On yoga and the band Alabama

You know that Alabama song “I’m in a Hurry (And Don’t Know Why)”? The lyrics go something like:

I’m in a hurry to get things done. Oh, I rush and rush until life’s no fun. All I really gotta do is live and die, but I’m in a hurry and don’t know why.

Yeah. That’s my anthem of late.

I’ve been neglectful (again) of this little pet project of mine. I’d make apologies but I don’t even have time to do that. Suffice to say, I’ve been putting my focus on work that pays.

It sucks.

Believe me, I get much more enjoyment of being a health and well-being guinea pig and writing about it on here than I do from working. However, I also get a great deal of enjoyment out of having a roof over my head and food on my table. You know, the small pleasures in life.

Things are going to be crazy for a while so I can’t promise I’ll be writing more frequently. I can’t even promise that I’m going to meet my mini-resolution goal. (That countdown up there in the right corner does look kinda daunting, doesn’t it?)

What I can promise is that I’m not going to give  up. I’ll keep writing here. It may be pretty sporadic, but I’ll always be back. You can count on that.

Now, because I’m here and because I can, why not make another Mini-Resolution?

Mini-Resolution #27: Yoga

If you’ll recall, back in the day  when the romance was fresh between me and this blog, I committed to attending a hot yoga class. Things kinda fell apart. The class was full, the mostly-naked people a little overwhelming and I didn’t end up following through.

Now I still intend to go, but this Mini-Resolution is intended to help ease me in. Because before I go full-tilt into hot yoga, doesn’t it make sense to take in a regular, less extreme, more clothes worn,  yoga class?

This morning I will be heading to Chinatown to take a class at the MokSana Yoga Center. It’s a Hatha Yoga class — whatever that means.

It’s my friend’s regular yoga class and she assures me it’s suitable for beginners. She may change her stance once I get in there and start murdering some poses.

On the bright side, my dear fiance bought me a yoga mat for the occasion so at least I’ll look like I know what I’m doing until the class starts.

Anyhow, if  my foray into yoga manages to slow me down, provide a little bit of zen (and boy, do I need it — I almost threw my router out the window during the writing of this blog when my Internet crapped out) and allows me to transcend the rushing and rushing that Alabama songs talks about, I’ll be a happy little yogi.

Wish me luck.

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