Yoga entails meditation, and gently pushing your body to its fullest potential.
I’ve been penning my love letter to the Other Press since the end of March, when I realized my year-long term as Editor-in-Chief was slowly coming to an end.
Rape culture. It’s an uncomfortable term, and one that gets bandied around a lot. For some, it’s become a buzzword; for others, an accusation, a confusing statement, or a tragic reality.
Hipsters are the worst, am I right? The way they try to be oh so original―liking obscure bands that you probably haven’t heard of, drinking fancy craft beer instead of a classic Caribou, and getting all their “vintage” clothing from outlet stores.
I’ve always been told I’m “mature for my age”: my aunts have called me an old soul; my mom said I was born middle-aged; and my penchant for tea and embroidery would seem to further solidify my aged nature.
Anxious is a state with which I’m well-acquainted. Like a sweater that’s faded and worn-in, I habitually cloak myself in nerves. I don’t have an anxiety condition that I know of, but a quick perusal of the nervous natures which populate my family tree would seem to indicate that worry is an unavoidable inheritance.
Since long before the term “on fleek” entered our collective lexicons, I’ve been obsessed with eyebrows. My quest for perfection probably began when I was about 10 years old, and noticed that my wily, wild, Scottish-moor-esque eyebrows looked slightly “odd.”