Category: journey

Of Champagne Corks and Feelings

When I’m feeling centered I think “Everything will be ok.” When I’m feeling less than, that is when the fear will creep in. I’m not talking about a paralyzing anxiety, just this nagging, niggling presence that brings a little bit of terror into the part of my body where my heart is located. You can feel…

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i·den·ti·ty

i·den·ti·ty ˌīˈden(t)ədē/ noun 1. the fact of being who or what a person or thing is. fact fakt noun a thing that is indisputably the case. I stripped away the signifiers: the jobs and the casual hobbies, now. I eliminated the actions, the reactions, the upbringing and the places which I called home. I scraped…

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Books.

I read like a crazy person when I was little; my parents would yell at me to get outside and get some exercise. I tried to hide in my room in read, partially mortified by life (I was a teenager, after all) and partially just wanting to live in Laura Ingalls’ more romantic and beautiful…

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“Goodbye to All That”

She oozed the New York to which I could not conform. Lacy stockings matched a carefully arranged lacy scarf, and her lace-clad feed were tucked into an unseasonable pair of ballet flats. They were nondescript, and old but these shoes she wore now, on the train, did not matter because no one with any sway…

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Recess.

This week, New York caught me by the hood of my winter coat that I still had to wear, with many layers underneath, this late in the season. It’s kapha time, as those in yogic and auyervedic circles express, and all that means is I’m moving forward, yet tugged back, experiencing the sensation that time…

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Heavy on the Subway

A crying, unseen baby on the train. The smell of stale alcohol. A tall man staggered into the train just before the doors closed; his sweatshirt is pulled, darkened from sweat and grime around the collar. He stands, lips dry and parted, gasping like a fish out of water, except he is deathly still. I…

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Air and Afghanistan

Only at 27,000 feet did I finally feel the electric bolt of lightning strike through the crown of my head and finally ground deep into the earth. The past week in New York was stormy, for this time of year, and the thunder rumbled and the sky popped without rain or those telltale white hot…

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Everyone Loves a Yoga Teacher

Everyone loves a yoga teacher, especially one decked out in lululemon because some of those clothes aren’t really made for practice; I can attest to that. Trying on top after top only to end up with a veritable assortment of sports bras better made for a kinky night in despite the company’s rather non-yogic vision…

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Go West.

I am Laura Ingalls Wilder. I am a bit of Anne of Green Gables too, because I came here, to New York, an orphan from the familiar.  “’Sorry, it just isn’t working out,” they said while I was jetlagged, just back from a trip to the sunny, smiley and hard land, California. I thought they…

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Mami

She sits oppose me, her toes tapping in time to my disgustingly hipster tune played by The Decemberists. She can’t hear my music; it’s just a coincidence. Her nails sparkle with a hint of glitter from the ghetto, her lap filled with a bulky burden wrapped in a telltale fleece blanket embroidered with a small…

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