Grateful

I read a piece by Allison Zapata today, and it touched me; I cried at the end. The takeaway from her article was that it reminded me to be grateful for what I have.

Reading her story inspired me to write about my own gratitude.

During the hurricane, I've taken a moment to talk about what I'm grateful for.

Maria, over at AMotherWorld gave me the opportunity to share 10 pieces of gratitude.

What are you grateful for?

The World According to Toddler Terrorists

I've been thinking a lot about this, and I've come to a conclusion; toddlers are terrorists.

Here's how it breaks down:

Two year-olds are Kamikaze pilots. 
They're on a mission to destroy themselves. They wish to explode in more ways than one.

Three year-olds are terrorists. 
They've moved past the stage of thoughtless self-destruction and attempts to murder themselves, and they're on to plotting the destruction of your world. They will stop at nothing until they get their way.

Four year-olds politicians.
These small humans are an entirely different story. Four year-olds aren't terrorists at all, they're politicians. They're tired of trying to sabotage themselves, and they've moved on to trying to prove you wrong through intense questioning sessions. Why? How? Who? Where? They're relentless. A lot of the time, this group employs circular logic in order to achieve their goals, and their arguments often lack rationality.

The question on my mind is, what are five year-olds according to this model?

Diamond Candle - Enchanted Forest Giveaway

One very exciting day, my best friend Mint told me about Diamond Candles. They're magical candles with a ring hidden inside them. Since learning about their powers, I ordered the Vanilla Cream scent and quickly became obsessed with it.

I wrote to Diamond Candles and asked if I could do a giveaway with them! Josh, the Vice President of Community over at D.C. agreed and sent me their new scent to review: Enchanted Forest. At first I was skeptical, but then I smelled it.

It's hard to describe exactly what this candle smells like, other than purple deliciousness, but I can assure you that it's glorious. My husband says it smells like lavender. I would agree, but it also seems to be mixed with something else, magical lavender perhaps?

I'm excited to find out what ring I get. I'll keep you guys posted on that. In the mean time, enter to win an Enchanted Forest candle below!

Enter Here

Yo! Look at the ring that was inside:

Full Disclosure: I received a Diamond Candle for review in the mail from the Diamond Candle Company. It was awesome. 

Ari's New Friend Who Doesn't Speak English

Ari has a new friend at school. His Pre-K teacher told me about him. Apparently they play in Magnatiles together all the time. When he comes home from school, Ari talks about his friend. I asked Ari's teacher if I could contact Ari's new friend's mom.

"Oh that would be great, but just a heads up, she doesn't speak very much English."

I knew Ari's friend's name, but I didn't know what nationality he was. Mint and I looked online and we determined that his name was Chinese.

I looked on the class contact sheet. The email address from Ari's new friend's mom was at a Chinese website. I emailed her.

I didn't hear back...

So I called her.

"Hi Ellen (fake name) my son Ari is in your son Billy's (fake name) class. Ms W. says they play  together in Magnatiles. I was wondering if you wanted to have a play date."
"Oh...yes. Sorry, I don't speak so much English." Said Ellen with a nervous giggle.
"That's okay, what language do you speak?"
"Cantonese." She said.
"Oh, well then I'll have to learn Cantonese then."
We laughed.
"Do you want to meet after school and go to the playground?"
"Is this with other classmates?" Asked Ellen.
"No, no, it's just me, you, Billy, and Ari. What do you think?
"Oh, okay, okay." She said laughing nervously again.

I'm excited for Ari and Billy to play together, but I'm so curious as to how they communicate. I suppose when you're four play is more physical than verbal anyhow.

Any suggestions for our play date? Should I buy a Cantonese dictionary?

Stream of Consciousness

I'm gassy. I love coffee. If you're happy and you know it clap your hands. I'm clenching my jaw. It's my dad's birthday and I'm nervous. It's raining and I have to go outside and exercise. I can't believe Samara escaped on the playground yesterday. Everyone there must have thought I was a terrible parent. My heart is so open it scares me sometimes, I love my friends though. I also love cats. Sometimes I feel like I'm too hard on Samara. She's only 22 months. I will be sad if no one reads this. Are you reading this? I'm an attention whore. Good thing I'm
not a regular whore. I wonder where the word whore came from. I need to get a shell necklace to protect my open heart. I am eccentric. It's so hard to give up dairy, because I love cheese.

Hold The Door For Me

I know you're having a busy day, stranger that is staring at me while I attempt to open a giant heavy metal door. You don't seem that busy to me. You're reading The New York Times and drinking a seemingly delicious cup of joe, but do you think that you could pause your hectic life just long enough to assist me with opening the door? It would really make my day. No? You're a fucking asshole.

Hello, yes, I need help lifting this stroller down the subway stairs. It's really hard, and my neck and back are bothering me. I don't want to have to ask for help. I will ask the next available strong looking man that passes by to help me take the enormous stroller down the stairs.

I don't think I should have to ask him though. I wish I lived in a place where people were more aware of one another and had empathy.

Chivalry is dead. But so is empathy apparently.

I just want someone to hold the door for me, even if it's the fucking elevator door. But a "real" door would be great too. Sometimes, I can't hold my bag, the stroller and a water bottle and open the door. It's just not feasible. I'm sorry, society. I'm sorry that I am overwhelmed with life.

But still, someone should really hold the door for me, especially if that particular person isn't busy, and they're staring at me blankly, watching as I am attempting clumsily to open the door. It's not like I'm asking for money. I just want them to help me open the door, which I clearly cannot open.

It's just a door for G-d sake!

The next time I see someone struggling with a door, I'm going to help that person. I swear, don't test me, I will do it.

I will.

Hold...

the...

door...

for...

you.

It's a door.

My 33rd Birthday, The Y, Kung Fu, The Chocolate Room, and Roy

I turned 33 yesterday, October 17th 2012. It was epic. I started the day by working out at the Y with my awesome friend Bonnie. Then my parents took me out to The Chocolate Room where I had a brownie sundae. After that, my soul brother Roy came down from Westchester and taught Ari and I some Kung Fu on the playground.

Check it:

It was awesome. Moms were watching us learn Kung Fu and they were transfixed by what they saw. Then random children started doing Kung Fu moves along side us.

Word.

After our Kung Fu playground adventure, we talked about the apocalypse that may or may not happen, among other topics. Ari ate a lollipop on the way home, and refused to walk, but Roy convinced him to move onward.

We got back to my place, and my parents, Roy, Wil, Samara and Ari and I ordered pizza and talked about the 5th grade opera, the Obama Romney debate, Degrassi The Next Generation, and why Wil refuses to watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer, the TV series.

Year 33 started out with a bang, and a Kung Fu kick. Let's make this a year to remember.

Empathy and Amanda Todd

After I watched the video of Amanda Todd spilling her soul about being horrifically bullied I had a thought.

Here's the video in case you haven't seen it:



The story is tragic. Here's a beautiful young girl who made a mistake; revealing her breasts over the internet. Consequently, she's punished over and over again. She's tortured and bullied to the point where she takes her own life.

In itself, this is a horrific tale. But what makes it far worse, as my friend Justin pointed out to me, is the comments that are being made on the tribute pages.

People are saying things like "I'm glad she's dead."

Amanda Todd was a girl, she was a daughter, she was a friend, and (most importantly) she was a human being. She was not a serial killer. She doesn't deserve to have this malicious backlash of comments about her after she is dead.

The problem here is  our troubled society. Our children are lacking empathy. I'm not sure how that happened, but it needs to be fixed immediately.

Empathy is an integral skill that should be taught to every human being.

What we should be thinking and writing on these pages, is "how sad," "rest in peace," "a life is lost." Statements like that that show concern, love, and empathy.

All of us as human beings have felt some degree of pain; pain feels awful. Clearly, Amanda was in a lot of pain. As humans that have experienced pain, we should be able to think to ourselves, and even articulate out loud "Wow, she hurting, that's really tragic, I know what it's like to hurt, I feel for her."

We must take action. We need to remedy the fact that some of our children are lacking this skill. Society cannot tolerate this malicious behavior.

Teach your children to respect other people's feelings. Teach your son or daughter to empathize with others. Teach them to name how they feel out loud. Teach them to name how other people are feeling out loud.

Empathy is important. If we could all be more empathetic, think about how our society could drastically change.

Heated Arguments on Facebook Are Hilarious

The other day I got a message from my friend Debbie on Facebook.

Debbie was upset when she called me. She had been the victim of something that most of us in the 21st century have found ourselves involved in, a Facebook argument.

You might not even know that you're entering into one; you may just be innocently expressing your opinion on a post. But all of a sudden...someone is viciously attacking you because you like the color green and listen to Jazz music. Why is this person so angry? I don't know, and neither do you. But they have chosen to let you know (via the internet) that you are totally wrong and even go so far as to attack your character. All of this is done virtually yet they somehow have managed to get your blood to boil. It's pretty remarkable actually.

Unfortunately, Debbie got caught in the crossfire of one of these atrocities. I'm sorry Debbie, I have been there, and it is an awful place to be.

Debbie and I chose to mock the situation. We created the ultimate Facbook argument.

My friend Jess suggested that I document this masterpiece on my blog. I think she is a genius. 

 Here it is for your viewing pleasure:

It's time to ask yourselves, my friends, what are you so angry about? What are you trying to gain from calling someone out over the internet? Did you have a bad day at work? Are you upset because you're constipated? Not getting laid much? Overworked? Tired? Erectile disfunction?

Whatever the case may be, learn to deal with your issues, and please stop taking them out on innocent people over the internet. 

If you or someone you love has been a victim of a Facebook argument, please comment below. 

Hello Jessica Alba! I Love Your Diapers!

I was futzing around on Facebook the other day, when I noticed that my friend Claire liked "The Honest Company." I thought to myself, I wonder what that is. It turns out that The Honest Company is an organic baby and house product company.

Then I noticed that they had a free trial! So I sent away for the diaper bundle trial and the essentials trial. I just paid shipping (it was like five bucks or so) and I got a lovely surprise in the mail. Check it out:

<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/S0Ufjh22B30?fs=1" width="480"></iframe>

So far, I've tried the diapers and they're awesome. Thank you Jessica Alba! I'll report back on the household supplies and toiletries.

A Thrown Out Coffee Turns into a 5th Grade Opera

I rushed to school to make it to my sub job. It was my first day at this particular school, and I didn't want to be late. I hurriedly dropped Ari off at Pre-K and headed to the main office of the school where I would be subbing.

I realized, when I got to the office, that I hadn't brought my sub license. The secretary was nice enough to let me print my license off of my gmail on her computer.

Unfortunately, the Assistant Principal walked in as I was behind the secretary's desk and whispered to the secretary:
"What's going on here?"
"Oh she's just printing her license."
The A.P. nodded skeptically.

"The day starts at 8:00 so hurry up and punch in." The secretary urged me. It was 8:10. Uh oh.
"You know what, I'll punch you in, don't worry about it." She said with a wink.

I grabbed my coffee that I had hurriedly bought from the bodega on the corner while running to school, and headed to the auditorium with my schedule. I peered at the white paper which listed eight different classes I'd be covering that day.

All at once, the A.P approached me. She shook her head and pointed to the coffee:
"The coffee." She said plainly.
"Oh, okay. " I said totally flustered. "I'll throw it out." I had only drank 1/4 of this terrible deli coffee, but it wasn't nearly enough to fuel me for the day I had in front of me. I despondently tossed my 75 percent full cup of mediocre coffee into the garbage can.

It was clear to me that I had to redeem myself to the A.P. Coming in late, bringing in a coveted beverage. She clearly hated my guts, or at least thought I was some sort of entitled flake.
We got to talking, and I told her that I was potentially interested in doing a theatrical production with 5th graders. Her eyes lit up.
"That sounds great!" She beamed. "We'd really like to make this an arts school."
I told her about my subbing history at other schools around Brooklyn.
"I know this is kind of a weird question, but I'm really into astrology, what sign are you." I asked.
"Oh! I'm a libra." She said without hesitation.
"Me too!" I all but exclaimed.
We giggled.
She asked me about my chai tattoo, she showed me the tiny tattoo on her hand.
She told me about her teaching history, how she had taught and moved her way up to eventually become the A.P. I was impressed. I forgave her for making me throw out my coffee.
"You know who you might talk to about theater projects?" She said raising an eyebrow. "The dance teacher here."
"Oh okay. That sounds great."

It was my prep next, so I took the opportunity to find the dance teacher. All of a sudden a vision struck me. I knew what I could do here. And I began to speak to the dance teacher with total and utter confidence about it.
"When I was in the 5th grade at P.S.87," I began "We created an original opera. Everyone in our class had a role. There were carpenters/set builders, actors, writers and public relations people. The Metropolitan Opera came in and helped us create this piece. I think I could do that here. I have an extensive theater background, and with your help, I think we could create this piece."
"That sounds awesome!" She said. Just then the music teacher entered her room.
"Hey, listen to this." She said nudging the music teacher in the arm.
I re-told my idea. She, too was excited. Both they were both nervous.
"How would we fit it into the curriculum?" Asked the music teacher. "We have a set curriculum that we're doing now."
"Well, as long as it doesn't interfere, " said the dance teacher "I don't see why not! You should ask the principal!" She said. "She wants to make this school an arts school."
"I'm afraid," I said "She's the principal."
"No, no. Don't be afraid," urged the dance teacher "She'll eat it up."
"Is there a particular class that might be interested in doing this?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is." Said the dance teacher.

The dance teacher told me about a 4th and 5th grade gifted and talented class that she said would love to engage in this project. I walked up the stairs to this teacher's room. When I told her the idea, her eyes lit up.
"This sounds great! We could arrange a trip for the kids to see the opera!"

I was on a high. I decided it was time to visit the principal.
I walked into the office, miraculously I was ushered into the principals office. The principal was joined by the arts enrichment coordinator. They looked at me and waited for me to speak.
"I have an idea.." I began, and I told her about the opera. Her face stayed stoic.
She began to speak:
"It sounds great." She said. "But you'd have to open it up to all the 5th graders, we don't want to favor a certain class."
"That's great," I began, "But I can only handle about 15 kids."
"The first 15 that sign up are yours."

We determined the at the best time to do this would be after school. That way it wouldn't interfere with academics.

"You know, this is wonderful," The principal said "We're looking to hire a theater teacher next year."
"I was hoping that could be me." I said with confidence. After I said it, I blushed. I couldn't believe how blunt I had just been.
The principal turned to her enrichment coordinator and said "I'm not mad at her."
"I'm sorry to be so brazen." I said.
"No." Said the principal. "I like brazen. You're straightforward."

That's the story of how I turned a thrown out coffee into an opera.

Excuse me, I have a sign up sheet to make.

RIF - Reading is Fundamental Loses Funding

I went to the library today with Samara. When we got there I got some really sad news. Our library branch no longer has the Reading is Fundamental program. Apparently, a decision was made that our branch didn't need the RIF program. We didn't use it enough.

I am so very disappointed that this program is no longer at our library. My children looked forward to receiving their free books every third time they checked into RIF. Now they can't do that anymore.

We need to take a stand. Watch this video to learn what you can do:



Go to www.rif.org/advocate to learn more.

Click here if you don't feel like cutting and pasting. 

Keys

It's a momentous day.

A boy waits for this.

My boy is very excited to have this.

He can do something new.

Something that requires a click.

Something that requires a turn.

It's blue.

This new thing that he has.

Look what he can do!

The Night Donna and I Ate Waffles in The Village and Were Held Up With a Super Soaker

I wrote a post about the night that Donna and I went to see The Best of Everything. But I couldn't tell the whole story there, it was just too surreal. The entire story of what happened to us on that fateful night needed to be a separate post.

This is what occurred on Friday October 5th 2012.

Donna Archer Cervelli and I met at the Spring Street train station. I called her on her cell phone, because I initially didn't see her.

She answered.
"Turn around!" She said.
There she was. My first thought was "Fish Tacos." But it didn't make any sense so I didn't say anything. But the first thing Donna said was:
"Let's get tacos!"

?????

We were clearly communicating on a telepathic level.

Donna and I searched Spring Street frantically trying to find a place that sold tacos. But there wasn't one.

So we settled on a pizza place. None of the ordinary pizza slices looked appetizing so we chose an artichoke white pizza for both of us. It tasted more like artichoke dip on bread, but that was okay; it was somehow satisfying, although we didn't eat the crust.

After the pizza, we saw the play, it was grand.

When the play was through, we found the Fadermobile and traveled to 7th Avenue and Christopher Street to find the waffle truck.
"No yawning allowed!" Donna said, it was 10:30.

She was right, I needed coffee, we needed coffee, iced coffee to be exact.

As soon as we stepped out of the car, there it was, a giant neon sign attached to a food truck it read:

"TACOS"

"Donna! Look!" I exclaimed clutching her arm.
"What does it mean?" She asked.
We laughed.

We pondered the message of tacos while furiously searching 7th Avenue for the waffle truck. We found it! Waffles and Dinges at our service. We waiting in line and got giant heaping piles of vanilla ice cream and Nutella which were nuzzling up to individualized waffles. Somewhere in the mix were strawberries and bananas.

Iced coffee was provided on the side. It was midnight.

We sat on the hood of the Fadermobile and talked about spirits.

All at once a strange man approached us.
"Which one of you ladies is taking me home tonight?" He asked creepily.
"We're married!" I said, showing him my wedding ring.
"That's okay, your husbands are probably out at a bar." He justified.
"Yeah, probably a tittie bar." Donna said, and we both laughed.
"I can't get into that shit!" Creepy man exclaimed and with that he walked away.

We continued to discuss spirits, moving on to spirit animals.

A second man approached us; he carried with him a super soaker. He pointed the super soaker directly at us.

"Give me 20 dollars or you're both getting wet!" He yelled.
"Uh, I don't have 20 dollars." I said. I turned to Donna "I think it's time to go."
"Yeah..." Donna agreed.
We tossed what remained of our waffles and jumped into the Fadermobile, heading for Port Authority. All the way there we discussed the significance of tacos.

Tacos...

I'm Afraid of...

I'm afraid of death. I'm afraid of it for the obvious reason, not being around any more, but I'm also
afraid of it because I can't conceive of not exisiting. Whenever I think about death I can't wrap my head around the fact that one day I won't be thinking.

It's weird.

Also, I feel like thinking about death makes me feel anxious to accomplish so much in life. I never thought about making a "bucket list" before, but I can understand why people might do that. There's so much I want to accomplish in this life, but I only have a finite amount if time.

I'm not good at time management.

I admire people who are good at understanding and managing time. Time is abstract to me. It's not concrete.

I need an Excel spreadsheet for my life goals.

Become a published author, check! Travel to India, done! Learn to dance, accomplished!

It seems like a great way to keep track of it all. Next thing to do would be to hire a life assistant to make sure I'm accomplishing my goals. Life assistant sounds bizarre; life project manager is better.

On that note I'm going to take a nap.

The Best of Everything

I've been feeling burnt out recently, and in desperate need of hang out time without children involved.

The other day I got an email from my friend Holly Rosen Fink about a play she was the Associate Producer on, The Best of Everything.

In the email she mentioned that this would be an awesome play for a "girl's night out." When I saw that, I knew exactly who I wanted to take with me; my soul sister, Donna.

We're both air signs; I'm a Libra and she's a Gemini and together we make no sense and perfect sense at the same time. Tacos!

Donna and I planned to go see The Best of Everything, and then find the Waffels and Dinges food truck after the play to score some Belgian waffles with ice cream.

We met at the Spring Street train station, found the Here Arts Center and settled into the front row to watch the show.

The Best of Everything takes place in the 1950's.  The setting - a publishing house filled with young secretaries, many of whom are preoccupied with getting married.

The main character, Caroline, is an aspiring editor. A graduate of Radcliffe, Caroline longs to bypass the mundane day to day dealings of secretary life to become an editor.

At the start of the play, Caroline is dumped by her dead beat fiance. She enters the world of publishing in order to heal from her break up. During the course of her office life she meets a group of women who she can commiserate with about men. Among the secretaries in the office, there's a country bumpkin,  an eccentric actress and an office yenta.

I found this show to be charming, and laugh out loud funny. The characters were vastly different from one another and that made them fun to watch. I continually wondered what was going to happen to each of them.

The show has multiple themes, one of which is the dichotomy of being a working woman versus settling down and getting married. It addresses how in the 1950's these two roles did overlap, but rather they were mutually exclusive.

The audience watches Caroline struggle with her ambition as well as her need to have a romantic relationship. Ultimately, one of those needs wins out, but you'll have to see the show to find out which one!

Donna and I really enjoyed the show. Afterward, we replayed some of the lines that made us crack up.

And then we got waffles!

If you need a girl's night out, this is it ladies. Click here to learn more about The Best of Everything. You know you want to...click it...click it now. Have you clicked it yet? 

**Disclosure statement- I have to write this. Yes I do. I got comp tickets to this show. But guess what? It was funny, I laughed. But I have to tell you that the tickets free. Yes they were, they were free.

A Taste of Wool Part 15

"Don't you bring those muddy shoes in this house, Cindy Harmon!" Nancy Harmon shouted at her 11 year-old daughter. It was a soggy day in Helenville, New Jersey. The rain had just cleared up, and Cindy and her friend Jamie had been romping around in the mud in the backyard. Nancy fastened her apron tighter around her waist turned to face her daughter, who was standing in the door way of the kitchen waiting for her to come inside from the mud.

"Aw mom!" Cindy whined. Nancy Harmon turned her back to her daughter and resumed her task of rinsing off string beans for dinner. Cindy saw her chance. She motioned to Jamie to follow her into the kitchen and upstairs to Cindy's room. A little mud never hurt anyone, right? Cindy was half way across the kitchen floor when Nancy Harmon whirled around, flinging several string beans into the air.

"Aha! Caught you! Girls, take off your shoes and socks and leave them on the porch. Cindy, I want you to mop those foot prints up this instant! Jamie, you can help me with those, she said motioning to the string beans. Cindy sucked her teeth and went to get me out of the closet.

The End.

***

This concludes A Taste of Wool. If you'd like to read the story from the start click here. 

Please post your reactions to the story below as comments.

Chemical Pregnancy

The mistake I made was that I got excited.

***

It was five days before my period, and I began to feel nauseated. I was emotional. I cried harder than usual at The Maggie Gyllenhaal movie. Something didn't feel right.

I took a pregnancy test.

It was negative.

A couple of days went by...

I continued to feel sad, sadder than usual.

I took another pregnancy test.

It was negative.

I missed my period that same day I  went to Sleep Therapy Yoga. I told Nick that I knew I was pregnant. I took another pregnancy test. It was positive.

"99 percent accurate," it said.

Early results as soon as five days before your missed period. I had missed my period.

I text the picture to my best friend.
She said ''Well then."

I told Wil.
"I don't want to get excited until you see a doctor." He said.
"I don't need to see a doctor to get a excited." I argued.

I told people.

I told my parents.

I told my brother.

I got excited. Some were concerned others were excited. I welcomed it all in like a sponge.

There was a question mark in my mind.

My friend Liz brought over an extra test. I took it. It was negative.

My best friend came over and she brought me another test, from the 99 cent store. It was negative. I was confused. I was angry at the positive test.

The next day, I got my period.

I bawled. I didn't understand it. What happened?
I text my doula. What was it?
"It's called a chemical pregnancy." She said.

It never implanted.

I cried. It was the worst period of my adult life. Every time I went to the bathroom and saw blood I was reminded that there wasn't a baby in my uterus.

I cried and cried. I cried into Wil's armpit. I cried into his shirt. I saturated his clothes with tears.

I am not pregnant. This never happened. It was all an illusion.

I'm angry at myself for getting excited. I'm angry at myself for telling people. I'm angry at the fact that there is no baby. I am angry at each and every pregnancy test that I took.

The anger is stuck in my chest. I want to reach in deep and grab it out, throw it out of my body.

This happened. It's real. I'm still here.

Nick Atlas and Yoga Sleep Therapy

I was 10 years old. I remember sitting in Hebrew school class furiously sketching a poster. I was working on the detail of a Pepsi can, hoping he would notice my artwork, hoping that I could decode what was going on in his mind. He was enigmatic. I couldn't figure him out. He was tall and skinny with black eyes that seemed to see through you. He loved kickball. I was clumsy. I was quiet, but I loved art. I lived through writing and colored pencils. I was shy, he wasn't. Even though he was seemingly outgoing, there was something underneath the surface that I couldn't get to. He wasn't giving it up. I was afraid to scratch it, but I was curious to know what was there.

His name was Nick Atlas.

After elementary school, we went our separate ways, him to a private school and me to a public arts high school.

Life is funny, and so is the internet. We connected 22 years later through Facebook. He was no longer a jock, but had transformed into a yoga teacher.

We talked online, and Nick told me he was going to be teaching a sleep therapy yoga workshop in New York. I signed up, I traveled to the Om Factory, and I took the workshop. After engaging in yoga and meditation for two and a half hours, he told me his story:



For more information on Nick Atlas click here.