Tag Archives: yoga

Man, Meet Foot

It all began as a simple way to let our family and friends know, “Ahhh… we have escaped the rat race… we have arrived; and vacation has begun!”  You’ve seen them before – the legs-at-the-pool and feet-in-the-sand selfies all over Instagram and Facebook.  Mine were posted from sunny spots in Waikiki, Lahaina, Riviera Maya, Fire Island… usually with my cel phone in one hand and some icy, frou-frou cocktail in the other.  I repeat, “Ahhh…”

Unexpectedly, friends began to respond to these posts with complimentary comments about my feet, even going so far as to call them “pretty for a man”.  “Pretty”: not exactly a word I had ever associated with my feet (or my knees or elbows, for that matter); but heck… I had made a conscious and determined effort to take better care of my feet, teeth and skin over the past decade or so… maybe I just hadn’t noticed that my efforts might actually be paying off.

My “relationship” with my feet (that’s what I call it) began on the yoga mat.  I guess, like most men, I had never paid much attention to my feet.  Toenails got clipped only when someone else complained (or expressed horror); and feet got washed quickly and unattentively before being stuffed, unceremoniously, into socks and shoes.  No biggie.  But when you do yoga, you start each practice sitting on your mat, legs stretched out in front of you, looking DIRECTLY at your feet.  There is no way you can ignore them; and that’s when I started paying attention.  I also began to notice other men’s feet; and I felt a lot better about my own, to be honest.  Still, I had the same feeling I had as a kid watching that groundbreaking TV documentary back in the 1970s, “Scared Straight”.  Observing and studying the feet of other men around me, I decided, “Oh, HELL NO! That is NOT my future!”

nani feet oahu

Yoga taught me that my feet were the foundation for all of my standing poses.  Without strong, healthy, well-cared-for feet, my asanas had no base from which to soar.  Little by little, I began to build that relationship with my feet.  We are now BFFs…

I was on that yoga mat in the summer of 2015, doing my morning practice at the campground below Devil’s Tower National Monument in Wyoming.  I was nearing the completion of a solo camping trip to check off the last 4 states on my bucket list: Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota and North Dakota.  A foot selfie was posted to Facebook: toes wiggling in the golden, morning sunrise, with the geologic wonder of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” fame looming in the distance.  Immediately, a comment on my feet came back, posted by a close, female friend of mine (I’ll call her “T” in order to protect the identity of her husband “M”, also a dear friend of mine, and his admittedly “gnarly” feet):

“T”: “Nani… ur feet look so soft.”

Me: “Haha! Here’s my message to men of the world: ‘C’mon, guys… get a damned pedicure once in a while! Geez!’”

“T”: “I know… I told ‘M’ u wonder y men don’t have a relationship w their feet.”

The 3 of us still joke and laugh about man-feet every time we meet.  And still, no improvement in “M”’s feet.

But just a few days ago, over two years after my return from Devil’s Tower, I received a text from “M”:

“I need to establish a relationship with my (gnarly) feet.”

“T” wins… (the wife always does).

I texted back to my great friend “M” (and post here for the benefit of the adult males in my life and the relief of their significant others) my personal regimen for eliminating ghastly man-foot:

  • Start by getting a professional pedicure – add on the callus-removal service and a foot massage.
  • Reevaluate your footwear. Are they crushing and deforming your feet? Give those babies some room!!!
  • Get a foot scrubber or pumice and scrub the soles of your feet daily in the shower.
  • Get a foot-specific moisturizer and apply in the morning and at night. (The best I have found is Flexitol Heel Balm, though it smells unappealingly like diaper-rash cream.)
  • Keep your toenails trimmed and clean.
  • Once a year (during the dead of winter, when you won’t be seen barefoot outdoors), apply a foot exfoliating mask, which will, in a matter of 2 weeks, slough off all the dry skin on your feet. (I use Changing U Magic Foot Peeling Shoes – yeah, they need a better translator on their product development team – by TonyMoly, which I get in NYC’s Koreatown and Chinatown neighborhoods.)
  • Get a professional pedicure regularly, once a month or so. (Yes, you’ll probably be the only man in the nail salon; and you’ll get lots of stares from the women aestheticians AND customers… big deal… do what I do – stare back… HARD.)
  • Unless the rest of your body is extremely hairy (in which case your feet actually match your body), tweeze the sparse and unruly hairs sprouting from the tops of your feet and toes. (Yes, it hurts like a muthah; but remember – chimpanzee feet AIN’T sexy.)
  • Exercise your feet daily to keep them supple and alive: Curl and flex your toes repeatedly; stretch your arches; rotate your feet at the ankle, clockwise and counterclockwise; spread your toes far apart as possible; do “the wave” with your toes, from big toe to little and from little toe to big.
  • Treat yourself to professional foot massages every so often. They are wonderful; and you AND your feet deserve the extra attention.
  • Take your shoes AND socks off as much as possible… let your feet BREATHE!!!

nani feet tulum

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Turning 40…again…

Well, today is my 47th birthday (ouch!)…and all the birthday wishes from friends and family have made it a GREAT day!!!  When I first started the blog, I made myself a promise that I would post new entries on a somewhat regular basis; and, at the request of several of my friends (and my blogging guru, Anna Brindley), I would put up some of my older “blogs” from years past.  Kinda like watching old reruns on TV.  Today, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone by posting an old rerun with a birthday theme.  Below is the “blog” I wrote when I turned 40, a major turning point in my life, as I was preparing to step into middle age and move away from Dallas to start a new life in New York City.  I have several friends who turned 40 this year or will turn 40 next year.  This is in celebration of them…enjoy!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

November 28, 2004

2004.  What a year to turn 40….

I turned 40 the year my sister was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, breast cancer; the shock and fear seared my insides as if the chemotherapy and radiation had been accidentally turned on me .

I turned 40 the year I decided to move to New York City, extracting myself from a closely-knit family and dear friends, straining to pull up roots that had grown strong and deep through years of nurturing, years of loving.

I turned 40 the year I felt personally and profoundly defeated in the presidential election, the most crucial one ever for gay people like me fighting for true equality in our country.

What a year, 2004……..

But “be careful not to confuse the year with the age,” I reminded myself.  For most of 2004, and through all the sad events above, I was 39, not 40.

So today, I sit here as a 40-year old, gay, Hawchigermiriguese American man (made that up…that’s Hawaiian-Chinese-German-Irish-Portuguese), “feeling my forty-ness”.

At 40, I feel more “at home” in my body than I ever have in my entire life, finally accepting its limitations and imperfections, curiously (not fearfully, nor eagerly) awaiting the next gray hair…”sparkles”, I call ‘em.

At 40, I don’t mind the fact that I’m a little thicker around the waist than I was at 38.  (I’m not jumping for joy about it either; but I’m not grossed out by it, nor ready to join the carb-repulsed masses.)  Besides, at 40, I can stand comfortably in the yoga asana Natarajasana – on one leg, reaching behind to grab the opposite ankle, and bringing it up and behind, level with my head.  At 20, I would’ve injured myself even trying.

At 40, I no longer define myself by my status in my profession or the company that I work for.  Those things that seemed so important in my 30s now completely (and in good conscience) get put to bed when I leave the office.

At 40, I read mostly for pleasure, secondly for information….but no longer to feed someone back “the right answer”.  I no longer follow one genre or read the bestseller list.  I read what good friends and loved ones recommend…it’s always the best bet.  I also feel absolutely no pressure to finish a book that’s just not rockin’ my world.

At 40, the “old school” music of my childhood and adolescence groove me even more than they did back then…in addition to the bad-ass rhythms of soul, disco, funk and new wave, this music washes me in wonderful memories of growing up with my parents, my siblings, my friends…memories of shakin’ my groove thang in some awesome 70’s bell bottoms or some fabulous, bleached-out, jacked-up 80s hairdo…and eyeliner…of course.

At 40, I no longer watch TV and rarely read the newspaper.  I feel released from the claws of corporate advertising moguls trying to coerce me into liking things I really don’t, believing in things I really don’t, wanting things I really don’t.  I feel liberated from the endless news chatter, of the media making mountains out of molehills, of everything being the latest, biggest story…”this just in”.  I feel excused from reality TV, from becoming addicted to the everyday moments in the lives of people I don’t even know.

At 40, I have learned the meaning of TRUE friends.  The ones that were there in my 20s and 30s and are still here at 40 are the ones that will be there forever…the lasting ones.    The ones who accept me as I am, and love me anyway.  My “short list”.  You know who you are…this letter went out to you.

At 40, I’m finally beginning to understand a relationship.  My track record was never that good…and boy, have I had a track record!  But I know now that the common denominator in all those failed relationships was…well…me.  Not that it was all my fault; but it took me 2 decades to realize that I needed to look at “me” closely before I could even begin to visualize “us”.  I’m in a good one now, one that feels loving and wonderful and happy and sad and tough and all kinds of things…and I hope it always feels that way…ripe and raw and unexpected and warm and scary and safe.

In my 30s, as I watched my niece and nephews grow up, I realized how short a childhood is….mine seemed so, so long!  At 40, I realize how short adulthood is.  It’s kinda spooky, a bit humbling.  But it has made me appreciate each year, each month, each day so much more.  “Spend it while you got it”…”Eat the good part first instead of saving it for last”…”You can’t take it with you”…at 40, I finally “get” those things.

At 40, I finally feel like I know exactly who I am…what I like and don’t like, what I believe in and don’t believe.  I know my faults, my talents, my strengths and my weaknesses…and I accept them equally…my different colors.  Just as blue is bluest when there is red or yellow to highlight its blueness, the things I love best about myself are heightened by the presence of the things I like least about myself.  I care less about whether anyone likes me or not…as long as I do.  I wouldn’t trade the experiences I’ve had, the things I’ve learned, the loves I’ve lost and gained for anything, even the youth, vigor (and smooth skin) of my 20s and 30s.

When my partner, Ralph, told me last year that he wanted to take me on a 40th birthday trip somewhere and asked me where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do, I asked for 2 things:  to wake up next to him and to do yoga someplace amazing, high on a hilltop or cliff or pyramid.  This year, as my 40th birthday approached, he told me the destination for the trip would be a surprise until the moment we arrived there; that both criteria would be met; and that they would take place somewhere beginning with a “B”.

B? Berlin?  Too cold in November.  Boston?  We already went there this summer.  Brazil?  Belize?  Bali?  Too far for a short trip.  I was so tempted to get out a world map and comb the globe for “B” destinations…surely, it’s not Ralph’s hometown of Beaumont,Texas!

We arrived at DFW airport.  As I checked in at the self-service kiosk at the terminal, I learned of our destination: San Jose, California.  “B?” I thought.  “Oh, by the way…we still have a 2-hour drive from there,” Ralph mentioned.  Sneaky-deaky.

From San Jose, we drove South along the California coast for 2 hours, half of it making dark, twisting turns on the edges of cliffs that dropped to the sea…hmmmm…cliffs!

We arrived for the night in Big Sur…at the most beautiful resort nestled in the redwood forest, Ventana.  I won’t make you too envious with all the details of the 4 luxurious days there.  Let it suffice to say that we spent the days and nights surrounded by hummingbirds, soaking in hot Japanese baths, taking amazing hikes through ancient redwood forest and enjoying breathtaking views of the ocean.

At 40, I learned that coastal redwood trees grow in families.  They grow in a perfect circle; and each tree in the circle has the exact same bark pattern as every other tree in the circle.  Trees in a different circle have a totally different bark pattern; but each tree in that circle has the same.  It was so awesome…no longer like looking at just trees…but like looking at a family that has been together longer than this country is old…a family that has stood as one and witnessed countless historical events,  that has withstood the deaths and cutting of members among them…a family whose members all resemble one another, standing in a circle, holding hands.  It was like my own family.  It was beautiful!

At 25, at 30, at 35, the earlier milestone years, I never experienced the depression or anxiety I often hear about.  Those birthdays weren’t that different from my others.  But the day before I turned 40, I hit a wall.  I was silent; I was sad…I was, I guess, depressed?(!)  I didn’t know what was wrong…and everything was wrong.  I was sad about moving to New York.  I was sad about my sister.  I was sad about my parents getting older.  I was sad about what I had for lunch.  I was just plain pathetic.  Poor Ralph.

I took a walk on my own that evening and went to lay down in the middle of the family circle of redwoods on the Ventana property.  The sun was close to setting.  The dense carpet of redwood needles was soft and comforting.  Birds flitted back and forth from tree to tree within the circle.  There was power within that circle.  The Esalen Indians who lived in the area married and had their children within this circle.  I looked up at the sky through the ring of trees, listening to the quiet of the forest; and the tears began running down my cheeks.  I just closed my eyes and let myself cry, not trying to figure out why I was crying…for nothing…for everything.  After about a half hour, I opened my eyes.  I felt healed…completely refreshed and relaxed, yet energized…smiling.

I walked back to our room to apologize to Ralph for being so distant the entire day.  He hugged me and reassured me, saying, “Sometimes you just have to get away from it all, to slow down enough so that you can deal with all the things you haven’t had time to deal with.  You’ve had a lot to deal with lately…you just had to go through the sadness.”  He put the words, clearly and concisely, to what I had been feeling the entire day.  He amazes me.

The next day, my 40th birthday, was wonderful.  I got to wake up next to Ralph; and I got to do yoga with him someplace amazing.  I got to climb up to a cliff and sit, overlooking the ocean.  I got to walk through a grove of eucalyptus trees covered in thousands of monarch butterflies, on their way to Mexico from Canada.  I got to stand under the oldest living coastal redwood tree, 1,540 years old.  As we stood in awe, looking up from the base of this great, living being, Ralph whispered to me, “Fifteen hundred and 40 years?  Now, 40 doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”

Not so bad at all…it feels pretty damned good, actually!

So, how does my “forty-ness” feel?

For me, 40 feels like this:

And 40 feels like this: