comic essays with
serious intentions.
S@#t I’ve Heard at Yoga
(what I learned in downward dog)
Michael J. Norton
PREORDER
Publication date: January 6, 2026
CALM IS THE NEW SUPERPOWER
This collection of eclectic anecdotes charts my reluctant evolution from Type A cynic to Type Y (yoga) optimist. Inspired by bits of random dialogue with fellow yogis, confessional phone calls from friends, loud-talkers in coffee shops, a stare down with a winter-skinny deer and salient nuggets from yoga instructors in various locales—including the Hamptons, Palm Springs, Upstate New York, Los Angeles, Nantucket, and Martha’s Vineyard—the sharp-edged wisdom found in these pages is the ultimate DIY therapy. Rather than explore the spiritual core or physical practice of yoga, these stories capture how yoga can lighten the rest of your day by quieting the crazy squirrels that live in your head.
In the context of our social, political and cultural oddities, these essays surf the edge between OMG and “OM.” As a wisewoman said, “Yoga really begins when class ends.” Michael’s theory: if everyone was required to practice yoga, we’d have a lot less s@#t to deal with in the world. Whether you’re 20, 30, or 60, if you’re stuck—if you’re trying to navigate a shift in your personal, professional or romantic identity—S@#t I’ve Heard at Yoga may help you go from “Now what?” to “What’s next!”
CALM IS THE NEW SUPER
POWER
This collection of eclectic anecdotes charts my reluctant evolution from Type A cynic to Type Y (yoga) optimist. Inspired by bits of random dialogue with fellow yogis, confessional phone calls from friends, loud-talkers in coffee shops, a stare down with a winter-skinny deer and salient nuggets from yoga instructors in various locales—including the Hamptons, Palm Springs, Upstate New York, Los Angeles, Nantucket, and Martha’s Vineyard—the sharp-edged wisdom found in these pages is the ultimate DIY therapy. Rather than explore the spiritual core or physical practice of yoga, these stories capture how yoga can lighten the rest of your day by quieting the crazy squirrels that live in your head.
In the context of our social, political and cultural oddities, these essays surf the edge between outrage and “OM.” As a wisewoman said, “Yoga really begins when class ends.” Michael’s theory: if everyone was required to practice yoga, we’d have a lot less s@#t to deal with in the world. Whether you’re 20, 30, or 60, if you’re stuck—if you’re trying to navigate a shift in your personal, professional or romantic identity—S@#t I’ve Heard at Yoga may help you go from “Now what?” to “What’s next!”
SO, WHO WANTS THIS BOOK?
SO, WHO WANTS THIS BOOK?
ANYONE looking to get “unstuck” in their personal, professional or romantic lives.
THE MANIFEST GENERATION – people working to transform their dreams into reality.
YOGA ENTHUSIASTS and the YOGA CURIOUS – it’s a humorous look at how yoga can transform your personal vibe and outlook.
- CULTURE VULTURES – readers who enjoy cultural, social and political commentary, particularly in the form of essay / short stories.
- AGE DEFIERS – people 40+ determined not get old as they age.
- TRANSFORMERS – people looking to lead a healthier, more energized and balanced life.
- STRESS-LESSERS – “calm” is the new superpower, allowing you to take control of your personal panic. For anyone navigating an anxious world – whether the stresses are social, professional or driven by the evening news – this book is a DIY alternative approach to therapy.
WHO IS THIS GUY I’VE NEVER HEARD OF?
Michael J. Norton?
Michael did the LA thing: wrote sitcoms and sold screenplays. After a contract at Disney evaporated, his agent said, “You’re okay. You’re solid B-list.” Although it beats the hell out of the D-list, the B-list is an ego-bruising slog once you plateau. Say goodbye to Hollywood—hello marketing!
Michael spent a few decades developing creative and business strategies for clients such as Maybelline, Toyota, LVMH, Jose Cuervo, Martha Stewart, the Guggenheim Museum, a smattering of fashion brands, and the launch of GOOP.
Since 2015, he’s been “Professor Norton,” teaching marketing, branding, and public relations at Parsons School of Design. Michael has been appointed to several corporate and non-profit boards, including two terms as board chair of The Trevor Project.
Michael is an avid reader, pop culture addict, and a dedicated—albeit wobbly—yogi. He’s also a devoted pickleball player and has the injuries to prove it.
“The squirrels running around in my head…”
“What is this s@#t?”
During the yogis’ philosophical monologues that typically open each class, my internal mantra was a persistent and impatient question, “What is this s@#t?” One day, out of the corner of my ear, I heard this bit about “squirrels” in my head. Boom. She’s talking about me. It was then that I started listening to the s@#t I heard at yoga. Over time, and after over-coming my cynicism, I found even greater value in the philosophical and spiritual tidbits peppered throughout class that ultimately shifted my energy from perpetually preoccupied to consistently and dependably calm.
Not surprisingly, this Los Angeles yogi offers up a little cosmetic philosophy. But there’s something to her outside-in advice.
Your face telegraphs exactly what you’re thinking and feeling at any given moment. Similar to how you can flip the orientation on your phone’s camera, you can use your face to be the boss of what you’re feeling.
“Organize your face.”
“You eat cheese?!”
If I were on death row, my final meal would definitely include a cheese plate.
“Get out of advertising. Go be a freshman in any other business. Do-or-die energy will give you edge. Edge gives you relevance. Relevance is youthful power.”
That guy is a dick, but he gives good advice.
“Do something that scares you.”
“I want to be Andy-happy.”
It’s officially summer. There are people in class I’ve never seen before. It’s probably my last Saturday class until fall—the crowds are back, and I’m not a fan of mat-to-mat classes. I’m drenched; humidity is back too. I’m gathering my stuff and actively resenting people who don’t sweat. There’s a young guy who, at first glance, could be Darren Criss, but he’s just a gay guy from Los Angeles, on the prowl for Instagram content—probably #namastehamptons. He’s with a young woman who seems perfectly happy being his photo assistant. After a panicky spin to his better side, he thrusts himself into a gentle warrior pose. “We went to some cocktail, fundraiser, benefit thing. It was great. I got a side glance from Andy Cohen.”
“Did you get a pic with him? #bravohamptons!”
“No. It’s different here. Much more chill. He might have even been wearing J. Crew sales rack. He was chatting. Laughing. Like there was nothing famous about him. He looked like the happiest gay there.”
“Well—he should be.” Typing into her phone, she’s clearly on the hunt for critical info. “Celebrity net worth says—”
“No. It’s not a money thing. If you listen to him on the radio—same thing—just fun, fun, fun. That’s what I want!”
“What? Want what?”
“I want to be Andy-happy.”
Living in the Hamptons, the price of everything is crazy. But, the bread at Carissa’s is worth every penny and every carb.
“You know that’s a crazy price for a loaf of bread?”
“Cher can hold a plank for five minutes…”
Did I hear that correctly?
I had a strong plank pose, but I couldn’t compete with Cher.
A five-minute plank became a new goal.
I needed to work at it. Had to work up to it.
There’s no glory in a pose that incites panic in the body.
When I finally matched Cher on the clock, I slowly lowered myself to the ground and drifted back into wide-legged child’s pose. Breathe in to the count of eight. Hold. Breathe out to the count of eight. Repeat. On the next breath, I said to myself, I’m never doing that again.
And I never have.
“The squirrels running around in my head…”
“What is this s@#t?”
During the yogis’ philosophical monologues that typically open each class, my internal mantra was a persistent and impatient question, “What is this s@#t?” One day, out of the corner of my ear, I heard this bit about “squirrels” in my head. Boom. She’s talking about me. It was then that I started listening to the s@#t I heard at yoga. Over time, and after over-coming my cynicism, I found even greater value in the philosophical and spiritual tidbits peppered throughout class that ultimately shifted my energy from perpetually preoccupied to consistently and dependably calm.
Not surprisingly, this Los Angeles yogi offers up a little cosmetic philosophy. But there’s something to her outside-in advice.
Your face telegraphs exactly what you’re thinking and feeling at any given moment. Similar to how you can flip the orientation on your phone’s camera, you can use your face to be the boss of what you’re feeling.
“Organize your face.”
“You eat cheese?!”
If I were on death row, my final meal would definitely include a cheese plate.
“Get out of advertising. Go be a freshman in any other business. Do-or-die energy will give you edge. Edge gives you relevance. Relevance is youthful power.”
That guy is a dick, but he gives good advice.
“Do something that scares you.”
“I want to be Andy-happy.”
It’s officially summer. There are people in class I’ve never seen before. It’s probably my last Saturday class until fall—the crowds are back, and I’m not a fan of mat-to-mat classes. I’m drenched; humidity is back too. I’m gathering my stuff and actively resenting people who don’t sweat. There’s a young guy who, at first glance, could be Darren Criss, but he’s just a gay guy from Los Angeles, on the prowl for Instagram content—probably #namastehamptons. He’s with a young woman who seems perfectly happy being his photo assistant. After a panicky spin to his better side, he thrusts himself into a gentle warrior pose. “We went to some cocktail, fundraiser, benefit thing. It was great. I got a side glance from Andy Cohen.”
“Did you get a pic with him? #bravohamptons!”
“No. It’s different here. Much more chill. He might have even been wearing J. Crew sales rack. He was chatting. Laughing. Like there was nothing famous about him. He looked like the happiest gay there.”
“Well—he should be.” Typing into her phone, she’s clearly on the hunt for critical info. “Celebrity net worth says—”
“No. It’s not a money thing. If you listen to him on the radio—same thing—just fun, fun, fun. That’s what I want!”
“What? Want what?”
“I want to be Andy-happy.”
Living in the Hamptons, the price of everything is crazy. But, the bread at Carissa’s is worth every penny and every carb.
“You know that’s a crazy price for a loaf of bread?”
“Cher can hold a plank for five minutes…”
Did I hear that correctly?
I had a strong plank pose, but I couldn’t compete with Cher.
A five-minute plank became a new goal.
I needed to work at it. Had to work up to it.
There’s no glory in a pose that incites panic in the body.
When I finally matched Cher on the clock, I slowly lowered myself to the ground and drifted back into wide-legged child’s pose. Breathe in to the count of eight. Hold. Breathe out to the count of eight. Repeat. On the next breath, I said to myself, I’m never doing that again.
And I never have.