I need to clean the floor. That’s when I notice how much floor I have. Finally unloaded some ancient cardboard boxes full of books, tapes and crinkled memories. Each Disney animated movie released in the 90s holds a gift basket of connotations and aspirations in my heart.  At this point, I have them committed to memory. Clam cases are destined for kitschier art than mine.

The floor is dry.  It turns out the best way to start a home practice is try and plan a yoga lesson. Every day of that week you will do at least one of the poses you look at.  Or maybe it’s another one of my nervous tics – like singing along to country music.  That said, I will teach a group of people what I do to keep myself feeling good.  Standing in front of people and asking for their attention is scarier than skydiving.  This might be the only time I ever do it.

Honestly, it’s hard being alone with myself. I won’t keep my hands off me.  Last month, I started to worry about other people’s opinions.  I’m not really sure why, but a few swift kicks to the metaphorical groin fixed that.  Freedom is a little too fresh to start playing with social pressures.  All my gauges are level.  A rare moment of stillness before the challenges of 2016 crash down.  Enjoying the view in both directions.