Blood and Salt

For me, salt is a serious business. I grew up in Essex, where they've been harvesting salt from the marshes for about 1000 years. I'm so evangelical about it, that I've been known to corner friends at dinner and have them blind-taste-test regular table salt against Maldon Salt. They dip their finger into the crusty white flakes, place it on the tongue, and their eyes widen. This is what salt should taste like.

It's hard not to eat it straight out of the box.

So, the other night I was home watching this super nerdy British history series on Netflx about the history of the British monarchy. I was really getting into it, learning about Saxons, Vikings invasions and all that good stuff. They got to about 991 AD, when apparently there was this incredibly bloody battle between the Saxons and the invading Viking Danes called the Battle of Maldon. The crusty old presenter is talking about all this blood being spilled in the causeway between the marshes, and I can't help but wonder... 1000 years later, are we tasting their blood?

It's probably not at all possible, but I honesty love the idea of this. That sprinkled over my soup today are DNA particles of my viking ancestors. Because, whether or not it's true, it is true. We are all part dinosaur, part asteroid, part star, part giant sea turtle. Nothing is made from nothing.

Running up that road

I'm a crap runner. Honestly. I've done 2 triathlons, and finished both with the over-60's. I am S-L-O-W. Training for the events, I discovered a few things about myself, the least of which is that I can be a whiny little brat sometimes. Also, don't drink coffee before going for a long run. Seriously.

Yesterday I was running along the magnificent new park that they are building along the Brooklyn waterfont, and it occurred to me that there are some things about running that are really true for life;

1. Relax, it ain't a race.
2. If you get tired, slow down but don't stop. 
3. Why not take the scenic route?
4. It doesn't really matter how slow you are (however cheesy it sounds) it truly is all about the journey.
5. Everything's better with a good sound track.
6. The beginning always sucks, but half-way through you're going to be loving it.

Walk about

After reading this article in the Atlantic, I can't help but be struck by how little our American culture supports the desire to let go of our lives and explore the spiritual journey. It's so easy to see our western culture as 'normal'.  But really, it's just a construction of what we've all agreed 'normal' should look like, how normal should behave, what normal values should be. Go to work, have a family, be a good citizen.

This week there are 10 million individuals at Kumbh Mela, washing in the spiritual waters.  To these people, this is normal. These individuals are called Sadhu and Sadhivi;

"The Sanskrit terms sādhu ("good man") and sādhvī ("good woman") refer to renouncers who have chosen to live a life apart from or on the edges of society in order to focus on their own spiritual practice."

How can it be that there are hardly any structures to support walking away from it all in our culture? We have glimpses of it, a weekend in the Nevada dessert here, a trip yoga retreat there.  There are a few who dedicate themselves to it seriously, but for most it's more entertainment than enlightenment. I think it's something that could enrich everyone's experience.

Enjoy yourself. It's later than you think.

Last night I went to see a few friends play in a band at The Cake Shop. The Mixer matched some poetry readings with couple bands. I was sitting at the bar alone, drinking read wine and eaves dropping on the girls next to me. They were talking loudly in vocal fry and I was picking up words like Sarah Lawrence and Right?

I was feeling judgemental.

My friends showed up, looking harried and stressed, wondering where amongst the sea of co-ed poets they were supposed to play. The sound guy hadn't been seen.

We went downstairs, and I found myself a comfortable seat, with a view of the stage. The first poet started and I strained to listen (Sound-guy: still MIA). By this time, I'm two merlots in, and feeling a bit more comfortable in my surroundings. The poets poeted in their usual cadence that's lets us all know it's poetry. Then slowly, about 3 poems in, it dawned to me that this is the last time you get to do this.

However good or bad the poetry is. However cheap the red wine is. However awkward you feel going to a bar on your own. This is the last time you get to do this, so enjoy.

The January Blahs

Argghhh.... I've got the January Blahs. The I-feel-gross-achy-fat blahs. The I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-I'm-doing blahs.  I should go for a run. I should do my taxes. I should make a plan for 2013. Instead I seem to be holed up in my apartment eating vegi chilli for the third day in a row while Billie snores loudly next to me. Blah.

In addition to her other talents, my sister is an excellent artist. Last year, she did this blog called doodle every day. Through it, she explored these little creatures she's been drawing for a while.  Milla's really good at capturing those inexplicable body/mind/relating to others discomfort feelings we all experience but don't often talk about. Her little creatures are so visceral and honest and sad, and that makes me happy. Happy to have that human feeling expressed by someone else, to prove that we are all more same than different. Even in our dark, moody places, we recognize each other.

Why the hell not?

It's been a really long time since I wrote, but this morning on the second day of 2013, I thought I would read over the entire thing and take stock of 2012. Sitting on the top of Bernal Hill yesterday, my sister-in-law asked me if 2012 had been a good year. Honestly, it might have been one of the best years of my life, but also one of the hardest.

My brother and sister-in-law have a really nice tradition. Every January 1st, they climb up to the top of Bernal Heights hill. They bring along a list of goals they wrote last Jan 1st and take inventory. Then, they write goals for the next year. Very practical and sensible, just like the two of them.

I'm not good with goals. I have a tendancy to break them and then feel bad. Instead, I like guidelines. Last year, I decided during a drunken new years party I decided that my 2012 mantra would be 'Let it be what it is'. At the time, I had no idea how my life was about to dramatically change and how that mantra would actually get me through the whole thing in one piece.

I was sitting there yesterday on the top of that hill, trying to come up with a zen-like mantra, a new guide for whatever life throws at me for 2013, when Margie piped up with her 2013 mantra. They had gone on a trip to Turkey about 5 years ago, and their guide was prone to saying 'Why not!?', and she'd decided to adopt it for herself this year.

"Why not!?"face your nay-saying, flinching mind squarely in the eye? "Why not!?" say yes to life and embrace the possibilities? "Why not!?" act a little more youthful and irresponsible than you think you should? "Why not!?" travel across America in a vintage Shasta trailer?

"Why the hell not!?", my new 2013 mantra. Let's see where it takes me.

Kinesthetic Intelligence

On Monday, night I was at the pottery studio. My friend has joined me for this term of pottery. It's her first time at the wheel, and she's experiencing the frustration and challenge of learning something new as an adult. The reality that you can't cognitively learn to throw, you have to have your hands learn.

She said something on our walk home that stuck with me: "I'm frustrated because I'm usually really good with making things."

I feel that way, too. I have a very vivid memory from kindergarten when I realized that I was good at making things. It's something that I absolutely know about myself, and has been a source of confidence throughout my life. So it was so interesting to hear Erin also voice this understanding of herself. I'm good at making things.

I spent this morning searching the internet for more on this idea, and I finally came up with a word for it... kinesthetic intelligence.

"Kinesthesia is our movement sense. It simply refers to an awareness of changes in momentum, balance, pressure and body position in general. It tells us all about how we are moving our bodies. Kinesthetic intelligence includes control of the bodily motions, the ability to handle objects skillfully and the gift for using whole body motions...This sort of high kinesthetic intelligence is what creates scientists, writers, artists, musicians, dancers, performers and other creative people that allow their minds and hands to move without any pre-planned format. While some are blessed with athletic abilities, others are gifted in fine-motor skills, such as drawing and crafts."


Discovering this word for me is like discovering the word dyslexia or feminist. It rings so loud and resonates so clearly. I feel like it's what I have been searching for writing this blog. Why designing on a computer feels like phone sex to me... totally distant and unsatisfying. Why I get my best ideas while running or swimming. Why making anything... dinner, a pair of clogs, or a new dress makes my brain light up and feel happy.

The Kinesthesic: we are the dancers, the builders, the surgeons, the yogis, the knitters, the engineers, the naturalists, the tailors, the cobblers, the cooks. Are you one too?