Bloggin’ Robin (Tweet, Tweet, Tweet)
[Food for thought… from an Italian Jew]
I used to go to a yoga teacher (incidentally named Robin) who would drop some essential oils into our hands at the end of each class. We would rub our hands together, cup our face and inhale these magical concoctions that had different healing properties (I did my best to inhale them through my nose, but it’s really tough when you’re a mouth breather. I say this as I sit here with my mouth agape.)
When a man would offer to help carry my bags, I figured he thought that I was weak and I would turn him down. If someone offered to help me at my show, Yum’s the Word, I would say no knowing it was easier to do it myself. I used to try to figure things out myself. I thought I had all the answers and if I didn’t, then I would find them out.
Man, was I wrong.
