A couple of years ago I received an email from a gentleman named Zubin Shroff asking me if he could interview me about yoga. The previous year Joslyn, Leslie and I had started Recovering Yogi, but since his email made no mention of the site, I assumed that he was looking for another rote conversation on asana. At his suggestion we met in Venice at the skatepark. I got a traffic ticket on the way the interview; I arrived both ridiculously late and in a pissy mood. Like many things, if I were to draw a Venn diagram in which my expectations represented one circle and my experience another, the circles would be on opposite sides of the page. We sat on a grassy hill and talked for a couple of hours. About yoga. The kind of yoga that I can still talk about. The kind in which there is no difference between who I am hanging out with a bunch of friends who are into asana and who I am on figuring out process on a royalties system implementation. After we spoke, using this ancient old skool camera on a tripod, he took my portrait. And then he left.
I connected him and my bestie Joslyn, who, being a triple Virgo is one of the best editors around, and she edited his book. (If you need a keen eye on your work, seriously, she's your gal.) And then I forgot about it. Two days ago I was reading an article in Yoga Journal (don't ask) and a woman's byline said that she was featured in the book, "Conversations with Modern Yogis." I ordered it online. Here is that day, captured.