Category: Yoga

First One, Worst One

As part of my 200-hour yoga teacher certification course, I had to record 15 hours of myself teaching. In order to make that task less daunting, I coupled the effort with expanding my filmmaking skill set.

I researched an animation app that advertised itself as being “easy to use.” As usual with new tech, I spent several frustrating hours putting a decent sequence together for the introduction of my yoga video.

I had no problem choosing a setting since the motivation for creating a chair yoga sequence presented itself when I overnighted in an airport unexpectedly.

That part of the video was engaging and cute. The content quality plummeted from there. From my own self-criticism, I thought the video footage went from an adorable animation to a hostage video.

I couldn’t use the audio from the video since, in the adjacent room, a dance class was in progress. So, I recorded footage without speaking, which made editing much easier.

In the spirit of “I’ll fix it in post,” I recorded a voice over (VO). My intention was to use a calming/soothing voice to help anyone who’d just missed their connecting flight. Additionally, the chair sequence was a series of postures that one could do in an uncomfortable airline terminal seat.

After recording the VO, I added instrumental music, which changed with each change in posture. Not DJ quality musical flow, but better than dead silence.

Next, I uploaded the 30-minute video to my newly made YouTube channel by creating a playlist. Another first. I also created a channel logo:

Even with the post-production effort, I thought the video was the worst content I’d made in a long time. I defeated my inner critic by declaring that I could only go up from there.

Then, I did myself a tremendous favor by sending out the link to my family and friends. Their feedback was invaluable.

One of my friends texted that she found my VO hilarious since she knew what my real voice sounded like.

One of my sisters was even more exacting about my VO in her text. “You sound like a sex Goddess in the video! Was that the sound you were going for?”

Absolutely not. Apparently, I’d put the “whore” in “horrible.”

My other sister, who thinks she’s my mother, left me a voicemail, asking me to call for her feedback. She agreed with the sex Goddess voice observation, but didn’t want to put that in writing. Instead she told me that my tone of voice at the end of the video was much better than in the beginning.

Also, she wanted me to know that throughout the video, I looked “slouchy.” Initially, I didn’t think that was a word. After all, she’s notorious for changing song lyrics and mispronouncing words to the extent they don’t sound like real words. The family-famous example is her pronunciation of the word “licorice.” She calls it “lick-WISH.”

After that critique, the hostage video footage seemed even worse now that my awareness focused on my lazy, drooping seated posture throughout the video. (Yes, I purposely chose a picture for this blog post where I didn’t look slouchy because, damn…)

My play cousin texted, “👀What am i looking at prima?”

I responded, “One of my yoga homework videos, primo. Is it that confusing?!” He liked the question.

Another friend who was included in that text chain stated, “I got 10min in. Was between satire and practical and early vid practice. 👏🏽”

That was the best compliment from someone who actually watched.

I received “congratulations” and “you go girl” from friends and family who obviously hadn’t bothered to watch. Or perhaps they had watched the video, but wanted to politely avoid saying how bad/confusing/slouchy it was and focus on the fact that I’d had completed the first video.

Only 14.5 hours of instructional yoga videos to go.

For future videos, I will: 1) not use the sex Goddess voice; 2) use a colorful piece of cloth on the wall to break up the starkness; 3) explore other camera angles.

Yoga Fight Club

I usually arrive early to my hot yoga class to both acclimate to the room and work on some personal movement goals prior to class. I choose the best spot to set up given what’s available when I enter the room. Mat placement is an on-going challenge.

Wherever that place is, becomes “my spot.” For a limited time only. Then I leave, relinquishing whatever sense of ownership I had. As temporary as the attachment is, my awareness is brought to how much stock I put into my choice when I have to relocate.

Not all reasons are equal. For example, if there’s a full class and we all have to readjust our mats, I’m very cooperative and my temper doesn’t flare. But when circumstances involve me and, let’s say, the poor choices of some other person and their yoga buddy, then I start to simmer.

Recent example: I unrolled my mat adjacent to a spot that was near the wall. Normally, I would’ve taken the spot closest to the wall, but there was a saucer-sized dip in the floor, which I’ve dealt with before. Throughout my practice, avoiding that spot in order to retain balance distracted me.

Another woman set up her mat by the wall while I was in the middle of doing a warm up stretch. A few seconds later, another mat rudely plopped down between us, alarming us both.

“Oh, you want to practice beside me?” She asked the interloper.

I looked up to see a child who was 11 to 13 years old. Definitely her child. Of course he wanted to practice beside his mother. They’d come together. Why wouldn’t they practice side by side?

My temper sizzled: ALLTHATEMPTYSPACEINTHEROOMANDSHECHOULDN’THAVECHOSENASPOTWHEREBOTHSHEANDHERSONCOULDPRACTICEWITHOUTDISTRUBINGSOMEONEELSE?

I kept my rant to myself as I moved my mat over to the next space. Before I had reestablished my sense of possessiveness over the new spot, the instructor advised me to move over a little more to avoid colliding with the son during one of the postures she had lined up for that morning’s practice.

As I moved the mat over a little more to the right, I announced to the mostly empty room, “If I have to move my mat one more time, fight club is going to break out.”

Everyone laughed. Apparently, they didn’t acknowledge the grain of truth embedded in that proclamation. I felt aggressive. Fortunately, class began soon after, which helped distract me from my anger.

Throughout practice, I soon discovered that he had a beneficial position between two women who were seasoned yogis, since no matter if a pose had us looking left or right, he had his mother as a guide on one side of him and me on another.

Even more so than my mat placement challenge, controlling my temper is definitely the biggest challenge. I’m so happy that throughout my life, my anger hasn’t caused me to do something detrimental that I couldn’t undo or work around afterwards.

Having a balanced temper is far more important than being balanced in a posture. I wish that as I gain physical balance that mental balance improved in tandem. In my experience, the latter lags behind the former.

I’ve made a point to meditate on other things, yet I think avoiding the negative consequences of losing my cool may be the most important focus I can develop. I believe in the notion of improving how I respond to external things by improving myself internally.

Amen

How Abundance Works

When I brainstormed about what to gift my family for Christmas, my answer combined my filmmaking aspirations with sound bath healing. This was my fourth year in a row to observe non-materialistic Christmas gift-giving.

“Abundance” featured in the film. The more I meditated, I realized that every situation could be reframed with abundance in mind. For example, one of my favorite gifts to myself, especially during the holiday season, is an abundance of unscheduled time whenever I take paid leave from work.

Apparently, this time around, I took too much paid time off. Weeks after the fact, I learned that paid time off (PTO) taken in 2025 wouldn’t be covered by accrued PTO in 2026. At least I benefited from a wonderful Christmas-Kwanzaa break with the luxury of time.

I started the new year off with a smaller paycheck than usual. The exact opposite of financial abundance. Yet, I reframed that experience to “I paid for my latest staycation.” Besides, with my new position, I had to work on MLK Day. A situation that helped recoup some of the money I’d lost since working holidays have a pay rate of two and a half times.

Another instance of abundance occurred when I discovered that I had to record 15 hours of me teaching yoga as part of the 200-hour yoga instructor certification, starting in mid-February. Our house was still under renovation, but even before that, I didn’t have a distraction-free area to record my instruction.

Much to my annoyance, I had to reach out to other people. Yet, I received an abundance of support. The first was from the yoga teacher who’d sent me the link to sign up for the course. The second was from my stretch and flex teacher who also owned a hair salon where we could set up and practice. Finally, my pole dancing teacher, who also owned the studio, agreed to let me use the auxiliary room on Sundays when no classes were scheduled.

All I had to do was ask.

Then, without asking, my car insurance inexplicably decreased by $50 for six months’ coverage. Plus, I’d forgotten that after being at my gym for three years that I’d be able to pay a flat annual fee, saving me over $500 a year.

I’d been raised to count my blessings. As an adult, I’m thankful that I’ve learned the lesson of how abundance interacts with those blessings. Blessings are the wonderful things in your life. Being aware of abundance in these situations is to be mindful that those wonderful things are enough.

Waking Up with Purpose

My greatest gift to myself during the Christmas-Kwanzaa break was unscheduled time. As much as my remaining PTO covered. I lived out the artist’s dream of indulging my entire day with juggling a few creative projects.

In between projects and errands/chores, I attended exercise classes. My first class for 2026 was hot yoga where the instructor passed out affirmation cards for “bad asses.” I pulled a card that resonated with me.

Every morning, I wake up with a sense of purpose for what needs to be accomplished. The only way I finish large projects is to do a little at a time during the work week and even more on the weekends.

After completing a short film for my family as their Christmas gift, I brainstormed what to do next. I haven’t settled on anything this early in the year although I’ve thought about finally trying my hand with animation. For that, I’d need voice actors. Actually, anyone fluent in English would do. Not going to raise the bar too high for the rate I’m paying.

Just like that, a MeetUp invitation appeared in my email to have dinner at a new nearby restaurant which boasted of a menu with locally sourced food and different in-house beers and cider on tap. The whole vibe reminded me of something that I’d taken for granted back in Austin.

I’ll start attending more of these events in order to get a selection of voice actors. Usually, I socialize through exercise classes. I’ll get more acquainted with my fellow yogi/dancer because you never know what talented person is dancing/doing yoga right beside you.

Given the time of the year, if anyone bothers to ask what’s my New Year’s resolution, I’ll say, “Recruiting voice actors for an upcoming animation project.” That should get the ball rolling.

Health Navigation

I started disliking my primary care physician in the middle of 2025 when she kept giving me the same “advice” that she’d given before despite our previous conversations. I mistakenly thought that she would tailor her practice based on the patient in front of her. Instead, she kept acting as if I weren’t in menopause.

A part of me wished that sweet young thang a nice long life. Long enough for her to enter menopause and regret all the bad advice she’d given patients like me. By the end of the year, I had a new PCP.

For most of my adult life, I’d chosen women healthcare professionals since their firsthand experience of being women led me to believe that I would receive better care, especially if they were women of color. A rarity.

Now, that I’m middle aged, I realize that, in addition to having a woman as my PCP, I need an older woman. Older PCPs won’t condescend to me about having to lose weight because she’ll already know what a losing battle that is without HRT (hormone replacement therapy), an appetite suppressant, or some other intervention therapy to address the effects of a declining estrogen level.

The “exercise more and eat healthy” advice falls flat. I already exercise on a daily basis, don’t over eat, and have improved my diet. Even though I’m stronger and more flexible, I’m about 15 pounds heavier than I was in perimenopause.

Additionally, when lab work returned that my calcium level was elevated, a condition known as hypercalcemia, my former PCP never advised me about what may have caused that. I’d simply asked if taking calcium twice a day for the full daily amount could have contributed. She agreed and I adjusted by taking my calcium supplement once a day. End of story.

Except…

I’d requested a DEXA scan. The former PCP informed me that I didn’t need one until I was around 65, but I insisted.

I don’t want to be superstitious and say that I felt it in my bones that I needed a bone density test. Or that an angel had whispered in my ear that something stirred in my bones.

Whatever the case, the results revealed osteopenia in my left pelvic region. Upon reading that, my first thought was, “That bitch would have had me wait a decade later to get my DEXA scan and by then, I could’ve had osteoporosis!”

I took several deep breaths, comforting myself that I no longer had that PCP.

Once I researched the condition, I learned that osteopenia led to elevated calcium levels. Breast cancer can also cause hypercalcemia. My former PCP addressed neither possibility.

On a more positive note, my new PCP, an older woman who was familiar with HRT, messaged me that my latest lab work showed that my calcium levels were normal and that we’d discuss next steps in April.

In the meantime, one of my friends, who occasionally took dance classes with me and taught yoga, gifted me a discounted yoga instructor package. Since the cost was the same regardless of whether I registered for 200, 300, or 500 hours, I signed up to get the biggest bang for my buck.

When they emailed a reading list, I enthusiastically checked out three of those ebook titles from the library. I dedicated myself to taking a copious amount of notes. Not only was I too cheap to buy the books, but I also wanted to be mindful of not adding to the collection of material things. Besides, I supplemented my notes with online searches, mainly to define terms.

One ebook motivated me to research which poses were effective for addressing osteopenia in my pelvis and another pose to address my piriformis syndrome. I’d never even heard of that body part before.

One day in yoga class, I described a pain I experienced. The instructor, who used to be a massage therapist, informed me that it was probably caused by my piriformis, not merely a tight hip. Up until that point, I’d stretched to loosen my external hip muscles (abductors) with mixed results.

The full circle moment came when I researched relieving my piriformis through yoga. I’d already known of the stretch: pyramid pose. Doing that posture a few times a day, did more for the pain than temporarily numbing the muscles. I’d bought a collection of topicals to see which one worked the best. Instead, all I had to do was take about two minutes a few times throughout the day to stretch.

I’d bought a standing desk to help break up long periods of sitting while at work. Now, I’ll incorporate stretches in addition to that.

In previous years, I’d chosen challenging yoga moves to target an area that needed more conditioning, in terms of strength and flexibility. Now, I’m targeting poses to alleviate pain. As one yoga studio advertised: Yoga Is Medicine.

“Hot” Yoga in the Dark

For two hours, the electrical grid malfunctioned in the county. Just in time to attend my Sunday morning hot yoga class. Before leaving for class, I asked my father’s caregiver to help me carry our generator out of the garage.

Even though Dad had a fully charged portable oxygen machine, I erred on the side of caution. I didn’t want the caregiver to leave before getting the generator, knowing that my 84-year-old mother couldn’t help me move it. Of course, my sister could have helped later on.

As a matter of fact, my sister was the only one who knew how to work the damn thing. I’d meant to learn how to operate it sooner, but similar to the situation where you’re not motivated to fix the leaky roof when the sun’s shining, I’d forgotten all about doing so until then.

I called my sister and had the caregiver leave her phone number on voicemail. I also texted my sister since I knew she was at Bible study and would attend church immediately following. I figured that in between, she’d explain to the caregiver about how to work the generator.

Then, I gathered my things and drove to yoga. Normally, that’s an uneventful straight shot down the street from my neighborhood. Without electricity, even for the traffic lights, that short trip was scary.

At the most dangerous intersection, a woman in the left turn lane eased her humongous SUV into the intersection. I gambled that no one on that fine Sunday morning felt fatalistic. The cross traffic respected our presence. She completed her left turn as I continued straight.

Once I safely arrived at the studio, the instructors all proudly announced that classes would continue. They assured us that since the previous class was hot, our class would at least be warm.

Given the power of cell phones, they all had flashlights and our yoga instructor still connected her phone to the portable speaker. The harsh glare of the emergency light made visibility possible and we still had a strong, crowded practice of motivated yogis.

On the drive back home, there were still no police directing traffic at the busiest intersection, but as soon as I’d safely transversed, I became far more hopeful since the next traffic light worked. As I neared home, I couldn’t tell whether the lights had returned in my neighborhood until I arrived home. I’d purposely left the breezeway light on. It was off.

Dejected, I checked in with Dad and the caregiver before attempting to take a phone-lit shower. When the caregiver informed me that my sister had not called her to explain how to work the generator, I silently fumed.

I took a deep breath, trying not to allow the good vibes from yoga dissipate so soon. My mind mulled over how my sister didn’t apply any of her Christian-ness and “charity begins at home” to the emergency situation at home.

Although Dad’s portable oxygen machine had enough juice until she’d arrived, what if the caregiver had needed to move him from upstairs? The chair lift would have needed the generator to work.

The electricity returned as I calmed myself down. Since no emergency arose during the outage, I knew there was no reason to address why she hadn’t contacted the caregiver. She would have just brushed it off, causing me to get angry all over again.

One of the best things about being an older adult with a temper is that I both accept my limitations and minimize interactions that would flare my temper. Also, I accept that my sister wouldn’t have reconsidered her actions based on hypothetical harm that Dad may have suffered.

After all the internal drama, I watched several videos to learn how to work that antiquated generator. Mindfulness is not merely being meditative in a yoga class. It is also being aware that when the electricity is on, that’s the perfect time to learn a new lifesaving skill.

More Movement Medicine

I’d wanted the same friend who’d attended the modified Barre class with me last month to attend the free introductory class with me as well. She told me that she was already paying membership at three places and didn’t want to add a fourth. I threw my head back and laughed.

I enrolled in a 4-class monthly membership, making Barre my fourth. To recap, I have a 12-class monthly membership for pole fitness; a renewable 20-class pass, mostly for hot yoga, although I’ll do an occasional warm or cool class for a different discipline; and a gym membership for access to an indoor pool and usually one hot yoga class and an occasional Zumba or water aerobics class.

Would I love to combine all of those things conveniently under one roof? Of course! And yet, there are seven days in the week and most of those days find me in one exercise setting or another.

The yoga studio I used to be a member of in Austin had a tagline: Yoga Is Medicine. Well, it’s not just yoga. The key is to keep moving and for some of that movement to be in a group setting.

I’d always heard people complain that working from home felt isolating. I avoid that feeling through exercise. I don’t worry too much about non-exercise socializing because that usually isn’t active and costs money.

Adding to the challenge, I’ve recently started the 6-month adventure of studying for my pharmacy technician’s license. As much as I enjoy nerding-out and learning something new, the truth of the matter is that I want to advance either up the food chain or at least make more money in a different position. The cherry on top is that the company is paying for both the course and the exam.

Regardless of my professional ambition, I have to dedicate nearly an hour a day to keep pace with the online program. So far, it’s inviting coursework, which I can do all on my iPad. I manage to get it all done without having to sacrifice any of my workout time.

One of the reasons the “Freshman 15” was a thing was that more time was spent sitting around studying and not eating well. Unlike when I was freshman in undergrad, I schedule exercise classes and even stand on my vibration plate for 15 minutes after lunch, Monday-Friday, just so I can make sure there’s movement once I put my standing desk down for the second half of the work day.

As one retired woman told me at the gym, for the first six months after retirement, she thought she could become a couch potato and relax into her golden years. At the end of six months, she could barely walk without a walker.

I’ll definitely heed her lived example. Although I’ve aged out of certain strenuous activities such as capoeira, mainly because I’ve slowed down and not in the mood to dodge a kick, there are other strenuous activities that will keep me moving for the rest of my life.

Breakfast for Dinner

In my latest attempt to align my lifestyle with my health goals, I researched what meals are better to eat a few hours prior to working out. Turns out, the egg and avocado pairing that I usually eat every morning is perfect for a light meal. The challenge is that I’m not going to eat that twice in one day.

I had to find something uncomplicated to make in the morning for myself since I also make breakfast for Dad. As a matter of fact, that “eggs every morning” breakfast I prepared was Dad’s expectation. For the sake of simplicity, I cooked enough for the both of us.

Years ago, I’d kicked the vast majority of breakfast foods to the curb, given the sheer amount of diabetes-inducing sugar they all contained. As I’ve gotten older and menopausal, weight gain occurs as seemingly easy as merely looking at food and alcohol.

My canary in the coal mine is my left eye. Ever since I was in middle school, when I started wearing glasses, it has been the weaker of the two eyes. Now my weaker eye has the added phenomenon of experiencing a dull ache whenever I’m too stressed or have consumed too much sugar. My left eye has even gone temporarily blind with an overload of stress.

Most of my stress relief has been exercise, which, up until I hit menopause, also helped with weight management. Now, I’ve entered brand-new territory as I navigate how to maintain an enjoyable and healthy life. Those two pursuits don’t have much common ground.

The goal is to ward off diabetes and other ills through diet and exercise. I already exercise on a regular basis. Plus, I’ve stopped having a daily glass of wine. It’s no longer feasible to buy the large boxes of wine since it goes bad before I finish drinking it.

So, I have oatmeal for breakfast, followed by my biggest meal of the day, lunch, with a light snack for dinner, then a small serving of mixed nuts with dried fruit after working out. I’m still trying to gauge if that post-workout snack has too many calories to sleep on or if weight gain is inevitable regardless. I don’t want to negate the workout, but I cannot go to sleep without a little something to keep stomach growls at bay.

Who Runs the World

At the reversal of Roe vs. Wade, I feared that my country was rapidly returning to primitive times. Then, last month, the most energizing thing happened, the Democratic presidential candidate made the ultimate, patriotic, political sacrifice and withdrew his name from the race and endorsed his Vice President, who was already the first woman of color to hold that position, now poised to become the first woman of color to have a realistic opportunity of becoming POTUS.

Political endorsements, donations, and sheer excited energy poured in. The optimistic momentum continued when the Democratic VP was picked. Some sheepishly stated in a hushed tone that the candidate had to be a white man. Why be shy at being realistic? When lies from political opponents are confidently shouted, pragmatic statements should be asserted with the same boldness.

The burden/worry that I had not realized I’d been carrying had been lifted. With waves of renewed optimism and positive developments, I attended my usual Sunday morning hot yoga class. As a fluke of fate, we were a crowded room of women. When our yoga instructor realized the all-women’s attendance, she knew exactly which playlist to use: all-female artists.

When Beyonce’s “Run the World (Girls)” came on, I knew that was the theme song of the class. I couldn’t help but believe that the song should feature in the upcoming Democratic National Convention as well.

I normally don’t watch the DNC because at this point in the election season, I already know who I’m voting for. I didn’t bother to watch the first day, but of course, I saw clips. The second day, however, I tuned in to watch the Obamas. Those political rockstars never fail to inspire and entertain. Michelle Obama brought the house down in such a way that even President Obama admitted that he was the only fool who’d dare follow her.

In reality, they had helped one another with their speeches, so he knew full well that he was setting up Michelle with a speech full of zingers. My favorite one dealt with who was going to tell the Republican presidential candidate that the job he’s working so hard to get, is a Black job. My sister and I screamed and threw our hands in the air.

I’m so proud of the fact that high-profile, successful Black people are turning that racist suggestion that undocumented immigrants are taking Black jobs on its ear. Black people define what jobs are for us. Not someone who had never been Black a day in his life and who consistently demonstrates the “soft bigotry of low expectations.”

As much as the opposition have derided the newly chosen Democratic presidential candidate being a mere diversity hire, as I looked at the enormous crowd that gathered to cheer her on, I saw a reflection of the richness of America. EVERYONE was there. Even lifelong Republicans who believed that their party had been hijacked by a(n) (insert your own label) .

Both the Democratic presidential and vice presidential candidates came from hard-working families and had not inherited political and economic power from their family. In other words, they are both relatable to the masses and living proof that the American dream can be attained.

Many were pressing the new Democratic presidential candidate for policy details. For now, I’m inspired that her campaign is bringing the joy. I’m not just ready for a generational change, but also a change from hatred and fear mongering. Bring on the joy!

Stretch n Sip

Normally, I don’t drink before a workout, but the whole point of this Friday stretch class was to combine happy hour with fitness. I’d had a “detox/retox” experience before, but never simultaneously!

As what often happens in this town, either nothing special is going on, or EVERYTHING happens during the same weekend. So, I took a half day off, running errands after lunch, swimming and THEN attending this exercise class with alcohol.

While waiting in a slow-moving line, I picked up a local community paper and on the monthly calendar, saw the event:

As usual, I scouted out my spot in the room once I entered. I like being as close to the front as possible. Not just to hear and see what posture the instructor will lead us into next, but also, I’ve developed an aversion to other people’s feet in all my years of doing Bikram yoga.

Next, I perused the selection of wines, which ranged from moscato (yuck) to a more palatable cabernet sauvignon. Tweety and I weren’t having any of the sweet (neither red nor white) or whites, which only left cab.

I nursed that one drink throughout the entire class, which definitely put me in the “lightweight” category. Other women truly embraced the happy hour aspect of the evening. The alcohol didn’t loosen me up, but the mood of the class was comparatively rowdier than usual.

As a matter of fact, humans consuming alcohol made for a livelier class than the stretch class I’d attended with four baby goats. Those kids occasionally bleated throughout the class. On the other hand, with each new posture, a choir of participants were very verbal about their experience.

Especially a woman behind me. She was hilarious. I’m not sure that was merely the effect of alcohol. At one point, she requested that we do the plow position again because she wanted to hook one of her legs around a pole to assist her.

After class, I met my sister and a friend at a restaurant that we’d never tried before. That was another reason I hadn’t refilled my wine glass. I’d wanted to order the hot honey mango margarita, but the restaurant was out. Instead I got a coconut margarita, which wasn’t as good as the one I make at home, but did have the added deliciousness of toasted sliced almonds on top.

I happily used the two cocktail straws as chopsticks to eat the almonds. At the end of dinner, when the server was at the table to help us settle the bill, I misfired with the cocktail straws, causing one to flip up over my head, flinging drink and almonds. No one at the table even saw that. They were all looking at their devices. I couldn’t believe it as I asked them if I had anything in my hair.

As I turned to see if anyone in the booth behind us was reacting to a straw projectile, I spied the straw in the seat between my friend and me. I’d like to credit/dedicate the foolishness of that moment to the spirit of the stretch and sip.