Blogs, by nature, can often run the risk of being self-indulgent and insipid. Each time I sit down to write, this reality chirps at me relentlessly. It implores me to spare you the mundane details of my life, such as what I ate for breakfast, how funny my best friend is (everyone thinks their best friend is funny), and the latest evidence that my family is crazy, albeit charmingly so.
This morning, I had plain Greek yogurt, berries, Grape-Nuts, and a drizzle of agave syrup. Last month, my best friend sternly told me to stop wasting my time on "nonsense." She was referring to my day job. My family recently adopted five chickens, which means my parents' bid to alleviate Empty Nest Syndrome included, first, a dog and now, chickens. They are literally filling the empty nest with chickens . . . Poetic, isn't it?
So I pour every iota of my yoga acumen into "serious" posts created solely for the purpose of solving some deep, existential yoga dilemma such as How Promiscuous Yoga Teachers Can Avoid Shagging Their Students, until someone comes up to me after yoga class or at the gym (or in line at McDonald's-- kidding) to say that he/she loved the post about the family dog hunting a mouse for hours or the one about how overstuffed my closet is with yoga clothes. One reader even emailed to see if I would mind if she included the family dog post in a book she was compiling about pets and their owners, to benefit an animal rights organization.
In other words: I think I know my readers (that's you) and how not to bore you, presumably by doing things like cataloguing my personal inventory of yoga pants, and then, every so often, I eat crow. "Tastes like chicken." (No offense, Mom and Dad). The challenge, therefore, becomes sharing personal information without oversharing or, perhaps, oversharing, as long as it is relevant, funny, or inspiring. Ideally, it would be relevant, funny, and inspiring.
Speaking of which, here I am, earlier today, at Om Gal Headquarters (OGHQ as Erin the Intern and I are fond of saying), seeking inspiration as I often do-- on the floor, in a position vaguely resembling a yoga pose, with a giant piece of paper, Sharpie pen, cup of tea, and my trusty laptop perched nearby . . .
As for the critical voices of reality imploring me to come up with killer yoga and wellness content that's neither self-indulgent nor insipid . . . They're perched there too. Fortunately, you can't see them.
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