Are You Listening?


Because I am yelling at you.

I almost decided to not hear it anyway, but as I sat this evening unwinding from a challenging bodily fluid day of nannying (thrown up on twice, and the poop, oh dear god, don’t even get me started I don’t want my blog to be hit if you google fecal catastrophe), I got another set of gentle reminders.

Back to back.

“Yeah, never would have thought that after all these years and all the degrees I have, I would now be studying to be a yoga instructor,” an older male acquaintance of mine I have known in and around San Francisco for over eight and a half years.

But I tell you, it looks damn good on him.

He’s always been a pretty healthy guy, but man, he was fucking glowing.


Then on the heels of his words, another man adds, “yoga has saved my ass too many times to count, although I can’t count on it as my primary spiritual practise.”


There it is.

And then there was the yelling bit.

You never know who is going to say what, and it is important to listen, to hear when things are being directed at you and to take those instructions.

I was walking with the babies around the block coming back from an adventure at the Golden Gate Children’s Area, when I noticed a very happy bum walking down the side-walk.

Weaving really.

And talking pretty loudly.

I kept my eyes focused on the baby in the stroller that was gently dozing off and kept my hand over the other baby, who was snuggled into my chest in an appropriately named, Snugli, keeping his ears covered so he wouldn’t wake up.

He did not sleep at all today, except on me.



Which is not the worst thing in the world, but man my shoulders are sore, sore, sore right now and I could stand some stretching.

And probably some, yes, yoga.

As I pushed the stroller at an even pace past the happy drunk, who made way, but then started chatting to himself, to me, to the world, about the kind of stroller I was pushing.

It is pretty cool.

It is a Stokke and if you haven’t seen one, they are pretty space age and ergonomically designed, so that you are not bent over pushing the stroller, you can in fact, walk completely up right and the handle bar is textured and probably the easiest stroller I have ever maneuvered.

And I was busy maneuvering as far away from the smell of malt liquor and dirty socks soaked in urine and left to ferment, he hollered out at me something about now seeing that I had TWO children, jesus, and a bunch of gobbedly gook, shortly followed by the most comprehensive, articulated words, like something or someone else was speaking through him.

“Go to yoga class,” he said.

I actually stopped walking.

He had not, still stumbling, he was past me, careening up the street towards the park, but I could hear it again, “go to yoga class,” he repeated.

Then once more!

What the heck?

I don’t know if he mistook me for one of those über fit moms that push jogging strollers, maybe he didn’t see the tattoos, “she’s like Mary fucking Poppins with tattoos,” but he thought I should get myself to my yoga class, that was pretty obvious.

I did actually go on Saturday to check out the studio that is two blocks from the house, but it was closed in between classes.

What I noticed, intriguing, is the “Digestive Yoga” that is taught there three evenings a week at 8 p.m.

That might be the perfect evening class for me.

Gentle yoga meant to promote evening digestion.

Plus, the time of day is right on for me.

I generally get done with work at 5:45 p.m.

I go take care of the crazy in my head sometime around 6:30 p.m. in the vicinity of 7th and Irving, then ride my bike back to the hood.

I am typically getting back to the house right before 8p.m.

I could make this happen.

I am definitely going back in this week.

You know that saying if three people in a row are assholes, then the asshole is really you?

Well, when I hear from three different people today, some adamantly, some reassuring, and some out of faith, that yoga is what to do next, well, then I am going to take those suggestions and stop thinking about it and just go.

I am going to need the help.

My body is needing the help now.

I may be starting up a week earlier with the new charge, I have a full week this week, an extra shift next week, and the possibility of a three child share care on Mondays.

I can handle it if my body is being taken care of.

Besides, as I see my body returning to its pre-Paris self, thank God, I am now aware of what my bike can do for me and what needs working on.

My bike is fantastic cardio, awesome transportation, and a superior leg strengthener.

I have some bicycle thighs, I do.

They are rock hard.

I also have a pretty nicely define upper waist line again, abdominal muscles play out a lot more in biking then most people realize.

If you have sore arms, it is most likely that you are relying on your arms too much and not your core, your arms are just to steer.

Which leads to the areas that could use some work–my arms.

I hear yoga is good for that.

My flexibility can use some tweaking.

And I need to strengthen my lower back and my knees could use some strengthening.

All areas I hear yoga addresses.

That and the meditation and spiritual practise all rolled up into one.

Shit, living at the beach, doing yoga, eating organic foods, riding a one speed around San Francisco, going to Burning Man all the time.

I must be some sort of new age hipster (don’t fucking call me a) hippie chick.

With tattoos, or course.

Lots of them.


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: