contact and the highest of vibrations.

So, when the time rolls around for me to sign up for a third time, it won't be because of the farm-to-table dinners or the stand-up paddle boarding yoga classes - those are more just like an added bonus moving forward. I'll keep coming back time and time again to cultivate deep-rooted connections and to feel the gratitude, joy, and pleasure in being apart of such an extraordinary experience.