Anger, Confidence and Bubble Up Pizza

24 Mar

Yoga kicked my ass yesterday. Not in the way that it usually kicks my ass when I’m going on and on about yoga kicking my ass. I mean, I was almost taken down by a yoga workshop. Taken. Down.

Yoga Altar

It was two and a half hours of mostly yoga. We began with meditation and also a writing exercise. In this exercise, we wrote down one thing we wanted to rid ourselves of and one thing we wanted to preserve and/or nurture. Sounds good. I can do this. I started to have my doubts about that midway through the workshop. Why did I sign up for this? How much longer do we have? Why, again? I have to confess. I was angry and frustrated. Two emotions that I have never felt during yoga. It was especially jolting during a workshop that was supposed to be about cleansing and renewal in honor of the Spring Equinox. But, folks, I was not a happy camper.

Why does she keep making us do asanas like this? What about those of us who aren’t as flexible? Does she really think I can do that? And then when the instructor said, “I really just think it’s about your confidence, Elle,” I almost lost it. My WHAT? My…. oh, I’ll show you my confidence, lady, you just…

The inner battle that I was waging was altogether ridiculous. And humbling. And revealing. Here I was fighting to rid myself of the past, to bring forth newness and renewal, and I found myself, instead, wanting to tie the instructor up in pretzel knots  (she’s so bendy, it wouldn’t have phased her) and drip water on her forehead at an excruciatingly slow rate.

I was fighting too much of the time. Fighting my muscles. Fighting my teacher’s approach to instruction. Fighting my body’s lack of flexibility.

Needless to say, there was a lot of self-talk on the way home. A lot of self-soothing and self-validation. I had to remind myself that how I was feeling was not the problem. I was angry and frustrated and my job was to investigate, witness and protect my right to those feelings. My job was not to make them go away or judge them or turn them into some other more “yogi-approved” emotion. So I let them be. I watched them. I talked to them. Anger and frustration told me we wanted pizza for dinner. And wine. And, I mean, when anger’s being reasonable, who am I to deny it its wishes?

Pizza and wine it is. Except I didn’t want greasy Papa Johns or Domino’s. I wanted respectable pizza. Pizza whose ingredients were readily identifiable. I wanted fancy pizza. Celebratory pizza (the moon was, after all, in Leo, and Leos are nothing if not full of celebration). In our household, we generally address our cravings by heading to the nearest grocery store, which is exactly what I did.

I ended up with organic tomato basil sauce, crab and smoked salmon, Gouda cheese, and biscuits (the one questionably unhealthy item). Let the pizza making begin.

I’d seen a pin for bubble up pizza on Pinterest a few days ago, and it looked delicious. I have to wonder though, whose idea was it to name this shit bubble up pizza? I mean, at best the name is.… Cute? Despite the crazy name, I worked over some bubble up pizza. Let’s call my creation BUP 2.0. Just go with it, please.

The process of cooking BUP 2.0 also soothed my ruffled feathers. Brought clarity to my state of mind, and helped me to see that I had just had an experience. No different, better or worse than any other experience yesterday or any other day. Was there something to my frustration with the instructor? Perhaps. With time and reflection, I will understand. Those feelings were just my feelings though, and that’s quite alright. Like making the best damn bubble up pizza on a beautiful and peaceful Saturday night. Confidence THAT my friend!

Bubble Up Pizza 2.0


1 1/2 cups Organic tomato basil pasta sauce
1/2 cup Gouda cheese, shredded
smoked salmon and crab meat, minced (I didn’t measure, I just threw in “enough”)
1 can Grands home-style biscuits
1/4 – 1/2 cup sun-dried tomato
1/2 red onion, sliced
3-4 cloves garlic
salt to taste


The only labor involved, besides mincing and slicing, revolved around the biscuits. I used the Grands which had 8 large biscuits inside. I cut each biscuit in half and then halved each half lengthwise and then cut that in half. Therefore, each biscuit should yield 8 pieces. Put all of the ingredients into a large bowl. Toss well to cover, adding more sauce if necessary.

To bake, I used a cast iron skillet coated with olive oil spray. This worked out really well. I cooked it for 35 minutes at 400 degrees. I let it sit for five minutes while I drooled, and then dug in. Alongside a glass of Shiraz, it was just what Dr. Me ordered.

BUP and Salad


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