A Certain Kind Of Love Story

Superlatively Rude

In four weeks I am going to India to train as a yoga teacher.

(Life seldom takes the turns you thought it might, huh?)

I don’t know where to begin in explaining. Because it’s not just this one thing that makes this feel like something I don’t so much want to do as have to do. I feel like I was always going to end up signing up for a 200-hour yoga teacher certification. That’s for so many reasons. I suppose it always is.

It’s January 2014, when I started my journey to get strong and sexy, losing all that weight and learning how to respect my body. That was the beginning of a revelation. Self-love.

It’s exactly 13 months ago, where, to stretch out the tight body that training for my first 10k race made, I committed to a weekly yoga class to see if that might help loosen me up a little. It loosened me up a lot – and I’m not just talking about my legs.

It’s how that weekly yoga session became two, sometimes three, times a week – until even when I wasn’t running I’d go, because holy shit, man. It felt good. 
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Ghosts In My Inbox

Superlatively Rude

Seeing his name in my inbox took my breath away. No, I thought. Is it really him? What we’d had, all that time ago – four years ago? five? – was deep and real and intense and I walked away from it. There hasn’t been much talking to him since. And then there his name was, on my Gmail, and I thought, nah… Really?

I walked away from him to fly to Italy.

I walked away from him because technically he didn’t ask me to stay.

I would’ve walked away anyhow.

I did it in the same way that I’ve done many times since (and before), because I’m always leaving. I really only ever try when there’s already an exit strategy in place.

That’s not easy to admit. 
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This Is How Much Money I Make

Superlatively Rude

In January, I made £953.83. In February, I made £1,550. In March, I’ll make about £1,300.

I want to write that – exactly how much money I make - because it’s what I wish I could know about other bloggers. I wish I could know exactly how much they earn, and from where, and what their days look like for it. I wanted to write it so that I don't attach my worth to it. 

The Internet is powerful in the way it makes us feel. In the way it reveals just enough to be beautiful or intriguing in the lives of those we follow, but not enough that we’ll ever know the full truth, financial or otherwise. And let’s be clear: the writers of the Internet owe us nothing. We don’t deserve to know this information. It is the right of everybody, with an “online career” or not, to tell the version of their lives they want to tell, and its our job to consume those stories (and Facebook statuses) responsibly. I really believe that. But we’re nosey about the base facts anyway. I am, at least. I always want to know the story behind the story. The money behind the lifestyle blog. 
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