journey – Brooke Lyn Landon

Six Minutes After My Grandfather’s Death

Six minutes ago I got a message from my father.

At the time, I had my imaginary chefs hat on while preparing breakfast for the dogs I was taking care of for the week. I swear, it takes more time to prepare their meals than my own.

I glanced down when I saw my phone light up.

“Panna left the planet last night. He is free. I’m on phone with Dan now.”

I went from Gordon Ramsey to Forrest Gump as I raced to feed the dogs.

As soon as I could get my hands free, I responded.

“He’s free”

I didn’t know what else to say.

I wanted to keep it positive so my dad didn’t think he just lost his father and his daughters mind in the same morning.

On my way down the stairs I left a voice memo to my friend, Lily, to update her on my ever changing, ridiculous life.

I then sent out a generic but sincere “I love you” text to my mom, dad, Uncle Dan, and sister, while I laid down on the couch. That’s where I am now, processing the last 10 minutes of my life.

I only got emotional towards the end of my voice memo to Lily, while thinking about what an incredible, funny, beautiful soul, just finished his time on Earth.

I’m surprised how I’m feeling, but it’s probably not why you think.

For years now, I was certain that at the news of my grandfathers inevitable passing, I would feel a certain type of way. Guilty.

Not the guilty feeling you get when you see someone has something in their teeth and you watch them walk away as your question your morals. I mean the guilt that stays with you for years.

Guilt for not calling more. Guilt for not making more of an effort to spend time with him. Guilt for not asking more questions about his extraordinary, inspiring life. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

So the fact that I don’t feel that emotion right now is beyond me.

If I could describe how I’m feeling right now, the first thing that would come to mind is tired if I’m being completely honest.

I also feel annoyed, but that’s because of a boy. When are boys not annoying though? They have the emotional intelligence of one of the dogs I’m watching after, that eats its own shit, tries to swallow rocks, and bumps into walls. 72% serious. Maybe I just need to start talking to different men. That’s besides the point.

The main feeling I have in regards to the passing of my grandfather is peace. Peace for his sake. He’s free, and I’m happy for him. His biggest fear was death, but I believe it to be a blessing for him. At 96 years old, he could only do so much more living. In fact, at that point it was more existing than living.

I feel gratitude. He was such a cool dude (my grandfather, not the boy I’m annoyed with) and so many of my talents I give him credit for. He was a standup comedian, voiceover actor, and followed his passions while bringing joy and laughter constantly to those around him.

I hope to follow in his footsteps, not his posture. Too soon to be making jokes? I think he would have laughed.

Lastly I feel relief. Not only for him as I mentioned before, but for myself! I spent so much time abroad worrying about my grandfather leaving this planet and me being swamped with guilt.

How ironic that my last moments by his side, I sang to him “Guilty” by Billy Holiday.

I don’t feel guilt. I feel growth.

I’ve come a long way. I know we all do the best we can and I am no exception to that. Yes, I wish I did do more with him, but there’s no point in feeling guilty. I’m worthy of feeling good and having a good life, guilt free, just as my grandfather would wish. So was he. So are you.

I’m happy that I give myself permission to witness my grandfather transition with ease, not guilt.

Rest in Paradise Leo De Lyon.

With love, always,

Little Lyon

Who I’ve Become Since Solo Traveling The World

F3160361-9D9D-44BA-9DA1-A14EAB32EE24 Reactions to the title of this post most likely fall into two categories. Either “Yasss, Queen, let us know who you’ve become!” Or “Girl, you’ve only been out there three weeks. The only thing you’ve probably become is a little more tan.” The latter isn’t completely wrong considering I’m veering away from looking like the sister of Casper the Friendly Ghost, but more than my exterior has changed.

When I’m alone in a foreign place, the familiarity of the world I once knew dissipates. People don’t look the same, there are tastes and smells I never knew existed, and my surroundings have me in awe which makes my curiosity and awareness reach new heights. There’s no one or nothing that’s influencing me on who I should be, or how I should present myself to the world. There’s something unexplainable about the freedom that comes with putting yourself in unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable situations. It’s almost like pressing a restart button on your life.

So what does this mean for me? The walls I built that created the life I knew have been knocked down, so I can be the most authentic expression of myself. The minimal filter I once had no longer exists. I spit words like rapid fire without hesitation that’s caused by doubt or fear of judgment. The people I talk to are left in stitches and I don’t even have to try. I’m witty, silly, loud, and proud. I’m afraid of the unknown yet I choose to live my life there. I’m brave. I’m a little extra, but I love it, and if you don’t, that’s too bad because you’re missing out on a great thing. I’m not saying I’m perfect nor do I want to be.

Who I’ve become is unapologetically me.

My First Day in Ubud, Bali

It all started with a lie. I told my friends and family I was getting a connecting flight in Greece for my flight to Indonesia. That’s because the thought of telling my mother her little, white, Jewish-American daughter had a 50 minute layover in Saudi Arabia made my hands clammy. The image of me in the middle of the line to get my boarding pass reminded me of the Sesame Street song about how “one of these things don’t belong with the other.”

Apparently the other passengers were all on island time because everyone moved like sloths as they got through customs and onto the plane in Stockholm, Sweden. I looked down at my phone, and I felt my heart drop as I realized we were 20 minutes behind and still hadn’t taken off. My 50 minute window to switch planes was dwindling.

Fast forward 8 hours later and I had 15 minutes to get my paranoid ass across the airport to my connecting flight. I felt like an anime character with those dramatic lines flying behind me as I ran down the halls with sweat dripping down my back. I caught up to a driver in a transport cart giving a lift to two woman covered head to toe. I gripped on to the cart like someone was trying to pull the last piece of candy out of my hand. Though my blood pressure was running high from stress, I felt like VIP as I zoomed passed the gates and appreciated the breeze.

With no time to spare, I got onto my flight to continue my 19-hour journey, without one minute of sleep. Thankfully, I passed out for 30 minutes in the taxi to Ubud,Bali.
It was hard to close my eyes when everything around me was so foreign. Intricate statues and temples surrounded me, and I wanted to keep every stray dog that I saw through the car window. Still, my eyes couldn’t stay open.

As I walked through the doorway of my quaint hostel, I imagine it looked nothing short of a regrettable walk-of-shame scene. Even so, I was instantly a hit with the workers at my hostel for being so friendly. Within the first 15 minutes I had my picture taken with them, and on request, gave one of them my email to stay connected.

Even though I looked like a train wreck, I started chatting with a guy who had eyes so blue it would make any heart melt. We immediately shared stories about our lives and journey. I was relatively convinced something more would come of it until I heard him say “My girlfriend…” 30 minutes into the conversation.

After that let down, I went to town by myself in the hopes to replace my flip flops that had broken in Sweden the day before. My eyes also carefully inspected every restaurant. I was so hungry, I was ready to eat the first thing that I knew wouldn’t poison me. A sign that said “vegan” was my sign to eat there. I had Indian food at a restaurant with the sweetest workers. Maybe they’re all sweet in Bali. I haven’t been here long enough to know.

I consider myself a loner. I like being alone. Yet while I was eating, I felt lonely. I gave myself time for some self reflection and appreciation for the experience.

I got distracted, and instead of buying shoes after, I got an $8 hour long massage. She told me to take everything off but my underwear which is when it hit me. I haven’t been much of an underwear-er as of late. I asked her if nothing was okay. She didn’t seem to understand, so she was in for a surprise…so I thought. Turns out, I was the one surprised. Her hands went places few do, and she saw more than I realized I was signing up for. Regardless, it was worth every penny and then some!

The sun was setting, so I made my way back to my hostel. I crossed my fingers in the hopes a motorbike wouldn’t run me over in the dark. When I returned, I connected with new people and continued befriending the dreamy blue-eyed dude regardless of him being off-limits eye-candy only.

Now I’m here. Here, the outside air smells rich of soil. Almost like you get closer to Mother Earth with each inhale. Indoors however, I keep getting whiffs of a clean yet unfamiliar scent that I’m still trying to put my finger on. The temples make my jaw drop and the unfamiliarity of it all makes me both appreciate and simultaneously question who I am.

Ahh fuck, a mosquito just flew in my face though. I tried to kill it, and now I’m listening to the adorable Italian girl who sleeps above me spray mosquito repellent. One day in and one day I will never forget.

Welcome To Hell

pexels-photo-207858 Welcome to Hell. You may be wondering where the hell Hell is. Earth? The White House? The person in the White House? A town? Some mystical fiery land that has a creepy red tenant with hooves? The answer is none of the above.

You’ve been living there your whole life, but let me be the first to welcome you. Welcome to the hell created by non other than you, your mind.

Have you ever heard a little voice in your head bitch about wishing you had done something differently? Or question your self worth? If your answer is no, the little bitch in my head just told me you’re full of shit. That voice is the soundtrack in Hell, and the life you live will match the soundtrack you play. The more we positively change the tune, the happier hell will be.

Whether you consciously know it or not, you’re in Hell. You’ve done it to yourself, but here me out!! because understanding and acknowledging the hell you’ve created is such a critical step to improving your life and making it a little less hellish.

Don’t be afraid of Hell. Make peace with this place. It’s teaching us, and allowing us to grow. Plus, we’re going to be here a while, so might as well get comfortable while we work on our tunes.

The Excellent Choice

Before I get into the nitty gritty of it all, I want to preface that I’m a bit of an Oprah groupie. Not really, but I think she’s the bees knees. Anyways, I was listening to a speech she gave where she told the audience three tips to follow. If you abide by them, you’re basically golden.

The final tip, which may come as no surprise considering the title, was “Always make the excellent choice- Do the right thing.” Now before you say “Duh” and roll your eyes like a conservative talking to a millennial about anything progressive or current, hear me out.

Was it an excellent choice for me to have that entire bottle of prosecco last weekend and say regrettable things?(Knowing very well that I hadn’t had any alcohol for several months prior to that night) Obviously not, if I’m being candid. However, unlike that example, the excellent choice isn’t always clear as day, or as obvious as my drunken shenanigans and hangovers.

The excellent choice may be to lean back and not say anything even though you feel the need to explain or defend yourself. Maybe it’s to not do what everyone else is doing so you can “fit in” or feel good temporarily. Maybe the excellent choice is to sign up for that class or workshop even though it scares you. The excellent choice may be to leave a toxic relationship, even though you still love them…. pexels-photo-236287 The list goes on and on. Keeping that tip in mind has certainly made me think twice in many (though I wish all) situations. Hopefully next time you have a choice to make, this will inspire you to think about if it’s the excellent choice, and perhaps change your plans accordingly.

ATtractive MAN

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Summer 2017

This week, the “OMwork” as they like to say, is to write about how and when I come in contact with my Atman. At first glance, one might think “Atman, what’s that? Is that short for attractive man? If so, where’s the man at?” Well, that’s not exactly what Atman is. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Atman is neither male nor female, person nor thing, rather the energy and space between, it is the eternal witness. Atman translates to “ The divine spark within”, and I’m about to get deep (with a side of sarcasm) and talk about how I connect with the divine spark within me.
One way I come in contact with my Atman/ higher self, is when I do things that light me up, and bring me joy. Since the month prior to embarking on an extreme spiritual journey, I have noticed that the activities and people that made me feel like Squidward around Spongebob, have been leaving my experience, and have been replaced by that which sparks the divine within. I also connect with my Atman daily through physical experiences such as meditation, runs in nature, yoga, and so forth.
Though meditation can connect me with my Atman in a positive way at times, its been more of a sob fest or pity party lately. I’ve realized I’ve got to wipe the dirt off the diamond before I can put a ring on it. Connecting on the deepest level with my Atman, means it’s not going to be all rainbows, butterflies, and fairy dust. (Lets replace butterflies with unicorns or puppies because butterflies are kind of creepy looking up close.) Working through old resistance and detaching from the ego in a healthy way, will help me come in contact with my Atman on a deeper level, and enable my Atman to express itself through my physical body more fully.
On that note, it actually bothers me that I’m writing statements such as “…enable my Atman to express itself” I’m making it sound as though my Atman is something separate from me when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I am Atman and everything else is an illusion of the mind. I’ll save this for another day because this is going to turn in to a novel if I don’t steer this ship around quick. Actually, I take that back, I’m not turning the ship around, we’re about to sail like Captain Jack Sparrow.
In yogi language, or as others say, Sanskrit, the word “maya” is the concept that the world in which we live is an illusion made up of individual and collective judgments. Identifying too much with maya hinders Atman’s ability to express itself fully through me. It’s like when I thought my happiness relied on that guy to like me, or to win a ton of money. (I’m not saying not having either of those things aren’t irking me slightly still) Identifying too much with maya, this illusion called reality, makes one believe that their happiness is in maya, meaning outside of their true self. When looking at maya for satisfaction instead of my Atman, resistance is built, building a thicker wall between me and my higher self, where true happiness and satisfaction is culminated.
All we are and ever will be is Atman. All the rest is temporary and illusive. My mind, thoughts, and body, are simply the vehicle my Atman uses to navigate through life. Getting caught up in maya is like forgetting to put enough gas in your vehicle, or oil in the engine, and leaving empty water bottles and gum wrappers in the back seat. Some people get so caught up in maya, that they slam on the gas peddle, frustrated they’re not going where they want to, all the while they’ve forgotten to start the car. If we don’t learn to tap in to and listen to our Atman, and do what we love, we’ll never be able to be guided to our desired destination.
When I write and my words begin to flow like an Eminem freestyle, when I get on stage and sing like a little white Whitney Houston, or when my friend and I laugh out loud at inappropriate times because of the hilarious memes we send to each other at work, or even simply appreciating the beauty of the Riviera from my window, nothing but that moment and the joy I feel is on my mind. That is my Atman experiencing life through this body and mind that I have identified as mine. That is lila.
No, lila is not related to the yellow Telly Tubby. Lila means “the divine play” which is to say maya is where we lila. I may not be phrasing that correctly because I know sanskrit as well as I know how to cook Indian Tikka Masala (For the record, I had to look up indian dishes on google because I’m the antithesis of Betty Crocker) Anyways, I am essentially the actor, director, and producer, of the show called my reality. If I connect to my higher self in a way my Atman shines through me, I can create a five star romantic comedy. If I do things or stay in situations that hinder my joy and ability to connect with my higher self because I identify so much with my ego mind and maya, I will produce a box office bomb, and I can’t blame the audience for a bad show.
Though I may have steered this ship a little off course, one can’t deny that it lead us to some treasures, or at the very least, this was an avenue for my Atman to lila through maya. Hopefully I kind of sort of answered the “omwork” appropriately. Though if anyone were to judge me, it probably wouldn’t be very yogi like anyways, right?

It Took Having to Leave Everything to Realize What I Had

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12/12/17

Air as thick as the minds who don’t believe in global warming. Ash falling from the sky like confetti on New Years Eve, covering the pavement like a carpet of snow. Everyone walking around with masks as if we were MD’s, and are about to save a life. That life however, is our own.

I tried to pack minimally, but my ego did most of the work. Within 30 minutes, I was sitting on top of my third massive suitcase trying to tuck in my lingerie that was way too expensive, and did not get nearly enough use, to leave behind. I heard the sound of a siren, put my mask on, and left my cottage. Clumsily dragging some of my suitcases behind me, I got to my car and opened the trunk. Ash rushed into my car. “Shit…” I thought as I immediately began to hurl my belongings carelessly so I could close the door ASAP.

Not long after I got on the road, I saw the mountains surrounding me engulfed in flames. Tears began to fill my eyes. Truth be told, those tears rolled down my cheeks, and I cried. I’m used to shit happening, and me staying tough and moving on with life. This was different. This brought me back to September 11th. The stuff that stays ingrained in your mind for years to come.

Fast forward several days later, and here I am in LA at a Starbucks feeling somewhat guilty for using their wifi without buying a coffee. Ugh, fine, I guess I will.. Anyways, yesterday I did yoga at a park, bought some yummy food, took a bath, and did all of the generic self care crap. Today I miss Santa Barbara. I know it was amazing there, but I can’t believe how much I took my life for granted. Where I live, the city, my work, my friends, like why the fuck do I ever think my life is anything but extraordinary? … Minus the fact that I’m a little bitter about this guy still not texting me to see if I’m okay. He’s incompetent in the realm of communication. I’m over him. Next.

Moving right along… I just want to go back home. I feel so helpless. I want to help stop the fire, but all I know how to do is stop, drop, and roll, and I feel like that would be pretty counter productive for what they’re trying to accomplish. That being said, I’m alive and everything is working out.

I appreciate what this catastrophe has instilled in me. An immense amount of gratitude for the life I had, and will have again, and an appreciation for what I have now. I’m looking forward to continuing this adventure called life. This fire may have taken my breath away in the literal sense, but figuratively, my life does, and that’s the greatest gift I could ever give myself this Holiday season…. Now let’s see how long this lasts before I start bitching about how I’m not getting any younger or thinner.

The TRIP of a Lifetime – The Journey to Lucidity Part 2

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The day had finally arrived. I jumped out of bed to shove some last minute essentials in my bag before heading to the festival, and felt a sense of pride to have been able to cram so much in one suitcase. After patiently waiting for Marissa to get up and ready, she made her way through the front door with a Bob Marley blanket draped over her shoulder. Looking cute in our festival attire, but in an “I woke up like this” kind of way, we crammed our bags in the trunk.

We arrived and I was happy to be there, but with the directions Darrin gave us to find his campsite, I was feeling like I was playing where’s Waldo, but was never told what Waldo was wearing. After walking back and forth under the blazing sun, we serendipitously came across a man who looked like a hybrid of a lumberjack and a backpacker. He introduced himself as Roman, and gave us both a big hug which would have been weird in the real world, but anything goes at festivals like these. After telling him our situation, he generously invited us to stay with him in his pimped out tent, and I accepted faster than I drive when I know I’m about to eat as soon as I get home. Before we headed out, he offered us some drugs. Having had no experience with them, and just publishing an article titled “Why I Go To Festivals Sober” I passed.

Though the fear of relapsing and the constant obsession over food was real, we had a great day full of music, laughter, dancing, exploring and naked photoshoots. The idea of doing shrooms danced around in my head, but I kept telling myself I wasn’t ready, which is what I had been telling myself for years. I realized there would never be a time where I felt ready. New experiences often come with uncertainty, and the time was now. I mentioned that to the girl next to me as we put our clothes back on after our naked photoshoot.

Next thing you know I’m back at her campsite, with Marissa, holding a warm cup of mushroom tea between my two hands. “Heal me, heal me, heal me.” I replayed that mantra in my mind and set that intention as I lifted the cup to meet my lips.

Having felt nothing after about 30 minutes, we decided to get up and walk around. Not long after, I felt like a hopeless romantic who is single on Valentines day. With fists clenched, and heavy steps, I felt like punching just about everyone in the face who was within arms reach. I glanced over at Marissa and her smile was as big as the hand that I wanted to smack her with. With wide eyes and a pep in her step, she requested to head over to a band and dance. I took a deep breath and told her I felt this energy in my chest and felt like it was about to explode. I said I was going back to the tent to cry, and she could meet me there in 20 minutes. Holding back my tears, I raced to the tent like I just heard someone yell “Free food!” which is too say I looked like a professional power walker.

I bolted inside the tent, lied down, and continued to feel the expansion of this energy in my chest grow. As it grew, so did the distain towards myself. “I can’t believe I’ve never been in love. Do I like not have a heart or something? I’m broken. I just don’t work like other people. Ugh, I’m so annoying. How do people stand me? I talk way too much. I’m so fat. Why can’t I eat like a normal person. I still don’t have my shit figured out. I can’t do anything on my own. I’m so stupid.” When I say I bawled my eyes out, thats an understatement. Well, I guess not considering my eyes didn’t actually come out, but you get the point.

Those 10 minutes felt like an eternity. Suddenly, I brought my awareness back to my body. I took a deep breath and began to say “This is okay, this is okay, I am okay.” I acknowledged that those were my thoughts, not me, and there was this larger part of me that wanted me to accept me and my thoughts as they are. It’s not like that was new news to me, but I was, for the first time, given such a profound opportunity to heal.

You see, there is this misconception that by focusing on the positive, and looking on the bright side, everything with get better. Though there is some truth to that, those results are short lived. Life gets better when your perception gets better, but you don’t heal unprocessed limiting beliefs that way. By truly feeling, acknowledging, and accepting my biggest limiting beliefs, the process of healing can begin.

I didn’t leave Lucidity feeling like a new person. In fact, I was pissed that I didn’t feel the “one love” or whatever the hell they say, but that’s not what I asked for. I wanted to heal, and that’s what I got. For those following this blog/my story, it should be no surprise that the following month I met Allie, and also signed up for Yoga Training. I believe that incident allowed me to let go of enough resistance for me to be more receptive to what is in my best interest. Now, I’m not saying go and do shrooms, but I am saying don’t be afraid to feel the pain, for it’s through the pain where you can find your way to peace.

The Journey to Lucidity

calvin-chou-189026 Walking past giant stone mansions covered in ivy, that looked like they came straight out of a fairy tale, I thought to myself, “If we turned around and got back in the car before getting to the bonfire, this night would still feel complete to me.” My friends and I got to a huge iron gate, and I was the first to hurl myself over, so they would stop talking like the Scooby Doo crew about how we could get through or around it. Using our flashlight apps on our phones, we made our way down a sandy path to the beach. A bonfire was made, and flamethrowers started to put on a show with the twinkling night sky and ocean waves as their backdrop.

I sat by the fire next to a guy named Darrin who seemed as straight as a rainbow, and we talked for hours about philosophy and life. Thrilled to have a new gay bff, I was excited when he started talking about hanging out in the future. He asked me if I would be going to Lucidity, a festival near Santa Barbara. When I said I wanted to, but didn’t have plans to go, he wasn’t having any of it. He insisted I go and stay with him at his campsite which took away a lot of the stress of having to get, and lug, all of that camping shit around, and put a campsite together. Though I still didn’t know if I’d pull the trigger and buy the ticket, the seed was planted.

The next day, I convinced my neighbor Marissa, who also happened to be my best friend In Santa Barbara, to come along with me. I was shocked when she enthusiastically agreed considering she probably had only a few hundred dollars more than the homeless man, or as I prefer to say, street dweller, that walks up and down State Street talking to himself. Not long after we bought the tickets, an indecent occurred which made me question how the festival experience would go.

I received a text from Darrin saying he’d like to take me to the movies or see a concert. Regina Spector, a singer whose work I admire, was performing in town that weekend and he got us tickets. The jew in me was thrilled to attend without having to pay, and excited to join. A few days later, I go outside of my little yellow cottage to meet him, where he was finishing up painting his last few fingernails hot pink. In no time, his arm was around me, and from the sounds of what he was saying to me, I could tell my gaydar had been way off.

After a great show, he walked me back home and I felt like a fortune teller because I could sense what was coming next. He put his hands on my face, leaned in, and kissed me. I gave him my best attempt in letting him know I was not interested, but he grabbed my hands and responded with “Let’s just go with the flow” as he continued to hold my hands and sway his arms back and forth. He left and I immediately called Marissa to freak out and fill her in as I tried to get his hot pink nail polish out of my hair. Thinking that I was about to be sharing a tent with this guy that I had as much interest in dating as an old man who loves talking about politics, sports, and beer, I still decided to go with the flow in terms of going to Lucidity. Thank goodness I did because what happened next I will never forget…

Stay tuned to see what happens!

hOMe sweet hOMe

Folding my 1,000th towel, like I had been in the housekeeping industry for decades, I questioned why I was staying at this job that didn’t fulfill me in the slightest. Is this out of love or fear? I asked myself as I heard the sound of men grunting and slamming weights on the ground like they had serious daddy issues. The fact that even came to mind was enough of an indication to know this was the latter. Still, my mind refused to make a decision easily.

That week, I weighed the pros and cons about as many times as I thought about food, which is to say those were basically the only things I thought about that week. Some of the cons were, I don’t like any of the things I have to do at the gym, one of the girls treats me like shit for legitimately no reason and acts like mother Teresa to everyone else, a lot of the people there I don’t feel comfortable around, when I’m not at work I think about how I don’t want to go, and when I’m there I count down the minutes until I’m out. Pros were money and free gym membership. Though I made the decision a million times harder than it needed to be, and was still nervous about money and what I would do next, I put in my two weeks notice and felt relieved to have finally done it.

I was aware of the gym’s policy that after quitting, I was not allowed back in the facility for three months, even if I wanted a membership. Totally a logical rule because my five foot nothing stature was surly intimidating, and they must have needed a break from feeling inferior I suppose. I thought I’d spend the next three months using all of the free gym trials around town because free is basically my middle name, and hope that by the time they’re all up, three months will have gone by so I can go back to my old routine of HITT classes and BodyPump. The longest trial around town was at a nearby yoga studio, so I chose to start there even though yoga for me at that time was like a soap opera. Long, boring, and overrated. I figured I had nothing to lose considering they had really nice studios and showers, and yoga sculpt, which was basically a HIIT class disguised as yoga.

After my first class, I turned to the girl to my left who was sweating like she just took the ice bucket challenge, and said “I’ve never hated to love something so much in my life.” The rest was history. I began a work exchange program there, where I mopped up sweaty floors and yoga mats for an hour and a half a week, in exchange for a $20 a month unlimited membership. Not only did I meet Allie a few months later, but the beginning of another significant event happened then as well.

Fast forward a few months later, and my eyes widened like a Californian yogi just discovered they ate something with gluten in it. $2,500 was the number staring back at me. Immediately my decision to get my yoga teaching certification began to waver. I noticed in that moment that my excuses that were firing out about money and time were all fear based, and this all happened too serendipitously for me not to see what would happen if I followed through. As I handed over my credit card, I gritted my teeth like I was watching one of those videos that show up on my Facebook newsfeed of people making poor choices, and I know they’re about to hurt themselves. Once the transaction was made, I felt a sense of relief that I had made the decision. The relief made me know by making this choice, I was following my heart and not my head.

It made me aware that most of my anxiety comes from not making a decision, and once I actually do, I feel a million times better. It’s like when I went on a bungee swing in New Zealand. Suspended hundreds of feet in the air, dangling like a piece of bait, I looked down full of fear, nerves, and excitement. Once I made the choice to pull the cord and drop, only the excitement remained, which turned to pure joy as I swung and stared at the magnificent cliffs, luscious green trees, and lake that surrounded me. It’s the prolonging of making a choice that so often causes the anxiety and confusion. When I follow my heart and stay in my truth, pure joy is inevitable.

Though I had no idea what to expect, and didn’t even intend on becoming a teacher, I knew only good could come of it. If anything, I thought it would give me something to write about, and that it did and so much more. Slowly I began to notice people perceiving me as the type of person who would go out to eat with a rolled up yoga mat, wanting to order a BLT with gluten free bread, and no meat. To be fair, that’s not too far fetched.