I feel a duty to write more in these times, to document the subtleties making for good story during the Renaissance—which is coming, right? It’s guaranteed after this level of darkness, has to be. In New Mexico, I’m writing in the dark this morning, doors and windows already shut up to try and mitigate smoke from now two fires, I hear… Of course, California much worse and mother nature speaking globally… 

I reread The Plague because I’m the kinda girl who dreamed of dark times and bent toward horror, so I’d already read about the rats spinning in circles spewing out blood till death. But the bars staying open in Albert Camus’ masterpiece—a cruel joke this 2020. I haven’t been to one since March. Forgotten the feeling of ordering a cocktail as any booze straight at home will do.

They say more than fifty percent of Americans are depressed, and I’d guess even more considering my strong friends who sit around backyard patios smoking and sharing quietly, that some days are really tough… 

My saving grace, my lifestyle, which already was that of limbo and not knowing. That’s how artists thrive, from project to project believing the next one will pay all the bills for the year. So the musing comes easily and the isolation familiar at least to someone who rehearses dialogue alone in her casita anyway. Talking to herself is really nothing new. 

For those of you wondering inside—am I losing it…? You probably are, I’ve certainly noticed a new strangeness to my flow and keep thinking it will go away, like 9/11—only that was just six months of hell, and we’re past that marker now.

I do adore my pod. A very short list of fine peeps, and I already was saying no to large gatherings so the tight circle becomes me. In it together, your behavior now accountable to your friends as protection. Trusting your girlfriend six feet away has not been to Vegas and back without telling you. It’s deep. 

Air hugs now the new intimacy and anything else, well, that’s reserved for the one you go to bed with, and so many people on the planet going without touch. And then I wonder—how damaged will we be? Will there be mass orgies…? Will a hug now mean marriage? “Are they together!?” I don’t know—but I saw them hugging.” 

My life’s work is teaching people how to stay inspired daily, so walking the talk is all I try and  do. Teaching my students and seeing their dogs crawl over their laps at the end of practice, or a private client’s kiddo bust in and lay on their back in child’s pose, has taught me. 

Allowed me to know my students in a way I never have before. I would argue they’re becoming better yogis, having brought the studio into their own space—which I’ve been telling them for decades now, is the very point of practice; to develop daily spiritual ritual and have it spill into doing the dishes or making the food. 

For my own inspiration, singing helps so much and taking Zoom classes with Broadway Dance Center in Manhattan. A building I never felt confident enough to walk into when I lived there but now, free in the midst of my angel pines floors, my pas de bourrée’s are so fun. 

And once I learn the steps, I turn on the gallery view to watch professionals dance in their garages and rooftops, and kitchens—and I think—we’re gonna be fine. And one of my friends, in my pod echos it after every heavy discussion. “We’re gonna be okay.” she says. Almost like it could be true, so I nod and repeat, “Yep, we’re gonna be okay.”

**p.s. Take class with me…you can Zoom in from anywhere, practice naked or in your p.j’s, or clean your house while I’m teaching.

With Love + Inspiration,