Yoga, Health, and Wellness Articles + Recipes

I have sort of a love affair with pancakes. Or rather, it’s more like a Nicholas Sparks style recollection of that one summer when I was eating gluten.

So this recipe is freaking awesome. I totally don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but I was rather ambivalent when constructing it, and thus my mind was blown when I actually tasted it. Granted, I realize that I could be setting myself up for failure here, as you now have extremely high expectations, and when juxtaposed to my low expectations, who knows where your reaction will end up landing. It doesn’t matter though, because this recipe is yummy no matter your expectations, AND it’s the perfect intro to fall dish, AND it’s super easy, AND it can be sweet or savory. I’m calling this a win.

Is there a difference between loving your body and being in love with your body? We are presented with this notion that we need to love ourselves-- that our love must exist as this unquestionable force of worship, one that sustains and thus bestows wholeness upon us. This approach has always felt flat to me. As a surface stripped bare of footholds. A richly rough and complicated concept made smooth by the dogmatism of devotion. Love yourself.

No need to play off of false pretenses here. This is a safe place. I’m no dainty flower. I am, in a lot of ways, mostly talking about gluten and caffeine consumption. But in how I present myself - decidedly less dainty. And you know what, sometimes a lady wants to feel sophisticated and flowery and perhaps a hint of dainty. Hence why I love to add lavender to anything and everything.

Life is one beautiful mess of relationships. We can classify them. We can put them in quotes. We can add that extra long, extra inquisitive inflection at the end, but are we in a relationship? Some are transitory. Some are so interwoven into our fabric we can forget that we are separate from them. We can forget that they each deserve reflection and intention. We can forget that they are, no matter what, intimate.

I have what you could call a peach problem. That is if you consider consuming massive amounts of the cuddliest fruit ever over the months of July and August, then yes I have a problem. I know Georgia is known for their peaches. But my friends, Colorado is the sneaky underdog of peach production. We make a damn good peach. Like shenanigans good. But those Colorado beauties aren’t around all year round. And it sucks. And it’s painful. And at least a dozen times I want to rock a grocery store peach that has traveled miles upon miles to be meticulously piled up in ze Whole Foods. But I don’t. (At least not usually.) Because they are always a disappointment. And because they beg to ask the question: do I really need to eat peaches 12 glorious months out of the year?

Sometimes life is about a collection of details. Flecks of gorgeous sprinkled throughout the day. We can get lost in the macro of things, and we miss it. It being the details. It being the smell of cinnamon and honey that lingers on your skin after making granola. It being that surprising crunch of millet between your teeth even though you know it’s there, even though you know it’ll be crunchy. It being the magic of creation. The magic of watching ingredients meld together into something unique, something yours. It being the connection with your food, the connection with your body, the connection with the world.