I had a conversation recently about how having too many priorities is pretty much the same thing as having no priorities whatsoever. With all apologies to the United Nation and its various sundry goals (17 at the moment, if you happen to be keeping track), I’m not sure how much actual progress we’re making. At [...]
It’s no secret that I struggle with my weight. But I don’t do diets; if I am religiously opposed to anything, it’s the dreaded D word. Also, I am categorically incapable of actually adhering to one. So there’s that… The odd thing is that when I stopped eating meat—probably close to a decade ago at this point—it wasn’t a big deal for me. I never really missed it. Fish has been a bit more of a challenge, but I eat it very sparingly and have already decided that, in 2015, my resolution will be to forego digesting my scaly friends altogether.
Having a crap body image sucks no matter your situation, but it can be particularly sucky-y, from my viewpoint, as a yogi. The idea of a yogi in Western culture is most often associated with lithe, willowy, bendy wisps. And that is not me. I struggle every day with body image. In fact, I am not sure there is a minute that goes by that, somewhere in the back of my mind, I am feeling self-conscious. Inadequate. Unworthy. Ashamed.