An Opinion on Opinions and Opinionated Opinionaters

Had enough yet? You full? Feel informed? Or at least assaulted by information? I do. And I’m sure I’m part of the problem, if there is one. As much as I do edit and critique the words and images I put out into the world for their merit, their positivity, for some semblance of value to another human being, I still am part of the hoards aiming to do the same thing. And I’m here to tell you, it’s just a fuckin opinion, one of about 7 billion multiplied by however many thoughts cross our minds a day. You are smart enough to make up your own mind, so although I write in hopes to shed light and insight on my experience thus far, and I genuinely enjoy this form of expression and connecting with so many through it, I don’t believe for a second my view matters more than yours, or another’s. Congruent with my sentiments on our 24 hour “news” cycle and our sickness of being inundated with opinions and stories but bereft of facts and truth, there is a saturated market still being violently tapped. Many are simply seeking an avenue with which to express themselves, in their original way, and for that to maybe make a difference in their lives. By this I mean exposure to various demographics and large numbers of people, connections with those who inspire and could influence their livelihood and the chance at living the life they love and not having to settle for second best.

It’s already difficult to get people to read a whole book, let alone dense articles, online, thrown out with a cavalcade of others. I’m learning through pursuing most of my writing online that image and title are often everything, so the genres with which you read online will often start bleeding together with similar offerings. The content, the meat of the piece, the heart and soul of the artist (could be written, captured or expressed, not just a specific type of art) is largely ignored, so that damn title and glance better stand out. Soon, the individual is missed, people are bombarded by opinions, positive, negative and anything else in between, and it has now become difficult to decipher the worthiness, so we just want to say fuck it, shut it down.

I carry a lot of optimism, despite how it may read here, because I’ve learned and am still reminding myself that this pursuit is for me, the expression and release is selfish and just one piece in a small puzzle of billions that are mine and no one else’s. Same goes for you, when you express what you choose, regardless of the response or audience, you’ve created something that is uniquely yours and if you’re satisfied enough to share it, then good on you. My hope is that this projection, regardless how authentic the content, is not served as an avenue for hatred of something or someone else, that its escape from your eyes into the world’s is simply to overcome the fear of vulnerability and to maybe resonate and inspire another. With that being said, we all have the choice to consume what we wish, so if it’s nasty or hateful, I simply won’t read it. There’s an audience for everything, though, live and let live.

I was compelled to write as I saw the stream of words and images scroll endlessly across my page, in between where bouts of frustration from friends and colleagues who are similarly drenched in the constant confrontation of opinions. I’ve been a woman of many convictions since quite the young age. I felt strongly about many subjects, carried strong love for some and massive distaste for others, and I had no qualms about expressing these thoughts to the world. As I’ve grown and aged, in particular since I’ve witnessed the internet take over our minds and mouths, I recognize how fleeting these thoughts are. There’s a consensus amongst many that our brains produce up to 70,000 thoughts a day! Digest that for a moment.

There’s no way each one of these carries meaning and there’s even less of a chance that even the most significant thought is more valid than another; another thought or another person’s thought. We all think we’re right, we’re sane, we’re normal, we’re extraordinary, we’re better than another. This is true amongst even the most insecure person. We live first in a world constructed by our minds. We then engage with the world outside of it, interacting and conversing as if the other person has been privy to the nonsense we’ve been discussing in our heads. The issues we have, the dissatisfaction we often feel when moving about our day, stems mostly from our attachment to these opinions. My mom has been saying since before I can remember, that old adage “opinions are like assholes, everybody has one.”

Unless someone is a murderer, a bigot, a racists, a sexist, a homophobe or god forbid a vegetable, there isn’t a reason in the world I shouldn’t listen to their voice with an open mind. Even the views they share from tough subjects I mentioned above is only one slice of a very large, complex pie that makes each human being unique. I may still disagree, but how could I possibly judge someone or write them off completely because we feel differently about issues that in and of themselves are subjective? Is killing babies bad? Yes, I think we’d all agree, but that isn’t the point. The point is you’ll never meet another human being, not your best friend, your life partner, your parent, children, mentor or assistant who carries the same exact opinions as you. It is fundamentally impossible.

I have nearly reached my limit on political opinions specifically, especially the quotes and pictures taken completely out of context, designed to influence thousands in a matter of seconds. Can’t we use our reason anymore? Can’t we be skeptical of this type of information as it’s piped into our brains without even an invitation? Just because I probably won’t vote for a certain candidate does not mean I want to hear useless information about some dumb thing he may have said on a topic that doesn’t relate to my life or anyone else’s. We all deserve to differentiate between quality information and bullshit, between the necessary and the unnecessary, between the informative and the pure gossip. We want a better government, we need a smarter electorate, a populace that won’t simply fall for every 30 second ad, meme, summarization of words or sound bite they come across. We are capable of better. I hope we get there.

These small epiphanies are serving to keep me on track, not to force anyone else to do a thing. I don’t enjoy seeing people get fired up over nonsense, stirring up vitriol and venom over what is essentially, air. Who cares? We vote with our wallets, our ballots, our choices, and if we’re inspired by a cause, then action can be taken to support it, but having the equivalent of a pissing contest online is a waste of energy and creates drama, which the media only perpetuates. I’ve chosen to keep a sharp eye and ear but I feel much less in need of showcasing my opinions and thoughts in some hope to influence or impress another. Why should I be so arrogant to think someone else should feel exactly as I do? Just because I can’t fathom the beliefs of some doesn’t mean my energy is to be expended on changing them. Also, mine change almost constantly, which feels good, to respond to the issue at hand, in the moment, without recycling my past opinions or borrowing another’s.

Share because you want to express yourself. Take all the opinions of others with a grain of salt. Concern yourself only with your own views. Respect that every other person does the same. I wish we could all just laugh off these subjects, instead of taking ourselves so seriously. We can each be our own teacher’s, enjoy and agree with the opinions of some, and ignore or disagree with the beliefs of another, all while living happily as our authentic selves, knowing all this bullshit will change colors tomorrow.

This has been a post about nothing. Thank you for reading. Enjoy today and everyday.

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter Check out my articles on MindBodyGreen!

Informed. Insightful. Important. Why All Voters Should Watch The Newsroom.

Recently I’ve been avoiding the news. By recent, I mean for about 5 years, and by news, I really mean the olds. Because of the advent of digital media, we now have hundreds of channels, websites, and a 24 hour, nonstop news cycle. And yet, the public couldn’t be less informed or educated. I’m not blaming them, nor am I claiming to be the opposite, but there are a significant number of citizens who blindly absorb the same information from the same sources day in and day out, without even a hint of skepticism. My natural tendency toward cynicism and disbelief, coupled with the laughing-stock that is our current United States government, I cannot stomach the very biased news I see on any channel these days. I’m forced to cherry pick articles and laugh while learning as I watch the Daily Show and the Colbert Report, the only truly honest, inquisitive and insightful bits of news I’m lucky to get. NPR is great, but it’s also so damn dry. My god, I do need some more inflection and editorializing than I often get, but at least their agenda is clear: to inform.

I am interested in politics, but not in debate. I could give two shits what this expert feels versus the other. They all seem to have smart people in their corner and most are represented by power hungry, loud mouths who’ve scared the extremes of the left and right to follow them like sheep. I’ve been a sheep before, again, no judgment, but sometimes I just want to shake these very smart, capable people into thinking for themselves, instead of deciding before they wake up how they’ll see the world the following day. It’s exceedingly difficult to find one right answer for over 350 million people. I’d imagine the process to getting there is complex and daunting, but I’d also imagine the fundamentals of setting up a healthy, informed nation with opportunity is something we can get back to, and I hope we do.

I am patriotic but I’m not wearing rose-colored glasses. Our country is no longer the best and the brightest. Am I glad to have been born here? Definitely. There are so many aspects I love and am proud of, but as one who lived in Europe for three years and plans to travel and roam this planet, I feel and know deeply we can learn a thing or two from other sovereign nations and our arrogance is getting us nowhere. It is in this vein that I enthusiastically recommend the entire American populace watches The Newsroom, Aaron Sorkin’s brilliantly written series for none other than H.B.O.

The Newsroom stars Jeff Daniels, a favorite actor from my childhood (any Dumb and Dumber fans out there?), who’s given some of the best performances of his career in the last decade. You must be sharp and fully equipped to ring off Sorkin dialogue and make it feel as believable and impassioned as it was written. And the cast of the Newsroom does just that. Daniels plays Will McAvoy, a rich and successful anchor of News Night who’s going through a series of changes after an uproarious speech uttered while debating on a news forum at Northwestern. Subsequently, he loses his executive producer and much of his staff, to be left with ex-flame MacKenzie McHale as his EP (bit of melodrama there) and a slew of new, energetic writers and producers encouraged to go back to the days of news with integrity.

After a long period of pandering to ratings and public opinion polls, the talented minds behind News Night decide enough is enough. No longer will they get lost in the shuffle of hyperbolic cable news, where opinions and bias run the show, content is used to inflame, stoke the fire of fear, and the almighty dollar received from advertisers are controlling the invisible hand from well behind the scenes. Their new goal is to return to a news program with integrity, what news used to be, an intelligent journalist informing the electorate with facts; sourced, qualified, irrefutable facts. When the news began, it was designed as a free public service, out from under the control of advertisers and suits, and instead seen as one hour of objective news, free from any influence.

Clearly we’ve gone in a different direction. The Newsroom brilliantly covers major events from congressional elections in 2010, the BP oil crisis, the swelling and ultimate misrepresentation of the Tea Party movement and the resulting losses the democrats suffered at the hands of extreme conservatives like Michelle Bachman. There is a major emphasis placed on objectivity here, and although the show plays on H.B.O. and is perhaps created and funded by Hollywood liberal elite, this show is led by and starring a registered Republican in McAvoy, a man frustrated by the extreme few speaking for the reasonable, and being sensationalized by the very petulant, drama hungry media.

There’s love interests, diversity in ages, cultures, opinions and backgrounds, but what I get most out of this show is razor-sharp writing delivered in a bold, influential manner. As we follow News Night behind the scenes, we’re privy to the very strict standards both the fictional news show, and the Newsroom in general, holds itself to. Conjecture and insinuation are gone, a party or political figure are not touted or hunted because of the ‘R’ or ‘D’ underneath their name. Is it news worthy? Do the electorate need to know this information? Is it credible and factual? In coming across the recent saturation of coverage this past weekend over the tragedy in Colorado, I can only imagine how News Night would choose to handle this situation.

Often we are consumed with nonsense because we want to avoid the importance of reality, of the genuine issues and challenges at stake. How someone did or did not treat a dog decades ago, reproductive rights (a 50-year-old resolved issue), the legitimacy of a birth certificate, car elevators, level of patriotism, religious beliefs, and college behavior. I don’t care what either of the presidential candidates did when they were 20, unless they murdered or tortured someone, nor am I concerned about their faith unless it majorly informs their decisions about our lives. I am majorly uninspired by most right now. I feel more informed by a very broad, fair recollection of events involving our economic collapse, our military involvement and much of our legislative policies after watching this very unusual, thought-provoking show.

It’d be amazing for our progress as a nation if we all got our heads out of our asses and began actually listening again. If we decided after we heard the facts rather than before we heard even simple opinions, the results would be astounding. We’re in a divisive mess, not anyone in particular’s fault, but the media, cable news like Fox and MSNBC in general, are not helping. Ratings feed their content and their audience and we’re sure to be fed a slop of negative, narrowly viewed topics to keep up reeling in anger and frustration. There is no way we can possibly, fully understand the complicated mess that is our government, so before we dismiss another simply because they think differently than us, we should open ourselves to understanding many different aspects and sides to an issue, and then make a sound decision that resonates most with our values while still respecting another’s.

My hope is people of all sides, but especially those so closely identified by either very conservative or very liberal values to take a step back, open their minds and ears and choose to expose themselves to different funnels of information and insight than normal. I won’t bother myself with it, it’s futile to care about another’s choices, but I can certainly hope for a more engaged, less volatile public. Our differences make us an interesting, cultured country. If we stopped caring about being right, or being better than another, we’d perhaps lead the world again in unified, progressive leadership voted for by a smart, logical electorate. Here’s hopin.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2SSSLZqQIg

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter Articles written for MindBodyGreen

~Feel Stupefied To Be Alive~

Can You Really Be “Born Again”?

The answer is yes and no, like many perplexing questions in life. Do I really know the answer? Probably not. Not sure anyone does, but based on my experience in my short time on Earth, and in the last year in particular, I feel strongly the answer is ‘Yes’. If you’re amongst the few who’ve either been apart of my life since I began writing, or those who’ve been following this “blog”, first off, thank you. Second, you are probably aware a dear friend of mine nearly lost his life in a terrible bike accident last year. I wrote about it here, endlessly in my personal journals, and to my loved ones through letters and cards, but suffice it to say the experience jarred me from a waking sleep and into a hyper alert reality that death is not only certain, but its influence in each of our lives is pervasive and there is absolutely no way to predict when and how it will knock on our doors.

The term “born again” usually refers to reformed Christians, those choosing to let their previous lives of “sin” go, in order to make room for a righteous way of living now. My intention in writing today is to discuss the way human beings renew themselves, by force or by choice. We learn in life, emphasized while studying Yoga, that our lives are full of cycles with a beginning, middle, and end. We have birth, life and death. At any given moment, you are starting, enduring or finishing something, big or small. Our breath is an ideal, consistent example of this.

On July 11th, 2011 my irrational fears died and my genuine fears came to life. The level of uncertainty swirling around those few days left me with the worst unease in the pit of my stomach. Since I was young, I’d been rehearsing, planning for the future, fine-tuning with arrogant clarity how my life would play out. My twenties had been a tumultuous experiment in how wrong I could be and how laughable it is to even think you can outline your life even moments from now with any real accuracy. Everything I assumed about myself, about others, about life was so unbelievably, utterly wrong and that realization came crashing down shortly after my friend did. From that moment on, I was new, born again. The same old me was there somewhere, but a fog had been lifted and I was seeing clearly, from a more intelligent place than just my eyes. I saw myself for the first time, the error of my ways and the pain I’d inflicted on myself was crippling.

I wasted little time with guilt, an emotion I let sit uncomfortably in my gut for many years previously, and one I’m nearly 100% rid of now. I witnessed someone, 6 years younger than me, who lived with such humbling openness, with such joy, such courage, such exuberance, that I’d spent much of my friendship feeling in awe of that personality trait, as if it was something he was born with and I was born without. I learned what it meant to be truly generous, to give another permission to be their full selves and to celebrate them for it. That’s fucking generosity. You can keep your 20 bucks, your gifts, your things. Give me a doorway into authenticity and fullness and that will inspire a thousand re-births in others. I saw that how we treat people is a choice we make before we walk into the door. Instead of waiting to see if someone will impress us, if they’ll be convincing enough to earn our connection, we instead go in knowing the potential to laugh and engage with another human being is imminent and we’re all worthy of that exchange.

The way we choose to approach our day, independent of our interaction with others, can tell us definitively if we’re operating out of love or fear. I don’t mean to simplify what is probably a very complex life for you, as it feels to me, but events in our lives can inspire a lot of reflection, a lot of pondering. Catharsis breeds change, from the inside out. Through the beauty in my friend and others, I saw the fallacy in my own being. I lived almost entirely inside my head rather than out of my heart. Each day, each person, each encounter, went through my internal processor for analysis. This required judgment, an interpretation. I wasted so much time deciphering things that just were, they needed no opinion, there was no result, but somehow I made it so. The short list of things that matter in life have no opposite, just as life itself does not. There is birth and death. Life is simply life. Genuine love has no opposite and the truth needn’t any debate. It is what it is.

Before, I feel I was over-thinking every decision, allowing the images and my perception of others influence how I felt about myself, how I approached my career, my relationships, communication, and connection. It was bassackwards! I spent many years feeling so inadequate and stuck, wanting to do so many things but finding no courage, no gas pedal to actually pursue them, to try and fail, to fucking live. I was always honest in words but a liar in action. What I despised in others clearly was living within me. It felt so impossible to break that cycle, to find the end, and to begin again anew. I’ve written before, many times, that I was uncomfortable letting my old self go. Everything I was doing and saying was some recycled form of bullshit I’d said and done before. Nothing was original, nothing was extraordinary, nothing was me. I’d believed every bad word I’d heard or thought about myself previously and allowed that to inform my decision making. I had a loving, supportive family. I lived in Europe for three years. I’d landed every job I applied for. I had many interesting, amazing friends. And why? Did I deserve it? Was I worthy? Had I earned it? How easily could it go away?

Turns out everything we experience in life will go away at some point. That purse you bought a couple weeks ago will mean nothing to you very soon. The degree he earned will prove meaningless once he enters the work force. Then, his work experience is the standard by which he’s judged. That high school or college girl who broke your heart will move on to another, as will you. And that money you earned will somehow be spent, as it should be. There are no bills and no barter system in the afterlife. This is all we get. That 5 bucks someone borrowed from you and forgot to pay back is lost in the hands of another now. That food has been swallowed, digested and excreted out of your body, only for the cycle to begin again. That embarrassing moment witnessed by dozens of others will be forgotten by all but the subject: you. Can you let go of all that you were up to this moment and decide right now to come forth as a lighter, healthier you? You can.

You don’t need to lose a loved one or even experience grave danger yourself to recognize what patterns are not serving you. Each word you utter, inside your head and outside to others, carries weight. In it, along with your gaze and facial expression, your body language and attitude, houses your belief in yourself, your view of life and just how consumed you are by the voice in your head. The edge of my words signaled my distrust, my negative expectations, and because my attitude was so hardened, so cynical, my experience reflected my assumptions. Cycle after cycle it was never me, it was life. Forget that I AM LIFE and my perception is 100%, entirely dependent upon my thoughts and emotions preceding it. My friend had a beautiful experience in life, he believed (believes still) so strongly in Love, because that is precisely was he is and was. He is life. He is love. We all are. Once all the B.S. was put on pause and all that was shown was compassion, trust, encouragement and hope, I suddenly realized what a waste of time and energy everything else really was.

Of course there are and always will be frustrating people, violence, atrocity, failure, tragedy, confusion, loneliness and negativity of innumerable colors. Money will come in and out like the wind. People will float in and out of your life. You will own clothing, furniture, homes, jewelry, cars, boats, stocks, bonds, electronics; and then one day, you won’t. You’ll barely remember them, nor should you. None of that speaks to who you are and what you have to give. Not a stitch. Not a penny. Not a grade. Not a brick. No image, no noun can adequately reflect the intangible properties you bring into the world at any given moment. If you feel uncertain, unworthy, undeserving, the solution is to start over, re-define yourself and be born again into a world whose only judge is You and the standard of living is based upon how much you laughed, learned and hugged each day.

This isn’t about renouncing possessions and moving off the grid, an exaggerated re-birth where there’s very little semblance of the lessons you’ve learned, the influences that have carved your path and the loved ones that have seen you throughout your journey. Money is essential in feeding, clothing and sheltering ourselves and in enjoying some luxury experiences like travel and skydiving. But that in no way means we must define ourselves by it, assume we are less than another because we have less, have earned less, weigh more, have a different education, wear less shiny things or simply have different talents or skills. There is no one like us on this planet. There are 7 billion human beings and not one has your D.N.A., not one sees the world from your perspective, not one whose heart beats for the same reason yours does. In that same vein, you can look across the bus, cafe, street to another and know that they’ve experienced pain, they know loss in some way, they have anxiety and stress and they, too, get in their own way as we all do at some point.

My hope, my goal, in however long I’m granted this life as a human being is to complain less and feel grateful more. I want to say yes more and no less, to myself in particular. I’m going to continue to talk myself into things that clearly scare me, to recognize my excuses as just that, a ticket out of living. I’ll no longer pay rent in stagnancy. I am in perpetual motion, beginning, persevering and ending all day, everyday, without fear. I acknowledge that I have an infinite capacity to love, my energy and time are valuable, and this truth applies to every other human being on this planet. I will treat even the rudest assholes with respect because it feels good inside my being to be calm in the midst of a storm, to be kind amongst antagonism, to be genuine around even the most insincere, to be patient during fits of frustration, and to be loving in overwhelming swirls of hate. We each can be a beacon of light even when surrounded by darkness.

Die to your old self each night and be born again into a fuller, better, happier You each day. Don’t put off living because of your fear of dying. It takes courage to be authentic, to see the good in yourself and others, to laugh loudly, cry benevolently, dance wildly, to do what you love regardless of the sacrifice or reward, and to live ecstatically every single damn day just because. You choose your experience, your view. Choose wisely. Choose lovingly.

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

~Feel Stupefied To Be Alive~

Italian So Good, Even My Nonna Approves. Riccardo’s: Chicago’s Best

I’ve had the sheer pleasure of living and eating in Chicago for two years now. Each day of my life is scheduled around food. Seriously. I am that sad person people refer to when they say “there are those who eat to live and those who live to eat.” I’m the latter. I live to chew, to taste life as much as I can, and eating is a full on sensory extravaganza. Or at least it should be. I was fortunate to be raised by genuinely amazing cooks, in particular of the Italian variety. Both of my father’s have a talent for cuisine, albeit one of them takes all day to execute a semi-annual gourmet meal. Nonetheless, they have a feel for food. Each woman has their own specialty and touch. I have a few favorites made by each. My Mom made a home-cooked dinner almost every night growing up and I can’t remember one bad meal. Somehow through all that goodness, we all still pale in comparison to my grandma.

Nonna (Italian for Grandma) or Grammy as I so affectionately call her, is the most intuitive and efficient culinary artist I’ve ever met. She’ll work all day, grab some groceries and whip up an amazing dinner with dessert in 30-45 minutes. And she loves it. Never complains. She’ll eat a meal somewhere, like it, but find a way to make it better so she loves it. Despite living in Italy for three years, traveling around Europe and living in big cities here in the States, I’ve never had a better meal than one my grandma made. And for that, we’re all screwed. I go into a new restaurant with limited hopes and expectations. I’ve had many amazing experiences with food throughout my life and I’m grateful to have found an authentic Italian spot in Riccardo’s.

I first delighted in Riccardo’s exquisite cuisine while celebrating a mutual anniversary with dear friends during their visit to the windy city. My friend is also Italian with an awesome grandmother who makes delectable sauce, so we both enter Italian restaurants with a sense of wonder. I did some searching and found Riccardo’s quaint location in East Lincoln Park, where Clark street meets Dickens. With a very small, navy awning with yellow letters, Riccardo’s unassuming facade is warm and welcoming. As soon as I entered, I transported to a different time and place. I was back where I feel a big chunk of my heart still lives, in the land of passion and pasta: Italy.

With tall ceilings, curved architecture and large paintings on the walls, Riccardo’s is cozy and bustling, seating roughly 60 people max. There’s staff of all ages, a testament to a family run institute, many of them speaking Italian, laughing with the customers and providing knowledgable, sound advice on which amazing items from their menu to try. I’ve been back 6-7 times and I still can’t get enough. I’ve taken my very selective grandmother, mother and family members, all of which ooed and ahhed at the pure bliss entering their mouths. Can’t wait to go back.

Riccardo’s is special. It’s a splurge. When we’re aiming to save we’ll elect their tasting menu. For $33 you select a 1st, 2nd and dessert course. You’re greeted with prosecco and amazingly fresh bruschetta. Their house wines are as good as anything I had in Italy and they have a wide selection should you desire something specific. On our multiple visits, our group has enjoyed veal meatballs in osso buco sauce (remember, Italians eat everything. They value quality, natural ingredients and they honor the life they’re eating.), gnocchi with wild oxtail, fried zucchini flowers with prosciutto and mozzarella, garbanzo flour crepe with wild boar sausage and fava beans, papardella with pork cheeks in chianti sauce, vitella tonnato, beef carpaccio, spaghetti carbonara, risotto with porcini mushrooms, pork tenderloin with parmesan risotto and oven potatoes, and much, much more.

My god I am salivating as I type! I must go back immediately. Truth: I cried the first time I experienced Riccardo’s. All the elements of our dining experience were so spot on, of such high quality and I really just felt nostalgic for Europe. There’s no rush when you eat. You sip wine, laugh, savor each succulent bite and moan the entire way through. Their tiramisu is as authentic as I’ve had, as good as my dear Italian friend who labored over it lovingly for one of our last meals as residents. You walk out onto Chicago’s beautiful streets, slowly sauntering off your epic meal, just as the Italians would do.

It pains me to see people choose mediocrity. Please know that Olive Garden could not be farther from authentic Italian and most American restaurants claiming to make genuine food straight from mamma’s kitchen are bullshitting us. There are certainly spots all around the country who focus on quality of ingredients and superb execution of their chosen recipes. They’re usually family run and less easy to find, but they’re there, and they’re worth every mile you drive and every penny you spend. You have one life. Eat, drink, laugh and love well. You deserve it. Give yourself the gift.

Saying Goodbye to Who You Were

Every year since I became an adult has been exponentially better than the last, in particular from about 25 on. The last year carried many significant events that thrusted me forward psychologically, spiritually, whatever you wish to call it, through good times and bad. I’ve never felt more grateful, more genuinely happy from the inside out, more excited by each day’s possibilities. I like myself more, this having little to do with my external circumstances, my looks, my income or my possessions. I feel a light emanating brighter and brighter each day. Not only do I feel this so potently within myself, but I see it so much more in the eyes of others. I love me more and that has led to my tolerance and love of everyone else. Boy does life change you if you let it. It’s been 10 years since I graduated high school. I have no use for the past anymore as I feel I’ve learned, I’ve appreciated what was, and now I’d prefer to surrender to what is. What is interesting when observing how much I’ve changed is how much more I feel like myself, my old self seems eons away. And what’s even more interesting is the dynamic with friends from the past. Everyone changes, but not necessarily in the same direction, nor should they. I love my old friends, and a few have grown right with me and are still major bright spots in my life, but I can tell some of them think I’ve drank some sort of KoolAid, my happiness makes their eyes roll, because they’re clearly confused what happened to their cynical bitch of a friend they knew and loved before.

I didn’t hate high school. I certainly didn’t love it. It’s such a concentrated group of insecure, immature, unhappy, selfish people. I include myself in this group. No judgment. We were in our teens, hormones raging, independence booming, self-confidence questioned around every corner. I had a great group of friends in both high schools I attended. They were funny and smart, less concerned with being popular, more concerned with fulfilling their academic and extra-curricular activities, having fun and surviving each week. Very few of us were having sex, drinking and no one I knew did any sort of drugs. I never thought of myself as innocent or naive, but clearly I was. I was filthy in my mind, had a dirty fucking mouth, and was skeptical of most new people who came my way.

From about 16-22 I connected with people who most resonated with my sarcastic views. I was and am a very loyal, loving friend. That I can honestly look back and feel okay about, but how I engaged with those I deemed unworthy of oxygen was less impressive. I had such little patience for the ignorant, unintelligent, unfunny, superficial or any other quality I felt too negative for my presence to tolerate. This was my skewed view. I didn’t give these poor souls a chance to prove me wrong. Sure, I felt perceptive and smart enough to decipher between the “good” and “bad” pretty easily, why waste time? But how I engage with people now is so much kinder, so much more open for them to surprise me. But then, I lived in the bitter barn, quasi happily, proudly, fuck off or I’ll bite you with my words. Tons of fun I was.

What my judgmental eye tells me now is how my lack of self-worth manifested into this staunch defense mechanism, defending the truth, defending the funny, defending the righteous, but at what cost? Burning a bridge, making someone feel small, negatively permeating my bad juju into the room. I was always first to stick up for what I thought was right. If someone was making fun of a fat person, a person of a difference race, religion, or background, here came the facetious feline to save the day. I had no concern for tact, for the very simple law that violence of any kind breeds more violence, so to fight fire with fire was just as stupid as the bigots I was aiming to defeat. Oh the irony.

Me and one of my closest friends used to have this joke, this rule: 3% of the male population are dateable. 1% are gay. 1% are taken. So that leaves 1% for us to find, approve, wrangle and dominate. So many men/boys who weren’t my friends irritated me. I felt every word that fell out of their mouths was scripted. I was in no mood to play a role. Love me for the harsh bitch that I am. Truthfully, my insides were a damn marshmallow. I could cry at the drop of a hat. Animals, people who were suffering in some way, made me bawl. I felt so guilty and helpless. Why them? So I had compassion in my heart but it was encased, locked and shrank in size until real love came into my life and slowly chiseled that guard away.

I had little tolerance and understanding for differences then. Not basic differences. I grew up being taught to accept people as they are. I didn’t care what color someone’s skin was or who they loved, but if they seemed inadequate mentally, any semblance of patience I had flew out the window along with any potential connection with this person. In college, I felt nauseous by sororities and fraternities. It’s still not my thing, but who fucking cares? Plenty of normal, nice people join and it’s not my business what they do with their money and time. Just because I’m a lame ass who doesn’t party doesn’t mean everyone who does is a douche.

Entering the world with this very sharpened lens, assuming most people will disappoint me, waiting for them to just say the wrong words, created an outside experience that reflected my inner reality. People suck. People are stupid. People are assholes. Mediocrity thrives. The weak survive. Being alive is just meh. That was precisely my experience. It didn’t occur to me then to change my internal rhetoric, work on improving myself and then maybe give others that same permission. It took some amazing friends, close family members and my very open and loving man to show me the tiny flickering light I had inside me.

It is terrifying to be loving all the time, especially to a cynic. My ego does not want to be proven wrong. My ego doesn’t want to let go of my previously touted “strengths.” It doesn’t want to move on from those friendships and it certainly doesn’t feel comfortable unless I’m critiquing the world around me, especially judging myself. Nothing I did ever satisfied me. No accomplishments in school, no acquisitions that I earned, no opportunities I seized. I still carried myopic vision and until I saw the world with truly open eyes, the cycle would repeat and I’d stay forever the same.

The only thing constant is change. I finally recognized this, saw that the periphery of my life was in ceaseless, transient motion. Things, people, situations flew in and right back out. Something in me resisted this by staying rigidly the same within. I am cynical. I am sarcastic. I am left brained. Athletic. Organized. Timely. Efficient. Everything else is sub par, nothing to be learned from them. Except everything. I voluntarily imprisoned myself in my own labels! I did this to myself and it trickled out to others and then sprayed right back in my face. I’ve had great friends throughout my life, again, I wasn’t a total C, but just comparing how I feel inside now when engaging with the outside world, I can feel how foreign my old self used to be. Instead of feeling empathy, seeing how alike I was with my fellow man, I saw only differences. Forget learning from these unique characteristics, I had all the information safely stored in my head, recycling the same garbage opinions over and over, shackling myself tighter to my skeptical beast of an ego. I had to break free.

I’ve written about this subject before, but seeing myself with new, fresh eyes fills me with enthusiasm to share, to maybe connect with others on this issue. You do not have to be who you were forever. Changing for the better, meaning opening yourself to new people and experiences, and daring to love yourself can and will only affect you positively, regardless of any questions, confusion or even resistance you may feel from people in your past. This is who I am now. I love being alive. I am so grateful to breathe, walk, eat, laugh and love each day. I have met some amazingly fascinating people in the past few years, in particular since deciding to open my mind and heart and never close it again. People have burned me and bummed me out but those are just individual cases of assholes. Yes, negativity is everywhere, particularly if you look for it. If you choose to see the goodness in yourself and in those you hold dear, then that will give hope and space for more to enter your life. And more have.

I still find myself carrying strong convictions about certain things. Disingenuous people still irk me, but I seriously give very little energy toward it. I accept it now, just as I accept myself as flawed but doing my best. There’s already too much light in the world for darkness to survive. You have to work really hard to remain in the shadows. I feel life is so much easier now that I’ve dropped my bad attitude. The responsibilities of adulthood don’t elude me, I still feel challenged throughout my days. I merely extracted some good trust in myself. I can handle the good and bad, on my own, and I have a damn good group of people to carry me should I be too weak.

I am working to give time, energy and even money to people, situations, goods and services that sit right with me, that feel good to contribute, but fully accepting the rest that simply do not. Who cares? It feels shitty to allow negativity to fester within me, regardless if I’m making jokes about it or even if I’m right. It’s so repetitive, boring. Been there, done that. Yep, stupid people suck. What a wise, original thought. “Thanks for sharing, Danielle. We all needed to hear that little gem come out of your brilliant mind.” I am no longer defined or confined by who I was. That poor girl. I’m having much more fun now and I think those surrounded by me are as well. I have given myself space to be me and that has opened a portal for others to do the same. I certainly hope people feel encouraged by me now, rather than how I used to be.

My new friends wouldn’t recognize the old me. The competitive, sports loving, time obsessed, funny but sometimes at the detriment of others, loving but only specifically, accepting of very little, open to even less chick. I am certainly not perfect or 100% positive all the time. But I’m pretty damn happy. I know this because I can see the discomfort in others who haven’t felt their own light yet. My hope is they will but I’m alright either way. I’m stupefied to be alive!

I can’t express emphatically enough how much better your life will be and feel once you surrender the past to the past and give way for a new, smarter, healthier you to emerge from that rubble. The only person that can trap you is you. It is not the world that is fucked up. It is each of us. As we wait for the world to give us what our egos think we deserve, we’re stuck simmering in our own pessimism, our own fear, our own doubt, our own frustration. Unglue yourself, trust yourself and just say fuck it! Smile, feel the life that you are. You are breathing! You are perceiving, receiving, and conceiving at almost every moment. Get out of your head and enjoy it. YOU DESERVE IT. Stop waiting for the outside world to change so you can finally be happy. Change your internal compass, clock and mood, and let the world try to reject your contentment, your openness, your positivity. It won’t happen. It can’t. The laws of physics won’t allow it. Yes, this is scientific. Think, feel, speak, do good. It’ll reflect back accordingly. The world is a mirror, shine bright during the short time you can.

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Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

Living with the Poison of Self Doubt

Not sure if it’s the expectations placed on us as children, experiences with failure and embarrassment, an aspect of a guilty conscience or some combination of all three, but I have been plagued by self-doubt my entire life. It is slowly diminishing, coming to crawl, it seeps into my soul slowly now so I can see it no matter what its disguise. Nonetheless, it’s still there. Still gnawing at me like a petulant fly, an annoying little asshole hedging its bets on my disappointment. I sound either schizophrenic or like a sufferer of D.I.D. (formerly Multiple Personality Disorder), but I know I’m not alone in what-ifing so many of my decisions and pursuits. It’s a difficult cycle to break but not impossible, and certainly worth it.

We learn in psychology, and in the game of life, that as children we’re given mental and physical tasks and then our intelligence and skill level is gauged based on that. Loving school and homework and baseball and other sports made it easy for me to slip comfortably to the top of mediocrity. I’m not trying to diminish my small accomplishments as a child, but seriously, I earned straight A’s at a public school in Florida. I recognize now I merely climbed to the top of a hill; I didn’t conquer a damn mountain. What hindsight and years dedicated to false forms of happiness has led to is that it doesn’t matter anyway. The most interesting and genuinely intelligent people I know were smart enough to be bored in traditional schools, not consumed by winning a meaningless game against themselves. I’ve let go of that now. Naturally, when you’re interested in something, when it sparks your passion and drive, you will excel because you want to and because you’re following your intuition, your heart, your bliss, and not the dreams of anyone else.

There’s a reason I went through most of my life with a pervasive, underlying blah in my feelings toward myself and life. I was desperate to showcase greatness, exhibit my mental and physical prowess. My goodness was lost and my heart was muted. I wasn’t equipped then to pull myself out of it, to pursue genuine passions over simply following strengths, or to know why this gnawing in my gut was there in the first place. Something in me must have known that all this contrived happiness and achievement were just that, contrived, phony, bullshit, nothing. That’s not to say I’m not impressed by my friends who’ve shown great perseverance and success in their respective fields, whether it be graduating medical or law school, actually climbing a mountain, playing their sport at an elite level or showcasing their art for the world to see. I am just aware now how little love I put into what I did. I did it because exhibiting excellence gave me bursts of confidence. Bursts being the operative word, soon that good report card passed and it was onto the next.

So, with the exception of boys, close friends, eating, family and an interest in winning (thanks for ruining that word, Charlie Sheen. Or thanks for making it awesome again? who cares.) I had little passion or I suppose I felt a lack of satisfaction in how I spent my days, where I devoted my energy. I would’ve loved to consider myself an artist but again, adults love to label children, and once I put brush to canvas and realized what an appallingly bad drawer and painter I was, I assumed all art was lost on me. I was an athlete, a student-athlete, the greatest oxy-moron there is. Sports taught me how to lose but it didn’t help me conquer my fear of failure. I remember going through slumps, in pitching or hitting or any activity surrounding a ball, and the fear would consume me. I’d want to quit. Luckily my parents taught me to stick things out. Despite continuing, I’d still grapple with the doubt, question everything from my capabilities to my reasons for playing.

This nagging “what are you doing and why” stayed with me until a minute ago when I decided to drop it forever. Up until then, it parlayed from sports into academics and ultimately my career. Since I was a teenager I wanted to host my own show. I feel slightly embarrassed to even admit that, but that’s just my self-criticism getting the best of me. My initial major in college was Radio/Television because that seemed a practical path to my silly dream. I was bored to tears in the short list of classes I took, soon opting to pursue the study of Psychology instead. There’s one for an overly analytical person to dive into: analysis! I know my changing majors was partially due to my lack of interest but also majorly caused by self-doubt. I saw all those hot people ready to throw themselves in front of hurricane and I questioned my commitment, my abilities, my attractiveness. I was still very attached and very consumed by my opinions, my cynicism and the years of descriptors that were placed on me from birth.

I toiled with pursuing grad school, law school, and a number of careers I deemed impressive enough to suit me, but none of them inspired me. Something in me despised mediocrity and traditional measures of success and then something else relegated me to that same normality I rejected. Rock in a hard place. Afraid to move forward, glued by fear and doubt in my place, but yearning desperately to expect more out of myself and life. I needed to let go of all previous expectations I placed on myself and any imagined standards set by others and just listen to my damn heart.

I felt so proud to be logical, pragmatic, fact based, detail oriented, organized and disciplined. I had no clue I was using these tools incorrectly and neglecting a huge fraction of existence by limiting myself to those strengths. Where in there can I find space for creativity? For originality? For wonder? For joy? For Love? For fun? Why couldn’t I just expect to be happy and nothing else? I was in a perpetual state of competition with myself. The experience of loss or failure not only validated the doubtful tapes I’d been playing in my mind but left me with little inspiration to try again or god forbid attempt something new.

Luckily, I’ve always been self-aware, introspective. I’d lie awake with my thoughts, frustrated with myself, asking for guidance, answers. It was Yoga and the pursuit of teaching that not only held up a mirror that made me grasp the damage I was inflicting upon myself, but that also provided insight in how to get over myself and start living a real life. The most fundamental lesson Yoga has taught me is to dis-identify from my thoughts. It’s not only about giving my brain a break from the incessant churning and volume of my inner monologue, but severing the tie between me and my mind. Again, I sound a little nutty, but if you give yourself this gift, you’ll understand. And you'll also realize how unoriginal and entirely plagiarized this idea is. The very idea of yoga, in fact.

We are all able to watch our thoughts and simply bringing awareness to this, turning on that lightbulb that says “hey, dummy. you are not your thoughts. you are the observing presence behind them.” Slowly, I’ve become detached. I laugh at my weird little mind now but I do not take my thoughts seriously. Anything I do well comes from something much smarter than my memories or my conditioned mental patterns. It comes from being fully attuned to this moment, from following my intuition and my heart, and from being open to all that flows my way.

Doubt implies a lack of trust. Doubt tells me I cannot handle the consequences of my actions, in particular if they are not rewarding. Doubt tells me I am undeserving of joy, happiness, love and success. Doubt is healthy when absorbing new information or following a gut instinct, but the doubt that lives and grows inside our psyche serves only one purpose: to keep us from living.

I will never be good at everything. Many will not like or love me. And regardless how I allow that to play into my life, that will always be the case. So what the fuck does it matter? The beauty in life is seizing it, being unafraid to enjoy it, and loving what you do over fixating on results. Paying my bills is not satisfaction enough. I need that fire in my belly and the drum of my heart to keep me on the right path, to keep creating, to stay original, to keep evolving, to be grateful to be alive each day. Letting go of the importance placed on my opinions opened me to new experiences, new people, new career paths, new lessons. I now feel I’m sincerely hosting my own show instead of sitting idly by in the audience, wishing so badly to run on stage. My dream is continuing to progress each day and I feel like a participant in watching it unfold. Each day is new, exciting, fulfilling and wondrous. I no longer doubt my awesomeness, for no other reason than I have a loving heart and an interesting soul.

You can take that same energy you’re giving to misplaced goals, unfair expectations, disappointment, doubt, discontent and any fear based emotion and redirect it toward something positive. What is it you need to ignite your soul? Do it. I’ve made a million excuses and talked myself out of so many things. I’m done. Get fed up with yourself and that is the beginning of the end for your ego. The begending. :) Let your essence and your goodness lead the way, your greatness is sure to follow.

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Other related articles: Living with a Guilty Conscience Living with a Sexual Appetite

@danieatslife on the social media things 

You Want Unreal BBQ? Have A Smoque

Being from the embarrassing cousin to the south, Florida, I have a pretty strong appreciation for good barbecue. I grew up visiting my father in North Carolina, Mississippi, and Georgia while visiting other loved ones in Tennessee and Alabama. I also lived in Texas for two years. I feel similar with BBQ as I do with Mexican food and pizza; I can eat pretty shitty BBQ and still enjoy myself, but I prefer the amazing stuff, of course. I’ve written about a couple BBQ joints here in Chicago which I enjoyed thoroughly, but nothing compares to my recent experience at Smoque. I left uttering those famous last words, “best barbecue ever.” Smoque is located on north Pulaski and Grace avenue, just south of the Irving Park blue line stop. This northwest side neighborhood is unchartered territory for me. This city is too huge for me to ever explore it all. The amount of restaurants I’ll never eat in is a soul-crushing reminder every day of my life, but I’ll do what I can, I’ll bite off as much as I can chew and afford and regurgitate my experience here if it’s worth it. And Smoque is unbelievably worth it. Holy hell in a hand basket.

We went fairly late in the evening on a Friday night. They close at 10 p.m. There’s almost always a line out the door. If this flummoxes you, turns you off or makes you hesitant to visit, don’t listen to your brain. Listen to your belly and your heart and go challenge them both with the most flavorful, tender meat you’ll ever consume. While you wait in line you can gawk at the people who’re already eating, try to figure out what they ordered and feel out what excites you the most. I went with mostly new visitors and one person who’d dined there once. He insisted we order certain items and given my indecisiveness when ordering food, I let him lead the way. He ordered for us both, 1950’s style, and the little lady that I am was relegated to my seat to anxiously await my succulent food.

For the longest time, I have been dry rub resistant. I’m not allergic. I don’t hate it. I just don’t love it. At times the ribs I’ve ingested in the past that were dry rub were just that, dry. I like me some juicy meat, so tender it’ll quench your thirst. I was astounded by the incredible flavor of Smoque’s dry rub ribs. Not only was the combination of spices interesting and wildly delicious, but the meat fell right off the bone and into my mouth with ease. Not to be outdone was the brisket, that easily shredded with a light amount of pressure from my plastic fork. Their two sauce options were each perfect additions. My fork ventured over to the spicy side more, but the sweet rocked my world as well.

I loved their coleslaw, a side item I’ve loathed for most of my life, in particular mayo based coleslaw. I love mayonnaise, don’t get me wrong, but the snotty consistency in most coleslaws left me underwhelmed and unimpressed. I enjoy a good NC style vinegar slaw and this was almost a Midwestern twist. No mayo, vinegar base, refreshing and satisfying. Their mac n’ cheese was pretty stellar. It looked, smelled and tasted homemade, made extra special with a bread crumb topping. Yum. I enjoyed my taste of their baked beans very much, as well as the peach cobbler we ordered in droves.

This place is an indulgence. I care very much about how my body runs and how consciously I’m eating. I love animals and I am very concerned not only with how this country processes meat, with how the animals are treated and therefore how the food we are consuming makes its way to my plate, but also with the quality of food I choose to digest. Eating BBQ everyday is most likely a one way ticket to diabetes and other health related issues, but treating yourself to a place like Smoque is something every human being deserves. I shared a rack of ribs, side of brisket, coleslaw, mac n cheese and peach cobbler with my love and it was more than enough. Savor every bite. Lick your fingers. When something is above average good, it doesn’t take much to satisfy. And that rule applies to more than just food.

With food, friends, beverages and daily choices, quality is always important and moderation is key. I genuinely believe we can enjoy all the fruits of this amazing existence healthily, by providing our own balance. Eat those greens and the nutritious offerings from nature and then pepper it with some treats, some tender meat, a small but satisfying portion of cheesey goodness, and maybe a little sweetness to top it off. Wash it down with plenty of water in between good craft beers and share the meal only with those deserving of your time and energy. Life’s too short to waste your senses on mediocrity. Eat and love well.

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

Living With A Sexual Appetite

I'm getting too used to writing these little disclaimers. If you've changed my diaper, grown up somewhat conservative and/or modest, sheltered, private, or perhaps you're just a bit squeamish; please know that this article is more honest, open and raw than I've ever been. And that's probably saying a lot, as I usually don't mince words. So read at your own caution. And enjoy.

I was born a horny child. Salacious as it may seem, it’s true. I think most children are equipped with sexual inclinations, intrigued by their own bodies and the desire to explore others. We learn to shield this very natural instinct, to shun the beauty of a naked adventure, and lock up desire, fantasy and pleasure into a closet that is dark and run by fear. That was not me. And luckily that was not my parents. I liked boys immediately. Well, men, truthfully. Boys my age never interested me until I met one that seemed an old soul like me, an indeterminable age himself, wise and weathered, handsome and strong. But I digress.

I was pretty boyish growing up. Combination of sporty parents and family, with no sisters or girl cousins, being the oldest raised by very strong, outspoken women I was doomed to a life outside my shell. I just remember loving dirt, sports, all colors besides pink, and being first. God dammit I was in a race, it was important I arrive in style, before everyone else. So I was very tom-boyish, dressed in baggy pants and jerseys until I realized boys like girls who dress like girls, not girls who dress like boys. Alright, I’ll throw on a skirt. As a child, I played with dolls mostly through other friends. My closest childhood friend had many trolls and my little ponies. All I remember is loving the wild hair of the trolls and incessantly touching the suede-ish my little pony because it felt amazing! The only barbies I owned were two hot, long-haired ladies and one dark-haired man Barbie. Don’t think I didn’t make those three inter-mingle in sordid ways, because I did, many times. And I’d do it all again.

In my family I’m most known and remembered for humping the furniture. From about the age of 4 I was mounting everything with an arm. Look out, old sofas and chairs! Life was good. My parents gave me the greatest gift you can ever give a child, they handled it with mature grace. They simply asked I hump my own furniture in private, behind a closed door, away from the grandparents and other visitors. And so I did. At the time, it was a physiological impulse. It felt good. That’s all. A few years later it got good and pervy but at a young age, it’s just stimulating. A leads to B which leads to C. Parents, adults in general, and authority figures specifically freak the fuck out when their kid seems inclined to follow their primal instincts. Your genitals are fun houses, kids, don’t let the grown-ups claim otherwise.

I was and still am a very inquisitive person. I want to know all things I don’t understand. I do not enjoy being confused and therefore I have an awesome crease from a consistently furrowed brow, a marker that says “bullshit.” I gave my parents this look often as a child, including the age of 5 when I persisted and annoyed them into telling me what sex was, down to the dirty details. The Louis C.K. stand-up from years back exemplifies this beautifully (and covers all kinds of hysterical topics regarding raising girls). “But why?”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4u2ZsoYWwJA

Children never stop asking why. Adults don’t either but the context is miles away. Children’s whys regard discovery and figuring shit out. Adults are scheming to find out why something did or didn’t happen the way they felt it should. We are so annoying. Nonetheless, my tenacity paid off, I got my lesson on sex and I did not hesitate for a second thinking I wouldn’t have sex. I knew I’d have a lot of it, but when? And with who?

After many years and hand cramps, worn out arm chairs and holes ripped in underwear I started to get the idea that someone else can help me with this hard work. It doesn’t all have to be done myself. An unfortunate theme piped into the heads of many young ones, and young women in particular, is the notion that sex is special and should be saved for someone deserving. And although I agree with this somewhat, I think that either piques the interest of your child more, makes it feel wrong and forbidden -and trust me, what is forbidden is so damn enticing- or it drives you into fear, leading to ignorance and thwarted development. Hell yes, I want to be wrong. Fuck those old people (my parents weren’t and are still not old). My Mom was smart enough to share that sex was awesome and fun but many young men haven’t a clue what they’re doing and many wish to just spread their seed and then leave you with a literal and figurative mess to clean up. She expressed that when I was ready to let her know and we’d prepare accordingly. May sound odd, nothing gets you in the mood like telling your mom about it, but it was really comforting and it led to a fairly high standard that was never met until I fell in love.

I knew people who were having sex in junior high. In elementary school, I was a little rudimentary slut, holding hands and kissing whomever I could. I had about 4-6 boyfriends from 3rd-6th grade. Some I kissed, some gave me jewelry, some I literally just talked to, and others I just paraded around like some sort of trophy at school. I felt my first emotional bond at 12 in 7th grade. For whatever reason he was a complete wussy and we kissed only once. I moved away after 8th grade to Dallas, where people were hotter, richer and a billion times more advanced than I was in every single way. I experienced the ethereal concept of chemistry for the first time at 15 in 10th grade. I’d had tons of crushes, mostly on the older guys, crushing hard-core on my older brother’s (actually my cousin, doesn’t matter) friends, taking tiny insignificant moments with me to recall later that night. But real chemistry is a whole other ballgame. And it fucked with my head royally.

This guy went on to become a very good friend of mine as we had endless things in common. We never so much as kissed and we’re still friends today. I’m not going to lie, I’d easily have ruined the friendship then and got the monkey off my back, but I was a hormonal mess without a clue how to handle it. And I’m stoked we’re still friends. Celibacy followed me further. My parents were all going through their own bullshit, leading me to question the value of relationships and making me hesitant to roll around with anyone just yet. I constantly had the thought that none of these boys could even begin to satisfy me, mentally, let alone physically.

I moved again in high school, back to the town of my junior high. For the first time since actually hitting puberty I ran into my 6th grade boyfriend. We barely spoke in junior high, I was consumed by my relationship with his friend. At 17, it was as if two adults were meeting for the first time. And for the first time in my life, my loins were activated by a man who existed in real life, not on television or the movies. To be so powerfully attracted to someone in a sexual way is very, very engrossing. I’m fairly certain it was the hormones but my god I was devoured by desire, and clouded by physicality. I’d always been attracted to men and he was a man now, equipped with height and hair, broad chest and a deep voice. God my mouth still waters thinking about him. Yikes. Excuse me.

Ok, I’m back. So being an idiot teenager I just lusted after my 6th grade boyfriend, allowing him to drunk dial me whenever he wanted, pop in and out of my life when he wished, enjoyed some summer make-out sessions and ultimately I let him break my heart twice. Ugh. Gross. I’d like to make a correction and say he broke my ego’s heart twice because my heart as it is today would waste no time on this dude. I’d still get naked with him, do not get me wrong, I have good taste and he wasn’t terrible, he just wasn’t stimulating enough, in every way imaginable. I feigned strength and sarcasm when he’d roll back into my life, pretending I didn’t give a shit until he convinced me he did and then I’d turn to mush.

I lost my virginity to him at 19 years old at his beach house on July 26th, 2003. His birthday. What a gift. I took charge. I was on birth control already, for over a year, priming my body for this experience. I went to Victoria’s Secret with my mom and bought some sexy underwear. Truth. I made a sexy playlist and got myself revved up on the 35 minute drive over. I let him know just what was going down. I took charge and I got mine. It was cool. Certainly not the best sexual experience I’ve had but a release. It was awesome to be naked with someone else, someone I’d been drawn to for so long, someone I wanted so badly. I should’ve ripped his head off and left him after but I lingered a bit. I told him we should just have sex and enjoy each other until I went back to college. We did once more. That was all. He always said I was too good for him, too much for him to handle. Shitty excuse for a boy dressed in man’s clothing to make. But ultimately true.

I spent 3 years in college single, abstinent, lonely, in a chronic state of masturbation and sadness. The tumult over my bullshit relationship just made me feel too weak to approach anyone or to open myself to someone new. I slept with a hot older dude who turned out to be engaged. It was very animalistic. I liked it, but I didn’t like him enough to pursue it further. Plus, I wasn’t interested in being that girl. Sure, I lusted over professors and tons of taken men, but I never wanted to disrespect someone’s relationship. I had enough sense and empathy to know I wouldn’t wish that for myself. And I did in fact want my own relationship, with laughter and eating and sex and whatever else is supposed to be involved. So many disingenuous guys in college. I crushed on a guy for a couple years, purposely ran into him around campus, sat near him in class, dreamt of him at night, but my courage be gone with my virginity and it didn’t return until 21, with the help of some liquid courage.

A few experiences with some people who will remain nameless led to me being fed up with me. I decided I would not waste another second wanting the past to be different. What a waste of time and energy. I chose to be open, for once, and see what happened. On a rare night out (I was so lame in high school and college. I can remember each party, each bar and each club. That’s how little I went out.), I went to a bar/restaurant my parents loved, a bar I’d visited numerous times underage, the very one where I met my one night stand parter, and I sat and gazed, eyes and loins open, excited to see who would come my way. I talked to this cocky ass hot guy who’d been talking to every other vagina previously. I did not give him my number, I’d never given my number to anyone. Truth. I was with one of my best friends, my old brother (Cuzzy) and then my parents joined us (since I was young I’ve been a homebody. I love my family. My standards for friends and men were high because I already had a place where I was accepted and welcomed to be myself).

It began to rain and in a quasi buzzed stupor I decided to go outside for some fresh air. I don’t even want to think about not going outside that door at that moment, because that moment changed my life forever. Every second since has been monumentally better. My life began July 9th, 2005 and I’m not ashamed for a moment to admit the cause. I fell in love and lust at first sight with my future husband, Derek. He was about to come in, finishing a cigarette, an activity I insisted I’d never accept. In a flirtatious and bold moment, I told him he was too handsome to smoke and I threw his cigarettes in the trash. It’s actions like this that leads my father to tell me I would scare the hell out of him. Oh well. Something worked. We went on our first official date July 22nd and we’ve barely come up for air since.

I won’t air out the dirty details of our relationship and our shared enjoyment of copulation, but I’ll say that I went into this partnership with an open mind and heart. I didn’t sacrifice who I was for a second. I was blunt and honest, at times to a fault, but ultimately we carved out a very genuine, equal relationship where each person’s needs were prioritized and met. He softened me and I awakened him. I do feel we brought the better out of each other and given we met at 21, it would be a drastic understatement to say that we’ve grown up together. I never anticipated getting married at 22. My cynicism was mounting so high I couldn’t even foresee meeting someone at all. My chosen shift in energy changed things. It took me getting fed up with myself, with who I was, that broke me free into who I could be.

Our relationship has been 97% positive. Any 3% came from fear. Fear of falling in love and losing it. I’ve never liked myself less than seeing my jealousy. I always thought I was above it, but I’d never been around someone I loved and someone they’d had sex with before. It made me feel so juvenile, so uncomfortable. Can’t you just release and then cast that person away forever? Turns out that’s not so practical and most of the time we’re forced to engage with characters from our former lives, regardless what role they have now. Years ago, I was riddled with false confidence. I wanted to be adored but wouldn’t admit it. Love me for my mind, dammit (see previous article on growing up with a MILF for a mom). And so the beauty of other women made me uncomfortable. I had beautiful friends, beautiful family members and admired many women. I wasn’t a woman hater. I was just particular. And if the lady was super hot but not inspiring in any other way, instead of acknowledging that and enjoying the sight of something so beautiful, I fought it. An un-winnable fight. Again, a waste of energy. Nothing brought me further into my satisfaction with life and everything in it than this.

To assume someone you’re with is titillated, attracted to and satisfied by you and you only is futile, selfish, egoic and stupid. I understand the unease that comes along with those emotions, but let me just express as someone who’s come out the other end much happier and in a very satisfying monogamous relationship, that you may be committed to one person, but you are not dead. Since birth I’ve lusted after men, had long lists of men I wanted to bone, and short lists of freebies should the opportunity arise. That hasn’t changed. Me and my love have respectful, fun discussions about men and women we each find tantalizing and why. Genuine confidence is a love of self and an appreciation of others. It is not conditional. There are no egg shells to carefully circumvent, no conversations off limits. Letting go of worry frees you to enjoy yourself and others more fully. We’re embarking on the 7 year itch and neither of us have ever been more in love, in lust, or in like, with ourselves as individuals and with us as a unit. I believe so intently that this is what love and sex are supposed to be. Everyone’s definition and expression are different, of course, but most deserve to simply enjoy the company of another, encourage each other on their specific paths and live harmoniously with someone who balances you, allows you to be you and elevates you to your next level with ease.

Some blunt truths about sex:

Sex is awesome. Lights on or off. Naked or just the underwear removed. It is to be enjoyed. Good sex happens in the moment, not in your head. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

The more you accept your body and the less you complain, the better your sex will be. This is also true for your life in general.

Masturbation is healthy, prevents unwanted pregnancies, unwanted STDs and unwanted sexual awkwardness. I know what I like and I know how to express that. Get to know your body. It’s yours.

If you’re dissatisfied in a sexual relationship, first examine what you can do about it. Can you be more honest with your partner? Can you be more honest with yourself? Can you pinpoint what is lacking? Quality? Quantity? This may seem easier said than done but if you’re choosing to commit to one person, it behooves you to prioritize your physical relationship and to ask those difficult questions of yourself and the other.

The only reason your religion doesn’t like sex is because it is predicated on fear. How can you trust someone who’s taken a vow of celibacy forever on how to treat your body? Let alone someone who’s speaking for someone else on your behalf. No, thanks. Just as there should be a separation of church/temple/synagogue/place of worship and State, there should certainly be a dividing line between doctrine and semen. Forgive my crassness, but it’s true. There’s no need or room for thoughts and opinions in this realm. Sex is a beauty to be experienced beyond the confines of words and beliefs. Just do it.

Your body is not dirty. It’s fascinating, peculiar and fun as hell. Enjoy it.

Jealousy, gossip, disrespect toward others, cutting yourself down or demeaning your partner are the antithesis to sexual arousal. Kindness, acceptance, trust, respect, humor and a healthy appetite are great aphrodisiacs. Try em on for size.

How you look has little to do with your experience. When you’re fixated on the external, little attention is paid to the myriad of glorious ecstasies that can be felt within. Take your awareness to how you feel and know that if it feels good, it looks good too.

Sex can and certainly should be enjoyed free from emotion. It is each individual’s business what, when, where, why and how they engage in sex. BUT, sex is always better when you dig the person you’re with, when they’re more than just a P or a V or a set of T’s or B’s. Don’t discount the emotional element as it can rear its ugly head and affect your experience of sex. Acknowledge it all and have whatever sex you want to have and protect yourself as you see fit.

Knowledge is power. Read, listen and watch any materials that may educate you and serve you and your partner better.

Enjoy your dreams and your waking life. You only have one. Soak it up.

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

Only Love

Only Love will save.Not flowers. Not praise. Not shiny things. Not accolades. Only Love. Real Love. The love that you Are first. The Love that you Have second. Only Love can be perceived without being seen, heard, smelled, tasted or even touched. Love is known, understood, beyond the limited meaning behind words. Love is not a noun, adjective or verb. It is not something you do. It is something you emanate from your being. Like the North Star, Love intelligently guides you in the right direction. Love has no time for time. Like energy, Love cannot be created or destroyed. Love can only be. Make choices only from Love. You can react from fear or respond from Love. Only Love penetrates your highest intelligence. Allow yourself to believe only in Love. Trust only in Love. Invest only in Love. Define yourself only by Love. Attach yourself only to Love. Give only Love. Absorb only Love. Fixate only on Love. Pursue only Love. Celebrate only Love. Be uplifted only by Love. Be inspired only by Love. Walk down paths only lit by Love. Achieve goals sought only by Love. Only Love can propel you forward. While fear holds you hostage, glued to your place. Only Love carries the side effects of courage, patience and tenacity. Love is living life in ecstasy. Only from Love do you radiate joy. Only through Love is your truth revealed. Only in Love is genuine happiness felt. Only in Love does compassion arise. Only in Love does anxiety subside. Only in Love does bliss arrive. Only in Love can you truly thrive. And only in Love can you be fully alive. Choose, use and exude only Love.

Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter

Living With A Guilty Conscience

I’ve lived the majority of my short life carrying a small but somewhat demanding guilty conscience. The cause is psychosomatic, mind-made. I have this theory that human beings have conquered the art and science of survival for centuries, but something in our biology, in the way we operate wants us to experience the stress involved in successfully surviving each day. Most of us, at least in western civilization, have more than enough food, options for shelter no matter how lavish, clean water and separation from any animal that could maim or kill us. By simply being born in the United States we’re born with privilege and with opportunity. Some are more advantaged than others of course, which is unfortunate and a slight cause for my guilty conscience, but my larger point is most of us do not have to struggle to simply exist and live to see another day. And therefore we’re complacent, bored, uncertain and completely attached to our own bullshit sob stories. When I say bullshit sob stories so flippantly like that, I’m really referring to mine, which isn’t sad or tragic in any way. First of all, I’m white. The least interesting, most entitled in this and many countries, whether my fellow light-skinned ones want to admit that or not. It’s true. It is what it is. There’s of course nothing wrong with being white, just as being born any other color, it simply perpetuates this need in the human psyche to create our own problems and own identity where they don’t really exist. I was fortunate enough to be born into a loving family who are very understanding and accepting people, of me in particular. The older generations naturally had it more difficult than me growing up, from being born during wars, complicated relationships with their parents and family, having less and needing more (money, space, food, options), and their unique experiences during the decades filled with tumult and uncertainty, more than anything I’ve ever experienced, including the sadness and insanity since 9/11.

The most challenging thing I endured as a child was my parents divorce and all the subsequent crap experienced as a result. They divorced when I was 3. Big whoop. They got along fairly well all throughout my childhood and I actually really enjoyed the personal time I had with my dad when I’d visit. I also had an amazing man marry my mom when I was nearly 5 so I had two loving fathers. I have a younger brother who was only sweet, generous and loving throughout our childhood. Seriously. Hardly ever annoying. Anything that perturbed me was just a result of being a bitchy, selfish older sister, nothing else. I have tremendous relatives all over this country, from my biological parents, to my numerous relatives assigned by law, and on my mom’s side in particular. My grandparents specifically could not be more kind, helpful, hardworking, fun and loving. They were as much my parents as anyone else, especially since they were older and my parents were quite young. My Grandma inspired my deep love and attachment to my Italian heritage. I’m not even close to 100% Italian, but probably because I was born white, middle class, no deformities or illnesses, I needed something interesting to adorn myself to. I love being Italian but I realize now how trivial and limiting it is to define yourself by such measures. As if it really means anything. My curly hair, brown eyes, skin tone, pension for bread, wine, sex and humor may or may not be indicative of my background. I think it’s merely a facet of human existence and my particular taste. My need to feel and project Italiano was more of an attempt to feel interesting and that was easier than actually being interesting.

Being born into young parents who divorced early left me confused and incessantly introspective. I remember being 6, 7, 8, 9 years old lying awake, staring at my ceiling, thinking. Fuck if only Yoga had come into my life then. Something about the uncertainty you feel when your parents split up allowed me to contemplate on the same ambiguity the rest of life carries. Will I wake up tomorrow? What if I wake up blind? Am I good? Am I actually alive? These are true, actual thoughts I had on my sleepless nights. Little did I know then how important doubt is. It keeps you inquisitive, and once you realize your survival and your sight are fairly safe, you can keep asking questions and pondering the answers. But man was I a definitive little shit. There was yes or no, black or white, A’s or every other grade, wins or losses, attractive or invisible, popularity or loneliness, marriage or solitude, intelligent or lazy, interesting or forgettable, and hardly anything decipherable in between. Life had such clearly defined edges then. Nothing was blurred, no one was gray. Everyone was an archetype, a caricature of something else.

My mom is super MILFy, especially when I was a child. She had me at 20. I grew up hearing how hot my mom was and how maybe if I looked like her I’d have a chance with boys I liked. Poor me. Boo. Not really. My mom being hot made me sink deeply into my sense of self as an intellectual, as an independent woman of the ripe age of 10, with ideas and goals of grandeur. Olympic gymnast, first female president, high powered lawyer, man eater. Boy was I way off.

So, born out of a hot woman’s vagina to two good hearts but immature minds, they divorced, and I felt like I was split in two. I was never asked to take sides and so I didn’t, but when you’re made up of the genetic material of two people who no longer choose to be one unit, you feel like a fragmented mess. Oh this must belong to my mom and this is clearly my dad. Nothing is your own. I did not have abuse, poverty, betrayal or neglect to weigh me down, so I burdened myself by what I could. I spent a decent amount of elementary school talking to the guidance counselor about divorce. I remember liking it but feeling no change from it. It was just something else I could attach myself to, something else that gave me character, gave me an edge. I have sadness too! I’m deep and rich in character, see? Do you see me? The desperation in me to prove something to myself and anyone who’d pay attention was so unbelievably ridiculous. Why didn’t anyone tell me that mastering memorization said nothing of who I was and certainly wasn’t reflective of the intelligence I thought I possessed. Neither was being an elite athlete, being skinny or “pretty”, being first in line, or even being president of the class. None of that bullshit matters. I was so disconnected from the goodness I am, the heart and its capacity, that my mediocre head took over and ran the show. I’ll take it from here, it said, let me show people how great I am. Now, I’d rather be good. Greatness is for crafty egos. Goodness is for intelligent hearts.

Since the age of 3 I was drawn to men. I had lots of little boyfriends in elementary school and junior high. High school hit, my ego developed rapidly, and my heart diminished in size, drastically. It was difficult to breathe. I spent a few years following others, popular girls, girls in my neighborhood, girls on sports teams, just trying to fit in, keep friends, maintain the ever interesting status quo. Then I experienced personal and school related challenges from the age of 12-15 and I said fuck this noise. No more giving a shit about fitting in. I’m standing out. People will know how I feel and where I stand from now on. Look out. I still derived my sense of self from my good grades, from being a strong athlete and basically nothing else. What else mattered? Then I began having crushes on unattainable men, teachers, older guys, guys with girlfriends, etc. That made it easy because I never had to really be vulnerable, never had to tamper with the unknown, I could just sit and think how mature I was and how no one got me except these men I couldn’t have. I watched other friends lose themselves completely in silly high school relationships, never to need their friends again. I never wanted to be that dependent, so I was caustically independent, a fucking hermit. The concept of balance clearly didn’t hit me until later. Neither did self-awareness. I made myself available to one guy, one. An idiot. An alcoholic. An unavailable, aloof, sexy, deep voiced, big lipped, lazy twat. I’m sure he’s fine now. I sincerely hope he’s happy. My disgust is with myself, in enjoying the melodrama that was the nothingness of our relationship. I got the monkey off my back, I should’ve just said thanks and waved goodbye to move on quickly to others, but instead I wallowed, I sheltered myself off even more and spent most of my college years lonely, slightly bitter and more engrossed in intellectual pursuits.

I’m approaching a decade since graduating high school. I was so underwhelmed and not inspired by those I went to school with, which I’m sure they echoed in their sentiments toward me, so I have no desire to go to my reunion. However, naturally it’s inspired some reflection. Only recently have I shed my guilty conscience. One I hardly earned. I didn’t even betray, kill or tell major lies. I simply did nothing. Loved no one. Welcomed no one in. I had some wonderful friends and I think they might speak up on my behalf. I wasn’t a total C, but I’d say the light behind my eyes didn’t show up til about 22. And even then I struggled to find my own sense of who I was and where I was going. Everything was easy growing up. I was so beyond fortunate. And the average challenge public schools provided instilled a false sense of confidence because decent grades were easy to come by. I felt a sinking, crushing doubt about myself as a worthy human being. What in the world did I truly have to offer? What was my voice? Sarcastic and clever? Where was the true intelligence and compassion? It left with my parent’s divorce, my sad excuse for a broken heart and with the guilt that I actually had no excuse at all. I was privileged, rewarded everyday for nearly nothing, loved for no reason other than being alive, and connected with opportunities just by virtue of being where I was and knowing those I did. I gave myself a chip on the shoulder and now I was tasked with sanding it down, dusting it off and putting it to work.

I’ll go to grad school, get a master's degree, that’ll prove something. I’ll go to law school. Everyone always said I’m skillfully argumentative and what a great financial living that would provide. I felt guilty for not wanting to do these things I was clearly inclined and primed to do. I wanted to run away, move to some small island and sell pineapple juice, expect nothing of myself and others and just be. Again, balance. One must locate their goodness and then pursue greatness, not the other way around. Goodness is inherent, innate, but it certainly can be covered by dust, muck, resentment and all the clever tricks of the egos trade. Like the sky left invisible by a thick layer of clouds, my goodness and essence was always there, just as with everyone else, I needed some rain to fall, some wind to blow and some sun to shine to have the courage for it to re-emerge. Falling in love with someone naturally good, who’d worked for every single dollar and every single achievement left me feeling more insecure. Why did he love me? Because I was cute, funny, Italian, smart? Hell if I knew. So I ran away with him to Italy, to travel, explore and search for what I’d already found and forgotten.

The pervasive theme and question plaguing my overactive mind was why am I so dissatisfied with who I am when everything I was born with and grew up with was so great? My body worked and my metabolism was good. So on the basic physical level, all was well. I nitpicked, hated my hair, my poo colored eyes, my thick thighs, long toes, small calves and any other number of nonsensical complaints I could render. Nonetheless the smarter side of me knew I was lucky and I was fine and to get the hell over any trivial nonsense. My mind worked fine, probably too well. My heart was largely ignored, my loins were fulfilled, my belly was always full, my arms often embraced in hugs. I was told I could be anything I wanted to be, encouraged to follow my passion, to do what I love, to relax and enjoy, but that made it worse. Agh, freedom to choose? Someone just tell me what to do and who to be and I’ll work to mold myself, I’ll consume myself with that task. I’ll make money and dress sharp and I’ll convince everyone and myself that I’m making something of myself. I never felt I adequately showed gratitude or achievements to make up for all the good that bestowed upon me before I earned it. This was no one’s fault but mine. I just didn’t know how to process out of it. Until I found Yoga.

My pursuit into teaching started as a love for challenging my body and a desire to do something that carried meaning. I see it in myself a few years back when I was a fresh, young teacher trying to encourage others to believe the same shit I was convincing myself to absorb. Yoga makes you deep and teaching Yoga is noble. I see it in many today, you can see when someone is pleased with themselves because it is a mirror to a look you’ve expressed yourself. Companies exploit this, showcase a false sense of sincerity, soul and goodness to pillage the pockets of consumers who want to believe the same thing. This is why I rebel and reject labels. The rush is so phony, the identity is so contrived, the message so disingenuous. I just aim to be comfortable, let the cloth be a small expression of uniqueness but not an identity, not a staunch loyalty, not a showcase of membership with an exclusive club. So through meeting some truly incredible, awe-inspiring people with tremendous goodness and greatness, I felt encouraged to find my own. First I felt terrified, of course, then slowly the clouds started to part and I could see and feel my own sky again, my essence, my goodness. My ego was still there, fighting very hard for survival, keeping me in a cycle of complaint, of discontent, of melodrama and inner turmoil, and why? Guilty conscience. I’m not doing enough. I’ve experienced such little tragedy, had so much good fortune and what have I shown for it? Vicious cycle.

So on my journey back from where I feel my heart belongs, Italy, after a short stop with long lessons and memories in New York City, I settled, for the time being, in Chicago. Finding my voice and place as a teacher and woman here continues to carry challenges, questions, issues. It’s mostly been beautiful. The summer of 2011 I turned 27, my brother moved in with us, a dear friend was in a terrible near-death accident and I embarked on a few travels around the states, both yoga and non-yoga related that shifted my evolution into high gear. After all this time and energy spent in discomfort, in guilt, in confusion, in discontent, I let go. All those damn philosophical books came falling down upon me and somewhere in there my ego began to die. It’s still there, of course. Not sure it ever completely dissolves, but the reminder is healthy and necessary. Instead of putting my mind to task trying so hard to locate my goodness, decipher if I had greatness and figure out where those two paths met; instead, I surrendered. I said fuck it.

I started writing and sharing my words. Not much changed, who I was and how that was expressed was the same. But my decisions weren’t based on the expectations of others, the impossible standards I placed on myself, or this crock pot of fear I’d spent so much energy stirring for most of my life. I began to accept all that frustrated me previously, not liking or following these previously unapproved paths, but respecting that they make work for others and their decisions should have no weight on mine. I enjoyed the things that previously defined me without attachment to them. Who I am in essence is far more important than who I'll ever be on paper.

I got nowhere withholding who I was from others or from sheltering myself from opportunities I deserved to seize. My life was a series of what-ifs that I never learned the answers to. We can’t white knuckle our way through life. Our past can only define us if we allow it, regardless how bad or how good it was, we can be whoever we wish to be now, and each day is an opportunity to improve and wash away the clouds from our skies. I am kind, generous, grateful, funny, loving, smart and hard-working. And I’d be willing to bet most human beings who get in their own way are as well. It’s about finding the courage and intelligence to acknowledge these positive facets, to let go of the mistakes, guilt, bitterness and hesitation and just commit everyday to enjoying all that you are. Life is riddled with flaws, rejection, hurt, despair, tragedy and any concoction of negativity you can conjure up in your imagination. Accepting that the spectrum of experiences in life is bound to affect you throughout the journey will free you from deriving your happiness from it. You are enough already. I am enough. It isn’t about impressing others, staking a claim, being the best or having the most. It’s about feeling grateful to be alive each day, having the guts to stop listening to your conditioned thoughts and instead be aware of the infinite wisdom residing in your heart, and to simply try what you wish to try, go where you wish to go, and living how you wish you live so you can glance back briefly at the end knowing there were no what-ifs that dragged you down and kept you from living your life fully.

It is my intention to feel grateful everyday for the amazing family I was born into, the friends I’ve acquired, the healthy body nature gave me, and to use my mind to better my experience and not diminish my potential. Each day, regardless if the events were good or bad, I’ll always come back to appreciation for my goodness, for the life that I am. Armed with this, I’ll be brave enough to pursue greatness and share this truth with others, so they can better live in their own definitions of happiness, having all been freed from the imprisonment that is fear, guilt and negativity. I am Never Not Hungry, here, now.

Never Not Hungry Danielle Robinson Yoga teacher/ Writer You, Me and Yoga Makes 3 on Facebook Follow: @mastic8onthis on Twitter