It’s so easy to take things for granted. Especially where you live. I constantly tell people how I can’t wait to one day move back to NYC so I can go to the theater and museums and jog around Central Park after hitting up a poetry reading or something super fabulous and cultured. You know how often I did those things in the 12 years I lived full-time in Manhattan? I could count on one hand.

Well, the same thing has happened to me since moving to South Florida. I have a pool in my backyard but I have never once been for a dip. And while the beach is less than 2 miles away, I have only packed up my bag and spent a day in the sun, reading a book, about 10 times since moving here.

So yesterday, Michael and I decided to finally put our errand list aside (Home Depot can wait, right?) and act like vacationers. After Colony yoga and breakfast at Christina’s, we bought the NY Times, grabbed a few towels and headed to Delray Beach beach. It was shockingly crowded – do these people come here every weekend? Wow. I felt like I was finally in some secret that I had been keeping from myself. We only stayed for an hour or so (just long enough to go from pasty white to a more tolerable shade) but it felt really nice to just sit back, relax and do nothing. I mean, what’s the point of living in a beach town where it’s 75 and sunny in January if you don’t go to the beach? I might as well be in freezing cold NYC, holed up in my 300 square foot apartment, talking about all of the fascinating things I plan to do once the weather gets better…

as part of my coursework for Institute for Integrative Nutrition, we listen to the leading forces in health and wellness talk about their particular ways of being healthy and living balanced lives. Since I began in May, I have heard lectures from the biggest names around including Barry Sears (The Zone), Deepak Chopra, Walter Willett, David Wolfe and Geneen Roth – my new personal favorite – among others. But this week’s discussion was definitely the one that hit home the hardest. It was Eric Schlosser, the author of Fast Food Nation.

I first read Fast Food Nation right after college, when it first came out. I used to gorge myself on McDonald’s as a kid, and the Taco Bell kiosk at Dairy Mart in Amherst was my go-to for a snack. Bean burrito with no onion, add rice? I’ll take two. And a large orange soda.

But when I read that book, something changed for me. I was completely sickened by the fast food industry. Overnight, I stopped hitting up The Bell and changed the way I thought about what I was eating. Still, I was just out of college and spending most nights drinking, so I’m sure there were some slip ups. Either way, I have been pretty anti fast food ever since. The mass production and low quality is just shocking to me. I am a total food snob; I always want the very best. And I’m certainly not finding the best at Wendy’s.

However, what really struck a chord in me was the way the animals are treated. I’ll spare you the details but, believe me, it’s worse than you think. Way worse.

I went through something similar in high school. My best friend Michelle and I watched this sick (sick as in disgusting, not awesome) movie called Faces of Death. I honestly can’t remember any of the specific details about what they did to the chickens but those two, excruciating hours were enough to get me off of meat. For 8 years. Seriously.

I went vegetarian around sophomore year in high school and it basically lasted until the end of college. But I was a very, very bad vegetarian.

Not because I was eating meat on the sly; because I was not replacing it was necessary proteins and minerals that I was missing. I binged on bagels and pasta instead of veggies, whole grains and beans. I lived on mac and cheese, Veggie Delight subs from Subway and those requisite Taco Bell bean burritos. And, most embarrassingly, calzones from DP Dough. I obviously gained some weight and was not in my best shape. But I was still happy to be meat-free. (Disclaimer: I was a lacto-ovo vegetarian so eggs and dairy was kosher. Giving up cheese would have NEVER happened)

But after I graduated and moved to the city, I slowly started to bring the animals back. Maybe it has been long enough since seeing that movie, or maybe my body was simply craving it again, especially since I wasn’t eating right. I remember my first steak, with my then-boyfriend Justin, at a serious steakhouse in Brooklyn. I gagged and got really sick and it was months before I tried again. But then I was hooked. I started getting bacon on my veggie sandwiches. Of course I would like a side of sausage with my egg whites! I finally ordered the famous burgers at The Spotted Pig and Corner Bistro. I was a full-blown carnivore.

And I was basically ok with that. I would have moments where I questioned it (like when I bot down on a hunk of cartilage. Gross.) and I still couldn’t eat any meat off the bone (it just felt so barbaric) but I was back in the game.

Until now.

I don’t know what to do. I’m having another food crisis. I went through a vegetarian phase a few months ago when I first started classes at IIN, but it was short-lived and I went back to chicken and turkey within a few days. This time, I’m eggs and dairy only. And I’m seriously contemplating going full-on vegan. Crazy!

For the past week, I have subsisted on quinoa, veggie soups, grilled asparagus and bean burgers, and I’m into it. Thankfully, I’m now a health coach and a nutritional advisor so I know way more about how to eat right than when I attempted a life without meat almost 20 years ago. I also got an unbelievable VitaMix blender from Michael last month and have been playing with different juice and soup recipes. Butternut squash soup in 45 seconds? Grinding my own almond butter? I’m filled with joy – and saving a ton of money by not going out every single night!

And dining out – my absolute favorite thing in the world to do – has been a new experience. I’m lucky to live in two cities where being a vegetarian is very common and very accommodated. My favorite meal was dinner out recently with my vegan friend Eve and her hubby Richie at an amazing  vegetarian place called Darbster in West Palm Beach. I traded in my filet mignon and got a hummus platter with raw crackers and tabouli. Yum. And you know what? Raw vegan pizza from 4th Generation in Boca is really really tasty!

The best part? I can still go to Morton’s and Abe and Louie’s or any of those dark, manly steakhouses. They serve the BEST veggies. You basically get an entire head when you order a side of steamed broccoli at these places. For $15, but still.

I don’t know how long this will last or how hard core I’ll get but I just know that for the present moment, this feels right. I can’t imagine ordering a meat dish off of a restaurant menu after just listening to Eric Schlosser describe the way chickens and cows are forced to live their miserable lives. And I just feel a lot healthier.

But who knows. I am all over the place; knowing me, ill be on an all-meat diet in a month. But today, I’m fighting for the little guys and feeling pretty damn good while doing it.

PS, what I’ve been cooking…

The “famous” Brussels:

My whole grain spelt noodles with veggies:

Meat-free. Yum.

So I went to Target this afternoon and bought this file organizer….to, ya know, organize my files.

But in all honestly, I feel like the first step to getting productive is cleaning up my home office and letting go of clutter. They say  “a messy bed is a messy head.” Well, a messy desk sucks too.

Of course, while I was out I also stopped off at Home Goods and fell in love with this delicious medititation pillow. Made in India! Only $70.99 – a bargain! I had to have it. It’s all about balance, right? You see, my home office also functions as my yoga sanctuary, complete with Ganesha and Shiva shrines, Tibetan prayer flags and yummy incense . It’s actually very relaxing, save the cluttered desk. A little work and a little play. And I really REALLY needed a comfortable new seat to practice my morning pranayama and OM-ing. Right?

This year, I am all about only making promises that I can – and plan to – keep.

Not that I’m all talk and no action.

In 2010, I decided to quit my longtime celebrity gossip editor career. I did.

I told my husband that I wanted to go back to school to study nutrition. I graduate in March.

Then, after we shelled out thousands upon thousands for the nutrition program, I decide that being a yoga teacher would really compliment those studies nicely. Thankfully, hubbby agreed – or, at least, placated. Another hefty check, and I’m finishing up my requirements to be a Yoga Alliance RYT200 yoga instructor. In fact, I did my practice teach in front of my own teacher TODAY. Successfully and safely!

And just a month ago, I started a health and wellness column for Vegas Magazine, writing for my fellow gossip alum, Abby. Even though  was sick of following every one of Shiloh Jolie Pitt’s movements doesn’t mean I’m no longer a writer. And I’m happier now than ever with the topics I write about.

So I guess it’s not so much that I don’t follow through because, clearly, i do. It’s more about finding a clearer path for myself – even if I decide to diverge off of it again, as I tend to do. Often. What? I get bored, distracted, adventurous, eager. I think it’s a good quality. My husband still isn’t sure what to about it. I told him to just let me go off on my tangents; I always end up finding my way. But sometimes it’s exhausting being so damn free-spirited.

A few months ago, I started a nutrition counseling business. I gave some lectures on how to eat healthy (stop going through the Mickey D’s drive-thru at 2 am, avoid packaged mac n’ cheese, drink water…the basics) and even designed a website and some business cards. And I even helped a few people get their awful eating habits back on track. Like, real clinets. But then the holidays came, and I got totally distracted. Like, I did nothing productive for weeks. Except a ton of yoga. So it wasn’t a complete waste.

But I’m back. And I’m ready for greatness. It’s all right there, waiting for me to embrace. I just need to get my confidence and momentum back.

Nothing but big things, 2011. Big things, indeed.

People here in Delray Beach always say to me, “You must love this time of year – all of the New Yorkers are in town.” My reply? Hell no.

These are not my New Yorkers. My New Yorkers don’t complain and throw a tantrum when they aren’t seated within 10 minutes of showing up at a busy restaurant like Tramonti or Vic & Angelo’s on a Friday night for an 8 pm rez. And my New Yorkers don’t throw hissy fits and threaten employees at Walgreens who won’t honor a 5 cent off coupon that expired over a month ago, explaining that they were “up north” and just got here. And my New Yorkers most definitely don’t push their poodles around in a baby carriage made for dogs.

In reality, this is my least favorite time of year living in South Florida. Actually, the entire winter, when the snowbirds show up, is pretty awful in general but holiday season is excruciating. It’s the time when my peaceful, adorable little beach town gets invaded with rude New Yorkers and I’m basically in a bad mood the whole time.

Let me explain. I’m from New York. I am a die-hard New Yorker, no matter where I happen to be living right now. Friends still call me and ask for dinner or bar recommendations – and I haven’t lived in Manhattan full-time for almost 3 years. I love New Yorkers. But the New Yorkers who come down here for the holidays are not my people. Most aren’t from the city – it’s more of a suburban crew with an elitist, entitled attitude. Gross. It’s a whole lot of really needy, demanding folk who likely took the flight straight from MacArthur and will stay here just long enough to really piss me off. Congrats, you have a Bentley and Birkin – you’re still an asshole. And you’re crowding the sidewalk.

Sure, I’ve had my struggles with adjusting to life down here. It can be boring sometimes and the energy isn’t the same as NYC. Duh.

But, over time, I have really come to peace with what Delray is all about: I do a ton of yoga, eat healthy, walk on the beach and have even made some really amazing friends – and it only took me two years!

But seriously, while it surely isn’t NYC, Delray had been a nice break. I’ve learned to slow down and enjoy things here, just accept it for what it is and not try to make it NYC. And I really have an amazing situation, spending weeks at a time in the Big Apple whenever I want, having held on to my apartment in Greenwich Village when I moved south. Often, when I get back to Palm Beach County after a week or two in Manhattan – where days and nights are packed with seeing many friends, going to any and every new restaurant, and walking the streets for hours – it’s a welcome break. I get to relax.

Then the holiday crowd appears and my quiet little life is shattered. They show up in town and take over my tiny Starbucks and are all so excited to tell anyone who will listen about how they’re from New York, albeit Long Island or Westchester. News flash – everyone in Delray is from New York. You aren’t special. Just annoying.

Maybe I’m just slightly jealous because when the holidays or season are over, they are heading back north. Perhaps. But they will still be their same intolerable selves – and I’ll have my life back.

You know why I didn’t move to Florida? For it to be 37 freaking degrees!!

This is insane.

Everyone always gives me grief; “aren’t you from up north? why aren’t you used to the cold?”

Um, I am, when I’m UP NORTH!! I do not have my arsenal of wool mittens and North Face parkas down here. Why would I? It’s FLORIDA. Plus, isn’t the most redeeming quality about the Sunshine State, well, the sunshine?

Enough of that – I’m off to teach yoga in a freezing cold studio with no feeling in my fingers or toes.

Every Monday, I get this sense of urgency about my life and what I have to get done. I usually run around all day like crazy, going to meetings, writing articles for different magazines and catching up on my nutrition classes. There is usually a yoga class or a Barre method class followed by a run by the ocean. If I’m feeling really crazy, I might even go for spin or something hardcore. Breakfast is 90-minutes or so spent at a local beachside cafe, reading the NY Post and the Daily News – hey, I’m still a New Yorker. Later on, I do more errands and make more plans for all of the amazing things I will get done all week. I feel accomplished and get so excited for the week and what it will bring.

By Tuesday (or Wednesday on a really good week), my motivation is usually gone.

I don’t really understand what happens. Maybe I run myself down so hard on the first day of my “work” week that I just have no more energy? Or maybe I just pile too many things on my plate and lose control and get too scattered. Either way, it’s discouraging and I’m ready to break the mold.

Today, I am going to figure out a way to keep the momentum going. I’m supermotivated – I just need to keep myself grounded and focused. Maybe that means doing less on Monday and spreading my obligations out. Or maybe I just need to stay home and relax, stop running around so much. Help!

Either way, I’m off to get a 60-minute massage to figure it all out.

In addition to finishing up my RYT 200 yoga teacher training while working the front desk at my yoga studio and teaching a couple of classes a week, converting to Judaism, starting a health coaching business and writing a HCG diet cookbook with my chiropractor, I am still in school. My classes at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition are my than halfway done, but I am still a student and have a lot of classwork to do. Yes, I even take tests. They’re online and mostly just common sense, but still – it’s a lot of time and stress.

I have always loved school. In elementary school at Good Counsel Academy, I was the dork who raised my hand whenever the teacher asked a question. I would throw it up so high that my body would sometimes come up out of my seat. I was THAT kid. I won the General Excellence award a few years in a row for best all around student (it isn’t bragging if it’s true) and proudly accepted my framed medal on stage in front of my 16 classmates. Looking back, I’m shocked I didn’t get beat up – I was so annoying.

In high school, I toned it down. I transferred in to White Plains High School at the beginning of my sophomore so I had a clean slate to work with. I didn’t have to be the eager pupil. But I couldn’t help it. In some classes, I passed notes, daydreamed about driving to Fordham to pick up some weed or napped. But in others, I reverted back to the know-it-all I had been growing up. My friend Andrew, who sat behind me in chemistry, once joked about me to my own mother, saying I was always the goody-goody raising my hand.

There was definitely a lapse in my studious ways once I got to college. I preferred to buy the notes for my classes at the Newman Center. That way I could nap through class – hey, I had been out partying at The Pub or Delano’s LATE. I was just trying to catch up on sleep – or just skip it altogether. I didn’t fail classes or anything like that but I was not interested or focused. I switched majors 3 different times and ended up settling as an accounting major with a minor in Spanish.

After college, and entering the work force, I longed for school again. I have always had an endless thirst for learning new things and have always wished I could be a student forever and ever and ever.

So I enrolled in a class at The New School Writing for NYC Newspapers and Magazines with Sue Shapiro. The class changed my life but I was too nervous to ever read any of my pieces out loud in front of the room. Instead, I quietly snagged an internship at the New York Daily News and began my career as a celebrity chaser.

But my desire to take classes returned yet again. I had always wanted to be a yoga teacher, and almost signed up for the program at Om Yoga Center in NYC a few times. Now, living in Florida with a lot of free time, I decided to enroll in the RYT200 program at my local studio, YogaFox. Sure, it isn’t in the middle of NYC but that has actually been a good thing. With the smaller classes, I’ve been able to really focus and learn a lot. After 7 months, I’ve already taught about 10 yoga classes. I have added yet another possible career option to my growing arsenal.

Once a week, I’m also taking a Jewish studies class at the local temple, preparing to become a Jew. This entails not only discussions on Shabbat and Shalom but also an hour-long Hebrew lesson. Oy!

But becoming a yoga teacher and a Jew just wasn’t enough. With all of this going on, I also decided to become a health coach through NYC’s Institute for Integrative Nutrition. I must be nuts. The school offered live classes at Lincoln Center, but being that I live down south most of the time (for now), I was forced to do the online course. Ideal, no, but still a good option. Or so I thought.

I absolutely loved the classes when I first started. I was learning so much about food and nutrition and general wellness and I became totally obsessed. I cut out processed foods (barring the VERY occasional Annie’s Mac & Cheese – it’s a weakness) and focused way more on my own personal health. And I loved how flexible the schedule was. A class was released every week but there was no pressure to finish it right away. In fact, there was no pressure to do anything ever. And I’ve found myself falling behind.

Days and weeks go by where I have do nothing for my class. A day of yoga or doing errands or just catching up with friends at Brule or Starbucks always sounds more interesting even though I’m totally obsessed with health and nutrition. I’m just being lazy and I know it. It’s pathetic. I wish I could harness just a little of that grade school enthusiasm. But life gets in the way – and I let it. Sadly, I know that I’ll regret my lack of effort when the program ends in March and beat myself up for not doing more.

So I’ve made a pact – I must catch up on the 6 (yes, 6) lessons I’ve missed by Christmas. Thankfully, I’ve aced both exams so far and am very familiar with most of the material. Still, It’s a lot to get through but I just have to do it. Inside, I’m still a dedicated student – I just have to go find that person again.

I woke up last Saturday miserable that we had to go to Philadelphia. Michael and I were in NYC for Thanksgiving and all I wanted to do was trot around the city, go to my favorite bars and restaurants and see all of my old friends.

But instead, we were heading to the City of Brotherly Love so Michael could go to his high school reunion and reacquaint with people he hadn’t seen in a decade. Yay?

Before Philly, though, we were making a stop for brunch at our BFF Saris’ house in Jersey, to visit her and hubby and adorable new baby.

So we packed up our Vera Bradley duffel bag for the overnight trip to the Loews Hotel and a gift from the ABC Home & Carpet kids section for the baby, and headed to Penn Station. The train ride was nice – and super quick – and we were at our destination, Brick Church, in no time at all. Michael and I walked off of the train car, and now that I was out of the city, I was excited for our big adventure.

The first time Michael and I visited Sari, we missed our train stop and ended up getting completely lost. I was so happy we had deboarded at the right stop, and Michael and I were high-fiving and I was congratulating us on making it to our destination and being 1-1 in regards to our travels to NJ.

I spoke too soon.

As the double-decker train pulled away from the station, I quickly realized that we had left behind the Vera Bradley bag, which contained all of our clothes for Michael’s reunion that night. I panicked. We contemplated driving to the next station to catch the train but Sari’s hubby Jeff told us it would likely be gone by the time we got there.

I called the NJ Transit office at Penn Station immediately and you can imagine how well that went. The woman on the phone pleasantly told me that she would try to get in touch with the train conductor and ask him to put our bag aside but said our best bet at getting it back would be to catch the train on it’s way back to NYC – 3 hours later. After 5 minutes on hold, she said she hadn’t been able to reach him. I was deflated. My favorite basic black Louboutins (my first pair ever!) were in the bag, along with my entire makeup bag, pricey hair extensions, my dress for the party and my perfectly worn in black BJoy sweats, not to mention two pair of Michael’s pants, a few button downs (he’s indecisive) and a sweater. Thankfully I was wearing my jewelry. But still.

Still, we headed to brunch at Toast in Montclair and put the morning’s drama aside. But as soon as we got back to our friends’ house, we started making more calls to useless NJ Transit personnel (were we the FIRST people to ever lose something on a train??) and sulking over our likely-lost possessions.

Ironically, I had just come back from 4 days on an ashram, where $500 pumps meant nothing. In a way, it made the lost bag drama a little easier. But Michael was the one who put it all in perspective, saying “it’s just stuff. We can replace it.”

The statement was so yogic, so unattached. I promptly made him clarify that he was going to buy me new shoes.

I started to calm down, but that was short-lived. I quickly remember something else, something extra special that was in the bag: the black single strap Chanel bag that Michael gave me the night we were engaged. Not only was it really expensive but it had a sentimental value. I was crushed, but Michael was absolutely devastated.

We had planned to take the train from NJ right to Philly but headed back to Penn Station again, making a visit to the lost and found office. The girl behind the counter said it could be days before anything turned up, since the bag may be sitting at the other end of the train route, or at another office in Hoboken. This was a total wild goose chase.

So we rented a car and drove, dejectedly to the big party. When we got out of the car in front of the Loews, the valet asked if he could help with our bags. We had none.

The next few hours were spent in the next door Macy’s, buying everything from a dress to shoes to underwear for me and a new sportsjacket, sweater and button down for Michael. Good thing we had gotten a special room rate for the reunion – we had just dropped over a G to outfit ourselves for the event.

In the following days, I called the NJ Transit office at least 20 times a day, leaving desperate messages. I was thrilled when my phone rang on Monday and I recognized the number as that of the lost and found office (pathetic, right?) but sadly, they were just returning my 99th message to tell me that no, they hadn’t found my green floral print Vera Bradley bag. But they had a pink one. Good for that person.

Over a week later, I’ve finally totally let it go. I always try to do the right thing and was confident that karma would take care of it and return my belongings to me but I guess I was being punished for not returning that wallet i found in a cab when I was 20. I didn’t steal anything out of it, but it just sat in my desk for half a year and I kept forgetting to send it until too much time has passed that I was embarrassed to ship it back to the owner in Japan. I eventually did – after some major detective work to find the address and with the few dollar bills still in the billfold – and now I’m hoping that in 6 or 7 months, my bag might finally show up, with everything intact.

Wishful thinking…

I am open to new experiences. Actually, I thrive on them. I hate routines, get bored with things easily and am always looking for action.

So I thought it would be fun to go on a 3-night yoga retreat with my yoga teacher trainer crew to an ashram in central Florida last week. It was…interesting.

First of all, I was originally told that I had to be there by 4 pm because the gates were closed and locked after dinner. Gates? What? I was already having 20 panic attacks upon hearing this news. What if I just NEEDED to get in my car in the middle of the night and drive? Not happening. I was stuck. Behind locked gates. Uh oh.

But I decided to go into it with an open heart and an open mind. This was yoga, after all. After a 2 hour drive, I arrived at the Kashi ashram in Sebastian, just in time for our afternoon yoga session. The nice old lady in the office told me I was staying in Modular 1A. Come again? It sounded like she said modular, as in a double-wide trailer situation. Yup, that’s what she meant.

I rolled up to the trailer, carrying my Louis Vuitton tote. I started to worry that I wasn’t going to blend…

The room was fine, furnished with 6 dorm-style twin beds dressed in matching Target bed-in-a-bag linens and a few nightstands from Goodwill. There was one shower for 4 women and the brightest florescent overhead lighting I have ever seen. At least it was clean.

I headed to class with my YogaFox teachers, Keith and Kelly, and attempted to do some poses. I say attempt because the day before I headed to this 3-day intensive yoga retreat, my dermatologist decided to do a biopsy on a birthmark. On the bottom of my foot. Without giving me any notice. This MD-inflicted injury was not boding well for my Downward Facing Dog.

But I gave it my best shot, wincing through the pain as I rested my weight in the gimpy foot to come into Tree. Thankfully, it was only an hour-long class.

Next up was dinner, in the cafeteria style dining hall. I never went to sleep-away camp (on account of not being Jewish, of course) but I’m guessing it would have looked similar to my dining accommodations at the ashram. However, the food was unreal. All vegetarian, we had fresh veggies and salad, tacos, tofu, curry and dal…the works. The downside? Dinner was served at 5 pm – somehow even worse than the early bird special in Boca. But it was also kind of nice to eat early enough to not go to bed feeling full. I still managed to completely stuff myself on greens and feel awful.

After dinner, we met up again in the yoga studio for kirtan, where the teachers led us through some chanting and singing hymns dedicated to the Hindu gods along with drums and a harmonium. It sounded great and I loved the rhythm but I was weirded out at first – what was I supposed to do while the music was being played? Get up and dance? Stay in my cross-legged seat? I decided to just go with it and spent the next 3 hours basically swaying back and forth with my eyes closed, clapping my hands together when it seemed right. I’m sure I did it all wrong.

I spent the next 2 days in this same routine – yoga at dawn, breakfast, class on Buddhism/yoga/lots of fun spiritual stuff, lunch, more class, more yoga, dinner. We didn’t even have an hour break during the day – it was back to back activities. It was exhausting and my head was spinning. But on Friday and Saturday, there was a special treat – darshan.

I had never even heard the word darshan until I arrived at the ashram. Apparently, it’s a sort of ceremony where the guru in residence named Ma speaks to her “children,” as the residents and devotees are known, and bestows upon them her wisdom before leading the group in a guided meditation.

I was in complete awe. I had never seen anything like it. There were about 100 people, ranging from babies to men and women in their 70’s, stuffed into this tiny room in a house that looked like it belonged in the Catskills in 1974, hanging on the guru’s every word. It was beyond uncomfortable, physically. I mean, have you ever tried to sit for two hours with no room to stretch out your legs or move an inch? It’s hard!

A Jewish mom-turned-spiritual leader, Ma spoke to them in a thick Brooklyn accent, where she had lived before coming to start this ashram. Some of her followers knew their guru from her days in the outer borough and had been following her around since then, for over 30 years. Wow. I was happy all of these people had found something to believe in but it was a little too intense for me.

My anxiety definitely took over. I needed a stiff drink or a walk but, of course, the gates were shut.

I had paid to stay at the compound until Sunday but by early Saturday morning I knew I wasn’t going to make it. Not only was my foot throbbing from doing two yoga classes a day but I just needed to get back to my normal life. I was drained. I had managed to sneak past the gate at 6:45 am, just so I could see the outside world. I drove to Walgreens.

With a flight to NYC for Thanksgiving booked for Sunday afternoon, I had to leave as early as possible that morning. This quickly turned into me escaping on Saturday night. After dinner and darshan #2, I packed up the car and drove south and back to reality. I was so desperate for city life that I barely slept and went to the airport at 3:30 am, managing to get onto a 5 am flight to Manhattan. I let out a sign of relief. I was home.

Looking back, the ashram was great. The people were really nice if not a bit sheltered, and the food was memorable. Plus, I learned a lot from the spiritual lessons and did a ton of (painful) yoga. Oh, and I did some real damage at the gift shop, too. There will soon be Ganesha statues at every doorway and incense burning all over my house, thanks to that boutique. But that country air was just too hard for me to breathe.