I am getting older. I know we all are, but I didn’t think that would happen to me. This is something that happens to others, like dreadful misfortunes or freakish good fortune. BRB revealed I mention this obvious fact that I am ageing, because my students laughed at me. Finally being able to be with […]
Everything is subjective. Yoga is highly subjective. Words are subjective. Even left and right is subjective. I know that ‘traditionally’ left is, well, on the left and right is on the other side. But if you stand in front of a mirror, then magic happens. What was left is now right. So it’s wrong, because
I am a terrible yogi. I am wonderfully capable of pretending to be a yogi, but if you peaked into the cacophony of my exploding thoughts, you’d run for cover. On the outside the appearance of serenity itself; on the inside all hell breaks loose. These past few weeks my unyogic-ness reached new heights. Ass
I have been adapting my yoga empire to meet with the Covid induced climate of change. That’s my fancy way of saying OMG why is my bank balance so poorly. At the start of lockdown, I organised a ‘global strategic future planning session’ with the team. In essence, I sat at the kitchen table pen
I am turning into a bit of a sleuth/scientist. So much so that I reckon I could give Sherlock Holmes and Marie Curie a run for their money. No longer able to read a single paragraph of a blog, book or report without double checking and cross referencing everything. I have taken my investigations even
Admit it, lockdown has been weird. No judging, but it was weird. With regular work hours, travel, socialising and general ease of life suddenly stopping, everything was turned upside down and inside out. No longer having the need jump out of bed, I now loll under the duvet. My hope is either to fall asleep
The secret to survive lockdown is have a routine. Learn a new skill. Clear your to-do list. Simple. Yet life in lockdown appears deceptively the same, but in reality something is out there… lurking… Gardener extraordinaire The plan during this period at home was to learn a new skill. NAY- to MASTER a new skill.
It’s not often that I compare myself to the Queen, but I did notice in her Christmas speech that she didn’t mention the words Pandemic or Covid once. In all my newsletters, posts and blogs I have made a concerted effort to avoid the elephant in the room. I wish I could say the reason
I had spent hours agonising over the contents of my first ever class. So many decisions. Pranayama? Yes. Something short, but essential. Music? Yes. A carefully crafted playlist to enhance the yoga journey. Chanting? Yes. 1 short mantra, 3 OMs, and 3 Shantis. As soon as I was allowed to teach yoga (half-way through my
I whole heartedly succumbed to the holiday season frenzy. Every temptation was welcome as though they were necessary for survival. Logic and reason vanished as deep-filled mince pies were washed down with oodles of red wine, after a hedonistic night in the company of Nicole Kidman and the delicious Alexander Skarsgard. I ‘caught up’ on
