Resources don't grow on trees, people

So far Los Angeles has taught me about patience.

Patience to create a cove of friends, a real flock if you will, not a dreaded "network."

Patience to find genuine people to go out on the town, or the really specials one to spend the night in.

To wait for the winning pitch even if that means sitting until midnight, although it may never come at all.

Patience to wait for the bands that really matter, trusting good luck and fair judgment to find the right unknown legend to spend a night with.

Patience to scramble across town in hopes that you will be able to get in.

To sit on the 405 and wait for traffic to start moving.

To find the person who will get your name on the guest list in advance.

Patience to fight through security checkpoints, and wait for checked luggage. Even when said security drops panties on the floor in public (true story).

Patience to wait for the position of recognition that all career-oriented people strive for.

To break the devastating stories, whether good or bad, and speak with people who make a difference that I can believe in.

To write for a liberal magazine about artists and politics and sustainability in the garden...so I'm not picky on that part.

Patience to sit inside on a warm day with full sun and write that novel that is itching your fingertips.

Patience to trust your instincts when others say your wrong.

To know when you must, because you are right.

But mostly L.A. has taught me appreciate the people that don't care about a status or a faux paux or an accidental step backward on the corporate ladder.

It taught me to love fresh water and fresh air.

To not let the prickling in my toes turn in to anxieties about my future, or my rent, or the one who got away. Or even the what-ifs and the somedays.

If I am ever going to be the stringent editor scrutinizing the latest legislation on mandated sustainability requirements, while my breath-taking significant other waits with dinner at home, I must be patient.

Patience is just one of the many dwindling resource these days, so better not squander.

Namaste to the holiday

This Easter holiday many people are spending time with family, dying egg shells and various body parts delightful pastels or just running outside of their homes in the shock of an earthquake (at least anyone from Baja California to Sacramento).

I decided to finally exercise my physical and spiritual self by going to a much overdue yoga class. In all reality, I had forgotten that it was bunny day and was overjoyed to see that my class wasn't canceled.

I was a bit nervous after missing class for months due to poor excuses and staying much too comfy in bed well past the waking hour. Muscles begin to atrophy and will power gets soft if not exercised. My usual Sunday activity is more similar to the picture below.

Mostly, I hate being that person who can't just balance on one foot with their heel tucked neatly above the kneecap like some sort of heron. I find it disrupts everyone’s focus when I can’t stop swearing under my breath as I flail wildly. (Similar to the picture below, but without the scenery)

I had determined that this wasn’t going to be one of those sessions. Instead it turned out to be much more uncomfortable in a variety of ways.

It’s advantageous to show up early for most things, but not when you have to take the initiative to be the first mat on the floor. Often that's the person that has to be told their facing the wrong wall.

It’s also courteous to go to the front of the room, but that always means the entire room watches your feeble attempts of downward-facing dog.

I chose to hover near the cubbies where I sipped water, wishing that I would have brought my phone to at least pretend like I had pressing engagements to deal with. Instead I channeled the look of an awkward turtle.

I had already run out of stretches and people started looking at me funny for watching each new person walk in so intently. I settled on my mat, so not to draw attention. I got stuck in the front row.

There is that feeling that rests on the back of my neck when my back is to the door at a given establishment, especially bars. Not sure if I'm keeping an eye out for axe-wielding psychopaths or practicing for my future job as a bouncer.

The instructor showed up late.

I immediately worked out the aches and pains that had been plaguing me for weeks. My legs and arms shook like a jackhammer, but with every deep breath I felt more victorious.

Andreas led us through 20 minutes of meditation inviting everyone to focus on the gratitude for all of the people in our lives. I tried to stop thinking about the coat on sale that I would be going to purchase after class. It was a killer deal though.

Some guy started snoring loudly in the middle of the room affirming that my meditations weren’t all that bad. At least I was still conscious.

Take that girl who did handstands when I can't even make my hands touch behind my back.

Andreas played a small organ that produced sound with accordion-like folds on the back. Chanting together in the warm room and hearing the words echo off the floorboards reminded me of hymns in church.

Closest thing to a spiritual service I had attended in a while. I thanked Andreas wholeheartedly after class for such an enlightening session on Easter.

I then realized I had forgotten to bring any cash to put in the donation box. My swift exit was the most agile move I made all day.