When She Walks She Swings Her Arms Instead Of Her Hips.

Let me tell you of my latest, greatest, Roman woes…

Yet another instance of my all-encompassing intelligence not so subtly being MIA.

This is the stuff that Mary-Kate and Ashley movies are made of.

I arrived in Rome on a beautiful, sunny October day, filled with an enthusiasm for travel and an open heart. My first day traveling alone in Italy was going great! I’d figured out how to read the train schedule, take the train, check into my hostel and buy peanut M&M’s from the foreign vending machines all in one day. Grinning from stretched earlobe to stretched earlobe, I dropped my pack at the hostel and skipped out onto the streets of Rome. I had a map, walking shoes and a full bottle of water.

Ready. For. Action.

I was overjoyed to finally behold the ancient beauty that is the coliseum. I circled it twice, took a few pictures and decided that the Pantheon was my next destination. En route I realized that I did not know what the Pantheon was. I knew there would be a sign.

Lo. And. Behold.

Two signs, in fact. Quick photo sesh and onto the Trevi Fountain. I overhand softball pitched a quarter towards the fountain. It did not actually land IN the fountain but it landed NEAR it. Oh well, just change the preposition and mission accomplished.

It was still mid-afternoon and insanely crowded so I chose to walk slowly and take in as much culture as I could. Humility is key; I am unashamed to admit that by this point I realized that I was seriously lacking certain historical information. I strolled along, unknowingly creating blisters that still haven’t healed. I scanned the crowds and looked in souvenir shops. And there he was…

A perfect specimen of all that is Rome… The most Italian-looking, doe-eyed (in a manly way) artist and I were suddenly stuck, locked gaze.

I. Almost. Shit.

I could not, for the life of me, understand why I’d been possessed to make eye contact with a stranger in a country where I did not know a single person. We continued to walk north, one of us speeding up then slowing down for the following ten minutes. In these ten minutes, I’d mentally composed notes to my mom and bosses explaining why it was necessary for me to live in Rome forever.

“Ciao, bella.”

Oh no he didn’t! HE DID!!! We made small talk for about forty-five seconds before his English skills were completely exhausted. All of the Italian I know (minus the word for “cheese,” which I think it actually more important) was used within the first millisecond of our interaction. He was able to communicate that his train station was near “La Piazza Del Popollo,” would I like to see? As we walked, he pointed out different structures, old ones, that I’m sure are very historically monumental. I did not understand a single word of the tour. This small nugget of a conversation happened four times;

Me: “Wow. It’s so beautiful!”

Him: “You are very beautiful.”

Onward. To La Piazza Del Popollo. I would love to say that I used my deductive reasoning and critical thinking skills to figure out where we were headed. In reality though, I arrived at this very large building with a fluffy cloud of oblivion between my ears. It truly was beautiful. I turned my back on our destination and took an impressively well-balanced photo of a bench with people sitting on it and an unimportant looking statue. My new Italian friend guided me closer to the building, closer to the train station and closer to his chest. We became Facebook friends (He has since unfriended me, presumably because he cannot read any of my posts. Or he is just terrified of me.) before he kissed me.

I skip-walk-jogged back to my hostel. THAT WAS SO EASY! I CAN MAKE FRIENDS ANYWHERE!! I WAS AT A PIAZZA!! I exuberantly collapsed onto my hostel bed (climb-skip-jumped up rather, top bunk) and began to explain the events of my day to three bewildered-looking Australians who were fortunate enough to be my roommates for the night.

I said, verbatim, “We made out in front of La Piazza Del Popollo… I guess that’s the house of the Pope?” (Jesus. I don’t even know whether or not “POPE” should have a capital ‘P’ or not. “Jesus” probably was not the most appropriate expletive here either.)

The blank stares of my tres Australian amigos suddenly became almost vacant. In the most deadpan, dryly hysterical way they said in unison, “The Vatican?!”

The Vatican. The fucking Vatican.

“I majored in science!” I defended! I clearly did not exchange contact information with the Tres Amigos.

Even after outlining this tale in such excruciating detail, I’m not sure what the worst part of it is… I followed a stranger in a foreign country. I allowed a stranger to kiss me in a foreign country. Extreme embarrassment x a million. A sincere lack of historical knowledge. I know absolutely nothing about Catholicism. I literally stood in front of the Vatican and did not realize what it was.

To put a positive spin on it, what I lack in intelligence I clearly make up for in openmindedness.

The worst part though…

 

I. Didn’t. Even. Take. A. Picture.

 

Riding Spirit Horses Through Parallel Universes.

Kung. Kung. Kung. Kung.

I am moving backwards.

Kung. Kung. Kung.

On a train leaving Paris.
Regressing.

I am sure the bright pink graffiti means something to someone. To me it is just part of another passing landscape. Another city I’m leaving behind. Another passing journey.

Something else I’ve learned but something too new to realize.

Kung. Kung fu. Chop suey.
My mind speeds right along with the train.
It is always a race.
One hundred random word associations later, I remember… Take a deep breath, look out the window. The scenery has become lush and green, too clean and organic to be plagued by spray paint.

Suddenly, I am freezing. The train rambles on. Someone sneezes. I just learned how to say the equivalent of “Bless you” in French. Why do I forget things so quickly??

Jah. Bless.

I’ve had an amazing, inspiring adventure through Europe and through myself. I am fascinated. This time, I want to be home. I’ve never felt so connected to a place before. The nearest future seems so much brighter with the shadow of comfort looming ahead. Is this what growing up feels like??

Talk That Talk

To. Me. All. Night.

If you know me or have read this blog you’ve likely noticed that I am verbose and long winded. I can spend entire days reading and am (painfully admitting that I am..) proud of my reading comprehension skillz (with a z. Always with a z).

That said, I suck at counting.

I will readily admit that math is not my strong suite. I usually say, “We all have our good qualities.. I’m a really fast runner.”

But I’m not talking about math. I’m talking about counting. There is a distinguishable difference. I’m ok with math… Did they leave me a 20% tip? Yes. No. See. Math.

Counting, on the other hand. Dollar bills ALWAYS stick together. People always move around in yoga, counting heads is tricky (what kind of class do I teach where people move around?).

I am a change collector. I also ROLL my change, by hand. The other day I took a bag of rolled change to the bank (to a teller, not an ATM. Job stealers) and was met by an inquisitive expression on the face of said teller. It seems that my nickels were rolled in quantities of fluctuating amounts. She was so patient as she asked me to please unroll and RECOUNT my nickels. As the line grew behind me, I counted nickels. To no ones surprise, I had miscounted.

Sue, bless her heart, is my favorite teller. The likelihood of her reading this are 2/never… Probability, next week’s topic. What a patient and compassionate lady she is.

Sigh. “Alison. There is a machine at Lakeside that counts the change for you. It’s free.”

Sigh backatcha, Sue. Free is good. But then I’d have to figure out whether it is better to cash in for free 6 miles away from my house or for a 2% charge .5 miles away. How much is gas? How efficient is my car?

Why am I exhausting so much effort on the topic of depositing $10 of nickels?

Truth is, I’m not.

I’m inability to count has led to a minor amount of insecurity. As you may know, I am an avid listener of Rihanna. So avid, in fact, that I noticed that she counts in a disproportionate amount of her songs. I believe that there are two possible reasons for this.

1.) Counting is hard for a growing number of people in our society. The pop culture princess is battling this epidemic by offering free (if you download illegally, is that still a thing? $1.29 on iTunes. WTF, iTunes?) tutoring. Is listening to Rihanna during a math test cheating? Because she can certainly count to four.

2.) Rihanna is endeavoring to prove to the world that she CAN count (not to mix theories, but to prove that she has risen above the epidemic?)! This particular theory gets under my skin a bit… Girl, you’re really pretty, have great hair and you can sing…

WHY DO YOU HAVE TO PROVE THAT YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME?!?

Affirmation to counteract grief and negativity: I am enough.

We all have our good qualities.

1..2..3..4..

Now. If I was as a better counter, I would be counting sheep.
I would be AfuckingSLEEP.

(I’m good at rhyming too)

And life would make a lot more sense.

Ok and namaste.

Being

​Stumbling, cart wheeling, giggling, celebrating, loving, enjoying, running. Being. The bright sphere of orange neon gracefully dips beyond the tumultuous but soothing blue waters. I race the sinking sun to claim my spot in the sand, my spot on the earth, my spot in history. A flock of pelicans glide by, reiterating the fleeting beauty of each moment of life. In the impending dusk a full moon is illuminated above the mountains to the east. Beyond my back the fierce and sturdy mounds of land create an impossible silhouette. The palm trees all blowing south with the breeze, layers upon layers of hills and mountains reside just moments away, projecting a composition that I before would have deemed imaginary. Letting the earth hold my weight, I relax onto my back. An echo of vibrant oranges and pinks among the wispy clouds to the west, just beyond my left side. A full moon preparing to illuminate the dark night looms over the hills and crevasses to my right, to the east.

​Crashing, twisting, tumbling, springing, hoping, loving, believing. Existing. The sand is still warm from the day’s heat as it caresses my feet, toughened from a whole month of walking on the beach. The waves tumble onto the rocks beyond my head, engulfing, encasing and enveloping the strength and stability that this structure has to offer. Wave after wave curls up onto the sand, coming in sets of three, retreating as one. A seemingly endless cycle washing away pain, anger, jealousy and uncertainty. Sea breeze tickles my whole body, ocean spray kisses my cheeks. Each hair on my body stands on end, awakened and revived. The mist from the sea mixes with my own salty tears, shamelessly flowing out of my eyes and coming to rest right where they belong… Near me, within reach, but no longer a part of me. Opening, rejoicing, inviting, liberating, relaxing, knowing. Feeling.

And so they say, watch me bleed.

November 2011.

A Words

“Our dark night will be followed by a new dawn if we just endure. Take no desperate action; FACE THE FEAR… Allow this ‘death’ to become a rebirth. And as day follows night, the dark tunnel will lead to a greater light.” – Dan Millman

As I write I can’t feel my ears. My toes are numb and my teeth are chattering. I am home, I am smiling. I am content. I am focused, alert. I am feeling the moment. Interestingly FEAR has not been plaguing me, APPREHENSION has been… Apprehension and apathy.

Beautiful moments cannot be forced so why do I turn them down so frequently when they present themselves?

Apprehension. An overly ACTIVE imagination.

I tried to talk myself out of walking to the beach tonight (literally, a quarter of a mile, tops). My mind was feeling tired, ANXIOUS and in no mood to be bothered by wind and cold weather. As my body urged me to go, my mind urged me to stay. Mind fighting body, striving for balance, striving for union.

The restlessness in my legs prevailed, guiding me on a short walk through the meadow and down to the dock. My mind was ACTIVE, ANXIOUS, fraught with APPREHENSION and making excuses.

“Don’t go, it’s cold.” (Yes).
“It’s windy.” (Yes…?).
“The coyotes have been out.” (So…?).
“They could eat you.” (Probably not).
“You could fall in the water.” (But you won’t).
“You could get hypothermia.” (From the water you aren’t going to fall into…?).
“Frostbite.” (Stop whining).
“You could slip on the ice, hit your head and be unable to walk home.” (Roads are dry).
“You could get lost.” (No, Ally, you couldn’t).
“Somebody could come and PUSH you into the water.” (Who? Really… Who?).

I MISSED THE ENTIRE WALK TO THE BEACH! I found myself wrapped up in my own mind, completely unaware of the steps I was taking and why I’d set out on this mini ADVENTURE to begin with. Because of all of the ridiculous thoughts I’d ALLOWED myself to have, my ANXIETY grew. No longer was I simply APATHETIC, I was APPREHENSIVE. I had allowed my mind to drift a way to a place where fear could grow.

Honestly though, I can’t classify what I was feeling as fear. I knew I was not in any real danger but I still made an active choice to confront my growing hesitations. I brought more breath into my body and allowed my mind to stop it’s frantic pacing. I walked the long, dark road (the tunnel, metaphorically) to the beach and reveled beneath the full moon (the greater light, duh). Why had I allowed my focus to wander? Had I not taken the time to center in, I would have continued to be preoccupied by this imaginary person (ASSHOLE, if you will) who was, in my mind, going to ATTEMPT to push me into the lake. This is not reality. All of these thoughts were completely fake, an impossible situation I’d created. So why then, do I allow these distracting, destructive and allusive thoughts to bear weight?

I settled in, knowing my time on the dock would be brief. Feeling small but full of life, I stood in the shadow of the mountains, watching the stars. My eyes traced the steady moonbeams resting on the immaculately smooth water. Every few moments a cold gust of mountain wind would blow, churning up the surface of the lake. I watched the now fragmented rays of moonlight dance across the inconsistent movement of the water.

Om Nama Shivaya Om shanti.

I bend backwards over the railing of the dock. My hair reaching down towards the lake, I FEARLESSLY lean back and allow my heart to open to the sky. Facing the fear. ACKNOWLEDGING the APPREHENSION and letting go of my mind’s ATTACHMENTS.

Every moment is the guru.

Isn’t Today Supposed to be the End of the World?

Wow. Again. Lazy blogger… Not actually lazy just incredibly busy. It’s actually kind of ironic that for the past eight months I’ve been talking about going with the flow and finding a rhythm… I’ve made up my mind. My life does not follow any type of rhythm, clearly. I’m learning how to go with the flow and ride the waves of life a little better… But it’s almost comical how every time I make some kind of definite statement, life falls apart again and I am forced to find calm amongst the chaos. This time, thankfully, my life changed in the most positive way possible. While I still have no rhythm, system or schedule I am continuing to learn about myself and am finally finding my authentic stride.

What is my “authentic stride?” I have Kyle Connally and Judd Andolina to thank for that phrase, I think (thanks, guys! Hope you are enjoying your travels, where ever you are). The Authentic Stride, AS if you will, is the time in a person’s life when the stars line up and the planets are orbiting with perfect synchronicity. When you hit your AS you find a place of perfect balance in your life with the sole focus being YOU! It is a time in life when a person truly finds themselves, what makes them happy and creates goals and desires without any outside influence. It is a time when happiness is found in mundane activities and tapas, enthusiasm and excitement for life, is truly cultivated.

I am wildly thankful to have been handed such an incredible, blank slate on which to write my life… Thankful for the opportunities, learning experiences and laughter. I am in my authentic stride and LOVING every minute of it.

To compliment this giant shift in my life, I want to change the focus of my blog a little bit… Obviously I haven’t really succeeded in writing about yoga and fitness. While endeavoring to maintain SOME professional integrity, I think I’d rather just write about what’s on my mind… It’ll be a lot more interesting than trying to think of a new fitness related topic every week (or once, which I haven’t even done). So, I’m also starting my New Years resolutions a little early… Christmas resolutions…? 12-12-12 resolutions!
1.) Write down 5 things everyday that I am grateful for.
2.) Continue to love my life, love on myself and live in my AS.
3.) Blog more frequently.
4.) Smile
5.) Stop making definite statements!

Namaste 🙂