Twice a month

As I updated a few wonky looking images in my portfolio pages, I wondered... can I really attend to this website just a few hours a month? Is it possible to find balance with everything I have going on? 

I am currently reading The Yamas and the Niyamas by Deborah Adele, who is coming to Dayton for a weekend workshop to talk about things beyond your physical yoga practice. Her line in the first section Ahimsa (non-harming or non-violence) hit me today: "It is anti-cultural to claim any space that is simply space [...]" Shit. This is what I don't know how to do. So beyond the obvious interpretations of non-violence to others, how about non-violence to self? How about courage to create balance, how about unconditional self love, how about allowing space for something? 

What does it take to simply claim space? To simply be, to not rush, to trust, to just sit with silence? To be ok with who I am, to love myself as is? These are so foreign to my understanding of what will make me successful: the passion, the drive, the no sleep—yet I crave the pause and I want the balance. I'm hurting myself and those around me but not taking the time for myself, not resting, not loving. So as this month wraps up... I'm going to sit with this yama for a few days. I'm going to allow space, I'm going to love myself, so I can love others. 

Trust the magic of beginnings

A year ago I started tweaking a site that was going to be easy and simple, using a template so I can share my work more easily. It back fired. It was so easy I never finished it. I overthought every aspect of it. Design, type sizes, writing, images. So in 2017 I'm posting this site as is, going to update products god knows when, will finish tweaking my writing when I feel like it, and it will just need to be good enough.

I can't do it all.

Despite popular belief I'm not a robot, spent the end of 2016 severely ill, so I too, need sleep, time off, and self love. I wrote down some things—intentions if you will—and it's just going to have to be enough. Raw, imperfect, sometimes bitchy, always brutally honest.

But I have to start somewhere. Have to accept something as a beginning, have to jump in, blindly, trusting—the magic of beginnings.