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Life Imitates Yoga Class

posted 7th February 2012    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure, What I've Learned

I remember the day my hamstrings loosened. I have kind of a terrible memory, so naturally I don’t recall the exact date. But oh, the feeling. I was in a yoga class last summer, about five or six months after my teacher training began. As I moved into parsvottanasana – a forward bend that makes me want to punch things challenges me – I noticed that something felt different. That day, my hamstrings didn’t scream quite so much as they had been for months prior. That day, there was space to go a little deeper. I inhaled, straightening and lengthening my spine. I exhaled, folding forward just a little more than I ever had before. It might only have been one-quarter or one-half of an inch, but there it was. Something had shifted, and I was present, breathing, noticing.

Now I have a confession: I didn’t accomplish any of the goals I set for myself way back when in my third post.

In my first few drafts of this post, I wrote an explanation here about why I didn’t complete them. But you know what?

It doesn’t matter.

I wasn’t ready.

Am I now? I think so.

Five months after the beginning of my Stratejoy journey, I’m getting that same feeling in my life as I did with my hamstrings last summer. There’s space now. Things are shifting.

* * * * *

Five months. 15 countries (including the United States and Canada). 37 beds, couches, futons, armchairs, air mattresses, and uncomfortable, questionably clean train seats. Thousands of photographs.

Have I changed? Good lord, yes.

How have I changed? That’s…more involved.

There are the obvious things, of course. I’m no longer working a 9-5 job. I no longer live in Brooklyn; my residence is still transient. I’ve put on weight. I drink coffee now, and I don’t spend as much time on the internet. I no longer hit snooze ten times when Joan Jett yells, “I don’t give a damn ’bout my bad reputation!” in my ear.

The more subtle stuff is harder to nail. Some days, I still feel stuck in the same patterns in which I’ve found myself for years. Other days, I feel like a new person. I frequently find myself feeling so fucking grateful for people, places, and moments that I want to explode with joy. I’m more at peace; I’ve shaken that stressed-out-hurry-hurry-frequently-annoyed attitude that I picked up during my six years in NYC. And overall, I’m feeling truly empowered and happy. I’m sure that there are other things, but those are the ones that I’ve figured out how to verbalize so far.

It seems that the nomadic lifestyle mostly works for me.

* * * * *

While preparing to write this, I took a look at my values from The Joy Equation, which I mentioned in my second post.

Connection. Bliss. Abundance. Trust. Adventure. Courage. Magic. Strength. Without even planning it, I’ve ended up posting about each of those over the past five months. I love when it’s suddenly clear that I’m on the right track, even when I hadn’t been planning every detail.

Seeing in concrete terms that I’m now living my core values feels really fucking amazing.

* * * * *

Though my time writing in this space ends with this post, my journey will continue. Today I’m on a flight back to New York. That was definitely not part of the original plan – but then again, neither was staying in Europe until February. I wanted time for yoga, tattoos, my favorite foods, and friends and family.

And then: Australia. I’m sad to leave Europe, and at the same time, I’m ready to develop a routine again. I’m excited to meet Kate and other new friends, and pumped to start teaching yoga again. I’m gearing up for summer, kickboxing classes, and maybe learning how to surf!

I hope you’ll continue following my adventure:

twitter: shinyredtype
facebook: pierced hearts and true love
blog: piercedheartsandtruelove.com
yoga teaching schedule: katselvocki.com

Thank you all for being a part of my QLC! And as Edward Abbey wrote, “May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.”

[photo credit: my friend and travel buddy, Jenni]

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Sex and the Zerbert Test

posted 19th January 2012    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

My friend Rebecca* and I decided that we’re going to implement a new test to determine whether we should be dating someone. The name of the test is still in the works, but that doesn’t matter. The point is that we think it’s going to be really useful.

It’s a simple test, really. All you have to do is give someone a zerbert (or raspberry – you know, where you put your mouth against their arm or belly and blow, and it makes a funny sound) and see how they react. Because let’s be honest: if someone can’t handle a zerbert, they’re not cut out for a long-term relationship, at least not one with Rebecca or me.

I haven’t decided at what point I will perform the test, though I suppose I’ll know when the situation arises. It doesn’t seem like first date material; however, I can’t remember the last time I had a typical first date, so maybe it could be. I could ask the basic questions – job (He should have one, and possibly like it.), last book he read (It needs to be something more recent than The Very Hungry Caterpillar, unless he spends a lot of time around two-year-olds.), favorite place he’s traveled (If he doesn’t travel, he gets the boot.), how often he calls his mom (Three times a day is not an acceptable answer.) – and follow them up with a zerbert.

…okay, maybe I should come up with an alternate plan.

I think the most practical application for me will be in bed. Now, naturally, I don’t want to have sex with someone before performing the zerbert test. If they can’t handle a zerbert, why would I want to go all the way with them? I’m thinking that perhaps the first time we find ourselves moving in that direction, I’ll lift up my date’s shirt and attack his belly. If he laughs, we can get it on. If he stares at me like I have three heads, I’ll have to hightail it out of that situation. Because if he thinks that’s weird, he probably won’t be able to cope with my penchant for having Spice Girls dance parties while I cook.

You see what I mean? It’s the perfect test.

This whole conversation started because over the course of my travels, I slept with someone new. Now, I tend to keep this sort of thing to myself – or at least a limited group of close friends, because let’s be honest, we all love talking about sex. I wanted to talk about this hookup in particular because, over the course of analyzing every detail, I realized something: I hadn’t enjoyed myself in bed that much since…2005? 2006?

Over years of worrying whether I look good enough naked, or being pushed away by my ex, or hooking up with inappropriate men, I forgot how much fun sex could be. I forgot what it was like to spend the day in bed wrapped up in each other. I forgot the electricity that can happen when a guy runs his fingers up my arms with fingertips barely grazing my skin. I forgot how good it can feel to get into a tickle war and shriek and laugh. I forgot that we can be silly in bed and that it doesn’t have to be so serious.

I think this guy would have passed the zerbert test.

Now, I do see one flaw with this new plan: someone could pass and still not be a good long-term partner for me. I’ll still have to ask those first (and second and third) date questions, think about whether he’d be a good father to our potential future children, know that he doesn’t hate my tattoos, and so on.

Chemistry and silliness – and the ability to appreciate the unexpected – are good steps in the right direction, though.

*Name has been changed!

[photo credit: me!]

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I Am Strong, Capable, and Beautiful

posted 15th January 2012    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure, What I've Learned

There are a few things that I wish I’d known before I started traveling. The first, of course, is about the disconnect that I wrote about recently; apparently, that’s not an uncommon phenomenon. The second is that I wish someone had told me that I was going to put on weight.

Six months ago, I was probably in the best shape of my life. I was doing yoga regularly, drinking plenty of water and rarely consuming alcohol, and eating foods in response to my body’s needs (plenty of fruits and vegetables, protein as I craved it, no dairy or gluten). I’d finally dropped weight that hadn’t wanted to go, and I felt good in my own skin for the first time in years.

Once I got on the road, though, it was hard to maintain this routine. I haven’t been able to find (m)any yoga classes that I like as much as the ones at my old studio in New York, and it’s been hard to practice at home since I’ve been sharing a room. Though I’ve done my best to eat reasonably healthy food, I also tend to stick with the diets in the places I’m staying – and especially at the farms, that’s meant a lot of bread. (And when it’s not at the farms, it’s meant a lot of meat, especially in Central Europe. My love for that region knows no bounds, but cucumber and tomato – out of season, no less – do not a salad make.) I often haven’t been drinking enough water; I don’t relish using the bathrooms on overnight trains, for one.

The point of all of this is that when I recently saw myself in a full-length mirror for the first time in a few months, it was HARD. It’s tough to write that, because I feel absurd for even thinking it. The fact of the matter is, though, that I have a challenging time seeing myself as attractive.

I’m able to look at things rationally and see that my body is strong and capable. I can do yoga. I ran a 5K in June without training for it, and I was really happy with my time. I walk all over the damn place, including to the top of clock towers and such – even though I’m afraid of heights. I’m learning to play lacrosse because I might be competing in a tournament in Budapest – just because I can. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to look at myself and say that I’m beautiful, though, and putting back on weight that I lost a year ago doesn’t help.

In yoga, we talk about saṃskāras, or mental and emotions patterns. I like to picture them as the squiggly ridges on my brain, each groove representing a thought pattern that I developed over time. This one about beauty is very much present and accounted for, though I have no idea where it began. All I know is that it’s been reinforced over years of ex-boyfriends pointing out “flaws” in my body, of seemingly not being noticed by the men I find attractive, of constantly telling myself over and over that I’m not pretty enough.

It’s an awful way to exist.

I realized something important as I looked into the full-length mirror a few weeks ago. As I saw myself standing there, extra pounds and all, I finally understood the yogic practice of ahimsa. It’s often translated as non-violence, and it’s the reason why many yogis don’t eat meat. I’ve also heard it translated as compassion, though, and that day, something clicked. I’d always thought about compassion being directed externally – be kind to others, etc. – and then it hit me: practicing compassion needs to be internal, too. It seems like a simple thing, and yet, it’s really not, at least for me. How can I be a compassionate person when every day, I tell myself that I’m unattractive or not enough? How is it okay to look at my body and think horrible thoughts about my appearance?

So, here it goes: I am strong, capable, and beautiful.

Writing that feels difficult and vulnerable. It’s hard to read, and even tougher to believe. But you know what? I can’t keep telling myself awful things and expecting others to see me differently, though. Changing this thought pattern needs to start with me, right now.

How can you treat yourself with greater compassion?

[photo credit: me!]

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Blue, Blue Christmas

posted 26th December 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

I didn’t think this would be as hard as it is.

I’ve drafted countless posts about why I decided to spend the holidays in Europe, about not sticking with my plan to arrive in Australia in time to spend Christmas with my cousins there, about my family’s holiday traditions. I’ve been trying to slap a smile on my face about spending my first Christmas away from my parents and my brother. Everything that I’ve written so far felt false, and that’s not why I’m here.

So in the interest of speaking my truth, I’m here to tell you: it’s one week before Christmas, and I’ve been growing increasingly sad as December 25 draws nearer.

I didn’t think I would be. Christmas, though I have many fond memories and associated traditions, isn’t my favorite holiday. (In case you were wondering, that title goes to Thanksgiving, the day of eating all of the food and spending time with people you love.) I’ve grown accustomed to only seeing my parents once – or maybe twice – a year, and I saw them in May, shortly after I gave notice at my job. Also, I’m spending the holiday season in the best place in the world to do so: Central Europe. Lordy, do the people of this region love their Christmas markets, and I am all for that. Give me glühwein (mulled wine), cinnamon-crusted bread tubes, and glittering lights in cobblestoned squares. It’s magical, truly.

And yet, here I am, choking back tears as I think about how I won’t be baking cookies with my mom this year. (In fact, she was doing that while we were skyping yesterday.) I won’t be watching bits and pieces of A Christmas Story throughout the day, while it plays for 24 hours on TBS. (Does anyone actually sit and watch that movie the whole way through anymore?) I won’t be decorating a tree or carefully wrapping gifts for my family, including our labrador retriever, Max. (After you give him a new toy, he insists on taking it out into the back yard immediately.) I won’t be eating my parents’ homemade pierogi (the Polish equivalent of ravioli, stuffed with potato and cheese), my mom’s delicious Christmas Eve and Day feasts, or fried catfish and hushpuppies from Fred’s Fish House. (I love my mom’s cooking, but I’ve also got to take advantage of the fact that they live in the south now.)

Don’t get me wrong: I know that there are going to be awesome things about this Christmas. But right now, I want to acknowledge the sad parts. The missing-my-family parts. The things-changing-as-you-grow-up-kind-of-really-sucks-sometimes parts.

* * * * * * * * * *

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be celebrating Christmas with my friends in Graz. I suspect baked goods and tasty drinks will be involved, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’ll skype with my parents and grandparents, and send holiday wishes to friends who are far away. I hope that some of today’s sadness will have passed as I create new traditions with friends and enjoy my adventure.

Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you enjoy the day, however you celebrate. And if it’s just another Sunday, let it be a good one!

[photo credit: me!]

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I Left My Heart in Prague

posted 11th December 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

Nine years ago, I stepped off a train in Prague and proceeded to get scammed by a taxi driver. He charged me over three times what I should have paid – and I knew it – but there was nothing I could do at the time. I was a 21-year-old girl who didn’t speak a word of Czech, and I was trying to bargain with burly men who knew that. The alternative, though, was attempting to maneuver my large, unwieldy suitcase on an unfamiliar tram system, though, and that didn’t feel like much of an option.

I was already regretting my decision to spend four months living in this city. When I chose to go there, I didn’t really know anything about the city or the country. I only knew that it was in Eastern Europe, close to my family’s homeland of Poland. (And when I arrived, I found out that it was actually in Central Europe, so I hadn’t really known anything.) Colleagues from my internship who had been to Prague told me that it was incredibly beautiful, and that I would love my time there.

I arrived in Central Europe two weeks after devastating floods. I flew into Berlin with my ex-boyfriend, who was studying there for the semester, and then I took the train to Prague. After hours of riding in silence, the man sitting next to me told me that we were nearly there. I looked out the window and I wanted to cry. It was ugly. All I saw were tall, concrete apartment buildings – panelaks, built when the former Czechoslovakia was under Soviet rule – and I couldn’t believe it. Where was the beautiful architecture? Where were the charming cobblestone streets? What the fuck had I gotten myself into?

I don’t remember the drive through the city to my dormitory, which was up on top of the hill past the castle. Later, I would notice all of the incredible details on the buildings, the orange tile rooftops, the stunning towers and churches, and the cobblestone streets – things that would become fixtures of my daily commute to my university. Later, I would see all of the damage caused by the floods: the crumbled walls of buildings near the Vltava River, the piles of garbage by metro stations, the closed streets and trams running irregular routes. That afternoon, though, I didn’t process any of that. I arrived at Kolej Komenského, my home for the next four months, and wondered what I was going to do.

That night, I met all of my fellow students as we went to dinner a few blocks away at a Czech pub. I ate smažený sýr (fried cheese) and palačinky (Czech pancakes, which are like crepes) while having introductory conversations with the people I’d grow to know well over the next four months. When things started winding down, I left the restaurant with my roommate and two of our classmates. We walked to the top of the hill – a route we would grow to know well over the coming months – and when we got to the top, something caught our attention.

There was chanting. After a minute, we realized that it was coming from the monastery. It was entrancing. We walked around the building, trying to see where it was coming from, but we couldn’t see anyone inside. While we stood there, listening, I turned around and looked down the hill.

Prague was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.

As I gazed over the glowing city – especially the domes and spires of churches lit up at night – I was certain that by the end of the semester, I’d take that view for granted. I figured that once things became routine, the city wouldn’t feel so incredible anymore. That never happened. Prague’s beauty and magic stayed with me that semester, and my creativity soared during that time. Something about being there feels electric to me, inspiring and powerful. If you can fall in love with a city, I did so with Prague that night near the monastery.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three weeks ago, I stepped off a plane at Ruzyně airport in Prague, and I bought a transit pass. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and hopped on a bus to the metro. I listened to the announcements in Czech, catching a few words and phrases that I remembered. When I exited the metro, I easily navigated familiar streets and headed to a favorite cafe to meet some friends.

This was my fourth visit back, and it still – always – feels like home. Each time I’ve visited, I’ve returned with my roommate from that semester abroad, and we have a list of old favorites that we try to be sure to see. This time, we spent a day walking through Petřín Park, a place where I spent many hours wandering, reading, and writing nine years ago. As we exited the park near the top of the hill, we passed that same monastery that gave us pause our first night there. Dusk was settling over the city, and looking out over the church tops and orange tile roofs, I fell in love all over again. As my friends and I walked down the hill toward the restaurant where I spent my first night in Prague nine years ago, I knew that the magic of the city will stay with me.

Though this last visit was entirely too brief, I’m not worried; I know that I’ll keep going back. We may have started off on the wrong foot, but Prague and I, we’re connected.

Have you ever fallen in love with a city, or visited a place that took your breath away?

[photo credit: me!]

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