After the past week redefined calamity, I got back into Yoga Vida, the yoga studio I once escaped to Freshmen and Sophomore year when I was living in one of the dorms around Union Square. At the time, I had never been more proud of my stomach. The head instructor at the time was a pre-Alec Baldwin Hilaria, who once called me cute, and through that, inspired me to work out my abs twice as hard so that all she’d ever be able to say when she’d check up on my flow was ‘yes, this is it, very good’. But then I moved to the West Village, and out of a fair combination of laziness and convenience I joined the Crunch Gym a block away from my dormitory. My bank account has been depleting since then, though my chest and arms would argue it’s been worth it.
Yoga clears the head. I don’t find it to be spiritual at all, but rather find that the entire hour you’re stuck focusing on only your breath so that you don’t fall and fail in front of others really goes to prove to me that I can think about myself more than I originally thought. And so, once class is over, I saunter off back to my Alphabet City apartment and think about anything and everything pertaining only to me. Not the people I know. Not the people I want to meet. Or surround myself with. Or live with. Me problems. It’s really refreshing.
I realize many things on my walk home.
Firstly, I should invest in a coffee maker. Chances are, the $3 I spend a day on coffee can be multiplied by (an average of) 30 days a month– $90 a month (Jesus, $1,080 a year.) on coffee which could just as well be enough money to go out to W-Burg and the LES every Friday and not have to really worry about it. Or I could save up enough of it to splurge one day over at WD-50. Or, I could just save it and get started on a will my relatives can fight over.
Secondly, I realize that this Summer wasn’t as pissy as I had originally made it out to be. I travelled around and came to understand a majority of the Northeast. Granted I haven’t done Maine yet, but I’m convinced that’ll have to wait until I can afford a cottage and have a Portuguese maid fetch my unbound script once it’s blown into a nearby lake. Then I can drive her home and we can fall in love while speaking different languages, and my family can rejoice.
Thirdly, shit could be much worse.
There’s gonna be nights that I’m gonna be stuck with that pizza or those cartilage-filled dumplings or that air. But, maybe if I’m able to set my standards and not assume that all money’s gotta be spent or spoiled or let go in an effort to forget about how limited of a bank account I really do have, hell- maybe I wouldn’t be there at all.
Today I’ve eaten minimally. Whatever. I’ll grab something soon.
In the meanwhile though, I was going through some old journals post Yoga session and I came across about thirty pages worth of material that I uncovered from a trip I took to Ecuador, where I worked on an organic farm and slept with fruit bats and snakes. All of the food I had was by far some of the best I’ve ever had, as it was all grown within three acres of where I was living and prepared fresh every single morning. It was also entirely vegetarian. It’s pretty gnarly, so I figured I’d share it for you all with my next post. (With pix.)
Cheers to the comeback of optimism.