I have always been a huge advocate for chasing dreams. I lived a decade of my life pushing for opportunities, believing that if there was something in the universe that belonged to me then I was going to, in the words of Jack McFarland from Will & Grace, “reach out, grab it, and swing on it till dawn.” And it’s served me well. On the surface. But it left me without a strong base to stand on. By last year, I had lived in 10 different apartments, in 6 different states, had a revolving door of roommates, owned nothing more than books and clothes because they were the easiest to move and had no healthy romantic entanglements to speak of. Don’t get me wrong, I regret nothing. My memory bank is filled with substance, fun and fulfillment. But I began to look around and wonder, is this something sustainable? Even if it were, is this making me happy? Why do I feel like something is missing? What good is living vibrantly if you have nowhere to recharge afterward?
I admit it. I have not and do not trust the universe or anyone else to present my dreams to me, nor do I expect them to; a quality that drives me to work myself to the bone but will not allow me to ask for help without feeling like an imposition. This quality makes me tired and has a lower ceiling of success. I will only get as far as my insecurities allow. For me, that is nowhere near where I’ve wanted to go. I turned 33, looked at my life, and said this is your ceiling. And it isn’t good enough.
You only regret what you choose not to know or do. So I decided to try something different. So different that my life would have no alternative but to break pattern. I decided to come back to Washington and sit still. That doesn’t mean I have been doing nothing, I don’t think I’d ever be able to be that idle. But I decided I would not move again until an opportunity found ME this time. Any big thing that has ever happened to me and made me truly happy has found me. I didn’t push or claw for it. It came to me and it was my job to be prepared for it. So that’s what I’ve been trying to do here: sit still and prepare.
Six months in and you know what I’ve found? Adulting sucks and sitting still is f**king scary. In the silences, all that you’ve avoided about yourself emerges from the dark corners where it’s been lying in wait. Any insecurity that you’ve held at bay surfaces and starts asking questions. You discover your anger and it come in the voice of Queen, “I want it all. And I want it now.” It resents that you always seem to have to choose. It resents that you cannot seem to figure out how to make money at what you love, take care of yourself, and be happy in your surroundings all at the same time. It resents that you always have to do it alone. It resents it to the point that it makes you mean. It screams “what is wrong with you that you cannot seem to manage comfort with adventure, stability with creativity.” I’ve discovered that I’m cruel to myself. And it takes its toll.
The first three months of my self-imposed stillness I gained 25 pounds. Twenty. Five. Yeah. Talk about a physical manifestation of inner fear. I lost all will to love myself because I didn’t know how to not push for change and movement. I work for a good company, with excellent perks and it pays enough to get me ahead of debt and bills. I am at the point I wanted to be at. My goal is in sight. That point of stability. And still…I am unhappy. Something is still missing. And panic sets in. I start looking for the out like I’ve always done. ANYTHING other than looking at myself. I begin to question my motives for this stillness. Suddenly that Zen meditation and preparedness has begun to look more like a one-legged beetle swimming frantically in a dirty swimming pool, paddling in circles going nowhere. Rough metaphor. But you get the idea. I’ve nearly hightailed it back a dozen times already. I may not have been blissfully happy in my old life but I knew how to do it. I knew what I’d get out of that.
Being here, I forget what I’m good at and I realize what I think of myself; not much. I see that I’ve overcompensated for years and continue to do so because I have a distaste for what I see as my flaws. I had believed that others judged me when instead it was me. And I have no idea how to rewire those beliefs. I have always been able to believe, unequivocally, in others but never truly in myself. It is a daunting and awful realization that despite what dreams I have had, I have never in fact believed myself capable or lucky enough to ever achieve them. I fought for them, fully, but only because I didn’t know what else to do. And now, I have looked at this move to WA as proof that I’ve given up. And I’m not ready. I feel older and uglier. And I am embarrassed by it. Those closest to me know that embarrassment and humiliation are two things that disgust me the most.
Now, now, before you spit nails at me for my idiocy, know that I am aware of it. But this is what happens in the stillness. This is what happens when you put someone like me in a tiny parameter and say, “I’ll be back soon” and not tell them how long “soon” will be. This is what happens when you quiet your life down and listen to yourself. I’ve always believed that being idle is a sign of weakness and laziness. Now I’m thinking there is bravery in the sitting still because you have to listen to what your soul is telling you, let it resonate, and then choose what to do about it. You have to deal with you.
I can choose to continue to let this stillness swallow me up. I can accept this monotony and mediocrity as a realized truth that is a decade old. OR I can get the f**k over myself and deal with me, myself and I. I can have faith that what is meant for me is on its way and it has the possibility of being even more beautiful than the opportunity before. It is not my job to say NO. It is my job to cultivate what and who I am so that when I say YES to what is mine, I can say it without hesitation or judgment. I can embrace it, build off of it, and know that I damn well deserve it. I can use this stillness as a place to learn all those things I’ve put off because I was too busy running from mediocrity. I can love myself that much.
So I bought myself a ukulele. Her name is Lula. And we are going to learn a song a week and remember why we love music.
So I write. I have five projects up in the ether that I’ve put off because I was “too busy” or “didn’t feel like it” or “it was faff anyway” or “I’m no writer.” And I’m going to do more with them than file them in a folder named “for sh**s and giggles.”
So I am signing up for horse-riding lessons. Because…well….because I can.
So I am training faithfully for my ½ marathon in October. Because if I don’t, I’ll die at mile 9. But also because I will love myself enough to have that discipline and healthiness. And it won’t be about weight or size. It will be about goals and dedication.
So I am going to seek help (in whatever form that is) to rewire my harshness towards myself. Because the last thing I want to be saying on my deathbed was the reason I didn’t get what I want was my fault.
I am going to get my own place. Because even though that commitment makes me sick to my stomach, it is just that, a commitment. And I’m not a quitter. I finish what I start. And I have to know what it is like to have space that is mine. I recognize that a space can go from haven to prison if you are unhappy in yourself. But I need to know if what was missing was a physical individual home. Then I can either let go of my old wandering ways, or let go of the need to be stationery.
And finally, I am publishing this blog for everyone to see because hiding from You is another way of hiding from myself. If no one knows my goals or dreams, than I don’t have to justify to anyone why I’m not living them. And that’s unacceptable. I am not one who enjoys to air out old laundry in front of people which I believe is normally a good trait. But there are times when hiding what you deem ugly about you holds you back from progress and freedom both creatively and spiritually. Honesty is extremely hard but lying to yourself is worse.
In sum, I’ve been feeling like a big fat failure. But I truly believe it is part of a phase. It’s part of dealing with the stillness. And no matter how uncomfortable or angry I get, I believe this is the right thing to do right now. Sometimes the universe has trouble finding you when you move too quickly. Dust may not settle on you but neither does the glitter. I want to be able to tell the difference between the dust which you shake off and the glitter which you bathe in. I believe stillness, for now, will provide that.
So I will finish this year out. Just being here. And maybe I’ll extend it. Maybe I won’t. Maybe that opportunity I’ve been praying for will get here tomorrow and I won’t have to worry about it. But until then, I’m going to stay here, preparing the crap outta this fine Tuesday, and do my best to put a little less into self-loathing and a little more into faith.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Dear Broken Heart,
For some reason there has been a wave of broken hearts that has been sweeping through my friends. I don't know if something is in the water or Venus is in purgatory or some such nonsense, but whatever the reason, some of my dear friends are hurting. And though I do not currently share that agony, it does not take much to recall those feelings. As many of you know, if you've felt it once, you never forget it. So, dear hearts, this letter is for you.
Dear Broken Heart,
Nothing I can say will ease any of the pressure in your chest. The end result will still be the same. I keep thinking, what would I have liked to hear? The answer is: nothing. I just wanted my heart back in one piece. I wanted the silences to stop being so effing loud. I wanted to stop hearing the pity in peoples' voices and stop seeing the "understanding" in peoples' eyes. I wanted to be left alone...yet I didn't want to BE alone.
It didn't make me feel any better to hear about others' experiences, that it takes time, or that I just needed to go through it (which is all true, and you knew that already). Whether they understood it or not, the heart that was breaking was still MINE not theirs and it was a constant ache. They got to go home and get a good night sleep and I received the acute pleasure to stare at the ceiling asking myself all the dozens of questions that got me into such a predicament. What did I do wrong? How could I have not seen this coming? If I saw it coming, how could I not stop it? Did this person not love me after all? How could he be such a [insert vile and graphic expletive here]? You drive yourself crazy with questions that no one can or will answer.
No one can tell you when you'll be able to breathe again or when you'll start only thinking of him/her once in a blue moon instead of once every moment. No one can tell you when you'll feel whole again. And I'm deeply sorry for that.
Now, before you start leaving demonic comments about how depressing I am and how I'm not helping, here's the good part; what I believe with my whole heart:
You. Will. Heal.
I won't insult you by trying to tell you how to "fix" what's broken and I'd flip the bird to anyone who thinks they could.
But I will tell you a few things I did that made my life just a little more bearable. This is the conversation that I had with myself and continue to have everytime I get a love puncture:
-I gave myself bad days...but never three in a row. Sometimes you need a pity party. Sometimes you need to eat an entire cheesecake and watch Gilmore Girls from start to finish. And that's ok. You are allowed to not take a shower, stay in your snoopy pajamas and sing and cry to the Titanic soundtrack. You can do these things. BUT you CANNOT judge yourself or punish yourself afterwards. You made the choice. You embraced that. So own it. But do not dwell too long. I find that any more than three days and it becomes masturbatory. Then you are just wading in your own waah-waah's and preaching woe is me. You are better than that. You love yourself more than that. And if you don't at this moment, know that I do. Call me. I am excellent at distraction and doing or saying stupid shit that will give you a five minute break from yourself. Which brings me to...
-I kept only healthy people around and removed everyone else. Keep only those that listen and love. The ones that are patient and can gauge whether you need to be listened to for the 750th time or when you are just being masochistic and need to motivate yourself. Which brings me to...
-I stayed away from (most) temptation that wouldn't normally be there had I been emotionally sound. Anyone or anything you try to make a substitute will NOT be enough. Other man-cubs will not fill the void. Repeated drunken nights of debauchery will only make you fat and hate yourself. Stay away from texting, sexting, social media stalking, or saying the words "I miss you" or "maybe someday" to your ex. This is harsh but...if they wanted you, nothing would stop them from being with you. "Someday" would be today. And f*$k. You are worth fighting for. If, for whatever reason (often it is his/her own self standing in their own way) they walk away that is their deficiency and their problem. They may say they still love you, but what you need to translate in your head is them saying "I want YOU to still love ME". Even if that might not be true, you need to hear it. Because "maybes" and "somedays" will halt all healing. You will wait. Forever. and they will never be ready. They will find other people to distract them from reaching their potential but you CANNOT stunt your own. So stay away from their photos and messages. If you worry that they wont miss you...don't. THEY WILL MISS YOU. I guarantee it. You are unforgettable. You are special. I know this because you are my friend. They will always look better on facebook and instagram than they look in real life. Hell, I constantly make my life look like I'm the queen of Sheba. It's great marketing. But they are never as pristine as they look. And all you will do is make up stories in your head about some semi-pretty feline woman standing next to them at a premiere and you will make it ten times more awful than it is. Do not do that to yourself.
-Run. like physically. Not only is the endorphin release nice, but it helps you sleep better. The right music blasting in your ears and the harder you run takes a little of the edge off.
- Allow all feelings. Even the hurtful and shameful ones. Miss the person you broke up with. If you let the feelings happen and let them stretch to every part of your body, you can let them go. I held on so tight to mine and shied away from others, and the result was that I'd have random and uncontrollable emotional outbursts that even shocked the shit out of me. You could be in a grocery store weeping over York peppermint patties and potted plants if you aren't too careful. ...yep. dont ask. But seriously, them feels will come out whether you like it or not. Repression leads to the "feels" leaking out all over the place when you really need them not to.
-Date your own damn self. Treat yourself really well. Be kind to yourself. Blame or self flagellation will get you nowhere but in a deeper ditch. Learning to be alone again is hard enough when you AREN'T calling yourself names. Besides, those shoes you've wanted for months will help adorn you in war paint and make your step just a little more powerful. Power is your friend.
- And finally....Pray. I know, I know. You are rolling your eyes and saying "here she goes getting all jesus-centric on me" but this is truth and fact. When all your friends have tired of listening, when your family thinks you should be over this by now, when you are up at three am feeling helpless and lost...pray. He is the one who never stops listening, never leaves, and is that solid ground that you so desperately are searching for again.
Someday someone is going to CHOOSE you. Because that's what real relationships are; a choice. Love may hit you like a ton of bricks or like a slow warmth of a sunrise but the staying power, commitment, trust, and loyalty...that is a choice. One we make daily. A friend once wrote me about a mother telling her daughter's fiance, "From the moment you put that ring on her finger, there is no one better, brighter, more talented, more beautiful, more caring, more exemplary, more anything than her, because let me tell you, if you look for it, you will find it! And she will find better than you! But the fact that you are committed to each other means that there is no one better, you will help each other become better, you will make each other more than all the other things you see that you might think you want when things get hard. She is your queen! She is your supermodel! She is your everything! And you are hers!"
So, dear friend, I wish that for you. When all the blood, sweat, and tears of this heart break becomes an echo, I pray for that. For you and me both.
Until then...you know my number.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Dream a Little Dream...
An entire week back in NYC and I feel like I've been here forever. It is a place that changes all the time and yet once you've lived here, you can fall back into it in a moment. This includes bad habits. It is not easy to take care of yourself here. NYC has a tendency to magnify whatever it is you are. I think that is why so many of the people I have met have gone off their rocker at least once; they just weren't ready to look at what they had inside them.
Awareness is always the first step to advancement, but what do you do after that? I am now aware that this place is not my home. I know who I am. I like who I am. I know what I want but how do I get what I want? There is a constant nagging feeling of inadequacy that is magnified here. It is nearly impossible to look around and not see all that I am missing.
It works for some. My roommate now is one of my dearest friends. There is no one like her in the entire world. She fills herself up with light and hope and love and then sends it out into the world without a care as to whether or not it will be accepted or rejected. She says hello to drug dealers the same way she greets the upper east side riche. She will give you whatever it is you need but she manages to never be taken advantage of. She is the girl who has me water coloring and drinking champagne on a Sunday just because she happens to have a bottle of bubbly in the fridge. This is the kind of person that NYC can't touch. It magnifies her eccentricities and she rolls right along with it.
I am not of that ilk. And I don't mind. Yes, I often wish I could be that free with my heart but I'm afraid I have to work a little harder to obtain that light. But sometimes I get there.
I gave myself the month of March and May to be with my parents. I was comforted and well looked after. I perhaps gave myself too much isolation as it was very difficult this week to be back around people. I find I do well on my own with only my parents to talk to. I like being loved unconditionally because I trust them. I do not feel this often here.
And yet, NYC is a place I will always be fond of. It is a place where my hopes and dreams began. It is a place of possibilities and disappointments but above all it is a place to feel something. Apathy is the death to life. To feel nothing is to avoid living. My hermetic tendencies makes me long to live my life in solitude where no one can hurt me, embarrass or humiliate me. But NYC draws me into life. You have no choice. You either jump on the train or get run over. Or move out. I am doing my best to ride the train until I move out. And then I hope to find an adventure that suits me better.
While home in WA I did a lot of hiding, but I did a lot of healing too. For once I disregarded that voice screeching in my ear that said "BE SOMEONE! DO SOMETHING! MAKE A MARK! BE WORTHY!" and instead listened to that quiet voice that softly spoke of dreams that I was too embarrassed or sensitive to embrace: the ones that would break my heart if I voiced them and they didn't come true. They surprised me in their simplicity and made me feel helpless in that I had very little control over them. It is then that I have come closer to God.
Now, now. Don't get in a huff in thinking that I'm about to get all Jesus-centric on you. All I'll say is this, I have never felt more helpless in my life but in all the times when I lost control, I have always come through by no means of my own. I am watched over and have no reason to be embarrassed by my dreams because they are valid and if they are for me, God will provide. I am enough of whatever I am and what is mine will come.
So be brave in voicing your dreams. Don't be ashamed by them. They are your heart's whisper of happiness. You've a right to be happy.
Here is one of mine:
A little house by the sea sits happily on its hill. The wrap around porch provides a view of sunsets and summer scenes. French doors on the second floor open to a master bedroom with a king size bed and built in bookcases all filled with old literature that smell like home. Squeegie, the wee little bulldog trips over his feet as he scrambles to greet you good morning. You lightly pad barefoot down the stairs as to not wake the children and greet me in the kitchen with a warm kiss and a smile. I made coffee and have already finished the arts section of the NY Times. I open the sliding glass door to let in the salty air and smell of the sea and we take a moment holding hands to look out at the waves and be grateful for how lucky we are. We know where it came from and who it is for.
Later we will finish the laundry and get the kids off to school. I will pick up the littlest from ballet after my charity event and drop her off at Grandma's before I go to the theatre for my call. You will pick up the boy who has your smile and sign him up for soccer after work. We juggle our lives. We fight. We make up. We make it work. We laugh a lot.
We have a trip booked for Prague via London this Autumn. I can't wait. The kids are staying with my parents and we've worked hard to earn this time alone. We'll treat them to Disneyland next year now that they'll be old enough to remember it.
We keep our personal hobbies but always make time for each other. I horse back ride, fence, and do archery when I can and the kids join me occasionally on the weekends.
But on Sunday evenings, after they have all gone to bed, that is when the time is mine. I sit in my office and write. Whatever comes to mind hits the page and there is a calmness in my spirit. A contentment not to be misconstrued with complacency. I am challenged in my life but I am not afraid because You are with me. And I am loved.
Jeremiah 29:11
"For I know the plans I have for you," declare the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
Awareness is always the first step to advancement, but what do you do after that? I am now aware that this place is not my home. I know who I am. I like who I am. I know what I want but how do I get what I want? There is a constant nagging feeling of inadequacy that is magnified here. It is nearly impossible to look around and not see all that I am missing.
It works for some. My roommate now is one of my dearest friends. There is no one like her in the entire world. She fills herself up with light and hope and love and then sends it out into the world without a care as to whether or not it will be accepted or rejected. She says hello to drug dealers the same way she greets the upper east side riche. She will give you whatever it is you need but she manages to never be taken advantage of. She is the girl who has me water coloring and drinking champagne on a Sunday just because she happens to have a bottle of bubbly in the fridge. This is the kind of person that NYC can't touch. It magnifies her eccentricities and she rolls right along with it.
I am not of that ilk. And I don't mind. Yes, I often wish I could be that free with my heart but I'm afraid I have to work a little harder to obtain that light. But sometimes I get there.
I gave myself the month of March and May to be with my parents. I was comforted and well looked after. I perhaps gave myself too much isolation as it was very difficult this week to be back around people. I find I do well on my own with only my parents to talk to. I like being loved unconditionally because I trust them. I do not feel this often here.
And yet, NYC is a place I will always be fond of. It is a place where my hopes and dreams began. It is a place of possibilities and disappointments but above all it is a place to feel something. Apathy is the death to life. To feel nothing is to avoid living. My hermetic tendencies makes me long to live my life in solitude where no one can hurt me, embarrass or humiliate me. But NYC draws me into life. You have no choice. You either jump on the train or get run over. Or move out. I am doing my best to ride the train until I move out. And then I hope to find an adventure that suits me better.
While home in WA I did a lot of hiding, but I did a lot of healing too. For once I disregarded that voice screeching in my ear that said "BE SOMEONE! DO SOMETHING! MAKE A MARK! BE WORTHY!" and instead listened to that quiet voice that softly spoke of dreams that I was too embarrassed or sensitive to embrace: the ones that would break my heart if I voiced them and they didn't come true. They surprised me in their simplicity and made me feel helpless in that I had very little control over them. It is then that I have come closer to God.
Now, now. Don't get in a huff in thinking that I'm about to get all Jesus-centric on you. All I'll say is this, I have never felt more helpless in my life but in all the times when I lost control, I have always come through by no means of my own. I am watched over and have no reason to be embarrassed by my dreams because they are valid and if they are for me, God will provide. I am enough of whatever I am and what is mine will come.
So be brave in voicing your dreams. Don't be ashamed by them. They are your heart's whisper of happiness. You've a right to be happy.
Here is one of mine:
A little house by the sea sits happily on its hill. The wrap around porch provides a view of sunsets and summer scenes. French doors on the second floor open to a master bedroom with a king size bed and built in bookcases all filled with old literature that smell like home. Squeegie, the wee little bulldog trips over his feet as he scrambles to greet you good morning. You lightly pad barefoot down the stairs as to not wake the children and greet me in the kitchen with a warm kiss and a smile. I made coffee and have already finished the arts section of the NY Times. I open the sliding glass door to let in the salty air and smell of the sea and we take a moment holding hands to look out at the waves and be grateful for how lucky we are. We know where it came from and who it is for.
Later we will finish the laundry and get the kids off to school. I will pick up the littlest from ballet after my charity event and drop her off at Grandma's before I go to the theatre for my call. You will pick up the boy who has your smile and sign him up for soccer after work. We juggle our lives. We fight. We make up. We make it work. We laugh a lot.
We have a trip booked for Prague via London this Autumn. I can't wait. The kids are staying with my parents and we've worked hard to earn this time alone. We'll treat them to Disneyland next year now that they'll be old enough to remember it.
We keep our personal hobbies but always make time for each other. I horse back ride, fence, and do archery when I can and the kids join me occasionally on the weekends.
But on Sunday evenings, after they have all gone to bed, that is when the time is mine. I sit in my office and write. Whatever comes to mind hits the page and there is a calmness in my spirit. A contentment not to be misconstrued with complacency. I am challenged in my life but I am not afraid because You are with me. And I am loved.
Jeremiah 29:11
"For I know the plans I have for you," declare the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Things I Know
Things I Know....
You don't push for opportunities. You prepare for them.
Omission may not be a lie, but it's a form of disrespect.
Don't give excuses, give solutions.
Trying is lying.
Silence is a cruelty bestowed by people who are cowardly or vengeful.
In every conversation you must not speak unless you ask yourself three things:
1. is it kind?
2. is it constructive?
3. is it true?
If he wants you, he goes after you.
Giving closure to someone may hurt them in the short run but it is the kindest act in the end.
Two lovely people can love each other and still not be lovely together.
You can be with someone you don't love. ...but you shouldn't.
"Good enough" is insulting in any arena.
Unconditional love is letting go of what was and what could have been. It is accepting what is.
I don't need someone to validate my worth...but I still like getting flowers and being told I'm beautiful.
There's nothing wrong with wanting to be taken care of.
Integrity is a rare and undervalued attribute. But all my closest friends have it.
Family is not just blood.
No one has it "together."
No artist is ever satisfied. It will never be "enough."
If they truly mattered, the ache never truly goes away. It doesn't mean you can't move on.
Half ass love is a consolation prize nobody wants. It's like saying "at least you don't have cancer" to a guy with leprosy...it still sucks.
Sure. You could've. You should've. You would've. But you DIDN'T. Bottom line.
When you've reached breaking point, you can keep going for miles.
Life has no singular peak. And after a peak comes a valley.
I'd rather be poor with a soul than rich without one.
There is no such thing as "the one." But there are a tiny handful of rare birds that connect with you beyond all sanity and explanation. These are the few that SEE you. They recognize you from a past life. And there's no amount of logical thinking that will ever make you love them less. Even if you don't choose each other in the end, be happy that you know that the human heart has the capacity to love like that. And that you were lucky enough to feel it.
Just. Keep. Swimming.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Shredding the Past and Lighten the Load.
I've been given one of the greatest gifts I've ever received: a safe haven to fall to pieces. I came home to WA to visit my parents for a month in the hope to help them out. I wanted to encourage my mother in her pursuit to be healthier and to help around the house. I wanted to dedicate my time to them instead of myself. And while I have done all those things, I think I got a hell of a lot more out of it than they did.
It is a luxury that I do not take lightly; to be my age and be able to escape my life and be completely taken care of. I hadn't understood how pear shaped my world had become until I came home. I immediately got sick as well as threw out my back and stayed on the couch for three weeks recuperating. It was as though my body had finally thrown up its middle finger in rebellion for all the stress I had put it through in the past decade. That's exactly how long it had been since I had stopped my life for longer than a New York minute.
Mentally, I wasn't doing that much better. Never leave me alone with me and give me very few things to do. Oh, I helped around the house. But while I polished silver, dusted, organized, baked, and shredded documents, I also had plenty of time to think. As many of you know, I am a champion over thinker.
I went through all my childhood belongings and paperwork in order to downsize. I suddenly realized how much of the past I had been hanging on to. As I began to shred old tax forms and medical bills, I found memories that I had blocked for years: disappointments, "almosts," "onedays," and innocent hopes. I found my SAT scores which I promptly shredded with bitter glee. The first evidence that I wasn't as smart as I had always thought I was. I found my first and only speeding ticket that I got because I was rushing home to tell my mom that I got my first lead role in a musical. I found over 50 certificates from all my extracurricular activities that I forced myself to join because that's what people said you needed to get into an Ivy League school. I found old love letters, postcards, and a shoe box of heart break that I had hidden even from myself.
You see, I collect hard copies of memories so I can delete them from my mind. I wipe the desktop of my brain so I don't roll around like a dinged up used car that has its battle scars on display for everyone to see. I remember very little from my Undergrad at Western because I spent most of it depressed and in therapy but I found movie ticket stubs that reminded me of how unhappy I was. I remember very little from high school because I spent most of it trying desperately to get out from under my "misery chick" persona and become "something." And yet there was old programs from choir performances and school dances.
As I sifted through the hard copies of my memories, I noticed that most made me sad. They reminded me of high expectations and missed opportunities, of moments when I was good but not good enough. It reminded me of being the chubby little girl who came in second place, second chair, or one point short of an A. Always one step behind exceptional.
I know I'm exceedingly hard on myself. I know one of my biggest fears is that I am mediocre and what I do does not matter. I know my pride makes me cringe at even admitting it to myself, let alone putting it in writing. And those are just things I will continue to work on. But while I sat there choosing which memory to shred and which to refile, I also noticed another thing: I am awesome and relentless in the area of hope. I hope to find what I can excel at, I hope to help people, I hope to stay honest and expressive. And anything from the past that prevents me from doing those things are unnecessary and disposable.
So I shredded the hard copies of things that hinder me from that progress. Some memories are echoes of old insecurities that have long been extinguished yet still tug on your heart strings. Some are reminders of relationships that were important and right at the time but are no longer relevant. Those are not useful and therefore into the shredder they go.
I don't believe in trashing all unhappiness though. I kept some of the things that hurt. After all, we learn from our past but we can't let it cage us. But I only kept those that fueled the burn in my chest, the ones that bring out the fight in me. I have nothing against ferocity; it often brings the most progress.
And then I kept the reminders of my achievements and made room in the shoe box for new memories. Second place is still a success. Good is still good, and room for improvement encourages the fight.
I'm not saying you should shred your past and pretend like it never happened. It did. You are who you are because of it. But there's nothing wrong with lightening the load. All that old stuff is like grimy film on your windshield. It makes it harder to see where you are going and what you really want. I feel like I just Windexed the shit out of my windshield. No more dinged up used car either, I'm driving a new Audi.
I'm back to the City this Saturday and ready to put the pedal to the metal. Feel free to come along for the ride. :)
It is a luxury that I do not take lightly; to be my age and be able to escape my life and be completely taken care of. I hadn't understood how pear shaped my world had become until I came home. I immediately got sick as well as threw out my back and stayed on the couch for three weeks recuperating. It was as though my body had finally thrown up its middle finger in rebellion for all the stress I had put it through in the past decade. That's exactly how long it had been since I had stopped my life for longer than a New York minute.
Mentally, I wasn't doing that much better. Never leave me alone with me and give me very few things to do. Oh, I helped around the house. But while I polished silver, dusted, organized, baked, and shredded documents, I also had plenty of time to think. As many of you know, I am a champion over thinker.
I went through all my childhood belongings and paperwork in order to downsize. I suddenly realized how much of the past I had been hanging on to. As I began to shred old tax forms and medical bills, I found memories that I had blocked for years: disappointments, "almosts," "onedays," and innocent hopes. I found my SAT scores which I promptly shredded with bitter glee. The first evidence that I wasn't as smart as I had always thought I was. I found my first and only speeding ticket that I got because I was rushing home to tell my mom that I got my first lead role in a musical. I found over 50 certificates from all my extracurricular activities that I forced myself to join because that's what people said you needed to get into an Ivy League school. I found old love letters, postcards, and a shoe box of heart break that I had hidden even from myself.
You see, I collect hard copies of memories so I can delete them from my mind. I wipe the desktop of my brain so I don't roll around like a dinged up used car that has its battle scars on display for everyone to see. I remember very little from my Undergrad at Western because I spent most of it depressed and in therapy but I found movie ticket stubs that reminded me of how unhappy I was. I remember very little from high school because I spent most of it trying desperately to get out from under my "misery chick" persona and become "something." And yet there was old programs from choir performances and school dances.
As I sifted through the hard copies of my memories, I noticed that most made me sad. They reminded me of high expectations and missed opportunities, of moments when I was good but not good enough. It reminded me of being the chubby little girl who came in second place, second chair, or one point short of an A. Always one step behind exceptional.
I know I'm exceedingly hard on myself. I know one of my biggest fears is that I am mediocre and what I do does not matter. I know my pride makes me cringe at even admitting it to myself, let alone putting it in writing. And those are just things I will continue to work on. But while I sat there choosing which memory to shred and which to refile, I also noticed another thing: I am awesome and relentless in the area of hope. I hope to find what I can excel at, I hope to help people, I hope to stay honest and expressive. And anything from the past that prevents me from doing those things are unnecessary and disposable.
So I shredded the hard copies of things that hinder me from that progress. Some memories are echoes of old insecurities that have long been extinguished yet still tug on your heart strings. Some are reminders of relationships that were important and right at the time but are no longer relevant. Those are not useful and therefore into the shredder they go.
I don't believe in trashing all unhappiness though. I kept some of the things that hurt. After all, we learn from our past but we can't let it cage us. But I only kept those that fueled the burn in my chest, the ones that bring out the fight in me. I have nothing against ferocity; it often brings the most progress.
And then I kept the reminders of my achievements and made room in the shoe box for new memories. Second place is still a success. Good is still good, and room for improvement encourages the fight.
I'm not saying you should shred your past and pretend like it never happened. It did. You are who you are because of it. But there's nothing wrong with lightening the load. All that old stuff is like grimy film on your windshield. It makes it harder to see where you are going and what you really want. I feel like I just Windexed the shit out of my windshield. No more dinged up used car either, I'm driving a new Audi.
I'm back to the City this Saturday and ready to put the pedal to the metal. Feel free to come along for the ride. :)
Friday, February 13, 2015
I'm Too Young to be This Old.
I don't know about you but this winter?...the struggle is real.
It is that time of year that makes you want to hibernate and wrap yourself in a security blanket of solitude so the big bad world doesn't freeze your heart. I mean, what kind of joke is it that you follow the hype of the holidays with freezing temperatures, slow audition seasons, taxes, AND a Seahawks Super Bowl loss? And don't even get me started on February. Now there's a month that should never happen. Mercury's in Retrograde, I get the flu, Valentine's Day, etc. I have yet to have a February that didn't completely blow chunks. I sort of just squeeze my eyes shut like when I'm watching a horror film and pray for it to be over.
After coming off of the year of "Too Much," I have had an extra hard time finding motivation to do, well, anything. I look back at 2014 and feel both proud and disappointed at what I had accomplished. I did a Shakespeare festival, finished writing a short film, ran a 1/2 marathon, had five other jobs, and produced 13 shows. On paper that feels pretty good. Then why do I feel so incredibly dissatisfied?
And then I realized....I don't have a life.
I don't just "hang out." I don't date often. I don't have a hobby that is unrelated to my career. I schedule in sleep. This was well and good for my 20s when I thought I had to BE somebody. But now...
My priorities are shifting in a way I never expected. Suddenly my family is not just important, they are EVERYTHING. And I can't wait to be nearer to them. I realize that most of the friends that I can call my chosen family are not where I live. They are scattered all around the world and I spend most of my time missing them and corresponding through xmas cards and silly Youtube videos. I don't want that. My body is slowing down, my patience growing thin, and I find that I no longer have tolerance for other peoples' judgment.
Life is a balance. One that I've never managed well. I either fill it too full or...nope. That's it. I fill it with work. I fill it so full that I don't have to notice how much I'm missing my family or friends. I fill it so I don't realize what I don't have or what I haven't achieved. I fill it so I don't have to think about past regrets or present disappointments. I fill it so I don't feel lonely.
I always thought that deep down the universe followed a rule: If you work hard, you will succeed.
I would take that to the extreme. Last year there were weeks when I put in 15 hour days and then ran 5 miles. I would fund raise in the morning, rehearse Shakespeare in the afternoon, and go to the gym at night. And you know what that gets you? Tired. No matter how hard I worked, I never got to the level of success that I wanted. It was never enough. And I was tired. Not just my body. My spirit. And the only thing that really fills you back up that way...is love. For yourself, from yourself and the people who see you. Those people who REALLY see you and love you.
So after the holidays I did something I hadn't done in years: I sat still. I did nothing. I pushed for nothing, choking down the panic of what I might be missing, and I waited. I said to myself; Self, you keep taking jobs you don't want, working with people you can't stand because you think it'll help you Down the Road. But there is no Down the Road. The road is now. You don't want to be this tired all the time for a road that never ends. You better start slowing down and learn to rest. And for God's sake you better start figuring out what you actually want instead of all the things you Don't want.
So. Here's an exercise for y'all. I dare you. Write down the things you really want that have nothing to do with career. I know, it's daunting. Don't throw a hip out or anything. Keep it simple. What do you want?
I want to travel. New Orleans, Prague, Paris, London.
I want a tan.
I want a family and a home. ***
I want an English Bulldog named Squeegie and a Labrador named Tomorrow.
I want to learn to ride a horse.
I want to fence.
I want to be healthy: mind, body, spirit.
I want to finish reading Comte de Monte Cristo in French. And Picture of Dorian Gray in English (I have been trying for four years.)
I want to publish a book.
I want to be debt free.
I want to help people.
I want to pray more.
There. That wasn't so hard was it? So this year instead of prodding, attacking, pushing, maneuvering, and running, I am going to work on this list. I am going to work on forgiving, accepting, asking, praying, and living a life outside of career.
Because I'm too young to be this old.
It is that time of year that makes you want to hibernate and wrap yourself in a security blanket of solitude so the big bad world doesn't freeze your heart. I mean, what kind of joke is it that you follow the hype of the holidays with freezing temperatures, slow audition seasons, taxes, AND a Seahawks Super Bowl loss? And don't even get me started on February. Now there's a month that should never happen. Mercury's in Retrograde, I get the flu, Valentine's Day, etc. I have yet to have a February that didn't completely blow chunks. I sort of just squeeze my eyes shut like when I'm watching a horror film and pray for it to be over.
After coming off of the year of "Too Much," I have had an extra hard time finding motivation to do, well, anything. I look back at 2014 and feel both proud and disappointed at what I had accomplished. I did a Shakespeare festival, finished writing a short film, ran a 1/2 marathon, had five other jobs, and produced 13 shows. On paper that feels pretty good. Then why do I feel so incredibly dissatisfied?
And then I realized....I don't have a life.
I don't just "hang out." I don't date often. I don't have a hobby that is unrelated to my career. I schedule in sleep. This was well and good for my 20s when I thought I had to BE somebody. But now...
My priorities are shifting in a way I never expected. Suddenly my family is not just important, they are EVERYTHING. And I can't wait to be nearer to them. I realize that most of the friends that I can call my chosen family are not where I live. They are scattered all around the world and I spend most of my time missing them and corresponding through xmas cards and silly Youtube videos. I don't want that. My body is slowing down, my patience growing thin, and I find that I no longer have tolerance for other peoples' judgment.
Life is a balance. One that I've never managed well. I either fill it too full or...nope. That's it. I fill it with work. I fill it so full that I don't have to notice how much I'm missing my family or friends. I fill it so I don't realize what I don't have or what I haven't achieved. I fill it so I don't have to think about past regrets or present disappointments. I fill it so I don't feel lonely.
I always thought that deep down the universe followed a rule: If you work hard, you will succeed.
I would take that to the extreme. Last year there were weeks when I put in 15 hour days and then ran 5 miles. I would fund raise in the morning, rehearse Shakespeare in the afternoon, and go to the gym at night. And you know what that gets you? Tired. No matter how hard I worked, I never got to the level of success that I wanted. It was never enough. And I was tired. Not just my body. My spirit. And the only thing that really fills you back up that way...is love. For yourself, from yourself and the people who see you. Those people who REALLY see you and love you.
So after the holidays I did something I hadn't done in years: I sat still. I did nothing. I pushed for nothing, choking down the panic of what I might be missing, and I waited. I said to myself; Self, you keep taking jobs you don't want, working with people you can't stand because you think it'll help you Down the Road. But there is no Down the Road. The road is now. You don't want to be this tired all the time for a road that never ends. You better start slowing down and learn to rest. And for God's sake you better start figuring out what you actually want instead of all the things you Don't want.
So. Here's an exercise for y'all. I dare you. Write down the things you really want that have nothing to do with career. I know, it's daunting. Don't throw a hip out or anything. Keep it simple. What do you want?
I want to travel. New Orleans, Prague, Paris, London.
I want a tan.
I want a family and a home. ***
I want an English Bulldog named Squeegie and a Labrador named Tomorrow.
I want to learn to ride a horse.
I want to fence.
I want to be healthy: mind, body, spirit.
I want to finish reading Comte de Monte Cristo in French. And Picture of Dorian Gray in English (I have been trying for four years.)
I want to publish a book.
I want to be debt free.
I want to help people.
I want to pray more.
There. That wasn't so hard was it? So this year instead of prodding, attacking, pushing, maneuvering, and running, I am going to work on this list. I am going to work on forgiving, accepting, asking, praying, and living a life outside of career.
Because I'm too young to be this old.
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