I love my job. I love, love, love it.
But there is part of me that is longing to bring my life a little closer to home...to Santa Monica. I don't know what I have to do. What floors I have to clean or clothes I need to sew to get a class in this darn part of town. I've spent 7 years establishing myself as a teacher in NY, LA, even China...and You Tube.
I forgot about Coldwater today.
I forgot about school getting out.
I forgot about the traffic in LA.
Everytime I leave a client, I feel good, like I've done good. When I teach my public class in Hollywood, I am home (like NY and the city I grew up in) and I know I do good...so good that I lose my correct grammar. I do well.
Like I've done pretty for someone.
I feel pretty, oh so pretty. They feel pretty, oh so pretty.
I leave the black and white and return to my technicolor dream coat of Santa Monica, where everything is candy and yummy and happy and I feel enveloped in the hug that is my home (like NY, my mom, sisters, the dog and cat).
But, I am in rags, trying to make a name for myself.
I feel like I'm starting over.
In a way I am.
I want what I want. What I want happens to be what a lot of people want, but I know there is room for all of us.
My dad taught me that.
while I know my teaching is like being at the grand ball, I know that I will feel truly complete with both glass slippers, one that places me freestyle throughout the city of LA, the other, here in Santa Monica, with my prince, Sir Yoga, at my side, gliding me along the studio floor, leading me through blissful classes with inspiring students in colorful (and expensive, no doubt) clothing.
Blogging...I can do anywhere. Love that.
I'm so grateful that I get to do what I love.
Now, let's go home.
Hey girl, awesome first show. Remember Sex and The City? I know, who can forget. Well, tonight I lived a little of it.
Balmy night, compliments from God.
Gorgeous dress, compliments from a great boy.
Fabulous accessories, compliments from my sister.
Unbelievable shoes that carried me 15 city blocks in a confident stride without a trip or blister, compliments from Seychelles.
Super fab playlist on my iPod mini, compliments from Yoga teachers around the city, mini from my other fantastic sister.
Remarkable girl waiting for me at a ridiculous restaurant in Santa Monica, compliments from Molly.
Deep breath and large smile with great swagger and happy heart, compliments from my dad.
tuck hair behind ears,
spill great wine on friend,
share sad story about being home,
split food...much nicer than ordering whole meal for oneself.
Indulge in flourless chocolate cake and forget to do the math in calories.
I feel good, alive, happy, complete, content, filled...
love, compliments from....
I'm so grateful.
I remember that show and how I felt when I watched it. So sad, so happy, so full of life.
I feel so darn special.
And it's complimentary.