Thursday, July 29, 2010

Wrestling my muse into submission is like fighting a RABID. DOG. A Rabid vampire dog, with nunchucks.


My muse is a nasty bitch sometimes.

She's a wrathful, intimidating, prying whirlwind of a "thing...." who both wants to scream her head off until her throat bleeds and just as stubbornly withholds inspiration from me. She's fickle and capricious....she has too much to say and a million different ways of saying it, but if I ignore her she gives me the cold shoulder and turns mute. She locks up every word, sentence, and solution and gives me the silent treatment, coquettishly shaking her head "no" at me and pursing her lips, until I very deliberately coax her out her unreasonable stance and into a more fluid, compromising position (that sounds sexual? Maybe it is, fuck.) At this point we're dating and I'm failing her, because I keep promising her that I'll let her shine; then she calls, she politely asks for some attention and I tell her I'm "busy."

What exactly am I BUSY doing? What have I been soooo busy doing the last couple years that's made any sort of a difference in my life that doesn't involve her?

"HER." My muse. My beautiful, volatile, attention hungry muse.
The moments of pure contentment, where I felt grateful- in tune and empowered in my life, "she" has been present for. The ones where I'm drowning a slow death in a swimming pool full of tar generally have her tssking in the lifeguard chair saying, "I told you so...how's that tar?!"

So, yes, I'm busy doing "work." You know why I'm so busy doing "work," because I'm trying to work from a place of urgency, I'm working from a place of "a means to an end" and I'm doing all of it on an empty stomach. It's urgent that I finish what I need to get done, so that I can begin to do what actually needs to get done to make me happy....to put me in a place where I THRIVE.

What if I just did all of that in reverse?

What if instead, I made it my priority to START with the thing(s) I'm working so hard to END UP with? Not end, but end up with, as in acquire through "busyness" and effort.

Working with your muse is like attending Thanksgiving dinner (with stretchy waistbands, no calories and an empty dinner table, this particular feast is just for you) - you're feasting on the succulence a perfectly juicy word, a replenishing gulp of "Aha!" You're sinking your teeth into the flesh of an idea that's been marinated in time and introspection, roasting on hot coils of doubt and scrutiny- taking your tiny hand, you lift the meatiest part to your lips and dig your teeth in, ripping the the fat from the bone and digesting it. You process. You fill yourself, you indulge and then with a full belly of material to pull from, you go to "work."
Can you imagine how much better you would do your job if you were already filled the brim with the things that fuel your passion?

Your muse should stay FED. She's the life of the party, she's the one that kicks off her shoes and gets low on the dance floor and takes a shot with your Grandma (maybe that's not your muse, whatever, whoever that is- she's awesome)- she's the line that your friend needed to HEAR in a moment of turmoil. She's the one who taps you on the shoulder and whispers, "create something incredible.....because you can." Then, not so subtly there's times when she grabs your shoulders, digs her nails in and looks you square in the eye, and says, "Stop fucking around.....if you want to live greatly, you're going to have to take me along for the ride. The things that will bring you your perfect definition of success all involve ME- if I'm not in tow, you shouldn't even bother attending."

Just like I said before, committing to yourself also means turning AWAY from the dead end you're staring at and looking for the window- usually it's right next to us, we're just too fixated on trying to laser through something that's impenetrable.

I know for certain my Muse is a vibrant creature who likes a solid, hearty FEAST. She wants a slice of everything, on one plate- she wants to wipe the corners of her mouth with a silk napkin and take a swig of whatever life has served up, in a bedazzled goblet.
By denying her a table full of worthy indulgences, I deny myself the very reason for waking up in the morning.....



WHAT DOES YOUR "MUSE" NEED?

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

I mean, I'd commit to me. I'D TOTALLY MARRY ME.


Long before someone actually runs out on us, we usually run out on ourselves.

Here we are entranced with this human being who is potentially going to forgo any other mate/partnership for, ideally the rest of your life to surrender that to you and who is seemingly as mystified by your commitment to them as you are, so you're hooked, you're totally hook-in-lip-fucking-caught, so naturally- you start planning and committing to hypothetical baby names, foreign language schools "a must," (because who doesn't want babies that speak French?) color schemes and summer plans. You plan for the future, as a way to sort of "seal the deal"-as false comfort, to feel like....well, no matter what- I know I at least have little French-speaking babies running around, seven years from now.

We plan for the future when we're with someone we think we'll co-create it with. The problem is sometimes we run so far ahead of ourselves that we actually run away from planning, the RIGHT. NOW. Shit, we run away from LIVING the right now.....

and the one that always gets stuck is YOU.

The "future you" looks really good. She really does- she's just as charming as you are now, but more so because she has that extra sparkle on the inside, she has better skin, she doesn't use her purse as a traveling trash can, she never forgets her camera case, she gets facials regularly, she has her priorities in check- she's TOTALLY. FUCKING. ACCOMPLISHED. She finally has a bank account filled to the brim, she finally has that validation she's been seeking- she's living on the grand scale. She's you. Except for....SHE'S NOT YOU. She's actually wasting your fucking time by taking up so much head space, because who IS you, is that girl that's sitting on your couch, settling for the fact that NO, I'm not where I want to be- physically, emotionally, spiritually, or creatively.....I'm actually depressingly far from any of that.....but yes, at the end of the day- someone held me, and loved me....and that seemed like enough. Well hello there "enough...." nice to see you, we need to have a discussion;

Here's the thing; WHEN THINGS FALL APART, YOU REEVALUATE EVERYTHING.

You reevaluate what love means, what loving means- and you reevaluate all the other pieces that were hanging by a thread....suddenly that thread you've been ignoring for months is a whole lot easier to cut. The truth is, with or without him there were things YOU needed to recognize that were withholding you from happiness that he has nothing to do with.

The most important thing we reevaluate is our commitment to OURSELVES.

If no one else in the entire Universe wants to make a soul-promise to be by your side through good and bad, rough patches and wicked monsoons (that we inevitably come up against), if no one else wants to see your face everyday, smell your hair, listen to your socked feet walk down the hallway, come up with nicknames for you, or slide their hand across the small of your back while you wash the dishes- just to remind you that they see you and need to just touch you- if NO ONE ELSE, in the entire world wants to do that, wants to commit to honoring and adoring you.....the only person left to an keep unwavering soul-commitment is you.

Commit to challenging yourself when you're feeling indifferent, commit to stretching your mind and your body- to playing your edge, until the point at which it scares you. Commit to accepting absolutely NOTHING less than your best version of BRILLIANCE. YOUR BEST. And commit to telling yourself that there will be days when your "best" really does just need to eat Doritos and hate everything, and that is okay.

Commit to sleeping well and to waking up fresh, with ideas and eagerness. Commit to feeling sexy and desirable, even if not a single person is there to witness it. Commit to feeling it ALL, from the most radiant moments of clarity to the most opaque moments of desperation. Commit to growth.....to sunshine....to forgiveness.... to making choices and trusting them- even if they aren't delicate, or tasteful, or sane. Commit that no matter what, you will show up- you are not allowed to stand yourself up, ever again.

Sometimes life shakes us up, totally fucking "snow globes" us and we can't see straight- and sometimes, it's because we need that reminder to not abandon OURSELVES. Our dreams. Our Mid-night inspiration, or "unreasonable" desires. Commit, no matter how heartbroken we are, or have been to love just as hard the next time around....and in the meantime be grateful that this is your time- YOUR TIME. Hi Chelsea, yes, I'm talking to you. And all of of you too. This is his time to evolve....without me (as much as I hate that, miss him, worry for him, want to shake him into reality and hug him and then shake him again)...and it's my time to evolve too.....


Commitment #1- Start. Writing. Book. (details later....)



WHAT COMMITMENT WILL YOU MAKE TO YOURSELF?





Wednesday, July 14, 2010

My "GOOD DAY" could still use some work- and less alcohol and more sex. OR WAIT. Damnit, I really miss sex. But no, this blog isn't about that.


They say you'll have "good days and bad days..." while you're trying to heal from heartbreak....

...the last week I was soaring, I was feeling lifted up in love by my friends, I was surprised by 13+ AMAZING blogger friends with a voucher to fly anywhere I want- I WAS SHOCKED, grateful, surprised and TOTALLY SPEECHLESS...I was floored once again by the depth of love and compassion I have surrounding me. The devoted support and open arms. I treated myself with gooey chocolaty things, expensive glasses of wine, naps, interesting conversation with amazing people, sweating in yoga so much that my entire body was practically sobbing (knee caps included), and various other distractions that make me smile....I was pampering my wound, for a speedy recovery. Nursing the shit out of it....with some incredible assistance.

I was noticing a slight glossy film of skin glistening over the pink, swollen wound. The "VOID." The days when I woke up feeling ALIVE and healthy again were starting to happen more frequently....and then of course, there's those pesky "bad" days.

...then, there's days when something really small happens, like you see someone with his same hair, or you need someone to help zip up your dress, or they start playing the song "Better Together," in your yoga class- your fucking "SAFE PLACE," the song you would've just so happened to be singing this coming weekend at your Love's sister's wedding, and all of a sudden your relatively "good day" spirals into an epically TERRIBLE DAY and you imagine yourself pulling a Tom Cruise in Jerry McGuire where you kind of just want to....fliiip out.

Then he ends up calling.... and you find yourself looking at your phone, at a name and a face that you've seen call you a hundred+ times and it feels like you're about to talk to a total stranger, and it feels like someones calling to tell you the best and worst news of your life...and you hear this voice that you've heard comfort you, engage in you, whisper intimately to you- a voice that's quivered and screamed, a voice that's cadence and inflection you understand like it's a secret language, a dead language no one else will ever be able to revive....then, they say the simplest, "Hi" and you don't feel like you know them at all. You can hear them through the walls they've built up.... but you know that this time, they can't really hear you.

Then you end up saying too much- you end up saying that you miss them, you end up telling them you can't sleep....you end up empathizing with THEM and their situation... you accept their apology, you Mother and voice concern and leave every. single. open door open for them to ask if they can come back in-you leave the door wide open, with warm dinner and fresh laundry..... and they still choose to stay outside, in the pouring rain-excuse me, pouring HAIL STORM, with an empty stomach and dirt under their fingernails, and a yo-yo sluggishly bouncing up and down, with you on the end of the string.

You want to hear their voice and you want to shake them, you want to hear their voice play out a monologue of regret, anguish-willingness to move mountains, imploring you to forgive them- you've heard them say it in your head a million times, it almost seems possible...but, instead he says, "I realize you were a limb to me and I was a heart to you..." and then you remember that you can still tie a shoe with one arm, you can still type with one hand, you can love with EVERYTHING-limbs or not, and you can live completely....but you can't do anything with a missing heart. Then, you're angry with them and you wish you would've asked for some sort of collateral at the beginning of all of this, in return for such a valuable object.

You let him say he's thinking about you...and that he does love you, in whatever "version" that means to him. Then, you let him cut off the conversation first....and you hold the phone, wrecked and angry with yourself.

....but you're soft for him. You're fleshy and accessible. You're totally ripe and delicate, forgiving and eager to trust, nakedly laying in the palm of the very thing that crushed you. There aren't games or, "Ignore" buttons because you can't quite figure out how to seal up a faucet that was pouring out love you weren't ready to stop giving. There aren't the "make him miss me" actions, because I'm still too busy doing the missing for us both. There aren't "FUCK Yous" flying around, because being angry with him doesn't help ME evolve.... and because when it comes down to the core of it, the anger, the neglected phone call is really just my ego trying to "win..." and as much as our egos like to think so, matters of the heart don't come along with a set of games, rule books and instruction manuals. They just FEEL....

So, yes- there are good days. Days when I'm beaming and totally hopeful and excited about what's happening, what could happen...what I'm discovering, who I'm becoming....

Then there are days like this one. There are days when I have hold my own hand through it all, talk myself down the way I used to let him, find pleasure in my own company knowing there has to be someone out there that wants to sit across from me at a dinner table and make me his whole world, even for just those moments over piping hot rigatoni and wine stained teeth. There are days when I can't see anything without seeing him in it. Then, there are nights when I wake up, twisted up in a sheet, sweat dripping down my neck and in my confusion, I briefly think he's gotten up to grab me a glass of water, or he's still up watching television.....and it's nights like this where I have to teach myself how to sleep alone again, when I grab my own water- untangle myself, open a window, close my eyes and gently rock myself back to sleep....hoping that the next day will be one of the "good ones."



Is there a "GAME" when it comes to "LOVE????"


Also....thanks to some of you lovelies I have a vacation to take....Hm, where to go?!





Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Affirmations help....but not half as much as tequila and glitter.


"I'm a warrior princess....I'm a warrior princess....I can do this....."

I repeated this in my head about a million times while I half-humanly drove to the place My Love and I lived together....I knew the instant I walked in the door I would be floored by emotions and literal beast like blubbering....so I prepared myself with affirmations and chick-pop- specifically affirmations that made me feel like someone who has a palace, suitors and unnaturally thick hair and Tigers for pets, the more magical I told myself I was the more I'd be able to endure the next couple hours of my life with grace.

Yeah, well you know what isn't fucking graceful? Clutching to someones dirty laundry in an attempt to make them "Real" to you again, thinking if you just squeeze his shirt close enough to your face and close your eyes that maybe he'll come walking through your front door and say he was being an idiot and didn't mean it- I went to our apartment to retrieve, well, my life and ended up spending two entirely unproductive hours bawling on the floor into his favorite t-shirt. It still smelled like him....the musk, the collar, it was worn like he was practically still in it.... I didn't want any of our STUFF, I didn't want the dishes, the curtains, the rug....everything just looked like it was only half-mine. I didn't even want my clothes.... every brightly colored floral, button down, tattered jeans had an attachment to memories of US...they lived through our "moments."

Listen, people don't prepare you for this kind of shit- there's no handbook. There's no amount of "warrior princess" you can call yourself to withstand physically moving THINGS out of a life you were perfectly happy living and into one that is now completely empty. Stuff doesn't even matter anymore- nothing feels worth having if you don't possess a HEART to even enjoy it.

I pulled out the trash bags...and started throwing random objects in it. Nope, I don't want his shirt. Nope, I don't want my blankets. Nope, underwear are unnecessary? Nope, who needs forks and board games? Useless. Nope, I don't want.....fuck- I don't want anything.....but you know what I DO want, these here winter gloves?

THAT'S THE THING; When you finally feel like taking something it's the most NON-THREATENING object you can find. In the middle of summer all I really wanted to take with me were a pair of wool, winter gloves.

....you know why? Because these gloves didn't fucking tear my heart out of my chest. Gloves don't tell you they need "space" and "selfishness." Last I heard, gloves make snowmans? And hold cocoa. And are probably around during magical Christmas times that involved caroling and merriment and blushing cheeks?

The only things I wanted were things that held no attachment to what was so achingly void in my life now. I haven't bothered looking in the bag yet, but in my fog of sifting through my life I think I ended up leaving it with gloves, a stapler, a pair of turquoise tights, and a few sports bras ....and my book of Life List goals- at least I could start crossing some of them off with warm hands and a uni-boob.

The last two weeks have been all sorts of EPIC DISCOMFORT and manic mood swings.....but through it all I've been reminded of what an INCREDIBLY LOVING, SUPPORTIVE group of friends, family, bloggers and readers I have. From deliveries of flowers from Rachel, Derek (hi ladies, this one here is a gem) and Jenny....down to every single comment, email, message and moments of genuine mothering from my girlfriends who have (despite my reluctance to be cared for) huddled around me like animals in a pack and let me grieve and drink too much shamelessly. I honestly didn't even know how many people I had that wouldn't just be there for me, but that would be ROCKS for me, unwavering, strong, ports in the storm. The salvation at the end of the day has been all of you and these Earth angels that have swooped in, thrown me on their wings and said, "it'll be okay....maybe not today...but eventually." I've also found salvation in Cabernet, convincing myself that Jake Gyllenhaal would love me if he knew I existed and back episodes of The City, but whatever.

So, maybe Warrior Princesses do throw themselves on the ground and cry....maybe what makes them warriors is the fact that they show up to battle, suffer the tragedy, let the wounds bleed and heal....and allow themselves those moments of fragility and surrender. In the absolute stillness and pitch black of night they decide to pray out loud again...maybe for the first time ever...and admit that yes, this time around I'm gonna need some assistance. It isn't ideal to have puffy eyes and snot pouring out of your nose and eyes and mouth (??), it isn't regal or composed to find yourself debilitated by heartache, or pitifully staring at photographs of when it was "good"....it isn't the "strong, inspired, independent Chelsea Talks Smack".... those moments aren't the picture of warrior-like attributes....

...no, not those moments......

It's the moments AFTER- the ones where you pick your Warrior Princess off the floor, throw your bags of useless objects in the back of your car, take an exaggerated deep breathe like it's the first and last one of your life....and continue.



What makes you feel STRONG????






 
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