I’m Adi - an accidental yogi, trail runner, and lover of words.
I adored that song like I adored my friend, and he knew it. Maybe it was her voice. Maybe it was the word katydid. Maybe it was a million other things, but that moment is forever etched into my memory.
They say that the first step to correcting a problem is to acknowledge that there is one. This makes the issue of correcting racism spectacularly difficult, because, as I mentioned, racists often don’t like to use that descriptor.
How heroic it is to stay both interested and humble. How heroic it is to lean into the wonder of life, messy as it is sometimes, and embrace the humility of it all.
I listen to the words. They’re hanging in the air, filling the spaces between my thoughts, reminding me that there was a time that hope was real.
It’s a fireplace and fuzzy socks on a wintry day, and it is the sweet reward after a long, cold run. It’s the familiar sweater you rediscover on the first chilly morning of fall. Coffee wraps you in nostalgia flinging you back in time.
It never left, really. Remember that she distracted me with talk of yoga and community and such.
I didn’t plan to do this this morning, but things like this are never really planned. I also didn’t plan to
I think this is day six of being quarantined-ish (thanks, COVID), and I’m killing time before one of my favorite teachers hops on Zoom at 10am.
This feels like cheating. It’s so easy. Perhaps it’s the writing universe recalibrating, though, after yesterday’s struggle to pick only one sweet story.
The first time we met in real life, he spent two hours listening to me tell him what to do, and he took it like a champ.
I can still feel the beat of Steven Adler moving my legs. I can still watch myself reroute so I could share in your music, once again, before untying my shoes.
Across the street, I could see this little, elderly black man with one hand in his pocket (cue Alanis Morrisette, here) and holding both a cigarette and his phone in the other, while wearing a very nearly toothless grin.
Also, I’ve been on a letter writing kick since trying out an exercise last weekend (see footnote below), and am looking for any reason to put pen (and crayon - again, see below) to paper. So, to all the beautiful rockstar warrior women in my life, this one is for you.
Anyway, I watched my own heart beat today. Mesmerized by its near-metronomic quality, I lay there for several moments before the tech broke the rhythm with
I think that this topic got my attention because there isn’t really a lot of dialogue around it, and perhaps there should be. I mean, there are
There are a few things in life that unfailingly make me smile: dad jokes, certain cheesy 80s songs, and when I can walk out the door - or unzip the tent, if you will - and be standing smack dab in the middle of something beautiful,
