Central Spirit

I once spent an entire Saturday convincing myself that soaking in a tub filled with artisanal salts was the key to unlocking the mysteries of a stress-free life. Did I emerge a Zen master, you ask? Hardly. I stepped out more pruney than enlightened, clutching a fleeting sense of peace that vanished the moment I.

I once paid $30 for a shot of wheatgrass juice that tasted like I was chewing on my front lawn. The smug barista assured me it would “realign my chakras” and “detox my soul,” whatever that means. But there I was, clutching my little green elixir of enlightenment, pondering if this was really the secret.