Category Archives: Inside Your City

11 Reasons I Say THANK YOU.

In no particular order, I say THANK YOU because…

1. My rent hasn’t gone up this year. Thank you, rent stabilization.

2. I have health insurance. Dental and vision included.

3. I have a boyfriend. And he’s dreamy.

4. I have a MacBook Pro. It scares me but I’m grateful for it.

5. I have a hairdresser that I trust. The “natural look” takes a lot of care and consideration.

6. My students are incredible and supportive.

7. My bosses are incredible and supportive.

8. Loehmann’s offers special birthday sales to insider card members.

9. I am healthy.

10. The Louie G’s Italian Ices stand is open through November. To go, obviously.

11. I am loved. My life is perfect.


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Filed under Inside the Yoga Studio, Inside Your Career, Inside Your City, Inside Your Closet, Inside Your Family, Inside Your Friendships, Inside Your Love Life, Inside Your Lunch Pail, Inside Your Make-up Bag

Thank You, Part 2. In List Form.

One post is not enough. THANK YOU. Again.

Last weekend’s Goddess Retreat threw a fuzzy blanket of gratitude over the whole week. Gratitude cuddlefest!!

And as a result, I’m experimenting with a regular Gratitude Practice. It’s simple–I list in clear and simple language, either silently, verbally, or pen to paper, all of the things that I’m grateful for, past, present and future.

Also, I’m falling in love with lists. In the past, lists seemed dull, boring, and without magic. But now they’re perfectly suited to capture all the kooky things that pop into my head, and flow out of my pen. With lists, there’s no need for explanation. If it’s on the list, it’s correct.

So here’s my weekly wrap-up of “Thank You’s”, in no particular order.

1. Autumn layers
2. Girlfriend late night chats
3. Individually purchased chocolate caramel clusters at The Chocolate Room on Court Street
4. Romantic quotes in romantic emails from my romantic boyfriend
5. Yoga class with live music accompaniment

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Slow The F#@k Down!

I’m always rushing. I rush to the train, rush home to take a nap, and rush in to the yoga studio, all out of breath and sweaty to finally fit in a class that day. Rush, rush, rush.  Hell, I’m a yoga teacher. What’s wrong with this picture?!

Maybe it’s because I’m a New Yorker. Maybe it’s because I only have one day off per week. I’m used to moving, floating on momentum, and getting to the next moment.

But I’m trying to be slower. I know from past experiences (few, but memorable) that the slower I move, the more I accomplish.  I take deep breaths and time seems to slow down.  There’s more in every moment, and life unfolds in abundance.

This is what I try to remember when I am carrying heavy bags filled with books, two changes of clothes, and a water bottle. This is what I try to remember when the G train passes me by as I walk down the subway stairs. Another one will come…just a short 20 minutes from now.

The most ridiculous part is that I know that more of everything is coming. More trains, more dinner dates, more movies, more yoga classes, more articles to squint at on my smartphone. More overwhelming love is coming. More opportunities and discoveries. It’s all coming down the pike.

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Who’s Teaching This Class, Anyway?

Monday Sept 12th was a brand new day.

It was certainly new for me, as it was my first regularly scheduled working Monday since I began teaching yoga. I taught at 5:30am, 9:15am, and again at 12:30pm. I taught at the usual studios, and looked out at familiar faces, as well as some new ones.  And yet, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time–the confusion of not knowing what I was walking in to.

At the first public group class at 9:15, I felt the students’ disappointment upon realizing their regular teacher is no longer teaching in that time slot. My old familiar monologue popped up: “Are people enjoying this at all?”, “Will they ever come back?” 

I gave my standard issue performance. I included everything that I can’t NOT bring into the room–my voice, my analogies, my personality. I wondered how the instruction would be received. Luckily, I got my answer mid-class, while demonstrating a complicated pose. When I looked up I saw 15 smiling faces, nodding their heads in recognition. I’d won them over!

We’ll get to know eachother, these students and me. This week, they’re just moving bodies as I instruct and adjust. But soon, they will become well rounded people that I adore.


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Life Won’t Always Look Like This

My life won’t always look like this. I won’t always be looking out from my fire escape, onto the cranes, the water, and Governer’s Island. I won’t always be gazing out this particular window, at these particular surroundings.

My life won’t always look like this. Of course it won’t, that would be crazy, silly and ridiculous. Yet sometimes I feel that it might, that nothing will change. When I’m feeling unhappy or stuck, I remind myself that soon I’ll look back on this time period from the safe distance of memory.

Take a look around. See the objects you touch, the emails you send, the furniture you sit on, and even the foods you eat. It’s possible to love your life right now–your drippy faucets, loud neighbors, and long walk to the train.

Personally, I feel deep, delicious gratitude for the impermanence of life and the promise of a new scene out my window.

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NEW Fall Schedule!

It’s Fall! Break out the blazers and scarves, the big leather boots, and the sexy sweaters. Suddenly tweed is back in style. Again. New York was made for this weather. And New Yorkers were made for this season. We know how to do new beginnings, fresh starts, dramatic entrances. Admit it, you were always the best dressed kid on the first day of school.

OK, back to the topic at hand….NEW Fall Schedule! You’re gonna love it. Please note the following FABULOUS ADDITIONS:

SUNDAY 3:15-4:45 Int/Adv @ Bend and Bloom Yoga

MONDAY 12:30-2:00 Basics @ Bend and Bloom Yoga

And take a look at the full skeddy here. It’s always updated with love for your viewing pleasure.

 See you soon!

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Dear Irene–A Love Letter

Dear Irene,

I adored you. I believed in you. I welcomed you with excitement and fear.  But now you’ve moved on and I don’t know what to do in your absence.

I had secret hopes for us. I imagined you’d sweep through my windows and clean me off. You’d keep me safe, of course, but you’d destroy everything unneccessary in my apartment. Irene, couldn’t you kindly mop the floors, undust my dusty surfaces? Couldn’t you just send me to live with my boyfriend in domestic bliss, so he can stock the fridge and pick up the laundry?

I was really hoping we could re-work my closet together. I could have used your impeccable editing skills to pare down to the absolute essentials. Designer vintage dresses? Gone. Galoshes? They can stay.

Irene, I fantasized you’d force me to rough it. Thanks to you, I would finally have a camping story. I would have survived the unthinkable, battled nature and won! And lived to blog about it.

I wanted this storm. I wanted you, Irene. But it wasn’t meant to be.

Forever Yours,


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Parents in the City

I am a lucky girl. I have a mother and a father who are alive and healthy, vibrant and independent, and relate to me as an evolving individual. They live in Brooklyn, in the same house where I spent much of my childhood. They are New Yorkers, and so am I.

I’m also an anomaly.  Most of my friends and colleagues are not from here. They’ve come to New York City to follow their dreams, create opportunities, or a fresh start. New York is their chosen home, but not their hometown. Therefore their day-to-day, proximity-filled parent-child relationship stopped as soon as they boarded the plane to JFK Airport over 10 or 20 years ago.

It’s a shame.

Believe me, I fully support building a family in New York City. Some of the most interesting, sane, and grounded folks I know grew up in the city (wink, wink). Still, something is lost by building your family here, a car (or plane) ride away from your parents and your hometown. The adult parent-child relationship can become strained, spotty or lost altogether.

How can we understand ourselves, our ability to be compassionate, or be flawed if we don’t see ourselves reflected in our own parents? Sure, they make you nuts. They just don’t understand. But they are most likely the root causes for all of your learned reactions in this world. You grow up, and so do they. As your life becomes more complex, rich and vulnerable all at the same time, they in turn remember their strength. Adulthood is no easier than childhood, and every adult can use an extra parent around.

What do you do if your parents live far, far away? Try the next best thing: pick up the phone on a day when it’s not one of their birthdays, not Mother’s or Father’s Day, nor a national holiday. Instead, call on a Tuesday evening for the only purpose of sharing a few moments together. But if you’re really jonesing for some in-person parent time, you can borrow mine.  They’re always free for parenting duties.

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What’s Dripping Down My Arm?

ICES, that’s what!

If you know me at all, you know I like ices. A lot. In the summertime, ices are practically a food group. And until now, I have never outed myself and my ices obsession to you. But like all information of value, this too must be shared.

I’m big fan of uncle Louie G’s, a Staten Island based franchise that expanded into numerous locations throughout Brooklyn this summer. My favorite locations are Smith Street between Butler and Douglas Street (2 doors down from the American Apparel) in Carroll Gardens, and Union Street (at 5th ave) in the Park Slopes. They have all the normal fruit flavors, like mango, blackberry, cherry and lemon. You could spend the summer tasting every fruit flavor in the world.

OR you could take the plunge into the ridiculous and delicious. Uncle Louie G’s has a signature Rainbow Cookie flavor with real cookie bits. Also, Canoli flavor, which could only be found in an authentic Italian Staten Island business. Real canoli chunks!  The Pistachio variety has tons of pistachios to crunch on, and the Mint Chocolate Chip is chocolate-chunky.

But my personal favorite, the flavor the kindly scooper hands me without even asking: Vanilla Peanut Butter Chocolate Covered Pretzel. It’s like a naughty candy bar smushed into pure and simple vanilla ices. And it’s divine. There are whole mini chocolate-covered pretzels in every scoop, and real peanut butter globs to surprise your palate. It’s sweet and salty and refreshing.

So if you catch me roaming the streets licking a squeezy cup piled high with ices, please say hello. I’d be happy to join you for a second helping!

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