My parents once told me to join those who do good and avoid those who do bad. Growing up, I was often perplexed by the religious spaces of our house.  On the wall in one room, there hung a picture of Jesus. On the wall in the other room (my grandmother’s room), there, placed on an altar, was a statue of Buddha. Although separated by a door and inches of wood and plaster, the two worlds seemed to flow into one another quite harmoniously. 

In the evenings, I could hear my grandmother chanting.  When she finished, she would make us something to eat.  She never complained that my parents, brother and I went to church and my parents never stopped my grandmother from going to the temple. In fact, we often accompanied her. I guess my introduction to Buddhism was in large part due to my love for my grandmother, and my desire to be close to her.

Last March, I began training for a half-marathon with my friends, Kelli and Sarah.  Two kids, school, work, why not [...]

When I injured my hip flexor earlier this year, for a little more than a month I lost the ability to relieve stress the best way I know how – by pounding it out over three to six miles of winding, hilly, country back roads near my home. My aunt and uncle suggested I try a local yoga class focused on building core muscles or relieving stress, but I wasn’t sure I wanted my first try to be in a roomful of people. I was a gymnast in high school, but what if I’m not that flexible anymore?

I stumbled upon a DVD, “Hemalaya Behl’s Yoga for Urban Living” at St. Vincent de Paul, and decided to spend $3.88 for a private class at home. It sat in my room for a few months until I learned a little about this foreign form of stress relief that is supposed to be good for anybody, with beginner, intermediate and advanced levels of asanas or poses that can help us become one with our body, mind and soul. To me, it sounded like a mini-retreat on a mat and exactly what I needed. If I reach inner peace through yoga, which is derived from the Sanskrit root yuj, “to join, to yoke,” knowing that everything comes from God, yoga might just find a place in my hectic schedule.

Religion, like money and politics, is a topic that some believe should never be discussed in mixed company. People’s feelings [...]

Some days I have believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
1) Rabbits can be white. 2) Potions and cakes can make you grow and shrink. 3) Animals can talk. 4) Cats can disappear. 5) There’s always time for tea. 6) I am 30 … EEEEeeek.

You read that correctly, the big 3-0. I have crossed over into a new decade, how exciting! HELLO, 3-0! Ha cha cha! The truth is, my zealous embrace of being 30 didn’t happen overnight. I spent most of 29 (um … 28 and probably half of 27 also) quietly agonizing this transition. Thirty? Really? I can’t be 30 … yet. Didn’t I just graduate from high school? (12 years ago) Didn’t I just get back from England? (Nine years ago) Does one of my favorite literary sources section really have a column called “Twenty Somethings” which suddenly doesn’t apply to me? Argh … do I really have to change my blog title to adventures of a “30 something”? 

There are a lot of perks to being a “young nun”; sympathy about turning 30 – not so much. How do you explain this cringy, squirmy “I-wanna-be-in-my-20’s-forever-because-it-seems-like-the-cool-decade-to-be” feeling to people? It’s not an I’m old thing (despite a “young person” recently saying to me, “Wow … I didn’t think you were that old.”). It’s more of a weird thing. I’ll admit it … the 30 angst set in. To put it mildly, I was freaking out. Then I had an encounter with Tim Burton and a feisty, stubborn, out-spoken, imaginative, energetic, ready-to-take-on-the-world, turning 20-years-old girl, named Katy … (did I type that?). Oops, I meant Alice.

Then … I was struck between my eyes (quite realistically, in magnificent 3-D, I might add) with an arrow of a Red Queen soldier. “Ready-to-take-on-the-world” Alice has begun to believe that her quest might be impossible. She is told she may not be the “right Alice.” In fact, she is not quite sure who she is or where she’s going, all despite the fact that this is her dream.  The Mad Hatter looks at her intently and inquires: Who are you? You’ve changed. You’ve lost your “mustness.”

Well, 30 years minus 12 days me is sitting in the theater thinking … oh, that poor thing, how could she lose her mustness? HELLO, ALICE! Are you really going to come out of this Wonderland without your mustness?  I don’t think so … feisty, imaginative, ready-to-take-on-the-world, 20-year-olds don’t become “mustness-less” 30-year-olds. Thankfully, I had a great zap from my friend the Holy Spirit (channeled through Tim Burton and apparently needing an extra dimension) which allowed me to tap my inner Alice and ask: “What about my questions of: Who am I, Where am I going, Am I the “right” Katy, Who’s directing this dream?  What is the rating of my mustness on the spectrogram of life?” as I enter my 30’s. Am I going ahead with enough mustness? Get back on the hat, Alice, because we’re going for a ride; it’s high time we embrace the must factor.

About three weeks ago, a few friends and I went out for an evening on the town, something we’ve partaken [...]