Dear Magnolia Studio (and all of the lovely glowing people within),
Thank you for being more than a space or a place– thank you for being a refuge.
Thank you for being a place where my body, and any body, can enter feeling welcomed and at ease.
Thank you for knowing my name and recognizing me every single day, at every single class– and for doing this for everyone who walks through your door.
Thank you for guiding and teaching me to believe that yoga is more about practicing— over and over and over again– and less about doing— walking in one time to check off a box.
Thank you for helping me to understand that building strength in my body does not mean necessarily mean “no pain, no gain”– that sometimes strength means being gentle, taking a break, and remembering to breathe.
Thank you for reminding me to breathe. Even when I am curled with my head between my toes.
Thank you for igniting in me, and in everyone who practices here, a belief that I have the power and beauty and strength and love within me that can go out and move mountains and dance with my arms overhead and show kindness to everyone I meet.
Thank you thank you thank you.
Sometimes I wish I could take what I’m seeing– the exact curvature of the sky, the faint rippling of the water, the line of light casting shards and shadows– and be able to record it.
Not with a camera or binoculars or a video– but real time.
Exactly through my eyes.
Through the squinting of my pupils.
There are certain moments where I find myself pausing and thinking to myself, “Wow. Wouldn’t it be great if I could remember this moment, right now, for the rest of my life?”
Watching the sun rise over the Mississippi was one of those times.
This past fall, I found myself in the midst of marathon training and unable to hold a straight face while watching a movie. A movie, any movie, forced me to tears– I’d wind up, curled on the sofa, bawling.
“OHMYGOD IT’S JUMPING OUT OF THE WATER!!” my friend says, shrieking and jumping and spinning in a burst, “OHMYGOD IT’S THE SEVENTH GATOR!!!!”
To Tip’s: A Haiku for Bopping
Bass beating fast
Lights go up in fury
Fri-yays, come at us
*Letter left on the ATM machine between the bathrooms and bar. Because, naturally, that’s where people congregate.
Dear Youth Run NOLA,
I have endless, bountiful, SO MANY thank you’s for the ways in which you have changed my life, and most of all, how you reminded why I love to run.
Reminded and taught me that running=
joy + community + endurance + people + glitter + red beans + long talks about zombie apocalypses + long talks about life + singing weird songs + jumping up and down at random moments + race day pep talks + tutus + beignets + king cake + music blasting at full tilt + pride in myself + pride in my team + pride in my city + not taking myself too seriously + exploring new places + putting down roots + supporting others + feeling supported + endorphin creator + ritual + team + family + TOGETHER.
7:30 am: Coffee in tow, I stand in the hallway awaiting the first stream of buses. I can feel my shoulders sagging. Feel my eyes flickering with fatigue. Just as I am about to emit a lionesque yawn, I feel a small body tackle my knees.
“MS. KAT YOU’RE HERE!” roars one my kindergarten students.
WHERE: Live Oak Tree on the Edge of the Lake/Golf Course, Audubon Park
WHEN: 7-something AM, Central Time
Let me tell you a story–
the very first time I spotted you, I was 20 years-old and riding the streetcar from one end of St. Charles to the other. I saw an arcing entrance, palm trees, a massing of Spanish moss, and legit sprinted off the streetcar shrieking,
“YOU GUYS, THIS IS THE PARK!”
Photos captured by : Gwen Moiles (@gah_when)
Words assembled : Spring 2017