Hush little baby, don't say a word.

There’s something really amazing about the way your mind will unfold itself for you, when you give yourself stillness. Silence.

It’s the secret little gift that you give yourself, most of the time by accident and hardly ever when you “need it” to unfold.

Wrapped in an afghan on my front porch, I noticed the two rose bushes lining our fence and remembered that my Grandma Bernice, had rose bushes just like these in front of her house. Where I spent endless summers running pantless through the sprinklers, throwing pizelle “frisbees” at whomever passed by, a handful from the beginning. I remember using my first bit of youthful restraint not to pick the blooming flowers, despite their beauty and wanting to keep them as MY OWN. A lesson that as a grown woman, I would find hard to digest; with people, places and opportunities...whatever was forbidden and beautiful, I would want. The lesson in restraint is a hard one...harder for some than others. Harder when you see the potential, what those roses would look like on your bedside table, what that job would feel like in your schedule...what the man would snuggle like in your morning hair.

In an act of overcoming writer's block, I took a drag of my Turkish Camel Blues, left behind by one of our rotating bevy of guests- as houses tend to do, we’ve started accruing visitors of all degrees in friendship....home makes people feel welcome. No matter the closeness. A truth I’ve come to embrace and know that it’s hard for people to ask for the comfort of home, because articulating “home,” as a needed emotion makes a grownup feel like a kid again- a vulnerability that we spend our entire young adulthood attempting to grow-out of. 
But, In that stillness, with the grey sky overhead I remembered versions of “home” by taste and scent; that my ex smoked these cigarettes and that every time I joined him with our morning cup of coffee, I felt this kind of gray. A grey, I remember by accidentally unlocking that memory bank- we store and think no longer affects us. A gray that thankfully was now only a memory, one that I’m now detached from and simply observing. I also remembered that my Grandpa used to smoke these cigarettes. I guess I didn’t know as a kid that he was even a smoker, but this scent made me remember him- living in his condo, the one with the ceramic pots on the steps and the fresh biscuits every morning. 

A place I revered as a palace... the place where I learned to love musicals, learned to paint, a place that fostered my insatiable curiosity and desire to see the world and have it all. Where petrified Piranha’s sat on the mantel, exotic saltwater fish swam in the tanks, beaded dolls from Panama, carvings from Africa scattered around the house....artifacts and relics as toys- a nudge from the God’s to my 6 year old self that there was more to see. Perhaps this place was where I believed that the world as a whole was actually mine.….Another lesson that, through growth and age I’d learn was an attachment that only caused suffering in the long run.

But still, with that taste and that scent... I believe again, 26- single, dreaming... that the world IS IN FACT, mine. In whatever capacity I perceive it to be.

It’s easy to feel off center, or like we don’t know the answers; to our healing, to our desires, to our fate...when there’s so much noise.  Or in yoga, “chitta vritti” -mind chatter. Even the intent to “observe” can be noisy, when you’re trying to observe to mask the layers of what’s going on internally.

There’s no noise here today, no time limit to force upon ourselves, just this stillness. There’s a boy who picked a flower and was taking the time to smell it while he walked to his car, a hummingbird that lives next door, a grown man on a pink Vespa, a broken hearted girl...they all existed in a 10 minutes time frame...all I had to do was look around. Get out of my own head and my own drama. My own self doubt and obsession.

It’s too easy to think that our own story is the most profound and confusing one and to miss the synchronicities of the Universe self-correcting and revealing itself to us as being “all good.” When things aren’t in upheaval it can feel as if you’re just coasting, but that isn’t the truth at all...the truth is much more delicate, takes a keen eye...a patient spirit...and a tranquil detachment from what we’ve decided is the-only-possible-plan-we-could-want. 

Hush, hush little babies... be mindful of the things that cloud your mind, or pull you away from hearing the truth... be careful not to overindulge in the perception of others being "better," or having something you want... see your own life, for just a quick moment from the lens of someone else- or from your own lens with a shifted perception.....things look pretty peachy. Hush, hush.

What can you OBSERVE today?

This is one is titled The One That Took All The Courage to Write (6 months ago)

Listen.

I love you.

No, I don’t think you really understand. I think you have this idea that I’m fickle, that I’m capricious and unpredictable. That the way I would love you would expire, or that it was founded upon the basis of being lonely or needing to fill a void. What you don’t understand is that the way that I love you is much deeper than that. It’s the kind that makes me feel like sunshine is beaming from every pore of my face...the glow kind. The kind that makes me check my teeth in the mirror twenty times, that makes my palms sweat, makes me touch up my mascara when you aren’t looking, stare at your name in my phone like if I just continue to stare at it maybe you’ll feel it and magically call.

You make me smile for zero reasons at ALL. Like, I look in your general fucking direction and I’m smiling. What is that? I’m smiling thinking about you right now.

I have fickle “like,” with people. Several of them. I have fickle like with people, who I go on dates with and share evenings with, who I entertain myself with to bide the time. If I didn’t, my impatience would certainly make me implode. I wouldn’t leave room for you to move towards me. So no, this isn’t the same.

The thing is, there’s an unspoken sort of energy that just works with us, if you would let it.

I know that I’m a Wild Card for you. The idea of “adventure,” literally makes you dig your heels even deeper into the Earth. You, to me, are like the earth- grounding and steady....I need Earth. To dig my hands into it and bloom from there, even wild flowers need soil.

You don’t want to recognize it yet, but you need AIR. You need levity... to get out of your head, your apartment, your stubbornness and your habits. No, not all the time... I want you to keep these things about you, I like that there’s a little push and a little pull. I’m aware that you’re afraid that I would knock off your equilibrium, but I promise I will know when to give you space. When to nurture and retreat. When to leave you rooted. I also promise to know when is the right time to knock you off your center.... because though you don’t admit it, you like the adventures when you agree to them.

I’ll do my best to let you think it was your idea.

The way that I love you isn’t what you think.... I didn’t wake up and decide you were a good rebound. In fact, you’re the complete opposite, if I were rebounding I would find one less complicated and more available. One who actually wanted to love me back.

See, that’s the problem with this whole loving you thing, you haven’t decided, willed, allowed...acknowledged, or perhaps... just don’t love me back. Everyone else seems to see it differently, they know it’s there, people can feel energy. People speculate.
But then you say, “No. It’s a no.” So.... then I feel like an insane, delusional rejected person and, did I mention insane, certified schizophrenic? Because listen, I don’t fully believe you.

Which I know sounds pathetic. Like this is a classic, “He’s Just Not That Into You,” move- but it isn’t. I’m not delusional, (I don’t think.) Your face looks like sunbeams when you’re with me too.... you can’t see your face, but I can. I know what a face looks like when it’s looking at someone's face who they’ve thought about kissing.

There’s so many reasons why this would be perfect... but it’ll never go there. You’ve already found every reason why it won’t. But don’t you see that this sort of “thing,” we have going on doesn’t just happen for everyone? You don’t just magically have the ability to communicate non-verbally the way that you and I can.... trust me, because the guy I’m in Fickle Like with right now can never read my subtle eye rolls, or smirks... that, “you look at me and you’re reading my mind,” straight face, the way you can. Fickle Like and I, we’ll never walk away from an afternoon with inside jokes.

Fickle Like and I, We don’t share subtle, awkward humor. We can laugh at Tosh.O, the obvious kind. The facilitated kind. We’ve got that part down. Just like everything else, Fickle Like needs easing, assistance.... a full pour of Shiraz, candles by the nightstand, obvious R&B, and obvious Pandora stations. The formula of ambiance. With you, I could do anything. Sit on your smoky couch with an apple juice, in silence and I would love you. Walk down an aisle at the grocery store, drive you to the airport, pick you up from that silly job with that silly hat that you had to wear and I would love you, because I do.

Do you believe me yet?

I want to love you for a long time, the kind that doesn’t run or over analyze how it could work. I want to learn how to be a good partner, the kind that isn’t jealous or fearful, selfish or immature. I want to love every single ripe, unfinished, incomplete thing about you...that you so eloquently said needs finishing before starting, I want to love all of it- because I already do.

Just like a woman.....

You’re not a little girl anymore.

I caught a glimpse of my my calves, the way the muscles sit high and long on my leg, the shadows that hours of yoga and wearing the highest heels have attributed to the shading and I thought, “that’s a woman’s leg.” A woman’s leg from the tips of my childishly glittered toes to the top of my thigh. You’re a woman...one who knows how to move and adjust, manicure and present, settle, satisfy and offer her body. You’re in your body.... finally. Who would've thought that day would come? If only I could hush that 18 year olds fretting mind, so lost inside herself.

In the ways that my heart is young and optimistic, accessible and open it has, as a Woman's does, acquired the necessary walls and carefully maintains the ones worth keeping. But in those walls, only a woman knows where the doors are and who is worth letting through. My gut, my instinct alerts like a woman.... it knows the difference between “right,” and “not right for me.” My heart, is no longer an empty room, with a "come one, come all" sign, waiting to be filled with someone else’s stories, likes and dislikes that I'd hastily claim as my own in an attempt to keep them. That heart vessel doesn't say "Unoccupied," waiting to be invaded, or pillaged like it had been before... It stays FULL and entertained while deliberately awaiting the arrival of one worth re-arranging "the things" for.

My mind thinks like a womans now.... fiercely wanting to protect and nurture, hold and advise those younger around me. Despite my own need for advising. But as a woman can, I admit where guidance is needed and welcome...so that I don’t become stubborn, or rusty.

I can too, admit the places where I’ve hardened. I can track the steps, straight to the source... in honor of my spirit, I’ve done the work layer, by layer. I know now the longer you go without acknowledging the wound the harder it gets to heal when you decide you’re ready.

All of a sudden, in a way I hadn’t craved before...I have this insatiable desire to make sure you’re fed. Physically, spiritually, mentally. I understand that it is our job to bring something to the table and offer it up, without any expectations at all. I want to stimulate your mind, nourish your body, and sustain your spirit...because I've learned how to do it for myself first.

I admit that I need to learn from my Mother, my Grandmother, your mother... matriarchs... the ways to make a home feel like a place to nest.... the secret ingredients.... the go-to meal.... the must-have medicine cabinet items... patience. Knowing how to gracefully walk away, or pick my battles. This is all a part of it.

Unlike a Girl, I know that things take time. That nothing comes to full bloom in a day. I’ve relinquished the need to have all the answers, or to make you see things my way.  Unlike a Girl, I know what it feels like to try and fit a square peg into a round hole, but now, rather than attempting it, I see the pieces for what they are and let them be.

Unlike a Girl, I don’t wish to be blonde, or shorter. I don’t wish for my hair to fall the way that hers does, or to have smaller ribs, bigger boobs, higher eyebrows... I don't compare relationships.... I know that no one has it “better,” we each just have it “differently.” Unlike a Girl, I’m comfortable with transparency, even if you aren’t. That my words are only of value if they are genuine and without pretense.... that the interaction, relationships, contracts that say, or feel otherwise aren’t “mine....” and that’s okay.  Unlike a Girl, as a Woman I don’t look to be anyone else.... and the “exemplary examples” that I hold ideal, as Mentors I humbly acknowledge will make mistakes. That the only true guide you have is YOU. As a Woman, I find that power terrifyingly exhilarating....unlike a Girl, I’m prepared to harness, feed, listen to my own True North.

The way a Mother subtly does, as a Woman I know when to save my advice, I’ve learned to identify closed ears and closed hearts. I've learned when to slow down, speed up, or just stop completely.

I’ve come to know the power of having a personal spiritual practice that is accessible to me, that is mine, a dialogue that is open before the time of desperation. In my private moments between that of monotony and doubt, I have a deep, deep faith and personal devotion, a commitment to that beautiful divine side... that’s just for me. As a Woman does, I commit to a daily practice, of surrender and awe.

A Woman learns the things that are hers to keep. Her precious moments. The “alone” ones,
the kind of alone that drives home at night and yearns for only the shape of their own body, soft and familiar in the forms that it takes. Wrapping itself around a pillow, taking up the space... misconfigured, immodest, spilling over and dipping freely and comfortably. You must learn to crave that specific type of alone.

As a Woman I’ve learned the power of graceful restraint, coming to know when what you ache to say is already spelled out, a woman learns to trust subtle knowingness. She learns that words are the smallest part of the whole, as fun as they are to play with.... play can be spared.

A Woman knows that despite everything, she will be alright. She knows the well of resilience and strength that resonates through her whole being, even when she can’t bear it...she can do anything.

As a woman I trust my ability to love selflessly and selfishly in equal measure, inward and outward.

I may not always pay my parking tickets on time. I still wonder which paths my career will take me on....or who I’ll end up with. How the hell to organize my closet properly and if 4 Luna Bars & iced coffees in one day can be considered proper “meals,” when on the run (the answer is no.) I still need my Dad. I still want my Mom to like my outfits, my boyfriends, my hair color. The parts about being a Girl worth keeping are there....they’re playful and raw, completely, softly discernable. While ALL the years, the lessons, the introspection of a Woman exist, freely and proudly, I embody that which I've wanted to become..... and embrace that it's all still a process....

...Growing up isn’t too bad.

On Taking Breaks......

To break.....

the definition:
To exchange for smaller monetary units

To crack without separating into pieces.

To part or pierce the surface of

To find an opening or flaw in

I broke. Three months is a long time for me to stay so far removed from this. But I broke. I needed breaking. 
See, when you "exchange for smaller units" the smaller units get the attention that perhaps they needed, the neglected get nurtured. With less surface area to cover, it's hard to miss a blemish. Concentrated attention in spoonfuls. Saturated revolution. 

The empty bedside journal, cracks its spine and the pages become worn. Bits and pieces of truth come out often, in waves...so you start to make room for their sporadic arrival. Focused room. Prepared to keep these pieces of "ah ha," solely to yourself.  When we break, we honor our internal seasons, the ones that people don't teach us about. The seasons that aren't granted "holidays." We give our souls permission to regenerate and we give parts permission to die, so that new life, new patterns, new energy, can grow in their place. 

I'm in the final week of what has been a three month yoga journey- (I will be an official Heated Vinyasa teacher by the end of the week), a three month returning to my CENTER period- finding my voice again and using it, and a three month adventure of consciously focusing on experiencing radical joy, self examination, intentional energy-giving and utmost, humble gratitude. During those three months, I've left a job, started a new one, watered new relationships and let others fall away. I've rewired thought patterns, and refocused. 

"To crack without separating into pieces..." is when we allow the light to shine through. The cracks are there for you to see something that was locked up behind that wall that you were always curious about, but didn't have the key to find out for yourself. And then, something cracked. Enough room was made for you to peer into the other side. 

That veil lifts and you get a glimpse of what you've been visualizing for years and hadn't yet tangibly experienced. When you see through it, keep looking. Stay there. That crack wasn't a flaw, or an accident, that was a new visual barometer to guide your next steps. 

When you see what it is that you want, stop questioning whether it's yours to have or not. It is. If you know you need to make art, if see yourself on a stage, or in front of a classroom....that is yours. Trust that timing will do the rest. You don't need to fall apart, or go off course trying to find it without a compass or proper hiking shoes....you've got this. Stay there. 

You know what it feels like when you experience a "breakthrough," but it's never one singular BREAK. Breakthroughs are gradual shifts, tiny cracks..... a small "piercing of the surface." And they're ACTIVE. We're constantly given the option to break.... but we rarely commit to the "through," part. Because that means that we have to acknowledge the "break," and when we really, truly start noticing them we have no other option than to shift our actions....through and forward. 

Break often. Find the "flaw" and see through it. Take a break from the internal chatter that no longer serves you. Tell yourself it's okay to feel GOOD and be happy and not give an actual DAMN about what anyone thinks about how you did it, or why you're doing it, or what their idea of the "right way" is. Take a break from giving a damn. 

When we break, we have to find a way to make use of the TIME we spent on old habits. When we break, we begin something fresh. When we break, we spend more hours spooned in bed with your favorite book or your new favorite person, you take an evening to watch the moon affect the ocean tide and you don't worry about what time it is....or who you're "obligated" to meet. When you break, you cut-off the flow so when you finally unwind again you're flooded. Ahhhhh. 

Break for oranges and patios. Break for happy hours and beach houses. Break for sweaty mats and silent meditation. Break for new relationships and precarious territory, perfect for fancy footwork. Break for audible sighs and 3pm snuggles. Break for fresh eyes and eager ears. Break for the juiciness in anticipation and breathlessness. Break for a good sob and surrender. Break for daisies. Break because it is the most pure form of faith. Break, because taking yourself so seriously is overrated. Break for complete rebellion and barbaric barefoot dancing. Break to challenge your own ideals and exercise your beliefs. Break for what you can't get enough of and devour it. Break for what will expand your mind and have you clenching your heart, because it's all. soo. much. Break.

When you break the "big deal" thing, is less of a big deal and more a friendly neighbor. A trusty companion. 

Break. Break, because contrary to what "breaking" infers which is isolation, imperfection or delay- the truth is that breaking means movement and light, both of which are beautiful, sacred and profoundly gratifying. 

Back, but still breaking.

xx

YOUTH: You're probably fucking up, but don't worry about, you've got time.

There's something about the smell of the air at 10pm in Hollywood, when the sky doesn't give you the privilege of seeing the stars that makes you feel like you're eighteen again.

...tugging at your clothes wondering if you look pretty, if people will think you're funny, or if they're feigning interest... or if people can tell you've been eating peanut butter for dinner for like, a month straight, while piling into a car with a person you barely know, wondering if they're going to remember your name when you run into them at Gelson's in a week.

There's something about that smell. 10pm, right before summer comes full force, that reminds me of all those weird insecurities that you hope you've masked enough for functionality sake...now that you're 25 and all. You'll put this mask on autopilot. Chipping away at truths, layers trailing behind you, reminding you of what you're desperately trying to shed.

But here's the thing about youth. Right? YOUTH. Isn't it equally magic and horrendous at once?

The thing is this; sometimes, when you're 25, you'll end up cuddling with someone you shouldn't and you'll feel terrible the next morning and think, "when in the fucking, FUCK am I going to get it right?" then, you'll remember that sometimes, a warm bicep feels better than a pillow.

That sometimes, you'll isolate yourself and then you'll spread yourself thin. Sometimes, you'll be in the middle of the desert, with your arms in the sky, fingers splayed, tips touching the smoky dome of the Universe and you'll think, "Am I experiencing the actual best moment of my life right this second?" Then you'll fist your hands back up, the lights will turn off and you'll worry about your taxes. Or if you're eating enough greens.

Sometimes, you'll play Tetris with your plans and awkwardly dance atop the teeter totter like a lost puppy with a smile on their face while repeating, "I got this... I think? I got this... i think?" and like a charged game of Russian Roulette you'll hope you land on "GOT THIS SHIT." Then of course, you won't land there and you'll make yourself a quesadilla. And hopefully, play another game.

Sometimes, you'll have all the feelings and feel nothing at the exact same time and you'll think, "oh my god...is THIS the undiscovered dimension all humans throughout time have been feeling?" Then, you'll crawl into your bed all charged and "wise" and suddenly, you're on your phone debating ordering a pizza or calling your Mom, pretending that you have your shit together. Then you'll meditate, do some yoga, talk to God and feel "okay" again, until you wake up and have to relearn the epiphanies you had the night before and then, you'll feel bad for forgetting them. For not taking them seriously enough. For not making significant life-altering changes on your way to Starbucks, interspersed into your Daily Routine.

SOMETIMES, while you're mid-hangover, you'll be sitting alone at a café and the most beautiful family will be sitting in front of you and you'll be like, "THAT'S ALL I WANT." Then, you'll proceed to text that person who makes you feel like a Douchebag to see if they'll acknowledge your existence, by which the following steps occurs- Step 1. If so, they give you one word. You do a cartwheel. You project progress. Step 2. you'll try to hang out with them, which obviously won't happen... Step 3. You actually give up. A month later, you're back at the same café, staring creepily at a family coveting their life and thinking, "I'm lonely. No, I'm not, I'm awesome?... But still, I'm here creepily envying you? " thus, back to feeling all the things at once.

Sometimes, you'll collect all the wrong people and place them behind your fancy Windex-assaulted hutch, shiny glass and all and then at some unexpected point, you'll be forced to reevaluate their worth and realize you have to make a painful trade. You'll give up and then you'll take up. Then, you'll repeat it all again.

Sometimes, you'll have everything you want right in front of you, but you won't give it the time of day because you're too afraid to let go of the things that validate you just enough to survive, while counteracting your true desires at the same time. Because, obviously, it's too risky to flee. If you let go of one, what if nothing becomes of the other? Then you'll wonder why you're still hungry, clutching to the familiar.

Sometimes, you'll wake up. And each time, you hope you'll stay awake. Until you accidentally fall asleep again...

Sometimes you'll make a thousand excuses as to why you can't. Why you can't find love, why you can't pursue your dreams, why you can't find the time...then, while you're surrendered, empty and ready to be filled again you'll hear this strained voice tell you;

"Move out of your own way."

What they were really trying to say when they were telling you to "let go," was "...kindly unclench your tiny fists that are holding that "thing" that you so want to get rid of, move out of your own way."

It isn't that you're "too busy," or that you don't know what to do, it's that you've decided to know the answers before living through the answers, move your stubbornness aside. Then see the result. In fact, don't just move out of your own way... keep moving, in general. Move. Shift. Take steps.

Sometimes, you'll be like an elephant who just wants to plant a pretty daisy amidst the rose garden and proceeds to fuck the whole operation up.

What are you learning about YOUTH....what do you acknowledge to be true?

It's okay to ASK. For more PARMESAN. For more cuddles. For help. ASK, ASK. ASK.

I lifted my heart to the heavens and asked that it be filled.

Ah, isn't that such a vulnerable moment, the ASKING.

...The asking of anything, really; permission, grace, advice, guidance.... ten more minutes, unapologetically declaring the need for more pleasure, or some damn directions. Extra cheese. Real answers. Proof. A little more time. There's great confession is ASKING and when there's a confession, you also reveal a wound or a "heart-piece." A, "hey, I trust you enough to tell you what I need right now." Asking is RAW and when something is raw, it is tender and when something is tender, it is delicate...so when we are in the place of asking we're admitting that we ourselves are fragile and that no matter what emotional facade we may build up around us, we are not made to be emotionally, physically or spiritually bulletproof.

Almost two years ago I went through what is my deepest ache-the one that left the floor and Iintimately familiar. Yes, while seemingly trite it was my first, real, true love heartbreak. See, I'm acutely aware that a breakup isn't an ounce of the pain or heaviness that people struggle with in the larger scheme of life, however, the dark hours that followed for me were as a result of this experience. The point isn't that specific experience but the things that I carried from it as a result; you will not feel this depth of pain, to this capacity forever. Even when it feels like it now, the Gods above will grant you some respite before you crumble. And, the most important one was this;

It is our job to lift people up.

Caring, is not a "special personality trait" it is what we are here to do. If we aren't genuinely caring, unconditionally loving, connecting- holding and selflessly giving to those around us, what matters?

.... remember how supportive all of you were, when I was revealing my cringeworthy pain to you?

When I was heaving in a ball, clutching my heart and a pack of cigarettes, you were planning, scheming, sending prayers and notes. With no expectation, just to 'wave hello' that you were out there, thinking of me. I didn't realize the expansiveness of what it felt like to be HELD until I went through that. But, the thing I also didn't prepare for was; In order for me to heal, part of what I needed to do was reveal to those dear the parts of me that were still aching.

While, I see infinite magic, miracles and awe in this singular precious life that we're living, I recognize and acknowledge that there is true pain and heartbreak happening. That we're all surviving and navigating through our own suffering. We're experiencing loss of our loved ones, our visions, our self-control, our fortitude. Our minds. We're hurting. We each have different degrees of pain, on different timelines, wearing different outfits. But all of us have it. Which makes this whole COMPASSION thing, pretty essential.

Be there before someone needs to ask. Rush to their side. Assume they need tequila. Assume they need you to listen. Assume they need a bowl of spaghetti. Be still and silent. Expand your own heart and test your humanity by beving brave enough to truly comprehend what they must be feeling. When the words on the tip of your tongue are just answers for YOU, reevaluate them and give words made for who's in front of you. Take yourself out of the picture. Reserve your need to find a solution, or be right, or make a judgment and realize that by presently being with someone the answers you thought you had for them, actually work both ways and that there's something they're teaching you too. Make a little more space in your heart.

Pour one out for the homie. Dedicate a prayer, mindfully.

Send out a practice. A poem. A card that says, "...we'll find our 'happy.'" Send pears, or cabernet, bad chick flicks, or text messages full of emoticons.

Feed. Nurture. Nap with. Peel. DO THE HEAVY LIFTING. All for someone else.

...and if you are in the place of asking; it's okay.

Declare what you are and what you are not. What can be and what you need a little help with for awhile.

Give your pain a name and let the people who love you, snuggle up next to that distinct, bitter anguish and let them endure the thing with you. When you feel stale and vacuous, ask for a sip of their light to start the engines again. Then let them sweep you away from the ache, if even for a moment and make you smile again. Let them distract you. Take you on an adventure. Stimulate your senses, through food and music and newness. Let those around you make you feel alive again, when you're enduring the deepest opaque moments, when you think it isn't possible- feel. alive.

There's a reason we have the ability to hold each other. So keep your arms open.

If sleep, or the night. If food, or the mirror. If loneliness, or the silence. If unanswerable questions, or the confusion. If the ability to make a five minute plan, let alone a 5 year plan is plaguing you, we're here.

When you need a ride. Someone to tell you a story. A partner in crime. Physical presence. A light. Someone to count to three for you so you can scream on four. A person to look you in the eyes and say, "...you're going to be okay." When you need these things, ASK. But more than asking, be these things. This is our job, it is part of the human condition to take care of one another.

Let's stick together shall we? I got you.

How can you OPEN YOUR ARMS TO SOMEONE TODAY?

My idea of balance is like.... eat broccoli all week, or live on cheese plates and whiskey. ALSO TITLED: The blog about Self Awareness.

"Something hit me in the stomach today; he could, can, will move on and be with someone else eventually. Then, I got really sick. So there's that. It's distant enough at this point that I recognize that statement as a reality. And... my ego doesn't like the idea of him getting to move on before me......wow, that was honest."

I typed these words to a dear friend yesterday. And while I don't generally lack the ability to be forthcoming, I momentarily, somewhat unknowingly, admitted a subconscious fear.

The way friends always seem to know how, she said the thing that is a truth but one I hadn't quite pinpointed.

"I appreciate your self awareness."

I appreciate your self awareness. The words turned around in my mind. Somersaults. Up and over.

The thing is, are any of our fears really subconscious? Or are we blindly turning our head towards a different view, because we just aren't ready..... there's a difference between being unaware and between being unprepared to handle a truth.

Often, the moments we have an "AHA!" we're really just finding the lock that fits the key, we knew there was a key. We knew there was a lock. They just existed in different places in our lives. Whatever was behind the door was maybe, something we weren't prepared to handle. Something we weren't ready to accept into our lives... to let assist in our evolution of spirit, self, movement.

The answer doesn't always present itself in one conspicuous gesture. The answer is a riddle.

The answer is a journey, that involves a lot of mini-answers along the way. Yes, no. Mhm-yeah-baby-more-please and hell-to-the-never-ever-fuck-that-shit.

EVERYTHING we are doing is honing our self awareness. Polishing it, so the "Yes" feels more effortless and the "No," is less frequent- there's less to say No to, when we start dancing with the things that we know are parallel with our Yes.

I'm a big believer in making friends with your fears. Letting them live on the surface so you can become familiar with the things that feed their hungers in a positive way and that feed them in a negative way. A precautionary step to avoid any sneak attacks, if you will. "Why hello little fear, you little punk, stop ruining my day- shall we have a cookie and hash it out?" That's more my approach.

::disclaimer, hippie shit is about to happen:: Click to Pinterest, Facebook, etc. now if you aren't down. Ok. Back::

The other day while I was on my yoga mat, surrendered, my thumbs at my Third Eye a voice said, "Hey.... I'm always here. You just have to ask me to wake up." What parts of yourself need to wake up.... it's already there. We may not hibernate, but parts of our spirit do if we don't urge them to stay awake.

I am intimately aware that:

My idea of nurturing myself is often counter intuitive. Sometimes, the things I do to "nurture" myself, are things that feed the wrong beast. I am aware that, while I may resist certain cravings, they are almost always right and if I ignore them, it only perpetuates their eagerness and deprivation. I am aware that truth rises to the surface, always.

I am aware that my idea of "being an adult," is skewed. I am aware that I will never, probably ever, be comfortable with making plans two weeks in advance and not being tempted to break them. Or, having to answer to authority. Or remember which bills I paid on time. Or having a well balanced fridge. Lucky Charms? Modelo? Broccoli? Marinara? Almond butter? Done. I am aware that I will have to work around my "imperfections," but that it also makes me keen on improvising and that, just like Truth I rise under pressure.

I am aware that I could use some work in the laundry department. That my friends are better at sending gift baskets than I'll ever be. That I go cross eyed when you talk about numbers and that I fear my relationship with money is a long road.... but one I don't want to admit, out of fear that it will keep me from embracing it. I am aware that at the core of everything, I'm actually a performer. That I'm happiest on stage. Or in front of a camera. Or a microphone. That I'm afraid I'll be chained to a chair forever and ever while my Gypsy implodes. I'm aware that I am fearful of imploding.

That I kind of have a temper. That I'm terrible at not getting my way. (that I usually find a way to get ' my way' and that, that particular conquest drives to the edge of insanity.)

That my two things are; love and significance. That when I'm in love my need to feel "significant" lessens, to the point of extinction. That there's a reason one was taken from me. That these two things need to find a way to live beside one another, eventually. I am aware that I like to fucking GO THERE, let's get our hands dirty. Bullshit meter, on high.

That sometimes self awareness is a rabbit hole. Which makes me weirdly insecure. That I want to lift people's consciousness, but that starts with lifting my own first. Through art. Through words. Through action.

I am aware that this blog is too long. Hi.

What are you SELF AWARE about? Good, bad, in between.