My Inner Child Has Been Replaced By an Inner Rapper

henry hill I don’t claim to be a rap aficionado; I only know the mainstream artists and have a few comforting favorites. Before college I was solidly a classic rock fan. We all listened to the “Dazed and Confused” soundtrack on school trips. I have fond memories of Foghat’s “Slow Ride” blasting through my Walkman headphones as we glided along the vast, cotton field-flanked West Texas highways. I have no idea what music was popular in the 90’s because I listened to the music from my parents’ school days. The Beatles had formed my foundation in junior high, accompanied by Led Zeppelin in high school, and later The Who in graduate school.
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Everyday Struggle

slipped

“Don’t practice ‘struggle’…or that’s what you’ll get good at,” my yoga teacher quipped lightly during class on Sunday. She continued discussing the finer points of mastering balancing half-moon while I remained fixated on that statement. As a swimmer I’ve learned not to fight the water. As a commuter I’ve learned not to get angry and fight the traffic. As a student of my own mind I’ve learned not to drag myself further into the strangely addictive combative misery my brain likes to create. As a yoga and martial arts practitioner I’ve learned to be mindful of my movement and forgiving of my mistakes.

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