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I blame my multi-year yoga hiatus on the CrossFit craze. ‘Workout of the Day’ posts were overwhelming my social media feeds. The enthusiasm for weightlifting, burpees and lady-muscles was unrelenting. I abandoned the self-love of yoga to abuse myself through masochistic forms of exercise. I didn’t have enough courage to join CrossFit per se, so I signed up for group powerlifting classes.
Transitions are hard and change is often difficult for creatures of habit like me. There is enough uncertainty in the world, so I like to keep a few things consistent—sometimes to a fault. For much of my adult life, my guilty pleasure was red wine. Even on a steamy hot summer night, I would opt for a hearty goblet of room temperature Cabernet. After years of indulging, red wine started to give me intense migraines. Yet, fully in denial, I would carry on, afraid to break up with my vino.
As a child of the 1970s, I am a mix of inconsistencies and contradictions. I am a feminist, but I am not opposed to making my husband do man-oriented, manly, man-chores. I am a conservationist, mostly when it’s convenient. I am an environmentalist, when I have the energy, or if someone is watching. Politically, I am a liberal-conservative, or a moderate-liberal.
Waveny Park’s beauty taunts me as I drive by it on my way to…everything. It beckons me. Waveny’s come-hither allure is almost too much to bear for both an avid jogger and a victim of severe seasonal allergies. I indulge in the trails cautiously, as I am bogged down with both pollen-phobia and an irrational fear of forest creatures. But every now and again, one must throw caution to the histamine and decide to embrace the uncertainty of nature—and a possible encounter with the unknown.
It’s time for a change of scene when on day two of a Nor’easter-related electrical outage, you become emotionally unhinged upon seeing a brigade of Eversource trucks lined up on White Oak Shade Road. Because I’m a multi-Bombogenesis survivor and a lover of a man in uniform, the sight of utility service engineers felt like gazing upon the Allied Troops rolling triumphantly along the Champs Éylsées. Oh, the joy, the newfound hope, the promise of better times… Sorta. My kids were barely at school in March and soon New Canaan Public Schools will commence its Spring Break.