Tag: enchanted life

21 Day Challenge – Day 4 – Every Breath You Take

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437Today I feel strong. As I walk to the front of my mat in yoga class I feel steady and sure. I have my breath.

Prana. Chi. Life force.

So little is taught about breathing. I guess since it just sort of happens we don’t really pay much attention to it. Until we can’t breathe “normally” anymore. Unless we grew up with asthma or allergies. But mostly it’s just there.

If we do pay attention to the breath we can change every system in the body. We can balance the mind, stoke digestive fires, cleanse the blood and overall awaken the physical form.

There was an Ayurveda study done in India on obese subjects. One group was placed on a diet specifically for their individual constitution. The other group was given pranayama – a specific breath to be done a requisite number of times – 30 minutes before each meal.

The group that deliberately breathed lost significant amounts of weight.

A personal friend of mine has been experimenting with the same phenomenon. He has been practicing various forms of pranayama throughout the day – occasionally switching it up to see what difference it makes. He continues to eat and imbibe as always, his activity level has remained the same, and he has lost weight. He also reports an overall sense of well-being.

The breath he uses is different than the one used in the study. The amount of time he breathes consciously differs as well. But the results are very similar.

Pranayama is one of the eight limbs of yoga. It’s easily overlooked outside of the classroom. It’s often forgotten inside the classroom. And it’s practically non-existent in daily life as a practice.

Prana is life force, like Chi in Chinese medicine, it works with the breath, but it is not the breath. Prana is in every living thing. We receive prana from the food we eat, the sun, the air and certainly from breathing. Throughout most days we are leaking prana, giving it away to negative thoughts, anger, jealously. We are squandering Life Force. Losing. Life. Force.

All one has to do to get it back is breathe. Consciously.

Here is the breath used in the Ayurveda study. Try it. Twice a day. 5 minutes each time. Start there. Not for weight loss – although that may be a happy side effect – but for Life.

Naadhi Shodhana – alternate nostril breathing.

Vishnu mudra rightMake a fist with the right hand. Extend the thumb and last two fingers. The thumb and fingers rest lightly on the nose, just above the nostrils so very little pressure or movement is needed to close each side.

 

Take a deep breath in through the nose. Close the right nostril with the thumb.

Exhale through the left nostril. Inhale through the left nostril. Close the left nostril.

Exhale through the right nostril. Inhale through the right nostril. Close the right nostril.

Continue with this process for 5 minutes. Finish by exhaling through the right nostril. Place both hands in the lap, close the eyes briefly – maybe meditate for five minutes – then return to your normal routine.

Other ways to increase life force:

– Eat a mostly organic, plant based diet

– Exercise with intention and presence

– Be present. Thoughts of the future or past are normal, but too much time spent in either place robs you of precious life force than can be used right now.

– Cultivate compassion. Anger, jealously, regret, hate all deplete prana. When you catch yourself enveloped in any of these strong emotions, breathe.

Just breathe. Consciously. Often. Inhale gratitude. Exhale love.

 

21 Day Challenge – Day 3 – Reality

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Image of female foot running on treadmill

The insides of my elbows hurt. How is that even possible? What’s even in there?

Today I went back to the gym. It was 6-ish in the morning and many sweaty bodies were already punishing themselves.

I dutifully hopped on the treadmill to do my 5 minute warm-up. As I wandered the belted highway I glanced out at the sea of machines. My trainer had texted me a collection of letters and numbers that I was to decipher into some sort of exercise routine.

Once my heart rate was up and my mind a little clearer I walked with confidence toward the bent and twisted steel with random pads and moving parts. Some looked familiar from a past life of gym false starts. Some looked fun. Some looked torturous. Many were mysterious.

Today is legs and shoulders. I pick the leg extension machine. It’s on my list. I adjust the seat and experiment with weights – my trainer is evidently trusting me to determine this minor detail as those numbers were not included in the hieroglyphics. I do 4 sets of 12. Feeling accomplished I saunter down the row looking for anything familiar. I spot the seated leg curl machine.

I sit down. I stand up. I adjust the seat. I play with the weights. I slide my legs over the seat, under the knee pad and reach for the padded roller that my Achilles tendon is to rest on, with the heel of my right foot. The knee pad is blocking my progress. I twist a little in the seat to see if I can angle one foot up to crank the pad down. I am kicking at it like I’m trying to dislodge it from under my couch.

The twist and lean is not working. I notice the gentlemen to my left has pulled something to lower the roller then effortlessly swung his ankles over the pad. I yank on levers that are not levers but solid bars meant for me to grip when I grunt with barred teeth as I push the roller down. Which may never happen. I look over at the weights. I grab the rubber thingy that acts a pulley to see if I can lift it enough to drop the roller.

My hand comes away with black grease all over it that I will likely wipe on my face before I exit this contraption. And the weights do not budge.

I am not meant to use this machine.

I walk around like I’m taking a break between sets. Just breathing. You know.

I spy a similar leg curl machine on which one lies belly down. I like the looks of it. I lower myself on the giant pad, kick my feet under the two rollers and reach for the hand grips. As I curl my fingers around the handles I slide forward losing contact with the foot pads, defeating the purpose. Clearly this machine is set up for [insert giant man-beast here]. I get up, adjust anything that will move and flop back down. Contact. I pull my heels toward my glutes for 2 sets. Done.

On to shoulder presses. I find the machine quickly, pick a weight and pump like a pro.

There are at least four more puzzles to be solved, but I have squandered my allotted half hour and walk back toward my comfort zone – the treadmill.

As I adjust the speed and incline randomly to the encouragement of Lady Gaga and the Black Eyed Peas, I glance up at the televisions accidentally catching the image of the ISIS/ISIL executioner with his weapon of death held aloft while looking down at the young reporter he will kill. My body begins to shake. I am punched in the heart. I cannot look away quickly enough.

On the adjacent screen is some vapid reality show on the fascinating, tumultuous lives of women wrestlers.

I am struck by the reality dichotomy in which we live. For a moment I am dismayed to the point of abandoning this ridiculousness. Why bother? What is the point?

Then I remember, I must first lift the veil and scrub my energy clean so that I can reveal my own inner light. So I can be part of the solution. Defeat is not an option. I must do this.

With a renewed resolve I turn up the volume on my trusty iPod and plug into my body. I become present with every movement, every sensation. I feel my heart rate rise and fall as I adjust the incline. I slow my breathing down as I speed up my pace, experimenting with my own capacity.

I am a soldier for peace. I am a warrior of light. That is the cause for which I am working.

 

21 Day Challenge – Day 2 – Yoga a go go

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There is nothing quite like yoga to tell you what’s going on in your body. Even the gentlest class can reveal secret tight places and hidden tension.

Today I did a level I/II hatha class, it’s one of my favorites. The postures are familiar but not always easy and the pace is just right for my attention span.

However doing side plank the day after working out the back and arms – or back and bi’s as us gym rats call it – may not be so wise.  My arms felt like paint inside the mixer-upper thing at Home Depot. I found a muscle I didn’t know existed and still can’t seem to locate on any diagram. I believe it is an unchartered area of my tricep. It’s unhappy with its newly awakened state.

Although I own a yoga studio, have taught for over five years and have practiced longer than that, yoga and I still have some stuff to work out. I am in love with the philosophy and could talk spirituality all day, but the asana portion, the postures, they challenge me on so many levels.

There are eight limbs in yoga, only one of them, the third one, is about postures. The rest include a code of conduct in how to be in the world, breathwork, and a few on various forms of meditation. They are all necessary. Even the postures.

It’s not that they’re too difficult, although there are many I cannot do, it’s the pace, the holding. I like to move. I love to dance. I like to walk and swim and ride bikes. Standing still with my arms extended and one knee deeply bent for a few breaths has my mind wandering, chattering, disagreeing with the whole notion that this is necessary.

And it’s that reason alone, that it is. I have to become at peace with where I am. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Yoga does that. I can curse the teacher for making me hold a posture, making up stories about how it’s wrong, this particular posture should never be held this long, someone’s going to hurt themselves, and what’s with the breathing? Stop reminding me to breathe.

And then we’re done.

I am standing still, lost in sensation in my body, swimming blissfully in the energy just released from holding that godforsaken posture.

I am open, my mind is quiet (temporarily, but still) and I am at ease. Yoga is stilling the fluctuations of the mind. It is quieting the mental chatter by giving the body a little tension – in the best possible way – and moving the thoughts out of the head into the muscles, then out all together.

It just works.

Even though I know this, even though I will be back the next day or two, or on my mat at home, I will suffer the same process.

And in the end I will be grateful for it. Again and again.

[Photo credit: Allison L. Andersen. Taken in Daman, India. She’s facing the Arabian Sea as she does her variation of saluting the sun.]

 

21 Day Challenge – Day 1 – Just Weight

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Dumbbells with towel isolated on white

A little over 8 years ago I embarked on this holistic health odyssey. I wanted to make food my friend, understand it and use it properly. I became a Certified Holistic Health Coach. I gave advice to others as I continued to play with strategies for myself. Everything I did worked. My energy was high, my weight was low (enough) and I felt great!

Then somehow all those things I’d let go of crept back in; foods, habits, stop me if you’ve heard this one.

As I continued to see clients as a health coach and then as a yoga instructor I felt like a complete charlatan. I was a fraud. Am. Oh, I still give great advice. It’s intuitive, tailored to the person in front of me seeking my knowlege and always done with love. I can see exactly what they need to do or not do, add or subtract.

Why can’t I do that for myself? Why do I not take my own gilded advice? Why is it so easy to keep promises we don’t even want to make to other people, but even easier to break the promises we felt so strongly about when we made them, to ourselves?

This past week I attended a five-day yoga retreat. We ate vegetarian food, mostly organic, did yoga daily and yoga nidra twice a day. I was feeling lighter physically and energetically and then…

On the way home a friend and I stopped at Five Guys. I ingested a WHOLE double hamburger. With. The. Bun. A shared “little” fries and a healthy helping of sweetea. Then later I waddled across the street to a friend’s barbeque where I drank more than my share of wine, ate potato chips with dip, then a baked potato – you know with toppings, of course – and more wine.

Disclaimer: I am a full quarter Irish and that 25% would like potatoes 100% of the time please.

I have no such ancestry to explain the wine.

Anyway.

I had an appointment with a trainer today to get weighed and measured like a 4H heifer. But it was good – not the numbers, but the experience and now the knowledge.

I worked out. I tried to explain to the 20 something ex-Air Force soldier that I was not in a hurry. I want to be pushed, yes, but not immobilized. I want to have goals but none of them include a bikini. I also retained my right to say no and stop when I felt my body was physically defeated. But I only pulled that card once, I wanted to push a little. I need to push.

After the workout with weights I did 30 minutes on the treadmill.  And I felt great.

Tomorrow is yoga.

For me, it’s about closing the gap on that feeling of incongruence between the wise health coach and yoga teacher inside and the squishy, tired woman on the outside.

It’s time to walk the talk. One step at a time.

 

Witches Brew

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Daily Prompt: Captain Picard was into Earl Grey tea; mention the Dude and we think: White Russians. What’s your signature beverage – and how did it achieve that status?

I wish I could tell you I’m never seen without my trusty water bottle or a bucket of green juice, but I can’t in good conscience.

Instead I can be caught with any number of liquids.

In the morning, it’s my own personal brew. A blend of dark and  lighter roast coffees from exotic origins.  The hot magma sends tendrils of steam upward, tickling my olfactory senses  and I begin to swoon. A dash of cinnamon, a teaspoon “or so” of organic raw sugar and a plop of organic half and half complete the alchemy.

I breathe deeply once  with the cup cradled in both hands, its precious contents at the ready. On that first intake I can feel the blood in my veins beginning to warm, animating the cells in my body, sparking the flint in my brain, cranking the gears to life. It’s necessary, medicine really. And there might be more than one cup.

Around lunch time I usually reach for that quintessential southern delicacy known as ‘Sweetea.’ On occasion water. On rare occasions. Not really very often at all.

In the evening, f I am going to imbibe, and often I am, it’s going to be a Pinot Noir. Deciding to have a glass of wine sends a message to the brain creating an internal environment to relax. A Mona Lisa smile begins to tug at the corners of my mouth as I twist the cork out of the bottle. That ‘pop’ signals my salivary glands to prepare for that first hint of bitterness. Yet I wait, I give the bottle a few minutes to acclimate, then I pour. This too requires a few moments.

It’s foreplay.

At that first sip my taste buds spring to life. I can feel the dark liquid slide down my throat and spread like warm fingers throughout my torso, hugging me. I sigh, lean back, take another sip then set the glass down as the day’s edges begin to soften.

When I’m in India I can’t get enough Chai. Jamaica, Sorrell tea and ok, Red Stripe. Whole Foods, Green Dream. Hindu temple, mango lassi. I don’t drink soda or nearly enough water. I get far too many calories from my liquids and entirely too much pleasure.

If I had to let go of any of these, for just a little while I hope, I could. Everything but the coffee, just one cup. Like I said, it’s medicine.

Just Do You. That is the Work.

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17 Camel IMG_4050Daily Prompt: If money were out of the equation, would you still work? If yes, why, and how much? If not, why would you do with your free time?

I was asked this question a million years ago. And I have since turned this question on others. It’s a good one.

About 8 years ago I decided to put it to the test. I quit my job – one in a succession of failed career starts – and decided to become a holistic health coach. That lasted just a few years. But what it did for me was show me that I could do what I wanted and the money would come in. Or as Joseph Campbell said, “Do what you love and the money will follow.” Sounds magical and all together impractical.

At the risk of sounding woo-woo, I now allow myself to be guided by – dare I say it? – the Universe. I have come to see all situations as teachable moments and guidance in one direction or another. I have never lacked food, housing, or transportation. In fact, I own my home, shop at Whole Foods (not every time, let’s be realistic) and drive a nice little Honda.

When I was younger I wanted certain things, specific markers of success: To live in New York City. Or maybe California. To travel the world, especially Paris. And have several homes. One definitely on the beach. All these things required a healthy salary, a particular status. I had to WORK for them, EARN them.

Then 8 years ago I decided to take my passion for natural health to the next level. I attended the Institute for Integrative Nutrition (IIN) in New York. I went just for me, but came away with an optional new career and possibly a whole new life.

I became a holistic health coach. As a health coach many of my clients inquired if I taught yoga when I suggested they try it. I did not. But that changed. I now saw the next step on my path.

When I began to study yoga, the philosophy in particular, I felt I had finally found the belief system that contained within it all that I had cobbled together for myself from various religions and philosophies. Now it had a name. And I was home.

In its teachings I learned to  lean back. I have learned to trust the process of life. I have cultivated compassion and I am free to look at the world through the lens of enchantment and wonder.

Now, when I reframe all those markers of success, I see that I have achieved them all.

– While attending IIN in New York City I had to be there 12 weekends over 16 months. I rented an apartment with a friend for just those weekends. We shopped for food, ate in the apartment, went out to dinner, wandered the streets. I lived in New York City.

– My brother has lived in southern California for over 10 years. I visit him a few times each year. I drive his car. I pick up groceries. I take my niece to the park. We go to the beach. I have made friends there. I have lived in California.

– During all this yoga stuff, the guru I was studying with (and still am) was taking a group of people to India. It was never on my list of places to go, but suddenly I had to go. He was 80 and I didn’t know if I’d have another chance. I went for 3 weeks. Then I went back the year after with a different swami, and on the way played in London for three days. Then this past July a friend flew me on a private jet to the Bahamas where we played on the beach. I have begun to travel the world.

– I have several friends with houses on the beach and I am free to stay in them whenever they’re not occupied. I have a friend with a cabin in the mountains, same thing. I have several homes.

When I let go of the need to work for these things and just leaned back, everything that was to be materialized. Everything I had asked for showed up. Just not as I expected it. I could have missed it completely.

Today I own a yoga studio – another gift – and I write and I take pictures and when I have free time, you know, between 3:15 – 4:45 AM, I make some jewelry. My life is truly enchanted.

I haven’t worked a day in the past 8 years. I do what I love – all of it – and I am taken care of.

 

Feeling Groovy

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I have not yet fallen into the groove of my life. You know, that comfortable, yet active, relaxed state. Leaning back into life, open and ready but not anxious. Available for the next moment by being present in this one.

I feel it must exist. I have friends who seem to be there, but then that’s my perception. I think I’ve even been there, dipped my toe in on occasion, only I just recognize it as somewhere I’ve been, I don’t catch it in the moment. Perhaps that’s by design. If I notice I’m in it, will that take me out of it? Yearning to recreate it, missing the present once again?

My imagined groove goes a little something like this:

I wake up smiling and refreshed at 5 am. I brew myself a cup of organic free-trade coffee, add a dash of organic cinnamon, raw sugar and organic half and half. I take mug, that I purchased from an extremely talented struggling potter, full of this morning brew, on the deck of my modest ocean front home, or the balcony of my 12th floor upper west side apartment in New York City. Of course I could be traveling, probably I am, so maybe it’s a chai on the rooftop of a 5 story walk up somewhere fabulous in India or a steaming cup of tea in a coffee shop in London. Whatever the case, I am armed with gentle caffeine and settled into a chair, facing east, with my journal and pen, ready to watch the sun rise and let go of thoughts that may be bouncing around creating havoc.

Then I go work out, because I love to, usually dance or some other high energy sweat-making movement. Come home, shower eat a breakfast of organic goat’s milk yogurt with organic granola and a banana from my own tree (why not?).

Refreshed, fed and ready to go, I am at my desk at 9 AM ready and waiting for inspiration to flow through me, which it always does. Sometimes I write, sometimes I edit photos or create photo cards, other times I make jewelry.

I stop for lunch. Something delicious, nutritious and organic, no doubt.

Ok, so this is my groove. The rest of the day just naturally unfolds into a glorious evening of meaningful conversations with great friends back on that deck or balcony. We talk about consciousness and ways to make the world a better place. We share what we’re working on creatively and our processes. We plan to go to gallery openings and take trips together. Maybe we’re drinking naturally decaffeinated organic tea grown since the 6th century, that someone has just brought back from their recent trip to China. Or perhaps a new Malbec from a friend in Argentina. Jazz plays in the background. It’s a band we know personally. Or maybe one of us is sitting quietly plucking the strings of an acoustic guitar, creating on the spot.

The flaw in this scenario? When do I get to eat too much of the wrong thing? Where do I fit in Orange is the New Black? Where’s the struggle that make success sweet?

Truthfully I would be totally okay with this groove. I don’t need to create struggle anymore.  I know enough people who do and they don’t age well. They don’t see that they have a choice. Struggling is a choice. Suffering is truly optional – a state of mind. It’s in their perception. A wise teacher, Yogi Amrit Desai once said something like, “Wanting things to be different than they are is our only problem.”  Acceptance of anything is the key. You cannot change something you refuse to accept, it doesn’t exist.

And so, I accept that I need to move, write, be creative and tromp through wildlife to snap photos. I also accept that I’m in my groove more often than not. I have sipped excellent coffee from ocean front decks, high rise balconies in New York, Chai on rooftops in India and tea in coffee shops in London. I write. I move. I create. I have done all of these things.

It is in those moments that I feel disconnected and outside that I need only remember that this too is part of my groove. It is the recognition of the present moment that is indeed the groove.

[Photo: The magnificent city of Udaipur, India.]

Shiny Thing Syndrome

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I am a master procrastinator. Not proud, just practical. I don’t know that it’s that I really want to put things off, it’s just that I have so many things I could or should be working on that I shut down. I stare into space, usually my magical backyard, and wait for the priority to float to the top. Often it’s a nap, so I work on that first.

But, yesterday I took a little road trip from Procrastination to Distraction. Having spent the entire morning in Completion I felt no guilt about this. Especially since I was beckoned to move farther along the path of avoidance by the delicate warbling of a feathered friend.

Having accepted his invitation to the concert, I slipped out my back door and stealthily sought him out with my camera. He sat on a lower branch and was so into his own story, beak aloft, eyes closed, that I was able to get right under him to take his photo. Perhaps that was his plan all along.

I watched him for some time, his throat vibrating as he pontificated on the state of the weather and pesticides; lack of worms and suitable mates. On occasion his tone would change, becoming more conversational, understanding, softer. His passion was clear.

In order to reach a broader audience he would hop to the next higher branch, then the next higher tree.  Satisfied he had conveyed his feelings appropriately or dismayed his calls had gone into the ether unheard, he flew away.

I thanked him, hopped back into my mental convertible and headed back to Procrastination. A little sad to leave Distraction, the land of shiny things and birdsong, I lingered for just a moment to see if something else would catch my eye, extending my stay. Not today. My mission complete, I turned the old rag top around glancing back only once  at the sparkling raindrops on the honeysuckle. A mirage, I told myself as I pressed the accelerator in the direction of home.

Today’s writing prompt: Now? Later! prompted me to dust off an older blog, shine it up a bit and repurpose it for this challenge.

Now? Later? We all procrastinate. Website, magazine, knitting project, TV show, something else — what’s your favorite procrastination destination?

Losing Myself

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I don’t believe in wrong turns. I don’t believe in coincidences. And I certainly don’t believe in mistakes.

I do believe that everything we have done in the past; each choice we have made has brought us to exactly where we are right now. This gives us a tremendous amount of power. Everything we decide to do now, however we choose to react to our current set of circumstances, is creating our future. That’s the good news.

The bad news is, you can’t blame anyone or anything else for anything. Which is really just more good news. You are empowered, not a victim.

Life is experiential. While we may not be able to control our every move – realistically we’re controlling nothing – we can control our reaction. This makes getting lost and taking wrong turns a part of the adventure of life.

Some of the best experiences come out of wrong turns. I have found secret pockets of wonder inside the woods when I went left instead of right. I found a quaint, mostly unmarked coffee shop when I got lost in Savannah. I made a new friend while sitting at the wrong subway station waiting for the next train.

I have also felt frightened when I found myself in a neighborhood that was known for its active gangs and drug deals. Nothing happened, I drove right through, stopped at stop lights, no one hassled me. I learned something about myself that day, about where I place my power.

Getting lost has become my hobby. I am a wandering explorer. No amount of reading about other’s experiences can replace stumbling upon an elephant outside my hotel in Udaipur, India or finding a fuzzy baby swan in a nearby lake. Yet reading about other’s adventures always uplifts me.

Serendipity is everywhere, we just have to perceive it as such. The most inconvenient event can yield the most life affirming results. Many times I have found myself in a situation that I could never have planned yet everything aligned perfectly as if it was meant to be. Because, I believe it was. This happens with great regularity.

No matter how much I try to schedule and organize my life, it’s all those spaces in between, all the distractions, all the wrong turns, that provide the richest experiences. It is choosing to look for the gifts in everything, the messages, the prompts, that creates the adventure for me.

And so I let go, I follow my inner compass and lose myself in this big, beautiful enchanted world.

From today’s WordPress writing prompt: Wrong Turns. When was the last time you got lost? Was it an enjoyable experience, or a stressful one? Tell us all about it.

21 Day Body Love Challenge – Happy Feet

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“Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.” – Khalil Gibran

I love my feet.

As I look at my bare feet I see evidence of a life lived outdoors. Currently I have two faint thin stripes that indicate where my flip flops should be, my toes are a happy pink, my heels rough and hard despite many pedicures and there are two tiny pale ovals on each foot at the base of third and fourth toes. These elicit some of the best memories.

As a child, I was a fish. Ocean, lake, river, creek, bathtub or pool, water was my habitat. Once in, good luck getting me out. That 10 minute break each hour at the public swimming pool to allow adults time to swim was probably designed because of me. I just didn’t see the point of leaving the water. I did summersaults, handstands, walked on my hands, kick turns, cannonballs, dove, jumped, splashed and, on occasion, swam. While completing these amazing feats of agility I often scraped my feet on the rough floor of the pool – they weren’t so smooth back then – removing the first layer of skin on the joints of my toes and on the tops of my feet. And because I never got out of the water, I’d do it over and over and over again. Then come back the next day and continue the process. It never hurt, not even a little.

A bit older, but none the wiser, I was wading in a freezing cold creek in Virginia sans shoes, of course. My foot slipped on a mossy rock and landed on a broken bottle. It didn’t hurt, my feet were numb, but I knew something was amiss. I limp-walked my way over to my mom without ever looking at my foot, blindly leaving a trail of blood along the way. As I presented her with my foot and the question, “Is there something in it?” she gasped then quickly recovered pretending it wasn’t a big deal, but we should probably have someone look at it. Like a doctor. In a hospital. A steamy hot older man, probably 16 or 17, was summoned and I was whisked away like a princess in a fairy tale to my pumpkin that resembled a Pontiac LaMans a little too closely. All aglow I lay down in the back seat with my foot elevated as I waved so long to my handsome prince. Today, I am now the proud owner of a thick scar on the bottom of my right foot which always produces concern, then questions during reflexology.

The take-away was not to exercise caution when in nature with unbound feet, but rather; being rescued by handsome prince was everything Disney had promised.

My toes have always been long and thin, even when the rest of me was anything but. And I love them for that. They have been shoved in many pointy shoes with heels high and low, set aloft on ridiculous platforms, allowed to wiggle huddled in clogs and pressed against the sides of running shoes, but they are happiest when they are free. In general my feet have resisted captivity since I was very young, preferring instead to endure the occasional bee sting and extra tetanus booster.

My feet have taken me all the way around Central Park in New York. They’ve walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and down past the twin towers, both when they were there and they were not. They’ve walked through deserts and streets in India, played in the crystal clear water of Jamaica and the Virgin Islands and walked along the Thames in London. They’ve been barefoot on the beaches of Rhode Island, Cape Cod, Long Island, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, nearly the entire coastline of Florida and much of California.

There’s almost nowhere these feet won’t go and for that I love them. I love their courage and tenacity. I love their ability to tip toe, walk and even run. I love how they love to dance. And I love that they hit the floor every morning awaiting instructions, ready to go wherever I ask them to.

Thank you, feet, you’re the best.

And it’s not just my feet that are awesome. It’s yours too. A full one quarter of all the bones in the body are in the feet and ankles. 33 joints and more than 100 muscles, tendons and ligaments. Feet provide the body with support. If you’ve ever hurt your foot you know it can throw the entire body off kilter. Hips out of alignment, back pain, even headaches can befall the owner of unhappy feet.

Energetically the feet are related to the root chakra; our home of security and stability, our foundation. Makes sense.

Feet  even play a role in history and religion. Recently Pope Francis shocked the world by washing the feet of inmates at a juvenile detention center. It is a great show of humility and service to wash another’s feet. In the yoga tradition, kissing or touching the feet of the guru symbolizes bowing, not necessarily to the physical guru in front of you, but rather the guru within.

Today, honor your feet. Massage them, get a pedicure, thank them. Stick them in the sand or mud or on a plush carpet of soft grass or a real plush carpet. Appreciate them and all they’ve been through with you and because of you.

Your feet are always there for you, ready and waiting to carry you forward. Where will they take you today?

“I still have my feet on the ground, I just wear better shoes.” – Oprah Winfrey