The killing of Trayvon Martin three years ago, an act of dubious legal and moral validity, sparked a movement that sought to identify and protest race-based injustices. That spark roared to a flame in Ferguson, amidst allegations of murder at the hands of local police. The fire burned on through similarly controversial police actions involving minorities in New York, Cleveland and Baltimore.
Voices raised against the stain of racism from every angle; from the #BlackLivesMatter movement to columnists and essayists across news media to millions of individuals around the country using their social media accounts to advocate change.
They were legion, and they were right.
I like to eat, and I like to lift weights. Consequently, I have a body that looks like I like to eat, and I like to lift weights.
While I’m trying to step up my cardio and step down my carb intake (damn you, bread; damn you for your bland yet seductive goodness), I’m also looking to increase my flexibility (ladies) and start to explore meditation.
So, I signed up for my first ever yoga class.
I walked into the studio matless and clueless, only to find no soul behind the front desk to receive me, adding to the awkwardness of the experience. After walking aimlessly down an adjacent hallway, a friendly middle-aged lady in apropos yoga pants greeted me and walked me back to the desk.
Chances are, one of them is circulating through your body right now. Unless you’ve found a way to cure herpes with essential oils (and again, I’m really sorry about that), you’ve most likely left your doctor’s office in the not-so-distant past with a unintelligibly-written slip of paper. You then motored directly to your nearest CVS or Walgreen’s, only for a pharmacy tech to ask detailed questions about said paper that you could not possibly answer. Good times all around.
An hour later, you scooted on home with your panacea pills in a cloudy orange bottle. Maybe you’re the living-dangerously type that went bottoms up right away and popped a few down your gullet without reading the novel stapled to the bag; maybe you were a little more like your humble author and wanted to understand a little more about the pharma-cocktail you were about to ingest.