Carmel Magazine

32 C A R M E L M A G A Z I N E • S P R I N G / S U M M E R 2 0 1 4 T he tie-dye is swirling, literally, in front of me and I swear I am dead sober. Yogis, adorned in every hue, hang upside down, sup- ported only by silk swaths of hot- pink fabric. They are practicing aeri- al yoga, and it's almost my turn. I have dragged my lazy self out of hibernation and to this year's Wanderlust Yoga and Music Festival in Oahu, Hawaii. With my 17-year-old apathetic daugh- ter and 22-year-old hipster niece in tow, we settle into the North Shore's Turtle Bay Resort. Once there, we join a few hundred like-minded souls who think a couple days of namastes can do us all some good. My enthusiasm is only dampened by the reality that now I have to practice what I preach: I need to suit up (or cram myself into yoga pants that fit last summer) and participate. We first attend a round-table with festival founders Jeff Krasno and Sean Hoess. These two super-cool dudes dreamed up a way to draw folks out of their daily routines and into nature, experiencing yoga, music and arts—if only for a long weekend. The festivals, held for about the last six years at desirable locations all around the country, educate attendees on sustainability and other environmental issues and foster general good living and well-being. This is no hippie fest, nor is it teeming with pretension. It's sublimely somewhere in-between, with a soccer mom here and a dreadlocked grad student there. Krasno and Hoess seem to have a laid-back attitude, but boy do they know their demo- graphics: almost everyone here is between the ages of 25 and 44 and a surprising number have a post-four-year degree. Which leaves me out of both demographics. I'm a lot older. And not as educated. But, I have my coveted all festival wristband and I am ready. I have attended before, and I know what and whom to expect in our mini-satsangs. I ask everyone before class to tell me where they work and where they are from. I find out I am surrounded by a pharmaceutical rep, a marine biologist for the military, a school teacher, a retail manager, a musician and a yoga teacher who is getting her master's degree. The last few months, for me, have been largely spent in hid- ing and I decide to come out of my shell with a BANG. I get the coveted last spot in a 10-person aerial yoga class. I am the oldest by a landslide, but my past profession as a gymnastics coach serves me well. The teacher asks us if anyone gets motion sickness. No one raises their hand. And we're off. Aerial yoga is a new form of the ancient art that uses a ver- tically hung hammock, usually made of silk, that is suspended by cables and carabiners from the ceiling. In this case, we are on a lawn overlooking the ocean, trusting our necks to A-frames rigged out of PVC pipes, and set up by God-knows-who. Once prepped, we climb into what turn out to be like really low-hang- ing trapezes. Yes, it takes the weight off some joints and muscles, but it increases pressure on other parts of the body. I try not to grimace as the fabric bunches up under my arms and burns. "Ohhhhh. Did no one tell you guys to wear T-shirts with sleeves?" our teacher asks her tank-top wearing class. But, it's all fine once we assume our gravity defying positions. The fab- ric cocoon allows me to contort my body in ways I haven't done for years and I float with the weightlessness of one of the petite girls I stare at with envy. Floating, splayed out as far as my 67-inch frame can go, spinning and spinning. It is pure joy and I motion for someone to snap a photo of me…until…until… I abruptly detangle myself, jump down and excuse myself. I tell the teacher how much I loved the class, but that I have a pre- vious engagement. She doesn't know the huge shrimp bowl I ate for lunch and the warning on motion sickness have just col- lided in my mind and become a reality in my stomach. I pray that my engagement is not with the hotel bathroom. It is now a few weeks later. Another town, another festival. This time, it's the infamous Coachella Music Festival, where the group of four teenagers I have agreed to chaperone has now morphed into eight. A woman has to know her limitations, and now I do. I allow the youngsters to get the wristbands, read the schedules and choose the events they want to attend. I sit on the porch of a nearby house and read. A constant "thump, thump, thump, chirp, chirp, chirp," like a swarm of electronic crickets, serenades me from a distance. I am happy here. My festival days may be over. But I vow to enjoy passing the torch to the apathetic and the hipsters. Dina Eastwood is a former news anchor at KSBW TV, past host of "Candid Camera" and has starred on a reality show on the E! Network. She is a writer, editor and yogini. She resides on the Monterey Peninsula with her daughter, Morgan. BEHIND THE SPOTLIGHT D I N A E A S T W O O D It is pure joy and I motion for someone to snap a photo of me…until…until… Some Kind of Wander-ful 032 Dina Eastwood_Carmel Mag 4/23/14 9:53 AM Page 1

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