Embracing the Hustler

letting myself strive, go-get, and be who I truly am

This morning I stared out my window and saw a group of western tanagers hopping in the branches of the not yet leafed maple trees. It’s a thin strip of large trees which separates my apartment from I-5, the eight-lane freeway. I’m perched on a hill and a multitude of sounds saturate my apartment: the birds chattering to each other, truck horns, the ocean-drone of traffic, the planes in the flight paths overhead, and the long, mournful trains announcing themselves as they roll through the city.

This weekend I finished my yoga teacher training (please pretty please join my Patreon!). It was a beautiful and heartfelt and bittersweet weekend, and when I closed my laptop last night I felt immediately sad, as if I had closed the door on a sacred container which had held so much vulnerability and truth and openness. In our group we spoke frankly about racial justice, fat bodies, and personal experiences. All of us cried at least once. The energy of that group help propel me through winter, an…