Of Luaus, Chairs and White Bread


You’ll see in the picture that almost all the people in European dress are seated on chairs and all the people in Hawaiian clothing are sitting on the ground.

I cannot definitively say when the use of chairs became common practice in Hawaii but I am going to guess that most Hawaiians did not own chairs until the 19th century. They didn’t have to. Like many people around the world, traditional Hawaiians did much of their food preparation sitting and squatting. They also socialized while sitting on or close to the ground. They slept on mats that they wove from local trees. They simply didn’t need chairs.

As floor and earth sitters, Hawaiians got up and down the floor multiple times a day. Their natural movements resulted in the development and maintenance of an aligned and robust skeleton which supported a healthy level of agility, flexibility and muscular strength. The physical prowess needed for the deep knee bends and intricate hip movements of hula was a regular part of island life.

These cultural habits provided native Hawaiians with what bio-mechanist Katy Bowman terms Nutritious Movement. Along with advocating for whole-body movement, Bowman has written extensively about the deleterious effects of chair sitting. Her work shows how frequent chair sitting adversely affects the shape of ones bones, as well as the strength of one’s muscles. She convincingly claims that along with decreasing mobility and balance, our habits of chair sitting not only underlie much of the back and neck pain that is rampant today, but is at the root of many diseases related to digestion and pelvic health.

In the 1950s an anthropologist names Gordon W. Hewes estimated that ¼ of the world doesn’t sit in chairs but spends most of their time squatting. He documented the variety of ways that humans sit and stand. You can see a selection of those positions here.

With the advent of industrialization and technology, the percentage of people who don’t sit in chairs is now much smaller.

This makes me think of an analogy: Chairs are like white bread.

Here’s why:

Nutrient-dense whole grain bread was a European staple for centuries. As milling techniques advanced, bakers developed the ability to remove the bran and the germ so they could make bread that was lighter and whiter. Because the effort to do this was costly, white bread was only available to the wealthy and quickly became a status symbol. When white bread finally became more cost effective, it had the reputation for being desirable so everyone started eating it despite it being nutrient deficient. It is only recently that whole grains have become popular because they are now recognized for their nutritional value.* Perhaps more floor sitting is the next step.

Just as people are returning to whole grain bread, I advocate that we spend less time picking out furniture and more time hanging out on the floor. While this bold cultural shift is my ideal vision, I want to acknowledge that just as it takes time to change our taste preferences, it takes time for our bodies to adjust to new movements. Floor sitting may not be accessible to all and/or it may take time to develop but it is something that we can all work toward.

*My grandfather worked for over 40 years at a bakery that made hearty pumpernickel and rye bread. He would bring it home everyday. My aunt chuckles jovially when she reminisces about how silly it was that she used to yearn for soft and fluffy Wonder Bread.

It’s Time to Kiss My Asana!



As many of you know, I moved to Maui because of my own health issues having to do with chemical sensitivities. I’ve now been here a number of months and the fresh ocean air, along with more outdoor living is helping me tremendously. I am thrilled and grateful to be feeling better. While here, I’ve also had the opportunity to meet many yoga enthusiasts and learn about Native Hawaiian culture and traditions.

As a means to encourage you to “Kiss My Asana,” I’d like to share with you about the Hawaiian concept of mana;  Mana takes many words to explain but only a moment to feel. It is the sensation of life. It is the power of being that is our birthright to experience. Every aspect of existence has mana: Humans, animals, water, plants, rocks and soil. For living beings this manifests as the mana that we are born with–that which we receive from our ancestors–and the mana that we accrue through how we live our lives. The mana of places and objects comes from the story of their creation and by how living creatures interact with them.
How does this relate to Mind Body Solution? MBS provides a channel for each and every person—no matter who they are or what challenges they face—to tap into and increase their mana. At the same time, the mana of MBS as an organization is profound and strong. The moment one walks into the home studio, the feeling is palpable.The knowledge and dedication of the staff and volunteers is phenomenal. For many years now, I have had the honor of teaching and studying at MBS. It is a place where I always feel welcome and is if I’ve come home.

While I am currently an ocean away from many of my students, and far away from Minnesota, I am grateful proud to be able share what I have learned at MBS with me wherever I go.

For the Kiss My Asana Yogathon of 2018, I am dedicating my yoga practice for the next month to keeping all my senses open so that I can take the time to consciously feel the mana in my surroundings. I invite you to participate and support me in this endeavor by practicing yoga and making a donation to MBS. You can donate here through the end of May 2018 or to me directly.

Mahalo and Thank You!

On Adaptation, Nēnē and Us

Photo by Barbara Craig

500,000 years ago some Canadian Geese got a little lost and decided to take a rest stop on the Hawaiian Islands. It was an area with plenty of food, fresh air and no predators so they decided to stay.

As the terrain of the islands was different than what they were used to the geese adapted to their new surroundings. There were few trees in Hawaii so they became ground nesters. There were few lakes to swim in, but a lot of lava to traverse, so the webbing of their feet receded and they developed three toes on each foot—more suitable for walking on jagged terrain. There was an abundance of berries on land so they no longer needed to dive underwater to find food. As a result, their necks shortened and their legs became longer.

After many generations, they were no longer Canadian. They became Nēnē, the state bird of Hawaii.

It took the Nēnē hundreds of thousands of years for their bodies to adapt to their new terrain. Their adaptations led to a thriving population—at least until humans arrived in Hawaii, which is a story for later.

Over many generations, the Canadian Geese’s adaptations resulted in their evolving into a new species. While as far as I know, humans will not evolve into a new species any time soon, some striking human adaptations are now happening in the span of one lifetime.

It used to be that almost all humans could walk barefoot for miles. We could easily squat low on the ground and stand right up again. We could comfortably sit on the ground for hours on end. We could easily see far out into the horizon and then immediately switch our gaze to inspect a baby ant. We could hang from a tree and pull ourselves up into it.

Humans are still born with the potential to do all these things but most of us have lost these abilities because we have adapted to a modern terrain—of our own creation.

As we developed cars and other vehicles we lost our ability to walk long distances. We built cement pathways so that when we do walk, it is only with a limited range of foot and ankle motion. We spend a lot of time sitting in chairs so our spines round, our muscles atrophy, and our backs ache. We spend hours staring at screens and are losing our ability to see beyond the room we are cloistered in. Since we buy our fruit at the grocery store, we don’t need to reach up into trees. Now, many of us can no longer easily lift our arms overhead.

In our quest to make things easier and more comfortable we have created an environment that has ultimately led to more discomfort, pain and disease.

In recent times, rats and mongoose brought to Hawaii by humans have rendered the Nēnē an endangered species.

Today our well-being is endangered but unlike the Nēnē, we are doing it ourselves.


Inner Turbulence








A Well-Intentioned Intrusion

I was recently walking on the Mahana Ridge Trail, a beautiful windy path in Northwest Maui. About a quarter-mile down the trail I saw a family with a young child who was being carried backpack style by the mom. As I’m interested in how people carry their children, I looked a little closer and noticed that the child’s legs were splayed in an extreme external rotation, and the backpack pushed his legs against his mom’s back so that they were immobilized. He looked like a flattened frog. It was clear to me that this was not a good position for a child—or anyone—to be in for anything other than a very short period of time.

I don’t want to write much right now about the biomechanics of the child’s position. For now, I’ll say that it’s not good for a child to be stuck in an extreme and rigid position. Instead, I would like to share with you more about my reaction. I didn’t want to be an intrusive stranger and tell this young family what to do. At the same time, I had been thinking a lot about hip health as I was hiking with my friend who’s mom had just broken her hip two days earlier when she tripped over an electrical cord.

It’s not uncommon for me to see people with habits of movement that I think don’t serve them well. Usually I say nothing. Once in a while I offer a suggestion but this is usually in an environment where I can be certain that the person would appreciate my help.

In this situation, I was less sure. Parents often receive unsolicited advice from others about the best way to take care of their children and I did not want to be intrusive. However, as I continued walking I could not get the image of the young boys smushed legs and immobilized pelvis out of my mind.

We were hiking much faster than they were and quickly lost sight of them. But as I charged up the trail, my head was full of bouncing thoughts. Would it be helpful to tell them something? Would they find me obnoxious and get angry? Would saying something make a difference in this child’s life? How many other people are using what they think are good tools — myself included — without knowing that they are actually causing harm? Was I just afraid of angering or annoying someone? How much is it my responsibility to offer advice?

With my head still full of these ruminations, it was time to turn back. A few minutes later the family came back into our line of vision and I decided to say something.

I received a mixed response. The parents thanked me for my concern but then became defensive. They wanted to be seen as good parents and began to tell me how they have a much better backpack at home that they didn’t bring with them to Hawaii. I quickly realized that they probably did not want to hear my opinion that even high-quality sturdy backpacks designed for kids limit their movement and just because something is advertised as having great ergonomics, doesn’t mean it’s great for a sustained period of time.

I walked away at first feeling a bit of shame. I had intruded on their beautiful hike. However, if I had not said anything I would have felt regret.

I experience shame as a devastating visceral feeling in the moment when it happens. Fortunately, that intensity passes. Regret, however, tends to linger on in my mind, sometimes for years. I’m glad I decided to take the risk and share my thoughts. I have no regrets and the shame has passed. In the past year, I have known many people who have had hip replacement surgery and I also know many people who have broken their hips. I guess this is my way of trying to “fix” something that I really have no control over.

I’ll never know the outcome of this particular situation. At worst the parents were temporarily annoyed, but perhaps I planted a seed. I do know that I will continue to encounter situations like this. My guess is that I will deal with each situation differently but eventually, just like I see patterns in movement, I’ll be able to see patterns in my approach as well as in people’s response to my well-intentioned intrusions.

Not All Walking Is The Same





Here are a few simple examples:






Being Home

A few days ago, I celebrated Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year on the island of Maui. As I listened to the familiar words that were being chanted in synagogues around the world, my heart pined for the presence of my loved ones who are one or many oceans away.

The Rabbi’s 16 year-old son participated in the leadership of the service. This in itself was nothing unusual. It’s expected for a rabbi’s son to be well versed in Jewish liturgy. What was unusual is that the Rabbi’s son, having been born in Hawaii and also having indigenous Hawaiian roots on his mother’s side of the family, is as proficient in Hebrew as he is in Hawaiian pidgin. The rabbi himself was born in LA but comes from an old Jerusalem family. This year, the rabbi chose to visit his family in Israel and asked his Israeli-born nephew to serve as the cantorial soloist. As I listened to the ancient Hebrew words being sung by a native Hawaiian and an Israeli-born man of European and Middle Eastern heritage, the anthropologist in me reflected on the transnational nature of modern society and how identities that were once solely place-based have transitioned into something more ethereal. However, as the chanting of familiar tunes continued, this intellectual voice was soon subsumed by a larger, more powerful feeling that rumbled from within my chest: A feeling of “home.”

There are three places in the world where I have lived long enough to know the shortcuts through the side streets, the best places to look out onto the horizon and the gardens with the most fragrant the roses. I can call each of these places “home,” but doing so feels like an incomplete definition.

I used to think home was a place where I knew my way around, knew a lot of people and felt completely grounded, centered and complete. However, once I had travelled and lived in a number of places, I began to think of home as a state of being where I could feel these same sensations without being anchored in my concrete surroundings. But today, as the ancient words stirred my heart I had a different experience. I simultaneously felt a vibrant, unsettled yearning for people and places that were far away, and I felt at home.

A new definition of “home” is taking shape for me. It is no longer a static place. It’s also not a place where the fluctuations of the mind are calm or where everything is safe. Home has now come to mean a state of being where it’s ok to simultaneously feel longing and belonging, where memories flow through me with joy and sadness, where it’s safe to sit with heartwarming feelings as well as discomforting ones. Home has come to mean being present with the wholeness of my being while living in a uncertain, disjointed yet wonderous transnational world.

What are you going to be when you grow up?













One Large Ball of Twine. One Tiny Bite.














I welcome your thoughts.














