Yogic Fortune Cookie

The handout from my raw food uncooking workshop included a coupon for a free class at a local yoga studio. I was finally able to take advantage of the offer this afternoon.

When I walked into the class, the teacher was walking around with a deck of letter envelope-sized cards fanned out. They were royal blue with a white star on the back. The teacher knelt by each student on their mat, asked them their name and then warmly introduced herself before offering a 'yoga card.' I've been to a lot of yoga studios over the years, and this is not a custom I had encountered previously. However, I gathered this was pretty normal for the other students based on their reactions. It was a kind of yogic fortune cookie, minus the cookie.

I pulled out a card from the middle of the pack, not really expecting much from the exercise (I admit I am a bit of a cynic when it comes to these things). Here is what it said:

Resistance is futile. You cannot control the world around you. Trust in the Universe that everything will work out for the best in the end. God is with you, and He will give you the strength and the tools you need to overcome the challenges in your life. Surrender to inner peace.

I reread it three times.

It was a very appropriate message for me at this time in my life.

Life can be funny like that -- the people you run into, the reading material you stumble across, the song on the radio. Sometimes the stars align to gently remind you that you're on the right track and things are going to be ok.

Single Girl Snippet: How to Save $9.35

After years and years of pining, I finally bought an Excalibur dehydrator (Aside - after shopping around, I found the best price to be at www.rawnutrition.ca, and you can click here for a $10 off coupon).

Unfortunately, I wasn't home when Canada Post came to my door. The Post Office is a 2 km walk from home. When I showed the Canada Post employee (C) my parcel redemption form, we had the following conversation:

C: Are you alone?
M: Yes.
C: Did you bring a car?
M: No.
C: You'll have to come back with a car.
M: I don't actually own a car, so that will be problematic.
C: Take a cab.
M: Why?
C: The box is too heavy for you.
Now, I am a wee bit stubborn -- being told something is too hard for me is like daring me to do it.
M: How heavy is the box?
C: Too heavy. 25.
M: Pounds or kilograms?
C: Well, there's a sticker. The sticker says 50 lbs. You won't be able to lift it.

M: Fine. I'll take a cab.
C: Go get yourself a carriage to bring it to the front of the store.

I reached over and grabbed the box. My arms barely reached around it. It felt very light. I was in a bit of a snit by this point. I carried the box out the front door. A surprised looking clerk wished me a nice day. I kept walking. And so the adventure began:
-A middle aged guy just outside the door looked at me and said a loud "Phhhssssht!" while shaking his head.
-A few hundred metres later, another guy flexed his biceps at me and exclaimed "Whoa, muscles!"
-People stared. Blatantly.
-One lady made a face at me that looked like Edvard Munch's The Screamer:

I eventually caught a glimpse of my own reflection and realized how ridiculous I looked. The box is big enough that I am fairly sure I could fit inside it and close the top. It wasn't long before the box stopped feeling light and instead felt very heavy and awkward. I was passing through a big park, and I needed to stop at virtually every bench or bike stand to readjust my grip on the box. I tried to do this in as natural-looking a manner as possible. At one point, I thought my biceps were going to explode. So, I ever so casually sat down on a bench and perched an arm over my ginormous box. Oddly enough, no one else in the park was taking their dehydrator out for a walk today.

Finally, mercifully, I made it back to my apartment building. I live on the 3rd story of a walk-up. Lifting the box up the three flights of spiral metal stairs was grueling. However, I managed to get the box into the apartment.

I was exhausted. And starved. Preparing dinner was a challenge because I had no arm strength left. My fork felt like it weighed 100 lbs. Even the banana I ate for dessert was a challenge. (I'm thinking of launching a new diet -- first you exercise your arms to exhaustion, then you try to feed yourself a meal. It would totally work.) Anyhow, the crazy part about this whole silly adventure is that, as mentioned, the postal outlet is literally 2 km from here. According to the city's website, cab fare would have been $9.35. All this over less than ten bucks.  I need to learn to keep things simple.

Single Girl Snippet: Marital Status

Recently, I needed to fill out some paperwork related to my new job. On one of the forms was a large box labelled MARITAL STATUS. It wasn't that many years ago that I would have been thrilled to see that box. Heck, there was a time I would have considered drawing one in myself. I would have proudly printed MARRIED and considered adding a happy face for good measure. Oh yes, this would have been around the same time in my life when every conversation somehow managed to include the words "My husband..."

That time has passed.

I looked at the MARITAL STATUS box and thought Who the heck do you think you are?! How utterly invasive and inappropriate! In what way does my marital status have any impact my career?! A few choice words came into my head that would be inappropriate to include in this blog post. I mean really, who wants to boldly print SEPARATED in that little box? That's right: nobody. SEPARATED is hands-down the least desirable marital status; it even makes DIVORCED look sexy. SEPARATED implies a certain amount of ongoing emotional turmoil in a person's life. SEPARATED is messy, undesirable.

However, I have come up with a happy compromise that will even out the playing field. I propose the form be amended as follows:


1. MARITAL STATUS: __________________________
If you answered 'Separated,' please give yourself a big hug on our behalf and continue to question 3. For all other answers, continue to question 2.

2. Please clearly list one good reason why we would think you are emotionally unstable and/or why we should second guess our decision to hire you (you may use additional pages as necessary). _________________________

Thought Bite: Be the Change

Image source

Vegan Leather Purse

This may look like an ordinary purse, but it's not. It's a vegan leather purse. Just what is vegan leather? According to the Made in China label, it's polyurethane foam. Also, I suspect, it's a justification to charge twice as much for what most people would just label 'fake leather,'  or, albelit less polite, 'plastic.' I actually found this purse on clearance at a tea shop that sells vegan fake meat products in a trendy neighbourhood. At $15, it seemed like a reasonable price. My mom insisted on buying it for me - she was tickled I demonstrated some interest in accessorizing. My mother is much more fashion-forward than I am, and she worries I do not keep pace with my age cohort (which, to be fair, is reasonable).
I am quite enjoying my little red vegan leather purse. I find it very cheery. There was a little  mishap when the zipper pull broke, but a dab of crazy glue fixed that up nicely. Don't worry, I only used organic crazy glue. You know, the stuff that comes in four little bottles for a dollar... I had to leave my purse in the windowsill for an entire day because the fumes were so strong.

My vegan leather purse violates some of my minimalist principles. I already owned a purse that could serve the same purpose. That purse looks like this:

From Mountain Equipment Co-Op.

The MEC purse is arguably more practical its vegan counterpart, given the extra space and ruggedness (my current MEC purse is actually the replacement for the previous one I wore out). I felt guilty for buying something that, strictly speaking, I didn't need.
However, what my utilitarian purse lacked and the vegan purse had in droves was the smile factor. Every time I look at the ladybug and flower, I smile. The salespeople at stores also frequently smile when they see my ladybug purse as I take out my wallet to pay for things. One of my friends wants to go buy herself her own ladybug purse because of the smile factor.

I am learning to balance minimalist aspirations with the occasional retail indulgence.

Supersize My Yoga

On July 28th 2012, Lole hosted the mother of all yoga classes at the Olympic Stadium in Montreal.

I was one of the 2000+ yoginis (yoga students) who were there. 

Sadly, you can't see me in the picture -- I was a litle closer to the front.

I forget how I first heard about the event. When I realized I would be in Montreal that weekend anyways, signing up was a no-brainer. I mean really, how cool is a mega-sized outdoor yoga session? Plus, the session was free. I guess Lole figures that the PR resulting from the event will offset the monster costs associated with putting on such a mammoth affair. There was even a helicopter hired to take arial photos, and everyone went home with a super treat bag.

Treat bag contents, which included a 1-yr subscription to Chatelaine

The class was really cool. Everywhere you looked, people were dressed in white and doing yoga. The class intention was to promote peace. The energy was great. The live music was great. I was there early enough to spend a half hour in savasana (ie. corpse pose -- lying on my back with my eyes closed) just soaking it all in.

I almost missed out on this magic though. The night before, the idea of setting an alarm was almost too much to bear. When said alarm went off in the morning, I hit snooze and debated sleeping in. I was going to the event alone, so no one would have missed me. Reflecting on this now, I wonder how many positive opportunities I miss out on because my status quo feels too comfortable.

The experience of going to this event is inspiring me to continue seeking out interesting opportunities, to try new things, and to meet new people.

Blog Comments

A number of people have asked me how do I leave a comment on your blog?
So, here's how:

1. Click on the 'comments' hyperlink for the post you want to comment on.
2. A new screen with a white box on it with "Post a Comment" just above it should appear.
3. Write whatever you'd like in the box.
4. Select an option from the 'comment as' toggle box at the bottom (where it has 'select profile' greyed out). At the bottom of that list, you have either 'anonymous' or 'Name/URL.' If you select 'Name/URL,' you can choose whatever screen name you want, and can leave the URL blank or put in the address for your own blog. (For some reason, if you don't choose one of these options, it won't post the comment.)
5. Once you've typed in your name, the 'comment as' box will then show your name where it used to have 'select profile' written.
6. Click on 'preview'
7. Fill in the 'to make sure you're not a robot spammer' quiz box.
8. Click publish.
Success!

Also, on posts where it says "No Comments:", this means that no comments have been made yet. You can click on the hyperlink and leave a comment. In fact, I love it when people leave comments! :-)

Single Girl Snippet: Was He Flirting With Me?

Why do you keep blowing off the guys who hit on you? This is the question my best friend asked me one night after we had been out at a bar together many years ago. We had both just turned 23. It was summer. We were single. I looked at her, startled, What guys?
This is when I was informed of my pronounced flirtation recognition deficit. Sadly, this disability coupled with a fairly pronounced shy streak meant that - unbeknownst to me -  I was giving off cactus vibes to potential suitors. Now that I am single again and contemplating re-entry into the world of dating, I can't help but wonder whether my flirt-o-meter is still broken. Like, for example, the other day when one of my co-workers invited our work group over for drinks this evening.

Excerpt from conversation between my coworker's roommate (R) and me (M) as I am preparing to leave.
M: Oh geez, I have to go. I have dinner plans.
R: A date?
M: No.
The rest of the group chuckles.
M: No, really guys. Not a date. I'm going to be a third wheel, actually. Meeting a friend and her boyfriend for dinner.
There's a murmur of supportive Oh's.
M: It's fine. I'm looking forward to it. Really.
R is on his way back into the condo to get drink refills. I thank my coworker for hosting us, say goodbye to the group, and head indoors with the roommate.
R: So, you live really close, eh?
M: Yeah, less than a five minute walk from here.
R: We'll be seeing a lot of you here, then?
There seemed to be an almost hopeful note to his voice. Big smile. However, I thought this seemed like an odd question. I mean, I work with the guy's roommate; and, I don't even know my coworker all that well. Spending oodles of time at his apartment had not crossed my mind. 
M: Possibly.
More likely, I thought, was that each of us would take a turn hosting post-work drinks.
The roommate smiled, and then reached out and touched my back.
M: Ok, so to get out of here, I go down this hall?
R: Yes. Here, I'll open the door for you.
Note: my hands were empty. My purse was on my shoulder. I could have opened the door.
M: Thanks.
The next part of the conversation was something along the lines of him profusely wishing me great enjoyment in my next work assignment, and me saying that I was really looking forward to the project and wishing him a great summer.

Ok, so voting time:

A) Yes, this was flirting.
Evidence: invasion of my personal space and the roommate's thought that it would be normal - even pleasant -  for me to spend copious amounts of time at his apartment this summer.

B) No, he's just a friendly guy.
Evidence: he spent the evening hanging out with his buddy's work colleagues when he could have been doing something else. He smiled a lot. He made a point to learn everyone in the group's name.

Single Girl Snippet: Intruder?

When I came home from an evening meeting the other day, I found the back door of my apartment in this configuration:

I was positive I had left it like this:

Being a single girl in a very urban milieu, I consistently check that the doors are locked before I leave the apartment or go to bed at night.

Now, the first thing that popped into my head was:
Oh God, if there's an intruden in this apartment, that would be SO annoying. I have stuff to get done and I'm tired.

A more appropriate response would probably have been to knock on my neighbour's door, explain the situation, and just have them leave their door open while I checked the apartment. I did, however, check all the hiding places in the apartment. Mostly because I figured that if this potential intruder was going to disrupt my evening, I'd rather it be sooner than later. My apartment is not huge, but there are five large closets, any of which could easily hide one or more adult-sized individuals. As expected, I found nothing out of the ordinary. Even my laptop, which was lying in plain sight in the livingroom, looked untouched. I still had this unsettling feeling of someone's been here. But, I figured maybe I was just being a spaz. Maybe I did forget the door just this once and the wind was so strong it blew open the bolt that keeps it shut and turned the key? Suuuure... Anyhow, I wasn't going to let it bother me more than that. I was reassured that I was the only person in my apartment, and locked all the doors.

While sitting in my livingroom later that night, I heard a bing. The kind of bing that might be caused by a doorbell. My doorbell had never worked since I moved in. In fact, I had been waiting to hear back from the maintenance guy as to when it would be fixed for weeks. But, I hadn't heard this particular bing before. I poked my head out the door just in case, and noticed my friend was standing at the bottom of the stairwell waiting for me to let her in. And that is how I figured out that the mystery intruder was the maintenance guy who said he would call before dropping by.

Exploration Intro

August will be a month of discovering new things and rediscovering old things.