Happy International Green Day everyone!

I’m not sure if that’s an actual thing… yet. But this post is going to be all about coining new phrases. I heard a long time ago that the band name Green Day came from the feeling you get the day after smoking a ton of weed.  It’s like a marijuana hangover. And I’m sure that on today, of all days, most of you woke up this morning with the feeling that the clouds were beginning to part, and the fog was starting to roll in.

So instead of saying Happy Belated 420, I decided to coin a new phrase that you and all of your stoner friends can start to pass around like yesterday’s fatty blunt. I know that you dig discovering new ways to put together words, so you’re welcome. And I’d like this to serve as proof that it was allll me, baby (there’s a lot of ego in this little bit of lingo). Maybe I should trademark it, and then copywrite it, and then print it on everything under the Tuscan sun, and then become a billionaire off of owning a group of words. Or, I’ll continue with my plan in life, and move to a communal farm. We have a winner.

Anywho, I’m supposed to be answering a very important question that ran through your mind yesterday at about 4:21. How many of you had this conversation.

Stoner #1: What does 420 even mean, man? I mean, isn’t it crazy that we even use words?

Stoner #2: Yeah, dude words are bunch of symbols put together to represent ideas. And they really don’t say anything about the real human experience. Because, it’s all, like, here, and happening right now. And if we talk about it, that millisecond that has gone by means that you’re not even really talking about what’s going on anymore.

Stoner #1: That’s true. Hey, man, what time is it? Did we miss 4:20?

Stoner #2: Don’t even get me started on time, dude. Oh man, did you hear that Shakey Palms peter is becoming a tattoo artist? Do you think he hold steady enough to give me some of the Grateful Dead Bears on my chest?

We’ll end that imaginary conversation there before it becomes any more stereotypical.

So, instead of putting a bunch of meaningless words together, I’m going to save us both some of that human-constructed time.  If you really want to know the long, and foggy history behind the term 42o, check out this well researched article on Huffpo (spoiler: some stoners, called the Waldos, because liked to hang out against wall made it up).

How was your 420?

Yes, hippies. That is a quote from the Presidents of the United States of America. It’s also my plan for the future. You’re welcome for both the flashback to the 90′s and the insight into my personal life. I’m happy to share both of those things with you. I’m going to be spending my summer at White Buffalo Farm in Paonia, Colorado, and I’ll be listening to 90′s alt rock the entire time.

Okay, the alt rock part might not be true (mama loves her dub step). But, the rest of that statement is completely legit. After a short stint in Denver post-yoga-training, the universe opened up a path for me, and it leads right through the Rockies and onto the western slope. I’ll be cutting through those mountains in a few weeks by train. I will be delivered onto the doorstep of Colorado’s oldest organic farm where I will cook, and learn, and play, and work. It’s a place where I can study my craft, practice my teaching, share my love and put out my beacon for other hippies who want to live in a more sensible and free world.

I can’t wait to get my hands in the dirt and my feet on the land, to get grounded by the earth and lifted by the mountains. I can’t wait to learn how to cook things that are in season. I can’t wait to pluck fruit from the trees. I can’t wait to play my harmonica in the moonlight. I can’t wait to sing with the mountains. I can’t wait to arrive, and get away from the multitasking that seems necessary for city dwellers. If you can’t tell, I’m pretty excited about this change of pace and tempo.

I hope there will be bearded WWOOFers that I can fall in love with as they swoop from farm to farm. I hope they let me gather the eggs early in the morning, before the sun rises. I dream of spending my days writing in the fresh air and bright Colorado sunshine. I know that I’ll mainly be working as the farm’s administrative assistant, but it will be hard for them to stop me from doing a bunch of farmy things as well.

Well kids, I’ve got to get planning to make this magical summer happen.

What are your plans for the upcoming sunshine months?

Walk in beauty,

The Friggin’ Hippie

I spent this month learning how to creepishly smile over my students shoulders.

OHEMGEE! You lovely hippies, you. I’ve missed you so. I can’t believe it’s been an entire month since we’ve last connected. Back then, I had just arrived in Denver. I was terrified about starting yoga school (how ridiculous). I was getting distracted by the sexy bearded men in Denver (still true). And I was kind of all over the place (still working on it).

Sooo much has changed since then. I’m super jazzed to give you an update. I almost just want to write a huge list of all of the stuff that’s gone down in this month, but that’s not a very writery thing to do.

I guess I should start off by making the following completely true statement: I’m a Forrest Yoga Instructor. Booyah grandpa! I can totally teach yoga now. Isn’t that crazy? I was in the park yesterday, and I decided just to free style a yoga practice because I was feeling it. When I would try to make up my own practices before, I would always get frustrated and end up feeling tweaky, not knowing what pose to do next. Ultimately I’d end up giving up and having to nurse my tight spots afterwards.

Not this time. I was so flowy in my sweet hatha seqence that it was unreal. I felt like I had just gone to a really great yoga class. That’s when I realized that I have about a billion yoga classes just chilling in my brain waiting to be practiced.

Being a yoga teacher has been really awesome so far. It’s a fun thing to tell people, especially when they’re injured, or in pain, and you know five things off the top of your head that could make them feel fantastic.

It’s also a huuuge man magnet. I was sitting in a coffee shop two hours after I became a yoga teacher and I was chatting to someone on the phone about it. Three dudes instantly perked up when I said I was a yoga instructor and I felt their eyes burning holes through me. It was pretty sweet. There’s nothing like being objectified for something that you’re passionate about.

Bah. I hate to cut this short, but I have to jet. I’ll be catching up more this coming week.

What have you been up to?

If you know anything about me, or hippies in general, you probably know that we fall in love pretty easily. When you hold on to the general belief that you don’t just have love, or give love, but that you are love, it’s easy to get swept up with those loving feelings into anything new and amazing that comes your way. This applies to nearly everything: new men, new cake, new sandwiches, new veggies, baked grapefruit, cool vegan recipe blogs, indian dishes we’ve never tried, new types of yoga, new friends, and new places. There was a lot of food related love in that list.

While this open and loving trait is usually one of those things that I pride myself on, it can get pretty distracting when I’m trying to accomplish something, and a new love/lover appears at the wrong time. I just arrived in Denver to train to be a yoga teacher. I’m making one of those life long, career enhancing decisions, and I’ve spent the bulk of my savings to do it. Unfortunately, there were no left handed scholarships available for this type of training. Which I guess is okay, because I’m not left handed, but I could have faked it.

Anywho, I need to be as focused as possible while I’m doing all of that. I’m quickly falling for this city, which is totally one of those okay types of love, but the dudes in this city also happen to be delightful, and attractive, and burly, and manly, and yum, which is totally not okay. Don’t get me wrong. After a few months taking it easy and not being interested in dudes while I was in Chicago, the reawakening of that particular kind of love has been a welcome feeling. But I know my hippie self enough to know that taking on those kind of lovers can pull me out of my zone and leave me out of balance.

Since my goal for this month is to stay focused, that’s really not going to work. It’s good to know I’m not dead yet, but it’s also good to know that I’m self-aware enough to know when a situation will be super enjoyable, but counterproductive. It’s good to know that I can stop in my tracks, and take a look around before I just dive in haphazardly. So I’m going to switch my focus from all of that general sexiness, to exploring this fantastic city and immersing myself in my yoga practice. It’s time to let the Denveromance begin.

Well hippies it looks like we’re off again! This time, I’m taking on Denver where the air is thinner and the weed is… well, legal, or something… right? Well, if it’s not legal, at the very least it’s socially acceptable. I won’t be smoking any of the reefer since I’m going to be a full time yogi while I’m here, but I’m pretty sure it’s something close to legal, like decriminalized or something.

I just got in last night, so all I know about Denver so far is that the burrito joints are heavily populated with slack eyed 20-somethings who all sit at a table without talking to each other until one of their burritos falls apart and they all laugh histerically for twenty minutes. Ahhh, to be so easily amused. At any rate, I already have a feeling that this is going to be an amazing hippie to be a city in. Or the other way around. Like how I just left my mistake in there and ran with it? That’s how I do. Blogging In the Style of the Friggin Hippie 101.

Want to take Dating In the Style of the Friggin Hippie 102? Step 1: Get on an airplane that has choose your own seating. Step 2: Sit down and make eyes at every dude who gets on the plane. When one of them takes the bait and sits down next to you, it’s on! Step 3: Judge. He’s reading a Bukowski book. Check. He pulls out a Mac and watches some indie foreign flick. Check. He orders red wine. Check. Step 4: Wait until he says something to you, and then turn that opportunity into a full on first date.

I met a seriously foxy older DILF on my flight last night. He told me to email him and I’m not sure what that means in sexy old dude terms, but it probably means, “This crazy hippie won’t stop talking to me. I should just give her my card to make her go away.” Either that, or it means, “Daaaamn girl! You gotz it goinz onz!”

Anywhoozles, I have a week before I start Forrest Yoga teacher training, so I hope to get some time to explore this lovely place nestled in the mountains. Well, I’ve only heard that it’s nestled in the mountains. When I got here last night, I didn’t see a single one, which makes me suspicious to say the least.

Do you know of any cool spots in Denver that I should check out?

Well hippies, I’m packing up my bags and moving on again. Something tells me that this year, that’s going to happen more and more frequently as time rolls on. 2012 is going to be the year of the vagabond, and I couldn’t be more excited.

I’m on my way out to Denver to become even more of a damn hippie. I’ll be nestled in the mountains while I get in the cocoon that is Forrest Yoga teacher training for the month of March.

In that cocoon, I will spend 200 hours morphing into a lovely yoga teaching butterfly. I’m pre-tty ja-zz-ed. I’ll be reuniting with one of the besties for the month and crashing with him and a bunch of dudes in a house. There’s nothing a hippie chick loves more than living in a house full of fellas. They’ll be so entranced by my yoga a**, that they won’t even know that they’re eating raw vegan meatless meatballs and learning how to braid my hair. It will be glorious.

But I’m spending my last week in Illinois jetting to and from Chicago from central Illinois, so I can cherish every single moment of my time in this state. Be warned readers, central Illinois is hippie hell. It’s coal refineries, nuclear power plants, mutant river creatures, and flat grey nothing.

So I’m escaping hell every day, and hanging out in this magnificent city. I’m chillin’ at one of the best coffee shops in Chicago as we speak. It’s super mellow and is filled with childhood nostalgia. It’s amazing. But I can’t help but look around and think, “I’m sure there are more hippies in Denver.” But I’m trying to stay in the moment. In order to do that, I’m focusing on the sexy bearded men that make Chicago so great. This city was built on blood, sweat and beards. Beards, beards, everywhere, so many beards that I just don’t care.

Okay, I’m not sure how this turned into Ode To Beards, but it happened. It happened so hard that I’m going to change the title of this post from “On The Road Again” to “Ode To Beards.” Done and done.

I bet the beards are going to be great in Denver too. I’m pretty sure that mountain men kind of have their bearded domain on lock down. I’ll bet that in Denver, they’d even let a police officer grow a beard to rival Jerry Garcia.

Maybe this year will be a year of finding the most beard-friendly city in the states. That might be my Mecca.

Do you know where the best beards frolic and play?

I used to hate winter. I would dread its onset. I would abhor the first day I noticed the sun setting at seven. I would fight it, pretend it wasn’t happening. Every year, winter meant the same thing to me. It meant the onset of a sadness that wasn’t characteristic of my nature. It meant pain and tears and cold. It meant overeating, drinking too much, listlessness, and laziness. But mostly, it meant that the crushing sadness would return and stay for months. In the spring, I would come to life again and the contrast would be so stark that I would tumble into a whirlwind of excited energy. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t stable.

This winter, many things have changed. I’m not sure what made it so much easier to cope this year. The vitamin D supplements helped, no doubt. The attitude and awareness adjustments probably made a good deal of difference. But I can’t help but wonder if it’s because I’m alone. I can’t help but think that it’s easier to let sadness be fleeting when nobody’s watching. Were someone here, would it test my ego? Would I justify being depressed so I wouldn’t feel stupid for letting it get the best of me for a moment? Would I allow it to take over me so as to show that I’m not making it up? Would I be able to let it go?

Winter means seeing yourself in the slowness. It means looking within’ for a few months before you force your wild hand into the world. It means settling to see beyond the darkness, into the light that resides within, when it can’t be found elsewhere.

What happened to this stuff?

It’s hard to be a hippie in the winter. That’s just a fact. Your dreadlocks get all blech. Your flowy skirts blow up and let in crazy cold drafts.  Nobody wants to join you in an outdoor hula hoop sesh. Plus, you just look out of place.

Thank goodness for hippies this year that it’s crazy warm all over the place. I’m in Chicago and it’s been an unreal kind of warm for the past month. Last week, I took a walk to a Chicago yoga studio wearing yoga pants and a sweater… in January, man. A buddy of mine is in Canada and she’s like a meteorologist of sorts. I use the term loosly. She’s like a meteorologist in the way that she can go outside and know if it’s warm, cold, raining, snowing, etc. She reports the same. She’s saying the outlook is Crazy Warm with a 100 percent chance of polar bear habitat destruction.

And it seems that with all of that going on, people don’t even talk about global warming anymore. It seems that we’ve all just given up. It’s really weird. You think that this would make us all, like, want to change our ways, and do things differently, and try to stop it. Yeah, that’s not what’s going on at all. Instead of taking on a vegan meal a week or something (like it would kill you), it seems like everyone is saying “Ahhh eff it. Hey it’s nice out! We must be on the right track!”

It’s like some marketing coordinator got everyone together and had them spread the message that we should all be enjoying this blessing of great weather. So we’re all smiling and throwing high fives on the street. We might as well throw a huge party for ourselves. Why not celebrate the fact that we used to have this thing called winter, and now thanks to all of the human-y things we’re really into doing, we’re not going to have it anymore? We should probably have it on some of those islands that wont be around for very much longer. I mean, we should probably take some pictures of them that we can show our grandki…. well, let’s not look that far into the future. Let’s just enjoy this great weather we’re having!

Even your computer is telling you what you should do.

As I sit in this hip and cool coffee shop looking out at the hip and cool people walking by, I think, “I should get my hair done. I should get my feet bound so I can fit in boots like that. I should finish this coffee and get a refill. I should stop taking on more work or I won’t get anything done. I should work faster. I should probably take a break but I should write five things before I do.”

Earlier today at yoga, I thought, “I should push a little further. I should relax into this more. I should stop thinking. I should… sh*t, I’m still thinking. I really should stop that. Why can’t I stop? I know I should! Maybe I should do more yoga.”

Should: it’s one of those counterproductive words that doesn’t really do what it’s supposed to. Should is supposed to motivate you. It’s what your parent’s used to motivate you. It’s what your teachers and bosses use to motivate you. And it’s what you use to motivate yourself. But how motivated are you when someone tells you what you ‘should’ do? How motivated do you get when you start ‘shoulding’ yourself around?

I got a great newsletter from the owners of my favorite Chicago yoga studio today that had a piece in it about ‘should’.

When I tell myself that I should post for my vegan recipe blog, I find myself dreading it and everything I write feels forced. But when I just do it, it’s lighter, brighter and waaay more fun. Why? Because when I tell myself I should do something, I start resisting by saying, “I can’t” or “I donwanna” or “I’m sleepy now”. Then I have to get over the resistance before I can get down to business. By the time I get past it, I realize that I’ve ultimately just wasted a ton of energy because I felt the need to tell myself what I should be doing.

Allow yourself to fully feel your resistance by asking yourself the following Sedona Method question: “Could I give myself permission to feel my resistance [to going to yoga]?” Don’t push the feeling away, be with it, owning the truth of the moment: “I am in resistance and don’t feel like going to yoga.” Pretty soon the knot in your belly should ease, as the energy has nothing to push against and begins to dissipate, and the what-to-do-next will present itself. And then you may find yourself wanting to go to yoga. If the feeling doesn’t change at all you might come at the resistance from the opposite angle and ask yourself “Could I allow myself to let go of resisting not going to yoga?” That should give you some space and acceptance around where you’re at, which will make the energy move. You may wind up deciding to skip yoga that day, but you won’t give up yoga completely, which might very well be the result if you attempt to continue forcing yourself to go. [Talya Ring]

How do you keep from shoulding yourself?

Those things are awesome and I was trying to figure out a plan to make them work. I needed to find a place to live, meet a cool group of new buds, and figure out how to get around this town.

But there was something wrong. Well, I guess there was nothing “wrong” per say, it just didn’t feel like it was all fitting together. As much as I’ve always wanted to live in this city, something didn’t feel right about it. I mean, everything seems perfect, so what’s the deal? Part of me feels like I want to settle down and set some roots, and part of me doesn’t know if this is really the place to do that right now. I like the people I’ve met here and Chicago is cool, but I don’t really have anything keeping me around.
Then today an old friend who’s living in Denver send me a message saying that we should move to Boston. I laughed it off and we bantered about it for a minute before I realized that he was serious.’

One of our most awesomest friends lives there at the moment. He’s going to Harvard. His first book will be published soon and he’s in talks with MTV about a reality TV show. Like I said, he’s awesome. Well, he invited us both to move out to Boston in the spring.
I started making excuses in my mind. I thought about yoga training and comedy writing and… well, that’s all I really had. Then I remembered something. I read somewhere that the same yoga training was taking place in Denver in March. Yeah. What a coincidence, right? This house sit will be done in the middle of February. My comedy writing class is over at the end of February. And then I have nothing tying me to this city.
Maybe I could go to Denver and stay with Joey and do my teacher training sooner. Maybe as soon as I get my certification, I can actually start teaching this spring. Then maybe me and Joey can move to Boston together. Then maybe I could teach in Boston. Maybe I could… Oh damn… See. That’s where it got me. I started thinking in maybes, and now I think it actually might be a great opportunity.
So maybe it’s not time to settle down. Maybe Chicago just isn’t the place right now. Maybe I’m supposed to do this other thing for awhile. Maybe I’m supposed to keep blowing in the wind. Isn’t this why I ditched my corporate gig as an executive administrative assistant? It certainly wasn’t because I was sick of wearing high waist skirts… I love those things.
What do you think? Are you blowing in the wind? Have you found a cool place to settle?