The August Break Day 19: White

Scenes from 18th Street:

The August Break Day 18: Looking Down

No words needed for this one:

LOOK AT DAT FACE!!!!!! i die

The August Break Day 17: Touch

My photo of the day, plus a couple extras:

Me and Zoie 

Melvin and Dave--Pony pals

Melvin

The August Break Day 16: Floral

 

I get caught up in city life sometimes. Often, it's not positive. I start to get small, and bitch about little things, like waiting in line, or crowds, or how much I hate doing laundry. And then on a bike ride to AT&T park to watch a Giants game with my boo, we stop to grab lunch from a taco truck and as I lean up on the metal fence I glance up only to see I am surrounded by this:

Swoon City USA, aka passiflora, aka passionflower

The August Break Day 15: Books

I read Cheryl Strayed's Wild in three days. There were dozens of passages that felt expressly written for me. This book felt like a dear friend, and ever since I finished, I feel like a piece of me is missing.

The August Break Day 14: Stillness

A view from the Huntington Beach pier:

Little sun pokin out the top

The August Break Day 13: Home

A photo from my first meal home:

Cuban black beans and rice

The August Break Day 12: Far Away

My mother is first generation Cuban. I grew up in Southern California surrounded by my large extended family, among my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and the occasional transplant who had glommed on to our family for so long that they too had become part of our blood. I am grateful every day for the family experience I had growing up--such warmth and love and good food and arriving at parties only to spend the first 20 minutes making sure you said hello and gave a hug and a kiss to everyone there, even if you had only seen them the day before.

I remember every holiday, the men would gather in the backyard and shoot the shit for a couple of hours while smoking Cuban cigars. Whoever supplied the cigars (usually my dad) was a Big Deal-you could tell by the way they would marvel and fawn over the quality, the smell, the sight of the after dinner treat. The smell of cigar smoke, and my favorite, the inside of cigar boxes, is as familiar to me as the aroma of the sofrito simmering away on the stove top. Omnipresent, familiar, comforting, and evoking such nostalgia in me now that sometimes it's all I can do not to cry with longing. The older generation, the ones who came here in the late 50's, creating a new home, never to return to their own, are getting older; normal functions are breaking down, and I already find myself bracing for the impending loss.

Dave and I rolled up to my parents' house at about 6 on Monday night. My dad was still at work, and my mom, in her excitement to see us, had an announcement:

"I have two Cohiba's I've been saving; let's smoke one!"

So we did, out on the patio, drinking beer and playing gin (I won again).

The oldies no longer smoke cigars, the laundry list of ailments no longer conducive to the ritual. Passing the cigar back and forth with my mother felt almost like a rite of passage-moving from the world of child to one of taking my place at the grown-ups table, bridging the gap between two worlds.

The August Break Day 11: Play

Dave and I spent most of today on the road. We arrived in Ventura at about 5, got cleaned up at the hotel, and headed into town to cruise around and have dinner. It felt so good to walk around in the warm summer night air...completely refreshing after spending the last month boxed in by the Norcal fog.

Then, I kicked his ass at Gin Rummy.

The August Break Day 10: Red

First day on the road:

The view across from my apartment

The August Break Day 9: Taste

As you all know by now, summer 2013 is going down in San Francisco history as THE SUMMER THE SUN NEVER CAME OUT. So I decided to eat the sun instead:

Tomorrow we hit the road for a 9 day trip up and down the coast. See you on Highway 1!

The August Break Day 8: A Selfie

I'll admit, I took like 9,000 photos of myself before I chose this one. I'm sure I'm not the only one :)

Aqui estoy:

The August Break Day 7: Skyline

Today's word was Skyline. I'll be honest, I was completely uninspired, as we haven't seen the sun in San Francisco since June. No lie.

Here's what I got for you (yes, this was taken in June. I'm using my free pass for this one).

Bernal Hill, San Francisco CA

Happy Wednesday! xo

The August Break Day 6: Diagonals

There is a Buddhist temple across the street from my apartment. I've been noticing this busy confluence for a while now, whenever I cruise down Capp Street on my bike.

More and more, as the wires get sent underground, I'm getting fonder and fonder of running into a bit of wiry chaos here and there. My favorite are the places where a bunch of bus lines converge and the cables create an urban web pressed up against the sky. 

The August Break Day 5: Close Up

A couple close ups from my Monday:

My sweet ride

At The Lucky Pork Store, my local bodega

Ganesha...my favorite image of him.

See you tomorrow!

The August Break Day 4: Love

Words, my first true love:

Since March 2009 I have kept a daily journal, a practice that stuck after I completed The Artist's Way. I now have a gorgeous stack of completed notebooks perched on a shelf in my closet--I fantasize about the day when enough time has passed that I can cull all the juicy bits and write my book.

I knew I was a writer since, well, since I learned to write. When I was seven I used to write stories on 3x5 cards, and my best friend and I would collaborate on stapled together picture books we'd write on legal pads. We didn't watch much TV in my house, and every summer, I would regularly read double, even triple the amount of books on the recommended summer reading lists. In 8th grade I won a contest for an essay I wrote on Madame Bovary (I know, kind of a weird pick for a 14 year old). Occasionally I would get in trouble for my reading choices--that was the extent of my precociousness through my childhood. Whenever anyone asked me "what do you want to be when you grow up?" my answer was, invariably, "a writer."

Somewhere along the line, I decided that being a writer was a silly choice, that I could never be good enough to be published. I stopped writing, outside of what was necessary to get through high school and college. I kept a journal sporadically, never being consistent about it for more than two or three days at a time.

I've always been anxious and a worrywart (see here and here); after a few weeks of Morning Pages it struck me how beneficial it was to start my day by getting all that chitter chatter out of my brain, through my pen and on to paper. I could then access my day from a place of presence, now that I had already attended to the usual concerns and worries. As time went on, and I continued to learn how to dwell more in my body and less and less in my overactive head, I began to use this practice as a way to fuel my creativity. I can't tell you how many times a spark of inspiration at 6:30 in the morning would later transform into a lively theme during yoga class or some of my best creative writing here on this blog.

As I reconnected to the great love of my youth, I reconnected with my GUTS. It's so funny to me now--as if I had a choice in the matter! As if I could actually decide that I could never be a writer. I see now that it has never been a choice; it's simply what has always been so. I didn't choose to write; it chose me. I am a writer regardless whether I ever get published. It is as intrinsic to my identity as is "woman" or "daughter."

This practice has also reawakened my own artistry. For the past 15 years (at least) if you would have asked me if I was an artist, I would have said "Hell no." I'd look around and see my friends painting and drawing and making things with their hands and I longed for that mythical one day to arrive where my own talent would be revealed. To look back now and see that it was always there, patiently waiting to be acknowledged...

Now, I show up every day for the muse. She will never be ignored, ever again. It sounds dramatic but this practice is literally my life-line-it keeps me honest and sane.

If you are curious about The Artist's Way, reach out to me. Or, just buy the book. You can find it used for less than $10 and even if you aren't a writer, I guarantee it will revive any dormant creative impulses. I especially recommend it if you are like me--someone who doesn't consider themselves the "creative type." I promise you it's in there--you just gotta show up.

The August Break Day 3: Yellow

I now present you with my humble abode:

The 3143~!

When I saw that Day 3's theme was "Yellow," I immediately knew what I would capture. This is where I've hung my hat since September 2006. Built in the late 1880's, this baby withstood the 1906 earthquake and ensuing fires, and, after a fresh coat of paint last year, is actually visible from space :) My front door (you can see the red doors on the second floor) originally was ground level; in the 1940's, the entire structure was raised up to add in all the storefronts. 

The August Break Day 2: Circles

First, a scene from my work:

Circles at Fix Studios, where I spend my work days

Tonight we had a dinner party. I cooked my favorite Cuban dishes, and couldn't resist snapping this photo when I realized it fell in to today's theme. A little late but too circular not to share:

Alabao!

These are tostones, twice fried green plantains--aka the flavor of my childhood. See you all tomorrow!

The August Break Day 1: Breakfast

My friend Becky over at Clean White Paper turned me on to Susannah Conway, a photographer, blogger, storyteller, and creative sparker, (seriously, go check out her site). Every summer for the past four years she hosts The August Break, a creative exercise where every day for the month of August, you take a photo and post it to your blog/Instagram/insertsocialmediaofyourchoicehere. While I don't consider myself a photographer by any means, I thought this would be a great way to fuel some creative inspiration and give me the opportunity to interact with my environment in a new way.

Here are the prompts for the month: 

I'll be posting my photos here, here, and here all month. It's not too late to participate! I'll be on vacation for 10 days this month and I'm really excited to see what shows up! 

Ok, now for my Day 1: Breakfast

I am the type of person who gets in ruts when it comes to food. If I don't push myself, I'm perfectly happy eating the same meal day after day, week after week--especially when it comes to breakfast. Sometimes it takes MONTHS before I hit burn-out and need to switch it up. 

This smoothie is perfect: I can bust it out in less than five minutes, it's delicious, protein rich (so I don't get hungry 30 minutes later), and I can take it with me when I'm short on time. Give it a go yourself! Find the recipe here.

How Yoga Saved My Life ~ Part 2

(***This post got long so I broke it down into two parts. You can read Part 1 here.)

Teacher training was like rehab. It was the only period of my adult life that I was not only sober but abstinent. I felt like I had grown wings.

But, as folks like me are wont to do, I went to another extreme. Yoga became the end all be all of my existence; all my time, money, thoughts, everything was spent on furthering my practice. I put famous yoga teachers up on pedestals. I couldn't imagine dating someone who wasn't a "yogi" (that's a killer story for another time, maybe). I never threw down for the $98 yoga pants, but I came damn close.

Luckily (I can say that now in retrospect), my yoga bubble got popped in a spectacular fashion. You can read about it here, also here. Then, my favorite teacher moved away and I felt un-tethered from everything that had been keeping me sane. The months after that were spent in deep reflection: once again, I was searching outside of myself for the answers that nobody but me could discover.

Gingerly, and after great contemplation, I got down from my high horse. I took a step back from teaching. I went back to basics, creating my practice anew, asking my inner teacher the next step to take, rather than mimicking what I *thought* a "real" yogi would do.

I'm sharing all these things (even though it's super scary to be this honest) because as I go deeper and deeper with my business, and deeper and deeper into life, I have to be as authentic as possible: not only because I am in the business of serving others, but because I need a way to hold myself accountable to the commitments I've made to myself--and to my soul; to the world I want to create and in which I want to participate. I share these things because I want you all to know that when I talk about health and wellness and living a full, inspired, healthy, creative life, I am not pulling something out of my ass or from some book I read; I have struggled hugely with simply being who I am, in all my flawed glory.

The biggest thing I'm getting is that I have a choice in all this. I can choose to make the process the goal, instead of waiting for some mythical future to arrive where I have the perfect body, all the money, a nice apartment, work that fulfills me, and the freedom to play and travel as much as I want. I can choose happiness, health, wealth, love, creativity, and joy in the nitty gritty of every day life--instead of fleeing reality. I can wake up every day and commit again and again to discovering the extraordinary in the ordinariness of daily life. When I can focus on the process and remove the pressure of the fabled end result, a freedom and clarity arises that I never thought possible; what's more, when I choose the things I'm committed to, instead of worrying over what I want to avoid, my life rises up in support of those choices. I am no longer at the mercy of past patterns; now, I have a say in the matter.

I am grateful for a life of moderation. Now, my antennae perk up anytime I start to tilt too far into extreme territory--it's only challenging when it's something perceived as "healthy" (Paleo, anyone!?). These days, I find infinite solace in early bedtimes, home-cooked meals, a daily writing practice and a return to my first love, dance. I still practice yoga, the difference is that now it's one of many tools in my toolbox, rather than the ONLY ONE.

If I were to consolidate all of this into some type of advice it would be thus: Find a daily practice. Doesn't matter what it is--but make sure to do it every day. Eat good food, and plenty of it. Get to bed early and take lots of naps. Move your body in a way that makes you feel strong and vital. Ask for help when you feel stuck. Go on vacation as much as possible, even if all you can swing are weekend trips here and there. Celebrate your accomplishments, especially the seemingly "little"ones. And most of all, TRUST THE PROCESS. Otherwise, you'll miss out on life, and, as we all know, this is the only one we get.

I usually don't share Hafiz or Rumi poems (years of hearing them in nearly every yoga class kinda killed the magic for me); this is too appropriate not to share (and maybe it's time for me to give up that story, too):

Cast Your Votes for Dancing

Hafiz

I know the voice of depression

still calls to you.

I know those habits that can ruin your life

Still send their invitations.

But you are with the friend now

And look so much stronger.

You can stay that way

And even bloom!..

Learn to recognize the counterfeit coins

That may buy you just a moment of pleasure, 

But then drag you for days,

Like a broken man

Behind a farting camel.

O keep squeezing drops of the Sun

From your prayers and work and music

And from your companions' beautiful laughter

And from the most insignificant movements

Of your own holy body.

Now, sweet one,

Be wise.

Cast all your votes

for dancing!

How Yoga Saved My Life ~ Part 1

(***This post ended up being longer than I anticipated, so I broke it up into two parts~Dani)

I spent most of my life fleeing myself. In junior high, I went invisible, and by high school my disappearance was complete; I navigated the turbulent waters unseen except for the close knit group of friends with whom I surrounded myself. I began to numb out. In high school it was pot, and then in college, booze (whoever says marijuana is the gateway drug is an idiot; alcohol is FAR more dangerous, especially if being a drunk is something you carry in your genes). I took my first yoga class in 2002, as a freshman in college, to fulfill a one unit requirement. We practiced entirely in the dark, on a padded floor in a room in the basement of an old building at SF State. I'm pretty sure the majority of the classes were spent in savasana. I couldn't really say what it was but there was something I liked about the classes, and sophomore year when I moved to the Haight I started practicing weekly at Yoga Tree before it started to pimp itself out, back in the day when drop in classes were still $10 and you could buy yoga clothes for less then a flight to Orange County.

I didn't become a yoga die-hard until 2007--up to then I still spent most of my time throwing myself into the void, with little glimmers of re-connection here and there as I sweat my life out onto the mat. I knew that I liked how I felt after yoga class. I knew that I loved feeling strong in my body, especially after years of cutting myself off from it's messages. I knew that it was the only place I felt completely free and safe to fully express myself. Again, the shift didn't happen over night; I can't tell you how many Sunday morning classes I went to class hungover and disgusted with myself. I didn't realize until much later, but through all the ups and downs and learning experiences of my early 20's, yoga was the one thread that connected everything.

Over time (6 years to be exact), yoga began to permeate more and more of my life. It stopped being this thing I did to get exercise or detox and became the cornerstone around which I lived my life. I often ask myself how this happened. The spiritual teachings were part of it, but truly, I think the transformation occurred when I began to re-inhabit my body; when I started connecting the dots between the way I responded to challenges on the mat as a mirror for how I responded to challenges in my daily life. Instead of running away from myself, for the first time I came home: to my body, and it's wisdom, infinitely wiser than the evil critic in my head.

Ever since I was a kid I experienced anxiety; at age 10 I was an insomniac who would wake my mother up nearly every night, complaining of "the funny feeling;" an uncomfortable angst in the pit of my stomach that I could barely describe let alone for which I could pin down a cause. Constantly vigilant of others' perceived opinions of me, I never pursued anything that would put me in the spotlight or require me to be seen. As I grew up, I began using substances to mellow down the constant internal chatter. It was the only way I had figured out how to ease my troubled brain.

Practicing yoga was the first time I could let all these things simply...be. The first time I felt a buzz without the help of anything outside myself. The first time I could sit with my reality without retreating in a panic or leaving my body completely. I'm telling you, this was magic for me: the realization that I could actually LIKE myself. And then, more magic: that "like" turned to "love."

I was still flirting with extremes at this point; I would often go from late night drunken party on Friday to all day yoga workshop on Saturday, no biggie. I saw more and more clearly the duality of life: as the light began to shine more brightly, the shadow became more pronounced. I started to see my practice as the ultimate act of self love, and with this realization came the clarity that in this case it couldn't be both/and; I had to commit completely and let the old ways die. I moved to Thailand for eight months and in this new environment, away from all the STUFF, I felt something inside me start to blossom. I came home and studied with Katchie and Sianna, and doors continued to open.

Nourish your body, Heal the Planet

It’s a crazy time to be alive. Between the obvious signs of climate change, to great social upheaval across the world, it’s all we can do to not bury our heads in the sand like ostriches. It’s not enough anymore to simply eat organic, and forego plastic for glass, and ride our bikes instead of drive; it’s time to take it a step further.

Now is the time to heal the relationship we have with our bodies and, in so doing, come home to our responsibility as caretakers of this planet. We are disconnected from our bodies in the same way we are disconnected from the Earth. We don’t have to be environmentalists to have an impact; we must change on a smaller scale, the scale of our hearts.

When we deny the experience of our bodies, we deny life itself. On a micro level, it’s the lack of nourishment: endless dieting; critical thought patterns; exhaustive workouts; substance abuse; lack of human touch and authentic connection. The correlation between all this and what we are doing to the planet on a macro level is undeniable.

It’s time to dig deeper. We might say we’re happy; but, when we get really honest, the inner dialog tells a different story. Internalizing this angst isn’t going to bring about change. We have to transform it, and commit to radical self love not as a someday-one day kind of thing, but as the daily practices we cultivate over time. Imagine how much more of an impact we will have on the planet when we approach it from deep, abiding love, rather than denial, or fear.

Start small. Unplug. Cook. Exercise. Get enough sleep. Embrace your imperfections. Cultivate gratitude. Throw out the scale. Then, go out and make the difference you were born to make. 

When I am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
- Mary Oliver -

How I Stopped Letting Acne Rule My Life; Or, A Primer on Clearing Inflammation

There was a point eighteen months ago when my acne was so bad that I got facials every three weeks, and had a daily skincare routine that incorporated anywhere from 8-10 products per day. EVERY DAY, people. While my skin started to look slightly better, it was more like icing on a turd, and it got to the point where I could no longer go on pretending that I could just put a ton of stuff on my face and pray the spots away.

I had always struggled with acne, but this was different: not only was I breaking out daily with painful, active whiteheads, I had terrible cystic acne around my chin; Rosacea appeared on my cheeks for the first time in my life; and anytime I was out in the sun a little too long, even though I wore SPF, my face would get little blisters all over.

So, time to figure out the source of the constant face fire.

Hormones! they say. You break out because you have a hormonal imbalance. What they DON'T tell you is how to balance your hormones. Birth control! they say. That will balance you out. Here's a prescription for the rest of your life, don't mind the side effects that could end up being worse than the acne ever was.

("They" being doctor's of course, which--FULL DISCLOSURE--doctors are great! Listen to your physician. And, I just wanted to exercise all other options before popping synthetic hormones). 

Do you know how to balance hormones naturally? Yeah, I didn't either.

Dios mio!

I met initially with a fantastic acupuncturist, Amy P. I also began my foray into studying nutrition. It got obvious that everything I had ever learned simply no longer worked.

For the longest time prior to all this I tried (and failed miserably) to be a vegetarian. I felt I *had* to be one in order to ever succeed and be taken seriously as a yoga teacher (that's another story-Bernadette Birney breaks it down real nice here). As I deepened my knowledge about food as medicine, I learned that the foods I ate on a daily basis were not only the cause of my acne, but actually causing me to operate from a constant state of inflammation. You guessed it! ZITS GALORE.

The main staples of my diet were foods containing gluten, dairy, and soy. These are the top three most inflammatory foods among most people. While there are other foods that are inflammatory, these three are a good starting point if you suspect you are inflamed.

I chose to go 90 days free of these foods. At first I freaked out a little, because it was not uncommon for me to have cereal or bread for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, and pasta or grains for dinner. I had to rethink and reframe my entire pantry, and expand my cooking repertoire. I was also that annoying person at the restaurant who asks the server 900 questions about the menu. I probably would have given up, but at this point, I was willing to try anything to not feel bummed out every time I looked in a mirror.

Poor Brad!

This might sound crazy, but I noticed a difference within 36 hours. My skin didn't clear that fast, mind you; however, as the days went on I seemed to have fewer and fewer new zits. The immediacy of the results bolstered me greatly as I continued my three month cleanse.

I learned about other things that may cause inflammation. A big one is refined and hydrogenated vegetable oils. Examples of these include:

• canola oil
• soybean oil
• sunflower oil
• cottonseed oil
• safflower oil
• peanut oil
• corn oil
• anything hydrogenated or partially hydrogenated
  
  
  
  

The way these oils are extracted is to put the seed/bean/grain under a tremendous amount of heat. During that process, the oil oxidizes and creates free radicals, which you then ingest when you eat the oils. It doesn't matter how many antioxidants you eat in your food or smear all over your face with fancy products, if your diet is full of these oils, you will probably undo a lot of that good.

So, I started cooking with butter, and animal fats, and coconut oil. Since soy, dairy, and gluten were off limits (for the time being), I filled my plate with high quality sources of animal protein, tons of veggies, and plenty of healthy fats (in addition to what I already mentioned, examples of healthy fats are avocados, nuts and seeds, and fish as often as I could afford it).

My skin continued to clear. People started to notice. I got a cute haircut again and sometimes would just stare at my face, marveling at it's smoothness. It felt really really good.

Acne is one symptom of chronic inflammation. Other signs are indigestion or bloating; acid reflux or heartburn; joint pain and arthritis; itchy skin, or rashes; and allergies. If you experience one or more of these symptoms, you might consider eradicating these foods from your diet to see if you improve.

While I started out very strict, over time I have been able to re-introduce these foods in small amounts without negative side-effects or breakouts. In this process, I have become pretty adept in the kitchen, and these foods are no longer my go-tos. I can now have soy in my chocolate, a slice of pizza every now and again, and my favorite cheese without my skin erupting. And, when I tip a little too far out of balance, I have a bright red reminder the next day that reminds me to up the veggie intake.

Me now*

Not everyone will be able to re-introduce foods they are sensitive to without flaring up the old symptoms. If you are one of these people, instead of focusing on what you CAN'T eat, crowd your plate with all the other delicious and nutritious wonders of the vegetable and animal world. Chances are, it will be worth a life free of chronic pain/acne/room clearing farts. Not to mention that clearing inflammation NOW will probably play a great role in keeping you disease free and healthy for as long as possible.

Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your questions and comments.

*That's not really me. 

This Saturn Return Business is No Joke Y'all

So I've been dealing with some pretty hefty growing pains over the last few months. It's been interesting how taking responsibility for every aspect of my life is bringing out all sorts of behavior I thought was long behind me-all tried and true coping mechanisms from my party girl past. Building a business is only a part. As I get clearer and clearer of my message, I am forced to get clearer and clearer on what my life is for. Mostly what I'm experiencing is a whole lot of resistance. I see what needs to be done, I map it out, I have a vision; but I can't for the life of me get into action. Can you relate? I'm finally getting my act together, but it took me getting so SICK of myself that I finally couldn't avoid it anymore.

Good thing I can blame it on my Saturn Return. (Click the links, it's some juicy astrological tish, yo).

Back to the growth spurt. My ego is one fucked up asshole sometimes, no lie. It's doing everything it can to distract me from all the actions I know I need to be taking, to forward all the grown up aspects of my life (finances, career, home, relationships-you know, all the things that make you an ADULT, people).

These pains are normal, my mind groks that--I know life is change and growth and when these natural processes stop I'll be dead. As a coping mechanism, I've been trying to think of myself as a butterfly (a caterpillar, really), going through metamorphosis. I know it's a bit dramatic but it helps when I'm hard on myself, or life feels sticky, to remember that some gorgeous stuff is getting cooked up in all this gunk. Especially on the days I feel like I'm doing everything I can to avoid change; the days when everything feels completely insurmountable and I can barely get out of bed. 

As if

Today in my morning pages I got that I am NOT A BUTTERFLY, and not only am I not a butterfly, I don't want to be one! 

I am a snake.

Shedding all the old ways, like a skin; a skin that's grown too tight. It doesn't slip off easily, like a coat or a jacket; it's itchy and unbearable - until - finally, it's all slithered through, the old casing a dusty shell. The head is the last to go. And it's not the last skin to be left behind...

Bring it

Anyway, I feel like I'm just starting to slither out. It's tight and near suffocating sometimes but I have to be patient and allow the new, fresh skin to reveal itself. What kind of snake do I want to be?

All this work, of being human, expanding oneself, committing to having a life of one's dreams: it's not pretty little butterflies. It is a snake shedding its skin. It's tight, dry, and above all, SLOW. It's not particularly glamourous.

More to come.