Minneapolis. Cold country, my family called it. I called it home for four years, and the better part of a fifth.
I went to school in Minnesota, but not at the U of M, where most people assume when I say that. Instead I went to a small private school downtown, a few nondescript buildings that covered a couple of blocks and became my first home away from home. My first Big Move.
I remember not knowing at all what to expect, and being worried about how I would make friends. I was enthralled with the adventure, but nervous about how it would all play out.
As is often the case, I needn’t have worried. I made friends quickly… tight ones, the kind you make when you’re all in the same situation, and in desperate need for community. I landed on a major, found a part time job, and decided the snow wasn’t so bad. I got used to my wet hair freezing into a crunchy mess on the way to class, and learned which bus lines go where you want, and which will strand you in the middle of nowhere at the last stop of the night.
I’m not sure who taught me this moving method, but I remember regretting it right about this point.
After college I got my first TV job in Minneapolis, at the same place where I interned my senior year. The city was different though, after all my friends had moved on, and the place where I had so many great memories seemed brand new again, back to a sea of strangers, with no forced orientation or constant comfort of communal living. I got lonely, and didn’t stay long.
This week a chance work trip will take me back. Back to Elliot Park and Hennepin Avenue. Back to skyways and skylines and Prince’s club downtown. I bet the quarter bus route is up to a couple of bucks, and I would be surprised if Jitters, the downtown coffee shop is still around, packed with students “studying” and enjoying the all night shenanigans. For old time’s sake, I’d love to go to the airport at dark, park under the route the planes pass as they head for the runway, and think about the 18-year-old me, sitting there bundled up in my dad’s flannel with my new friends and my wild dreams, striking out on my first adventure.
When people think about yoga, they usually think about flexibility, strength or peace… maybe a calmness and an attention to the breath. And they would be right — yoga is all of that and more. But what people don’t often talk about is the laughter.
Yes, you can laugh during yoga. Some of my favorite teachers make me laugh on a regular basis, and it’s part of the reason I keep coming back. Trying a new pose can be challenging, and laughter is one way to shake off the nerves. If you’ve ever tried an acro yoga class, then you know there are roars of laughter shaking the room, as partners pair up and put feet into backs and flyers wiggle and wobble, and things don’t turn out exactly as you envision at all.
Heart-opening poses might make you tear up, but they also might make you smile, wondering if you’re leaning into it a little too much… and feeling your fingers sliding off their grip.
Directions to look your friend in the eyes, or even meeting a gaze of a fellow yogi in the mirror, might spark snickers…even if you can’t pinpoint the reason for it, and think it would be more zen of you to hold it in.
Keep in mind that a good belly laugh is great for the soul, and the abs. We’re all human and we’re all imperfect and on a unique journey that asks us to be vulnerable and authentic. We’re asking our bodies to move into strange positions, and to breathe into impossible places, and there’s no law that says we always have to take it so, so seriously.
So the next time something awkward or silly happens in class, don’t feel guilty if a chuckle rises up in your throat. Don’t swallow the laughter. Be real. And if you want to feel supported, feel free to look over at me. I’ll be the one giggling in savasanah and losing it in toe stand. (Thankfully, my friend Sarah is of the same mind, and we laughed our faces off during this shoot.)
It’s one thing to balance in the safety of your living room, but quite another to go out on a ledge, and trust your focus and your favorite standing leg to keep you upright. Today’s post is another share from Kim, who shows us she’s not afraid to be daring.
“Be daring; be different; be impractical. Be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.” – Cecil Beaton
Kim says she was originally drawn to yoga because she wanted something to calm herself, then later, she felt the practice helped with anxiety and depression. If you want to learn more about that, and what she says is the best part about teaching yoga, head on over to her site.
Photo location: Potato Chip Rock, about an hour outside San Diego
This is part two of the recap of our trip to Costa Rica. You can catch up on part one here.
La Fortuna was a little bigger and catered to tourists. Just about every street corner had a shop with supersized pictures of people zip lining, riding horses and jumping into waterfalls… and big signs advertising the best prices in town. We talked to a few and found out the horse ride wasn’t exactly what we’d hoped — it didn’t go to the volcano at all — and we decided to ride later in the week at our beach stop. But there was an option to hike to the top of a (dormant) volcano and swim in a crater at the top! A quick group conference confirmed we all thought that sounded amazing, so we signed up for the next day.
The climb up to the top of the volcano was no joke. It was hot and a bit more strenuous than we anticipated, but we all felt very accomplished to make it to the summit. When we reached the highest point, we met up with a group of German bodybuilding tourists, who tried to warn us in heavily-accented English about a big, long-nosed creature that came out of the woods and stole their bananas. I thought they were pulling our legs until they showed us the video one of them had captured on their phone. Sure enough, there was a banana-stealing creature confronting them. I wanted it to come back out so we could get a look, but guess it was off in the jungle enjoying its banana stash.
The water at the top was chilly. Some of us enjoyed a dip, while others enjoyed the leftover chicken we’d dragged up for a picnic. It didn’t take us very long to head back down, where we decided a proper swim was necessary. We’d passed some rushing water with a natural pool and a rope swing on our way to the hike, so we pulled over and got in. This was clearly the place where the locals came to cool off, and they welcomed us with big smiles. Edgar even got cheers and applause for his elaborate swing, tuck and dive off the rope.
With our waterfall and volcano boxes checked off, it was time to surf. We got on the road again, this time headed for the coast. On the way we saw a car pulled over and people feeding some sort of animal. I had to see what that was, so we pulled over too and saw a bunch of the banana thieves all together! They’re called coati or pizote, and even though they look a little like an opossum to me, they’re actually in the raccoon family. A family was there feeding them apple jacks.
It took us a few hours to reach Tamarindo, our destination for the next three days. The hostel where we stayed was across the street from a break, and it even had a surfboard rental place right out front. We walked into town and got some supplies for breakfast, and lined up our boards for the next day.
I don’t have beach pictures because we were all in the water and I didn’t want my phone to get stolen. Just imagine several pretty beaches with some of us catching waves, and some of us petting dogs or playing hacky sack.
I do have some shots of the open air kitchen where we made breakfast, and the contraption that gave us delicious coffee.
I know this is sounding like quite the animal-themed recap, but I couldn’t leave out one of my favorite activities. While Edgar checked out one more break, the girls and I took a two-hour horseback ride up into the mountains. I asked the guide if he thought we’d see monkeys, and he said maybe. But I think he over-estimated my desire because he kept doing little detours into more jungle and looking up, and then sadly saying, “Ohhh… no monkey…” There was a bit of a language barrier, but I tried to communicate that I was just curious, and would not be heartbroken if monkeys were not spotted. (They were not.)
We said goodbye to the beach on Thursday and drove back to San Jose. CR traffic can be a bear, and we didn’t want to be stressing out for our flight back to the states on Friday. All in all it was a great visit. Everyone got a little color, a little exercise and a lot of ice cream. Pura Vida. 🙂
The following is part one of a recap of our trip to Costa Rica. Stay tuned for part two next week!
The hardest part of our adventures isn’t the planning of the trip, or finding a place we know we’ll love, it’s deciding where to go! There are so many places to see and experiences to enjoy, but since Edgar and I had both been to Costa Rica before we met, we decided to go back together, along with his daughters.
Since we were coming from different places, we all met in Dallas and left for CR from there. The flight left bright and early at 6am. We had a layover in Florida, and arrived in San Jose around noon. We grabbed our rental car and hit the road, planning to check out a waterfall or two, and then a volcano, before turning in for the night.
The roads were decent and we didn’t have too much trouble finding the first stop. It was actually a little chilly because we were up in the mountains, and we were glad to have packed an extra layer. We dumped our things at the hotel and went out to explore.
The weather was… moist. It wasn’t exactly raining, but it wasn’t dry either. There was a sort of mist that hung around the place, which made it seem a little mysterious. We took a little hike around before dinner.
We asked the manager about a nearby waterfall and discovered it wasn’t far at all. It is a little tough to see here because of the mist and the fact that the sun was going down. We stuck our feet in (cold!) and Edgar even drank a little of it, in case it was the fountain of youth. (I assured him that’s in Florida, and I had a couple gulps when I was a kid.)
For dinner, we stopped at a French restaurant we’d spotted on our drive through “town”. It was strange to sit and have a (delicious) French meal, prepared by an eccentric French chef, in the middle of nowhere, Costa Rica. As we finished our dessert, we were greeted by a little cat who pawed at my leg and then jumped right in my lap! Word of my feline generosity has clearly spread far and wide.
The next morning we spotted a cow hanging out by herself, and the girls wanted to go say hello. They pet the cow for a while and then Edgar walked over and gave her the head scratching of her life. I didn’t know cows liked that but this one was really leaning into it. You’re welcome, cow. There were some others on the other side of the fence – you can kinda seem them to the upper left of the photo – and they came to the fence and made some noise. I think they were trying to say they had itchy chins too.
After breakfast and the petting of the livestock, it was time to hit the road. We wanted to check out the Arenal volcano, since we’d seen some pictures online and it looked like a good place to explore. We were also told there was an ice cream shop along the way that was well-populated by iguanas. How could anyone pass that up? We consulted the map and off we went.
Road signs in CR can be few and far between, and our map was not great with the finer details of the small cities. We weren’t sure of one of our turns so we stopped to ask where the ice cream/iguanas were. The store clerk didn’t speak English, and our Spanish needs some work, so Edgar helpfully drew this on our map.
Suddenly she knew exactly what we were talking about! A few hand signals and “directo! directo!” instructions later, we were on the road again. The iguanas did not disappoint. We didn’t know whether the people at the shop fed them, or they were already there and the shop came along after… but there were definitely iguanas everywhere! Edgar asked the server if they were friendly, and he said, “Well, they have very sharp teeth, but they are nice.” Okay.
We were all feeling a little unsure about petting the nice animals with the razor-sharp teeth, but we were okay with tossing them some leftovers, and then as we saw more people touching them and walking away unscathed, we felt safe enough to pet them too.
No hands were damaged in the shooting of these pictures. That’s the remnants of a mango someone fed them.
With more of the wildlife fed and scratched, we headed off to La Fortuna and the volcano… and met a group of German bodybuilders I was certain was pulling our collective legs. That’s in part two, coming up next weekend!
For July fourth, TSY recognizes that freedom comes in many forms, and one of them is movement.
Our friend Irene is sharing this flow, and one of her favorite quotes. For more videos showcasing Irene’s strength training and yoga tutorials, check her out on Instagram @Irene.Namuli.
“The beauty of you is not where you are perfect; it’s where you are fearless.”
When my friend Sarah came to visit a while back, we decided to have some fun with a yoga photo shoot.We researched some poses that might look visually interesting in tandem, and one of them was two yogis in wheel, each with one leg extended.We both liked the look of the pose, but when it came time to try it out, we both said the same thing, “I’m not sure I can do that.”
We got into place, first in wheel with our feet toward each other. We each took a deep breath and lifted one leg. It was difficult, and we both struggled, until our feet touched. Heel to heel and toe to toe, the pose became less of a struggle. We felt supported, and strengthened by the contact. We stayed in the pose much easier in tandem than we could have solo.
Finding community as adults can be a challenge. We often feel a little wobbly, reaching out, only to flounder for something solid. It may seem like forever, but before we fall, God steps in to put people in our lives who, at that moment, also have a limb extended. We lean in, meet in the middle, make contact and support one another. Heel to heel. Toe to toe. We press in, breathe deeply, and each journey becomes a little easier.
Note: This is a recap of Day Nine of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day eight here.
The most surprising aspect of the ferry ride was the timing. We had given ourselves plenty of wiggle room, because we didn’t know if it would leave or arrive on time. It did both. We cruised into Mazatlan right before 9am, and everyone lined up in an orderly fashion to disembark. I joined the exit line, rushed back to return the borrowed movies and remote control, then joined the line again while Edgar went down below to fire up the bug.
I walked off the ramp and met Edgar in the parking lot, where he was holding our exhaust pipe. He’d lightly tapped a truck during the unloading process, and it was enough to cause the pipe to break off. Once again our jar of bungees came in handy, and we headed off toward Sayulita with the pipe carefully fixed to the roof rack, while keeping a careful eye out for a welding shop.
At lunch time we found a nice little place right on the water just south of San Blas, selling shrimp and cheese empanadas and the now standard coca lites. While we wrapped up the meal, we asked around about a nearby break called Stoners. No one at the restaurant knew what we were talking about, so we went off-roading again. We found some pretty beaches, but no swell.
We’d spent enough time in Nayarit to know where the swell is located there, so we got back on the pavement and headed in that direction. In La Cruz we spotted what looked like a welding shop, and quickly turned in. We used our spanish and a lot of demonstrative movements to explain the problem, and one of the workers said the magic words, “no problem”. He brought out the torch, and waved off Edgar’s suggestion of a helmet. A few moments and pesos later, the pipe was once again married to the bug.
We were close to home, but had enough light to check out one of the local breaks, so we took a quick peek. Burrows wasn’t too exciting, but the pizza joint nearby had a live band. They sounded good and so did a slice of pizza, so we settled in to enjoy both.
After dinner, it was time to go home. Casa Aves has the perfect spot for the bug right out front. We spent time unloading boards and supplies, and giving the green meanie a little dust-off as a welcome home.
The next day, we grabbed a ride to the airport, and a much faster trip home.
Miles traveled on day 9: 245
The story doesn’t end here; it’s just the closing of this chapter. Thanks to everyone for following along and enjoying the recaps with us. It was a great adventure and we enjoyed sharing it with you. We’d love to hear your feedback and/or questions. What surprised you about the journey? Is there anything we didn’t cover that you really want to know? Have you, or would you want to, make a similar trek? Would you have joined Fibber McGee for dinner, or adopted a Mexican street puppy? Share in the comments and let’s keep the conversation going.
Note: This is a recap of Day Eight of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day seven here.
Ferry day! This was the most unpredictable part of the trip. When we made our plans, the driving part had some wiggle room, but was overall pretty clear. The ferry leg wasn’t, and we were excited to see what it would bring.
In the morning we walked to a coffee shop for delicious coffee and cookies. The girl at the register told the guest ahead of us she worked 14 hour days. She must have put all that time into her recipe for blonde brownies, because it knocked our socks off. We spent a few minutes happily sipping coffee, shaking our heads and saying things like just how good is this brownie…
Once properly sugared up, we got back on the road and headed to surf Cerritos. It was a family-filled beach with a lot of kids getting up on big foam boards wearing baggy rash guards and grins from ear to ear.
We rented two boards – an egg for Edgar and a pink foam long board for me. We headed right out, and I promptly got clobbered on the first wave and banished myself to white water. Edgar paddled out and got into some better waves. We were glad we had wet suits, because the water was still pretty chilly.
After the quick surf session we headed for Cabo, intending to surf there too, but traffic was building and we didn’t want to risk missing the ferry. We gave Cabo a glance and turned back toward La Paz, stopping for some pizza and coca lites. I thought the restroom signs were hilariously clear.
They really gotta go!
The ferry guys put us back in line to be inspected and weighed, so note to readers, the dry run is not necessary. We had the same guys at the inspection and weigh stations as we did the day prior; the only difference this time was a fee after we were weighed. That seemed a little suspect, and we made a few noises in that direction, but in the end we paid it and got in line to drive on the boat.
Only one person was allowed to be in the vehicle during the loading process, so we split up and Edgar drove the bug on board, while I filed in with the other walk-ons in the passenger line. We met back up at reception and got escorted to our room. Bunk beds, bathroom and a separate living room area. Pretty snazzy!
Dinner was being served on the upper deck, so even though we weren’t all that hungry, we went up to check it out. It was kinda like the dining area on a cruise ship, but buffet style. We had chicken, tortillas and banana pudding for dessert.
Back in our room, we tried to watch TV but couldn’t get it to work, so I checked at the desk to see if they offered movies for rent. They did, at no cost, and they had some in English! We floated across the sea of Cortez while watching the epic struggle to climb Everest, then turned in. Edgar says he slept like a baby, but I had a bit of a hard time with the rock of the boat, and doors nearby opening and closing.
Miles traveled on day eight: 250 by road and 260 by boat.
Note: This is a recap of Day Seven of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day six here.
Our search for coffee in La Paz took us to a shop just a block away from the hotel, with Shakespeare quotes on the wall. We enjoyed our flat white and mocha outside, next to the Sea of Cortez, and took a few moments to catch up on some work. Then it was time for the big event of the day: getting ferry tickets.
When we mapped out our trip, we knew we needed to catch a ferry ride from La Paz over to Mazatlan, and main land Mexico. We found some information online, but we weren’t 100% sure on the details. Did it only go to Mazatlan on weekdays? Was the Saturday trip just to Topolobampo? (Still need a pronouncer on that one but it’s fun to try!) How quickly would it fill up?
Finding the ferry dock wasn’t too tricky, and we asked the man directing traffic where we needed to go to get a ticket. He motioned to the building and parking lot. We parked, walked inside, and took a number for the ticket counter. The office was filled with what appeared to be local families, on their way to or back from vacation. I’m pretty sure we were the only Americans driving our ’68 bug across the country for kicks.
At our turn at the window, we learned we needed to be inspected and weighed first, before a ticket for the vehicle could be issued. We went back outside and got in line for that. The agent in our lane asked about our paperwork, which we had, and our VIN number, which we could not point out for him. I’m sure it’s on the car somewhere, but we had no idea where. After a few words of explanation, and absolutely no inspection, he waved us through to the scales.
The bug weighed in at around 1500 pounds. Back inside the building, we purchased two passenger and one vehicle ticket for the ferry the next day, and got instructions to show up two hours before departure.
Feeling confident about the next leg of the adventure, we headed off to celebrate with some waves at Todo Santos, which basically involved driving straight south to the Pacific side once again.
Lunch was on a nice patio in town, with two stray dogs snoozing nearby. Before we ate our meal, dessert arrived via a woman and her children, selling donuts for five pesos. We got two.
The key to burning off chocolate icing is paddling out, so we hit the surf shop in town to pick up a leash for one of our boards. The woman running the store was happy to sell us the leash, but cagey about the local breaks, clearly pretending not to know much about La Pastora, which we’d heard was amazing, and steering us more toward Cerritos. But we wouldn’t be detoured so easily, and double checked the online descriptions for La Pastora, which was rumored to be a good place to get barreled if you hit it on the right day. (To be clear, only one of us was looking for that sort of thing.)
The bug was a trooper and pressed on through all kinds of sand, brush and hills. Several times we spotted farms and fences, and surmised this might be La Pastora, only to walk down to a flat beach. Finally, around sunset, we saw an opening in the brush and turned off — there it was! The waves were once again no match for my skill level, so Edgar grabbed a few while I flowed on the beach.
Trust me, he’s out there.
When the sun went down, we headed to a hotel I had booked online, but when we got to the gate no one answered. There was a note and a giant bell to ring for the clerk. We gave it a couple pulls… nothing. Called the number…nothing. The neighbor came home and mentioned the desk kept “crazy hours” and that if we kept trying someone “might answer.” Rather than being stranded at dark in the street, we decided to press on into town and found the Maria Bonita. The young girls working the counter enjoyed some giggles at our Spanish, but they did have rooms available, and we had ourselves a place to rest. Dinner was sushi with a hot pepper Mexican twist…. an unexpected and tasty fushion!
Miles traveled on day seven: about 50 from La Paz to Todo Santos, plus a good amount of wandering in search of La Pastora.
On day eight: We watched the struggle to climb Everest while traveling through the night on the Sea of Cortez.
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