I read "Choose Yourself," by James Altucher and my oxytocin levels increased immediately.

I have owned James Altucher’s book “Choose Yourself,” for one week, and already it is covered in avocado stains.

Choose Yourself, by James Altucher

Choose Yourself, by James Altucher

James Altucher and I have tons in common.  We both recognize the immense value of taking a shit.  The benefits are physical, emotional, spiritual, physical, creative and financial.
If your bowels don’t function well enough to take a smooth and thorough dump, life is going to be more difficult than it has to be.

Also, James and I both have very curly hair that is usually messy.

Here is a picture of me reading “Choose Yourself.” You can’t see the avocado stains.  They are on the inside.  I am reading the chapter, “How to release the God Hormone.” It is based on James’ blogpost 10 unusual ways to release oxytocin into your life. At first I thought that oxytocin was the same as oxycontin, but I guess it is a little different.  Oxycontin is a narcotic while oxytocin  is this natural thing that your body releases when you hump your lover’s leg, or like someone’s post on Facebook, or eat a bunch of eggs and bananas and peppers mixed together.  The words are similar.  Just like the words vague, vagina, and vagus are similar.  James Altucher points this out in his oxytocin chapter and it made me laugh and release oxytocin. James says that when your vagus nerve is inflamed, you’ll feel pissed off and stressed out.  When it feels good, the whole world will seem orgasmic. Knock yourself out, everyone.

PROCRASTINATION

I just took a break from writing this post to hump the Boatman’s leg.  He was lying on the couch reading a book about philosophy.  I interrupted him and we had sex and now my vagina and vagus nerve feel spectacular. The feelings are not vague.

In his chapter, “The Seven Habits of Highly Mediocre People”originating from this post, James recommends Procrastination.  I am grateful for this and I find it convenient.

 “Choose Yourself,” has the tagline, “Be Happy, Make Millions, Live the Dream.”  I’m pretty sure that for James, what is most important is being happy.  On a couple of occasions in his life, James has had millions of dollars.  But he wasn’t happy and he wasn’t living the dream.  He was barely sleeping, his body was a wreck, and he didn’t have any friends.  In 2002, he lost fifteen million dollars in fifteen weeks.  He had a similar crash in 2008.

 

Each time, what got James back on his feet is something he calls the Daily Practice.   Essentially, it means taking care of yourself physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

What’s the use of millions of dollars if  you hate yourself and you have no friends and you can’t take a comfortable shit every morning?

The Daily Practice can be overwhelming if you haven’t pooped or had sex in a long time, and you’re tired and you hate your job and your brain feels stale and dead inside.  The good news is  James says that you don’t need to fix everything all at once.  Remember, we are only becoming highly effective, mediocre people.  No sweat.  We can all do this.

I was listening to an interview with James on  mygreenlight.com, and James says that if you are looking to begin somewhere, start by getting enough sleep and then recognizing the abundance that is already in your life.  For instance, James says, if you’re stuck in traffic, instead of being pissed off about wasting time, focus on the abundance of cars.  So many cars, so much human development.  So much prosperity.  Or at least a lot of car payments. 

From about January to the end of May, I’ve been pretty irritated about my life.  I’d been waking up at 4 or 4:30 a.m., cranking myself through a vigorous and somewhat neurotic yoga practice and then hoofing it to work where I nag at small children to push in their chairs and wash their dirty hands in French.  Every week, I was missing more than a full night of sleep, about two hours every night.  I became volatile, hysterical. I thought I would kill the children I worked with. My body developed these weird neurological twitches.  Throughout the day, my shoulders would shrug involuntarily. My esophagus would contract as though I were going to puke. Most mornings before leaving for work I would throw a hysterical fit about some tragic issue like how I didn’t have time to take a shit, my pants were dirty, the new kid was a total brat, and my boss would probably make me stay late. 

The miracle of yoga had never been less abundant.

Fortunately, about a month ago, my left knee swelled up on my way to work. 

Here’s my knee, after the physiotherapist taped it up and it looked like a scrotum.



My Scrotum Knee. My pants pulled down

Now I sleep in until about 5:30.  I do half as many yoga poses.  I am two hundred times less bitchy.

My knee is healing really well.  It doesn’t look like a scrotum anymore.

And my shoulder and esophagus twitch significantly less.

I have energy to do more of the Daily Practice.  I read. I write down ideas, even the stupid ones, not every day, but when I think of it, and don’t feel too self-conscious.  I try not to be so pissed off about everything.  That was hard when I was really tired.  Now I am not as tired and so it is easier.

It is also easier to see the abundance.  Before I would look at my work day and see eight and a half hours to kill and waste, plus the commute. 

Being grateful for what I had seemed impossible.  I could barely say thank you to the busdriver.  He was driving me somewhere I didn’t want to go.  When I thought of saying thank you, I’d get a lump in my throat and feel nauseous and ashamed. 

I’ve been forcing myself to say thank you to the bus driver, every day.  As I get less tired, I feel more sincere. 

Although I’m not making millions of dollars, or living the dream exactly, I am trying to be as happy I can be, right now.  Sometimes I feel bitter and disappointed that I don’t have as much time to write and do yoga as I want.  But at least I have some time.  More than most people. 

Also, there is some abundance in my job.  I get to walk all the time.  This helps me to not be constipated or fat.  The school has really big windows and I can always see the sky.  Plus the children are full of abundance. They are full of youth and snot and sometimes diarrhea.  And if you listen, they say many interesting things.

Last week, a five-year-old asked me if I had boobies.  An hour later, a two-year-old looked at me from across the sandbox and said, “Erica, you don’t have any nipples.”

James Altucher says that most people should quit their jobs.  Probably he is right.  Someday I will quit my job.  Or maybe I will get fired for my radical views on potty training. That is my dream. To get fired because of the potty training. But while I am waiting, I'm going to think about my nipples and laugh.

The End.

Thank you, James. You’ve done wonders for my outlook.  And you don’t need to pay me back for the book, because my life is already full of abundance.

Watch James Altucher explain Choosing Yourself, in 13 minutes:

 

Follow James Altucher on Twitter: @jaltucher

Check out James's Blog www.jamesaltucher.com

Me and my vagus nerve: @mypelvicfloor

Ecstasy, Exuberance, Oxytocin and Abundance on Facebook

I Let Go, self-help book by Erica J. Schmidt 

What the fuck should I do with my life, Part One
Not Separate From All That Is
Prozac Made Me a Better Person

The Sperm Cleanse

On Monday, my uterus or ovaries or some part of my reproductive system near my vagina was about to produce a new follicle.  Loads of creativity was about to erupt into my existence.  You can tell that this happened from the prolific, eloquent and delightful posts that have erupted onto my blog.  My last post was two weeks ago. The yogis say that men should save their seeds and avoid ejaculating regularly so that their bodies are not depleted from the arduous task of making new sperm.  My teacher Darby's son Shankara used to go on and on about this in teacher training.  There were only three men in our class and Shankara blamed this on the fact that all the other dudes were busy jerking off, blowing their loads.  After their strenuous masturbation sessions, they'd have no choice but to pass out on the couch in a half-assed attempt to regenerate their sperm.  The yogis say that instead of ejaculating out their dicks, men should apply various techniques such as squeezing their anuses and or moula bandhas.  Then the sperms will stay within them and the life force usually released in ejaculation can be redirected to heal organs or travel up the spine or something else that is similarly interesting.  Fluid Free Ejaculation.  I'm just wondering if perhaps the process of making new sperm could be healthy and therapeutic and inspirational.  Just as in exercise you break down muscles so that you can build newer, stronger and more, limber ones, it might be good to expel old stagnant sperm and then come up with something better.

Pattabhi Jois, Johanne Darby and Shankara Darby, inside his mother the day before he was born.



Today, Shankara likes to save his seed. And we know that he came from a good seed.

If a sperm is ever going to enter my uterus, I want it to be brand new and excited to be alive.  All this is very scientific. Probably sperms die anyways and the balls or whatever organ is involved makes new ones.  But is this as useful as a Sperm Cleanse?

In her awesome Ted Talk, "Loving Your Lady Parts as a Path to Success," Alisa Vitti talks about  the different phases of your menstrual cycle and how you can adjust and maximize your life according to the flow.  I wonder if there is a similar option for men.The vegan life coach used to say that he had to cum two times a day.  Less than that, I can't remember what happened.  More than that he felt drained and drowsy.  Just before we stopped dating he was figuring out the dry ejaculation thing.  He was very proud of himself.  Moula bandha and whatnot up his spine, and he felt SO GOOD.

At the time, most of the orgasms of my life were internalized and/or non-existent.  The vegan life coach never inspired either kinds of orgasm.  Not even that time I got drunk on the Easter weekend and went to his house and got more wine.  I lay face down blindfolded on his bed, and I felt something cold and plastic enter inside of me.  Whatever it was made a faint flute sound.  The tune was unrecognizable.  Then I recognized what the object inside of me was.  A recorder.  I wondered if the recorder had been inside anyone else.  In any case, it didn't do it for me.

Recorder teachers have terrible karma in this life time.  For their next life time, I imagine that things will be better.

Boy plays blue recorder

That was the End.  Approximately.

When I was a little girl, I played the recorder, and also the trombone.  I practiced very diligently.

This post was supposed to be about sperm, but the vagina got the last word.  The vagina, and then the recorders.

Happy Father's Day.

This Day has lots to do with Sperm, if you really think about it, or even if you think about it even just a little bit.

Sperms, Barbecues, and Mowing the Lawn.

The End, Precisely

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go, self-help book by Erica J. Schmidt

Menstrual Blood, Peanut Butter
The Benefits of an Ashtanga Yoga Practice, Part Two
The Benefits of a Vegan Life Coach