Friday, December 31, 2010

Turns out I did learn a few things this year..... while only 40% sober.

Before I get drunk in my sweatpants, let's reflect.... apparently, I did learn a couple things this year.

I endured; a heartbreak. I explored; new dreams, new opportunities. I moved. I started a new job. I experienced the support of all of you, when I needed love the most. I defined and redefined my standard of happiness. I was reminded of things I already knew...but apparently didn't trust enough. I tore down my vision board. I embraced my sexuality, proudly. I tried, and tried again.... and I learned:

No amount of crying will ever make you
ACTUALLY CRUMBLE, and sometimes that's the worst part. If someone offers, let them. It's okay to let people "carry your weight" when you can't- it feels good to let someone show up for you- they'll appreciate it just as much as you do. Be mindful in those moments right after you scream so loud you think your windows will shatter, just before you burst a vein or your vocal chords start bleeding, right after you've poured buckets of heavy aching- for it's in the pool of silence that hangs in the air afterwards that your spirit lets out a roar too and despite the screaming, despite the pain, you are a motherfucking Lion and from the depths of your being you will remain a capable, warrior and prove your strength and resilience.

Sometimes alcohol is the answer. So are; endless hours of yoga, fake eyelashes, sharing inordinate amounts of food with friends and strip clubs. You are not a weapon, even when you feel like your emotions are the most dangerous thing to hold onto, remember that you are a human being and regardless of how volatile you are now, you are, at your core much more dynamic than an explosive adjective. It's okay if you didn't meet Jay-Z this year- (fuck yea, I have goals) instead of getting boggled down in "time," give yourself a break- trust that you'll have enough of it to do what you're really meant to do.

Call a spade a spade. It'll save you a lot of time. When someone tells you who they are hear them and respond accordingly. There isn't a bucket for everything; life isn't black and white- learn to be comfortable with shades of gray, or else you may end up disappointed. Do what you do best, the best you possibly can- let other people shine in the respective areas; we all have our strengths. Just because you blog doesn't mean you have to wear all the hats- not all of us are consultants, or brand enthusiasts, we aren't all "social sages" or networkers. DO YOU. I'm a writer. I blog because I love to write, because I love the community, because I love making people feel some sort of emotion- I'll keep doing that...and I'll ask for a little assistance with all that other stuff and you know what? That's OKAY.

Be okay with asking, don't get discouraged by the first "no." Or the fifth. And so on.
When you're having a hard time figuring out the solution, take your ego out of the equation and revisit it. If you don't remember what your dreams are, read your journal from when you were eleven, you'll probably get a nice reminder. If you're following your passion, expect the road ahead to be a little less than traditional and sit comfortably with that, when you start to question; maybe I should have roots? Maybe I shouldn't move across the country? Maybe I should have a backup plan? Maybe I should be content with predictable? Instead of trying to justify why you should stay unhappy, honor your desires and stop delaying your bliss.

Ultimately, if something is meant to be, there isn't any "right" or "wrong" thing you can or can't do, so stop fucking yourself in the head over it.

If you aren't ready, you aren't. ready. Checking the cake every 10 minutes doesn't make it bake any faster. Trust, trust, trust your intuition- if that means you take a couple extra right turns before you get out of the car, or you finally ask that uncomfortable question you know needs asking- trust yourself, your heart will thank you for it.

Have a tryst. Initiate. Make last minute travel plans. Keep it playful. SPOON. Order in. Ask for help. Eat four desserts for lunch. Take the Double Decker bus, if you're a tourist be a fucking tourist. Meet someone new. Look for the story, wherever you are.

Explore boundaries, respect them- try, even when it's difficult to articulate how you feel. Communicating and listening compassionately is the only way you'll truly understand one another. Ask for them to meet you in the middle, if you run the whole distance for them, they won't know if they can do it without you. Open, open, open your heart.... it's the bravest thing you can possibly do.

I'm not going to say go out there and "set goals!" instead I'm going to say appreciate what you have, who you have, right fucking now, because everything inevitably changes... kiss him a little bit harder, listen to your friend when she's curled up next to you on your couch, be present, be nicer to your parents, and if you know, KNOW in your heart that you deserve to live bigger, greater, BRIGHTER this year- just keeping TRUSTING that you will and start doing it. LOVE deeply, SHARE, connect and create...stand up for yourself, confront your dark bits and transform them, give yourself a goddamn break for once, don't compare, tryyyyy and grow little grasshopper, GROW.

Leave your mark in go put on something slutty and start day drinking.


Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The Smack Talking Holiday Post... Where's the spiked eggnog?

Oh hello little sugarplums.

...Ah, take a sip of that eggnog and just soak it in, eh?

I know some of you are caught up in a frenzy of travel plans, ribbon curling and Figgy Pudding concocting- while #reverbing and 2011 planning- perhaps you've even created an E-card and Elfed yourself and your family members doing a kickline to La Cucaracha. Oh yes, I'm aware that all of this is occurring... I've sipped that Kool-Aid. Spiked with a little glee.

But fear not, while there's a large number of you last-minute Christmas shopping and over-nighting that "perfect personalized Etsy" find for your best friend, there are others...there are "thee others" so to speak, the ones who are eating a tube of raw cookie dough and watching reruns of Snapped instead of actually baking and mouthing along to every line in The Christmas Story. Don't worry, "others" I gotchu.

With the end of the year always comes transition; some of you are celebrating the accomplishments of 2010, while others are lamenting it and hoping for a better "redo." Some of you are falling in love, forging new relationships and pouring foundations together, while others are not-so-patiently twiddling your thumbs and hoping that perhaps under that mighty Evergreen there's indeed a special present for you....someones heart and attention, with a bow on top, instead of a cherry.

Perhaps Mom's Christmas Village seems smaller this year and the sound of the automated 'Ho Ho Ho' from the toy Santa in your entry way is more irritating than it is jolly. Maybe this year those thick wool socks that you've pulled over your frostbitten toes are really looking for their woolly "better half" to find their way to each other under the anticipation of a throw blanket, a new romance and a hot toddy. The mistletoe may hang haphazardly in your doorway, while the 20pack of Christmas cards you intended to fill out remain unopened....but somewhere, somewhere in there that little Grinch has a heart that is more than two sizes too small.

....Why yes, in fact, the reason all this expectant merriment is really busting your chops is simply because; you KNOW that JOY is what you SHOULD feel, you're just heinously "off center" from actually feeling it.

You aren't Bitter Christmas Barbie the Millennial Edition because misery is a "fun" past time. You aren't sneering at children clutching onto candy canes with their sweaty childreny hands because you hate children and candy canes- no, no, you fucking LOVE candy canes- but you've been too caught up worrying about what brand of eco-friendly disinfectant wipes to buy, that you forgot that the delicious seasonal candy was even present at the damn party.

You aren't looking for ways to squash joy- joy is what you crave, what you DESIRE- what you NEED, it's the Pimp Juice of life- you aren't boycotting JOY, you've simply gotten too caught up in the Ghosts of Christmas Past and life's little Scrooges.

While you may be knee-deep in wrapping paper and slushy snow, or perhaps you're wading through a puddle of confusion, anticipation, fear and regret- here's my little holiday present to you;

This holiday I hope that every gift you open brings that extra glimmer across your face that only the best of gifts can bring- and while you may be opening a "thing," I hope that the gift you open with the most gusto is your HEART. I hope that while you're filling yourself with savory morsels and sweet treats that you're also feasting on the things that nourish and sustain your "most perfect life." While you sing along to carols in your toasty car and you draw hearts with your mitten hands on the foggy window- I hope you also whistle to your own little tune- pa rum pa pum. pum. For every old tradition, I wish you a new one. For every Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen- I wish you that spirit that shines like a light bulb, and for every Reindeer game you can't figure out how to play....I wish you a game that's all your own. For the "Elf's" and the Ernests', The Land of Misfits and the little rebels who are Home Alone, I wish you radical acceptance, even if it's only YOU who "gets it." For every Miracle on 34th Street, I wish you a miracle on whatever street, ocean, aircraft, spaceship you happen to be on.

...And for every lesson learned in 2010, every disappointment, every accomplishment- I wish you a new year full of just as many, "oh shit" moments, happy tears, sad tears, "FUCK YEAHS!" and visits to the drawing board- I wish you colorful lives, where they all may "even say you glow."

Like a light bulb.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Turn that rubbish into GOLD sister (mister.)

This morning I spent 25 minutes going through unopened mail looking for my new debit card-I was rudely awakened to the fact that my current debit card expired in November when I went to pay for my already consumed Thai food....

...while looking for my debit card I realized I also have a toll bill to pay, a car to clean out, a computer to get fixed, Thank You cards to write, groceries to buy, a hair appointment to schedule, gym dates, real dates, CREATIVE ENDEAVORS to make time for too.

So how does this all ties in with today's prompt:
December 2 Writing.
"What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?"

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that a lot of people would say; spend less time on Facebook,
less procrastinating, chill out on the drinking perhaps (this is not one of my examples, obvs), watch less TV, or perhaps you'd say something more like; doubt.
Maybe "eliminate" the array of annoyances that my day began with......

Well, I'm not going to say any of those things, in fact- I'm going to go with;
Everything you do contributes to your writing.

There isn't a formula that says, "spend less time Facebooking and VOILA! you're a better writer." I'm calling bullshit on that. Everyone that says, "write from 8-9, schedule time for it" I'm calling bullshit on that too.

All of the things that we're "too busy" doing are just more moments that will inevitably weave themselves into your stories- maybe you spent three whole weeks hating everything you wrote, but during that time you were out living, observing- you were watching the way the woman across from you at the coffee shop kept tugging at her hair while she nervously peeled the sticker off of her latte and gazed at that sweet boy who got up to buy her a slice of quiche she'd been eyeing and maybe all you did those three weeks was sit and maybe all it did was remind you what it's like to have butterflies again.... maybe, you need to write about that.

Maybe while you were Facebooking, instead of writing someone said the "just right word" that proved to be a springboard to the greatest blog you've ever written....Perhaps that "procrastination" was really just giving you permission to marinate a bit more, so that your writing would have more FLAVOR. Oh yeah...that text you sent when you had a little too much Miller High Life (class act) in your system, yeaaaa....that text gave you the ending chapter that you wouldn't have found otherwise.

....perhaps while you weren't writing, you were "COLLECTING." As writers it's our jobs to collect valuable trinkets; the gift of observing a perfect moments, an awkward exchange, an interaction with a character... when you aren't writing you are a sponge submerged underwater in the intricacies that give your story a heart.

Look, I love a happy ending just as much as the next girl. I'm all cupcakes and sunshine and roses- but if we were always all cupcakes and sunshine, perfectly crisp, buttoned up and checking things off the spreadsheet, constantly our stories would become one dimensional. Or delusional. Your call.

If you aren't using the things you do everyday as inspiration, even the annoying, messy or inconvenient parts, then you're letting valuable resources go untapped.

It isn't how busy you are, it isn't the doubt, it isn't the fact that your spending too much time making out with your boyfriend....those things are the layers that add to the depth of who you are, who your blog is, what your story MEANS.... if anything is going to be eliminated it should be the real killers; trying to write like someone else, spending too much time on the computer when you could be out creating stories worth telling, worrying too much about the syntax (that's what editors are for), and the biggest killer of them all: Worrying about what the fuck everyone else is going to think. That one? Yeah, buy-bye.

Life gives us unexpected "gifts" and as a writer, its our job to take the things we think need eliminating and to USE it; that thorn in your side causes pain, so write about that. That thing that takes up too much time causes friction, use it. That itch that you're trying to scratch causes urgency, so fucking hop to it. Eliminating gives the "thing" too much power- turn that rubbish into gold....before you think about throwing something out of your life, try looking at it from another angle....maybe it has more value than you've considered.

Clearly, I'm not a minimalist.

What do you think you should "Eliminate?" and why???

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

You only felt sorry for yourself for 5 minutes today? VICTORY.

Oh helloooo little blog, I've missed you.

The last few weeks have been an amalgamation of bittersweet nostalgia, newness, celebrations, a birthday (yes, mine) holiday "cheer" and overall a journey of figuring out what I need and don't need in my life right now. I've been reintroducing myself to well, myself. Hi Self, remember how much you like Taco Bell and dancing? Yeah?! Do that. (I don't know what the point of the Taco Bell comment is other than I think it's delicious and I don't care what anyone says about it. Take that Boulder.)

You can only make excuses for why you're the human version of a wet mop (juxtaposed by the moments where you're a straight up frenetic, manic person who needs Valium) for so long.
I scrolled through old blog posts and thought. "EW. EW. EW. Hate her. (
me) put on your fucking cutest outfit and some sparkly lipstick with a dumb name like frosted sugarplum (which seems redundant), brush your goddamn hair and stop weeping all over the Internet for Christ sake, you're a bad ass bitch- start acting like it. Love always, Self."

I need to start speaking to my "Self" with the same intent as a bucket of cold water to the face. Snap out of it.

Considering my blog is in dire need of attention and needs to "get it together"- I decided that I'd put myself in bootcamp and participate in #reverb10- a month of daily prompts.

December 1 One Word.
"Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?"


Ah Yes.... it has a nice ring of eminence, power, strength, bravery even....doesn't it?

If you've followed the blog the last 5 months you know that I basically felt like my life was set on fire and has been smoking, gigantic, dark, billowing clouds of hell smoke since then- but you know what? The ashes are settling and standing atop the rubble I feel proud and even though everything was burned to the ground, there's wide open land for miles....perfect for rebuilding. And we all know that I have an affinity for castles.

When you've been through the darkest moments every little thing feels like a victory;

For packing your bags and pulling your heels out of the mud, you have defeated the comfort of standing still, or staying stuck and you have been victorious.

For choosing love first and always, from the beginning, you have defeated the fear that you are; unlovable, undesirable, emotionally unavailable and you have come out....victorious, despite the ending.

The moment you started No Contact with the person who can imagine his life without you, you enforced the belief that SOMEONE out there won't be able to fathom a life that doesn't have you in conquered the irrational fear of "alone forever" are victorious.

When you rolled into the center of the bed, erasing the outline of a body that isn't in bed with conquered the ghost of him, you are victorious.
When you opened up a blank page and started writing a screenplay that's saving your life, you conquered the daunting task of making a dream come true and you BEGAN
- you are victorious.
When you stepped foot into dance class, when you spoke up, when you said what you MEANT, when you surrounded yourself with new people, when you stood by what you KNOW you want and need in your life, despite where that "fits" in society/your family/or your current conquered the fear that you wouldn't be accepted perfectly as you are-
.... you my dear, are victorious.

For each time that little voice inside wanted to stop cheer leading your way to the finish line, or telling you "you can do this brave one..." for each time she cheered you on despite her enthusiasm- you conquered the little monsters that prefer you all dark and twisty. You are victorious, you fiery little thing.

My word for 2011...... Accomplished.

What's your "WORD" for 2010?

Monday, November 8, 2010

This bitch needs another vacation.

Alright...which version are we going with candy-coated or naked-blistered-and-not-so-shiny? Yeah, we all know how much I love candy, but this is the real shit.

So, let's just break it open shall we? Honestly....

I'm sad.

.....Achingly, horrendously, "look at that poor sad girl order a latte and pensively stare out a window for seven hours," kind of sad. I wake up and I hurt....I ooze "sad."

The last few weeks have presented me with a smorgasbord of "new," of "exciting" and busy...."tapped out" and packed. There's been a literal itinerary, a lot of hand-shaking, a lot of Googling, "where to find the best piece of Cake in Vancouver?" I've kept my suitcase filled to the brim with potential outfits to make me look better than I FEEL. It's an email exchange here, a new friend, a new connection, a budding romance- hours spent drinking cappuccinos out of what I would consider to be a small cereal bowl, (instead of a cup, because caffeine is the most legal/cheap option to be addicted to) and finding solace in the emptiness of pristine porcelain dish that once housed the most beautiful lemon tart any human being has laid eyes upon. Sweet life right? I've considered lying about the actual facts in an attempt to not sound like an ungrateful asshole- but it turns out gratitude and sadness are allowed to attend the same shin-dig.

I'm overcompensating. Overindulging. Inducing exhaustion and morsel by tiny morsel shoving all the unsatisfactory parts into a suitcase stored waaaay behind all the "happy."
You know what happens to that suitcase? Yeah, eventually it gets full. And the sad stuff now has a stench, a pungent, musty, undeniable musk....grim is now festering on things that have now given life to other equally dark "things."

Sad is only patient for so long, until it becomes a heinous village of tiny monsters feeding off of other tiny monsters, until it's one unforgiving motherfucker of a Monster Army who want to eat your children. Or your sanity. Or whatever the fuck you have left. Perhaps your teenage sisters Halloween candy (and then the pillow case is empty and you're like. FML now I have to go find a pillow, so I can sleep this shit off-since actual exercise is for the ambitious and "sadness" isn't exactly the most athletic emotion.)

While I was standing near the edge of Sutro Baths in San Franciso, reminding myself to BREATHE, to take in the ocean and the sound, the time and the perfection of the company I was with and the opportunities I had, I said- "I never really remember to take a deep breath....." then, one of my best friend's boyfriends (whose name happens to be James Bond) said,

"Ya know, it's actually the EXHALE that really matters. It's the letting go."

Ah.....yes, to breathe with intention and feel it from beginning to end, until your shoulders have settled away from your ears and you feel just a bit lighter, even for a second, hm. Let's try that one out?

Alright. I'm going to exhale the sad. And let go. I'm going to loosen the grip. I'm going to take my heart and feel it in my hands, the calloused skin, the slippery parts and the ridges, the hollowness and like a warrior sacrificing a part of herself in utter devotion to some CELESTIAL, divine beings, I'm going to raise my heart above my head and ceremoniously with a solid bellow from the belly of my Wild Child, I'm going to strike it against the edge of something sharp and unyielding and I'm going to let it bleed. I'm going to let my heart empty and when it's bled out, when the leeches have done their work, when the suitcase is now empty....I'm going to take a deep breathe and EXHALE.

I'm going to to exhale the nostalgia of the holidays- I'm going to exhale when I remember my birthday is around the corner and this time around, no one is writing me a song. I'm going to exhale when the birthday cake tastes a little less sweet. I'm going to exhale before my feet touch the ground when I wake up sad and I'm going to demand a better "reset" button and perhaps a few more hours of rest.

I'm going to exhale when "any day now..." is the motto of a week, a month, five months, (but not that I'm counting....)

I'm going to exhale when my little monsters say, "Hey babe, you aren't choosing this...but he IS."

And I'm going to exhale when I look in the mirror and that wrist tattoo that says "Shine" looks a little bit more faded than usual.

When my friends plan moving in with their boyfriends and I remember how I felt that same excitement once; exhale. When your house doesn't feel like a home because you can't find a second to spend there, mostly because you don't want to spend a second alone; exhale. When you're leaving someone behind at the airport who makes you smile; exhale. When you look in the mirror and you don't look like YOU, but you look like a worn, exhausted, fucked up version of you; exhale (and maybe tell your self esteem to kick her Sasha Fierce ass into gear, bitch doesn't get a vacation.) When you can't bring yourself to eat anything but granola bars and string cheese; EXHALE.

When your heart is HURTING, take a breath and EXHALE. That's where all the growing comes from...or so they say......

Are you BREATHING with intention???

Sunday, October 24, 2010

I wouldn't date me. FACT.

I wouldn't date me right now.

I mean, I just. straight. up. would. not. (hi, you're welcome- this is what we call a disclaimer....don't say I didn't tell you so.)

To tell you that I think it's a "bad idea" is a little bit like saying, "throwing your hair dryer into a bathtub full of innocent children merrily playing with rubber duckies is a bad idea...." Bad idea doesn't even come close, let's try something more like; terrible, no good, tragic, just go stab yourself in the eye with a pool cue, idea. I suppose people would also call this self-sabotage- I'm an unfortunate case study into the minds of the recently heartbroken.

Somewhere between my schizophrenic emotions and convincing people that I'm "undateable" I've managed to rack up more than one perfectly dateable, solid, great guy who thinks he can change my mind. And you know what, selfishly, I'll let him try... I'll let him try because I don't think I'm a total lost cause. I'll let him try because I believe in romance and love and connection and that whole "soulmate" thing. I'll let him (them) try because I believe amazing magical things can happen over plates of gnocchi and perfectly picked produce. I'll let him try because he knows that he's "trying..." that I've got many a trap door to walk through.

I'll let them try because I think more than often than not people surprise you and more than anything, we surprise ourselves. One moment we're clinging to the threads of what was and then "what was" is replaced by what is, and what IS, is series of small differences that weave themselves in fragments to start; a strand here, an anecdote there.... he starts understanding the subtext of the way you say a certain word, you start making plans a week out...a month out...strand by strand. I'll let them try because I want to look upon someone adoringly, I want to make room in my life for more than a party of one. I'll let them try....

..and with every effort, I'll messy it a bit. I'll pick at the edges that are peeling until the entire thing needs a new coat of paint. I'll take something pure, blank, and I'll scribble daisies, eyeballs and crooked hearts in blue ink on it. I'll push them away, I'll make excuses- I'll throw another date into the mix, because it'll make it easier for me to walk away from one or the other and feign interest, in place of dealing with how I really feel. Which is a whole lot of nothing. Emotions, off. A rusty, heavy, valve I used my withering biceps to turn off.

I'm a girl who doesn't have the ability to make the distinction between someone "right" and someone right now. I'm a hurt person running the risk of hurting other people....and that's the cycle as it goes....

I had "right." I found the pockets I wanted to put my hands in, the musk on the neck collar that I wanted to smell every day. I was comfortable with the rhythm of him....and when one sweet boy says, "Chels, are you afraid if by dating me you close the door on him?" the answer is YES. Yes, I want my door, my heart, the glow of my porch light with a warm body on the inside to be there....with a Welcome mat, that says, "Let's try this again."

I know, it makes my stomach churn too.

It's everything from inconvenient, to futile. Completely and utterly, futile.

It's part of why the last two weeks have been nearly impossible for me to sit down and WRITE. To consider the hearts of the people I'm involved with and also be honest. Not just to them, but to myself. Lying to yourself is surprisingly easy until you sit down at a blank screen and your words are sharp, pushy and deafening. Turns out blogging, when some of the relationships, people and situations are public isn't ideal. Shocker.

So what do I do with that? WHAT. DO. I. WE/US/THEM. DO WITH ALL OF THAT?

The only decisions to be made are the ones right in front of me, I'm completely nearsighted. You take a trip to San Francisco, then you go to have dinner with someone new, you spend a night at home by yourself watching Basquiat wishing you were given the green light to be fucking crazy because you were a painter. You consider taking up painting. You carve pumpkins with your girlfriends and get a little fatter over fried mac and cheese squares at midnight. Then you try not to drunk text and you wake up in the morning, "wee! didn't drunk text!" and then you try not to sober text, when you see something that only he would understand via text. You consider giving up texting period.

You continue. You date. You marinate. You take one step forward and 9,000 steps backwards. Then you do a fucking skip and a hop, (perhaps a cartwheel even) forward again. You let him make you laugh, then you let him say, "I'll go to war for your heart..." and you revel in that, because the one that was "right" didn't say that. And probably never will. SO, you let people adore you, because as much as you don't think you're worth adoring, all of that ish is fictitious. (Yeah, Fergie said it.) FACT.

Would you date "you?"

Sunday, October 3, 2010

The part where I address the "NEW BOY" and "the old one."

Sometimes you're just like, "Look fucker, get out of my head...."

...and then (because most of the time our minds are stubborn and relentless whores), the sound of his voice saying, "I love you a million times a million" plays again, like a record scratch, "a million times a million...a million times a million...." and you get pissed that you know enough about math to know that his "million" didn't exactly add up at the end of the equation.

All of a sudden, another shot is taken at you, and again you're a fallen-fucking-warrior princess, trying to hastily sew up the reopening of your heart seams.
Just as you're moving forward, on the heels of this amazing weekend, with someone who swooped in much like a real-life White Knight, identified your gaping wounds and crafted the perfect amount of attention, patience, encouragement and affection to apply a healing remedy to the parts that were especially aching.... your ex-Love emails you, a day after he leaves and the sentence, "I miss the sound you always make when it's cold outside," hits you like a fucking missile attack, because I don't even know that I make a sound and because I've decided he's forgotten me, as far as I'm concerned I'd decided he'd forgotten our life together existed at all, and because he still knows me the best. The only way someone will learn those little things, will learn "me in details", is through time and years and chilly nights when I make "that sound," through experience, rough patches, and smooth sailing.
All of a sudden, you're forced to reexamine your heart (fan-fucking-tastic)- because the holes there are apparent. You look at your White Knight, the one who said, "The man who wants the life of a king will snatch you up and never regret a second he spends earning your trust and love," and who has patiently let me be as transparent as GLASS about where I'm at and you have to say, "I adore you. I want to see where this goes...and is going...but I'm terrified of being called someones girl, I'm terrified of being hurt, I'm terrified of moving forward." And because he's amazing he lets you cry about your Ex-Love, he lets you freak out and he successfully fills my mind with better things to think about, to be excited about....he gives me perspective and baskets full of smiles....he stimulates my mind and has me curled over in stomach pains from laughter. He's what the doctor ordered....and I hate when I still have to say, honestly to myself and to him...

I've only got 50% heart has a limp. The capacity for me to FEEL is maxed out. And he gets it....he says, "Babe, I know what I signed on for. It's gonna hurt for awhile....and I'm in no hurry."
Right? I know, he's a real-live-man. A mature, super-human, extraordinary man.

So when my Ex- Love says, "I can tell you all this because, I know we're past it now..." again, the cards sit comfortably in his hands (and I'm angry at myself for hurting over it), the hands that are clicking "SEND" on a loaded gun, because he doesn't realize the severity of how that actually affects me, the hands that are now empty of me, while still unknowingly holding a chunk of my most important parts, the hands that are gripping onto other women, pressing up against bar stools and finding themselves curled through strangers belt loops, looking at them like he once looked at me....but they're not me, they're looked on with false admiration, prey to a selfish conquest. And he knows that.

The decision to be "past it" has now been made by him and if being past something, means reading the email that sits in your inbox like a 8,000 lb Elephant (actually, maybe that's a really small much do elephants weigh?) and feeling like you've now backtracked a thousand steps in reverse down memory lane, then maybe that's what "past it" feels like. Maybe "past it" still guts me.

"DON'T TALK ABOUT HIM ANYMORE ON YOUR BLOG, CHELS" my adorable, Bob Dylan-obsessed, male coworker tells me, "You show him your hand that way." Well, I'm not holding any Aces, dear.
My cards are on the table. I'm trying, I'm moving forward, one foot in front of the other, but I would be lying to myself to say that there aren't parts of me that still can't let go of him. As foolish as it may sound and as embarrassing it is to admit.
I'm trying. I'm unlearning him and open to learning someone else. I'm excavating bits of him with sharp tools and examination. I'm being the best version of brave that I can be when you're only at half-capacity and I'm "bravely" opening my heart, standing proudly like glass, transparent and keen for rock-throwing, I'm aware of where I'm at. Of what I can and cannot give and what I'm ready for. I know that I'm hurting still and that despite the circumstances, I'm doing one hell of a good job embracing the newness. So fuck yea, go me.

How do you "move forward?"

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Who doesn't want damaged? Damaged brings superglue and Bubble yum to the party!

"He doesn't realize how damaged I am...."

My friend said as she stood in the kitchen, looking 100% far from "damaged," on the outside, while on the inside her bits were peeling, crashing to the pit of her stomach and sitting in a mess of debris from the wreckage. She stood like a statue, perfectly coiffed and steady, goddess like in her expression and I looked back her, empathizing after taking two Aspirin and washing it down with a glass of wine. had managed to drudge through yet another day looking "undamaged" myself and relatively composed (minus the hot sauce I managed to get on my jeans....even though I didn't eat any hot sauce- this takes a certain kind of skill, it just does.) but I could still feel that remnant stuff....sitting, with no landfill.

I was the damn landfill. My heart, my guts, my all mixed with the messy bits. Or hunks of garbage carefully rearranged to fake the look of "motion." Like moving your food around a dinner plate when there isn't enough flavor, or you've lost your appetite. Yeah, we do that with feelings too, but's all just sitting there. Landfill.

There's something about that word that just kind of buried in my skin like a tick,"DAMAGED"'s like, whatever it is I probably want to send it back.
I don't want to hang on to the spare parts, or try and repair it. I don't want the residue of superglue peeling from my fingertips for days while I try and put it back together, I don't want to try and figure out where-that-fucking-piece-even-goes-if-I-attempt-to-put-it-back-together. I'd just like to return it. Send it back, perhaps with some nice warranty that allows me to have a new one, maybe even a new one every year for seven years if I fucking feel like it. A whole one- with less work. Whatever it may be. It isn't like it's just "flawed," but it's DAMAGED, meaning; this one isn't worth keeping.....

...yeah. Well, guess who's damaged? SPOTLIGHT ON THE CHICK DOING SPIRIT FINGERS, RIGHT HERE, YO. Ah yes, why don't you just crank up the heat and shine it on me, I'm standing center stage and I brought my shiny taps. So sure, damaged? Probably.... and here's the thing; I don't want to be something/someone people want to return.... It's like, by acknowledging you have been damaged, or that you ARE damaged you nod your head at the fact that you are now somehow less desirable, less of someone worth bidding on, of less overall value than what you were once worth.

Oh that one right there? Yeah, it's marked down- it's damaged.

We all go through a bit of "damaging"- we get bruised up, there's scratches and then there's dents sometimes we don't even notice until you're suddenly under some weird light in a parking garage and you realize some motherfucker hit your car without leaving a note, (yeah that happened) or, maybe you bump up against someone and a piece of you that you used to have is touched on and the void of that "thing" that you're missing becomes so apparently clear, you can't even IMAGINE someone wanting to try and fill it in for you. It's an impossible feat.

The thing is, there's always someone who knows how to work with "damaged," who sees the USE of the spare bits, has the perfect glue to fill in that "imperfect" chip in that once-perfect-porcelain heart of yours.

Trust that there will be someone who doesn't see the repair as "work." They just see you, perhaps even standing like the Venus de Milo, holding onto the pieces of yourself that have somehow been severed and just need an extra hand to piece back together. Or maybe it's less classy and you're actually snotting into a glass of Scotch looking like Tammy Faye Bakker after a monsoon.

To my beautiful friend, I will repair you. He will repair you and you will repair you, by continuing to stand strongly, beautifully "damaged." And I will open my hear to restoration myself. This one is for all those pieces, to that inconvenient landfill of heavy emotions, to those shreds that remain, victim to someone elses wrecking ball of a heart. Cheers to the wreckage, that you will rise from like a Phoenix, since yes my loves, every rebirth deserves a dramatic entrance. We are all perfectly worth keeping...damaged bits and all.

Who has helped "FIX YOU?"

Thursday, September 16, 2010

You know what builds me up? LOSING IT A LITTLE BIT IN A BLOG POST. Wee!

I think it'll sting for awhile....

....every time I hear something from him it's like pulling at the edges of a healing scab and each time it scars a little bit. It's like taking a bloody, open wound and marinating yourself in sea salt. Rub it on, baby, I can take it.

There's really no sensitive way for someone to tell you that they, in essence, stopped loving you enough. Loving you enough to continue working at your relationship, looking in your direction, reminding you that you were adored and still the apple of their eye. I suppose he could've said something worse than, "At the end, I was just exhausted, and couldn't keep going. Our relationship made me tired, and did not build me up the way it built you up......"

Notice how there's nothing about how it exhausted me? How it broke me down?

You're right, it was probably exhausting towards the end, when you'd pulled so far away from me that I clung to the glimpses and bits of you that I still had, because I knew eventually those would be gone too. There were tiny morsels of you that I devoured, because I was starving, lacking nourishment, and hydration from you. You're right, it was probably exhausting to sip a beer and ignore the cell phone while you were perched at the bar stool, worn from packs of cigarettes and drunken lullaby's, and to figure out how to send a simple text message letting me know you weren't dead in a gutter somewhere at 4am, while I would lay in bed all too familiar with the outline of where you should've been sleeping. You're right, you were probably exhausted. You were probably exhausted to see that when you were available for me for just a MOMENT, you were mostly talking me back down from a ledge..... one that you'd pushed me to, every time you stopped letting me in, meeting my halfway, meeting me at all. Every time your priorities, your dreams, your needs were put in front of mine, I stepped one step closer to the the deep end of us.... It was probably exhausting keeping me around when you stopped having space for me in your life, you're right.

But there's one bit of that sentence that I really can't get and this is where your definition of "building up" and mine are radically different.

Did I not build you up for two years by encouraging, supporting your dreams.....grabbing you by the shoulders when you needed a good come to Jesus meeting, when you were doubting your ability to create and I'd look you in the eye and say, "I believe in you. You are not giving up.... " or I'd say, "Baby, everything is going to work out, you're amazing." Did it not build you up to give you a heart and an ear that weren't judging you, but listening, lovingly- did it not build you up to be the one thing that was always safe, steady, available and unyielding in my loyalty and belief in you?

Did it not build you up for me to polish a silver platter, with my friends, my connections, my life, all neatly placed in pretty little compartments and set it on your lap, all for the taking.

If by "not building you up" means, that that recording studio you work at, that tour you went on- weren't anchored from friendships and intros I gave you (happily) and pushed for and encouraged you to pursue...... if that's the definition of "not building you up" by taking everything I knew you wanted and saying, "HERE. HAVE IT." then I'm at a loss.

Maybe it's this part....maybe it's the part about giving you a place to live, a car to drive, food to eat, a phone, vacations, a family that adored and loved you unconditionally....that was probably really. exhausting. right?

Maybe I missed something in that department where one "builds another up...." so let me lay out just exactly what exhausted about what didn't build ME up?

How about all of the times your plans trumped mine, your music, your career, your need to "be inspired" at the expense of me-your late nights, your inability to communicate, your past, your fears of inadequacy and failure. It was exhausting cheering you on from the sidelines and being overlooked. It was exhausting to quiet that little voice inside my head that told me
"something wasn't right...." and to nod along when you said, "Beeboo, I'll never leave you- you can trust me, I'll love you forever." was exhausting knowing that you were only going to mean that as long as it was convenient for you.

I know you're aware that you didn't have "what it takes to support a female...." and that you thought you did...and I appreciate that admission. But really, all of this wasn't about was about YOU.

So this next time around I'm going to find what will build ME up.....
the next man I'm with won't look at caring for me as a "chore." I won't need to beg him to take me on a date, or stick around after dinner.....I won't need to worry that his eyes are wandering in the direction of other women's hearts and beds. This next time around I will be built up by a man who has a foundation strong enough for me to stand on- one that he's proud of, with carefully measured ingredients that make up that of hard work, honesty, passion, loyalty, motivation....follow through and kindness. But where the "real stuff" is, the stuff that matters- he'll be able to see....he'll be able to recognize what "wonderful" really means in his life and it won't be measured by hours, charts, an audience, or accolades...but it will be made up of his family, his LOVE, the way he LIVES and his character.

The next time around, I won't spend all of my time doing hard labor to build him up.....we will both, brick by brick work together.... building something with legs, affection, stability and gratitude.


Monday, September 6, 2010

Don't fence me in....unless what's inside the fence has a taffy machine, a box of wine and a record player.

When everything is "new" again you find yourself describing, defining, and storytelling about "who you are" on a rather consistent basis.

You package yourself into a few nice paragraphs that you've let "define you" up to a point, that are milestones in your life's story or quirky anecdotes- you say a lot of, "I've done this...I do this...I would never....I have never...." and so on....

Each yes, or no statement- each label, each sentence that's said with absolute conviction, to better convey your "TRUTH" carves out a nice little nook for you to fit in. You burrow yourself in it and with your narrative you build up various walls, some stronger, thicker, sturdier than others- then of course, some have their loop holes and trap doors that are more malleable. Every declaration we make about ourselves is shaping your experiences, the lack of them, the abundance- the direction, the energy, etc. The story we tell ourselves and the people around us is what we're allowing ourselves to BECOME....and stay being.
Over the last two weeks with new jobs, new circles, new everything I've done a lot of storytelling- a lot of selling, "This is me, this is what I do, this is who I am, this is what I stand for and this is what I desire." The thing about all of that is, you can tell a story a million and one times, but are you okay with the truth that it conveys, are you HAPPY with the story you're letting define you???

You can also say "I'm a (FILL IN THE BLANKS) kind of person..." and the next thing you know you've flipped your world around and you're doing all of the things you thought you never would. Or maybe hadn't thought about period.

My past, my future goals- all of that IS a part of me, it's a PART of isn't everything. Who you've been is a part of who you are and who you are in real time, presently, daily is defined by how you're actually living....and all of it is a part of an ever evolving "story."

So far I've been a shocker even to myself- those things that externally defined who I was, "I am a girl with a band and a boyfriend and I work from home, I'm a freelancer, I live in Denver." Those are gone now, now I'm a girl who may or may not have said I would do the OPPOSITE of all of this; works at a startup, lives at the bottom of a mountain (certain heels have had to retire, I know, sad day), crushing on someone who ISN'T a musician, hosting parties and packing my social calendar to the brim (my default mode is generally "hermit"), I go on dates (OK, I'M GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF, I DON'T ACTUALLY DO THIS....but I project it happening....OPTIMISM is a part of my story damnit.)

I am a girl who now has enough strength not to Facebook stalk, call, or text my ex-even when I want to, I've revoked the privilege of him getting to know "how I'm doing"...because even if I were to tell him, his insensitivity and lack of care and respect for me as a human being will always be more than I should settle for. I am a girl who, three months ago saw my whole life accompanied with this person by my side...and now I'm a girl who unpacks her things that still smell of that "together life" and throws them in the washer, takes a deep breathe, and despite feeling raw and unsure, exposed and totally unforgiving, I decide that I am a girl who, despite when the lip starts to quiver with the indication of a tear, listens to that little voice that pops up and says, "You're doin' good Chelsea-Belle."

I'm a girl who said I'd never have a roommate again, I'd never open my heart again, I'd never have a job with a desk (which I've decorated charmingly, btw) and here I'm a girl who's doing all of those things.

I'm a girl who's trying to get better about writing Thank You notes and not leave wet towels on my floor. I'm a girl who still wears Welch's Grape Chapstick and basically orgasms every time I stumble across a beautifully bound vintage book, flavored licorice, or a really good cover tune.

....And you know what's exciting??........ I'm pretty sure just about ALL of this will change.......

What's your "STORY?" and do you like the way it sounds??

Monday, August 23, 2010

Hi, I'm the NEW KID and I'm renovating my life. Wee! Also, which one of you hides candy in their desk?

There's always something a little different in the air when you're at the threshold of "new."
I don't know if you're breathing a little quicker, or perhaps more freely -or that "something" adds just the right dash of crispness that makes you feel a tad bit more ALIVE.

If someone had told me 6 months ago that I would be single, working at a new kick ass job- in lieu of working the multiple freelance gigs I'd worked so hard to acquire over four years, to take on a full time position at a startup in Boulder, living with a girl who I hadn't met yet- who would end up being an inspiration and a great friend, surrounded by new people, new day-to-day, with a new CRUSH....I would've told them they looked in the wrrrroooong crystal ball, sister.

I would have defiantly looked the fortune teller in the face and said, "What what about _____ (fill in the blank)___ because that isn't going anywhere." Then that "thing" that I would've vehemently defended- within a moment would be gone; the "him," the "it," the "complete," the "acquired goal." Suddenly you're the new kid again in a life you'd been working so hard to try and fit into. And you're like, wait,"Fuck...." followed by, "I wish Life included complimentary name tags and arranged movers for you the way France arranges baby nurses for new moms (FINE- I don't know if this is an actual fact, but I saw it in Sicko and I'm going with it.) And also, yay! I remember loving a good packed lunch-but who am I kidding? I'm never gonna pack a lunch. I'm totally living on Starbucks sandwiches and Powerbars."

Ah, but that's the beautiful thing about life- isn't it? If we can gracefully take a step back and look at our lives with a little less attachment to the versions we've vision boarded and penciled in, we realize that the version in the crystal ball we hadn't seen was perhaps a better least for now. Until the next vision in the crystal ball, that I won't even TRY to peer into.

The sweatpants are on the shelf, my dutiful slippers and cushion in the crease of the couch where I worked for hours on end, won't miss me- they've run their course. The slamming my head against an unforgiving brick wall and asking for new results is also done, hi, gnarly bump smack in the middle of your forehead, you are not welcome anymore.

This time around it's all about fresh, NEW- unfamiliar and brilliantly uncomfortable- all the better to feel the shift and learn to elegantly, cleverly wade through the renovation of your life; elbow deep in fresh paint, sawdust, cherry-picking and Google documents.

I'm the new kid. The one whose fingers are clutching the crumpled brown bag of afternoon snacks in the palm of her hand-carefully organizing her colored pens and sticky notes in perfect piles until someone tells her exactly how she should use them. I'm that moment in a conversation where you're swimming in ambiguity and butterflies. I'm the anticipation, the jitters, the sole of your foot on pretty little eggshells. The "take a deep breath," the "can I sit at your lunch table" and the "I hope he likes me." I'm the, "How do I do this?" and "What the hell comes next?"- the, "I'm not sure if...." and the, "Holy shit." (Holy shit is said often in moments of "New Kid.") I'm the, "I hope this isn't a dumb question," and the "I hope my hands are agile enough, my mind quick enough and my heart brave enough."

The air in the morning reminds me that I've been this kid before....when the sun has barely peaked over the mountains, when my hair was perfectly polished and my eagerness to BEGIN the process of "NEW" was met with perfectly rose-colored glasses, placed gingerly on my nose- and in the process, through every stage of "New Kid" I have grown into a bigger, wiser, more vibrant "kid"and with that I find myself here again, with that same optimism, that same ambition and even larger, more fabulous- slightly theatrical, rose-colored glasses, placed gingerly on my nose.

Do you ever feel like the "New Kid" in your life???

Monday, August 16, 2010

Maybe someone is holding my REAL life hostage? And they're wearing a creepy mask and breathing heavily. Something like that...

"I'm bat shit insane." (Thoughts are things, la la la-fingers in ears- I'm declaring crazy. Maybe a few Xanax, midday cartoon watching and a padded room would do me good.)

A couple weeks ago I lamented to a fellow blogger over the demise of my sanity, whilst clinging to any shred of hope that maybe- just maybe, I could reclaim my future, sans straight jacket.
"I'm gonna start a business....." I pounded at the keyboard with the gusto of the Reese Witherspoon's character in Election- It'll be successful (whatever it is) and maybe I'll go back to school, and I'll be making millions, and maybe I'll write a book about my business, and maybe I'll dress "business casual," and. and. annnnnd- maybe I'll do "consulting," then maybe I'll hire employees and take day trips for meetings on the 40th floor of a high rise, and I'll stand in elevators in big cities all over the country, breathing in other's people successful air while we wait for that, "ding!" of our floor to alert us to go be all "successful and decisive and buzz wordy."

HI, can someone please tell me to 'lay off the bong Bob Marley.' Thanks. All of these maybe scenarios are NOT. MY. MAYBE.

When your whole life sort of "rearranges" -I would say you could interchange that with the word "crumbles" but, I'm being optimistic and crumbling sounds too ruiny, my life isn't quite Rome yet, I'm not that dramatic. -When things "rearrange" you start welcoming a lot of "maybes" in your life that weren't there before, because really you're considering the possibility that MAYBE you missed the boat that housed your "life's purpose" and you're MAYBE the greatest ad executive, or exterminator, or entrepreneur, or fucking Jiu Jitsu master that's ever lived- but maybe at one point in your life you had to choose between door #1 and door #2- behind one door you'd come across struggles, but they'd all ultimately strengthen your character and form the perfectly unique life you were destined to live- behind the other door, you go through a series of unsatisfying jobs, you get a Staph infection from taking your kid to the ball pit at Chuck-E-Cheese and your husband cheats on you with a girl named Candy, who dries snakeskin in her fridge to make belts.

Door #1, or Door #2- do you ever feel like maybe you chose door #2?

When you start to reevaluate all the things that have made up your "story"- the things that make you tick, the goals, the skills that are just innately a part of you- you can find yourself so far in a rabbit hole, that not only, doesn't have the answer you're looking for, but also, ultimately- leaves you doubting all of the things you know are CERTAIN about yourself.

Anytime we start looking at other peoples lives as models for our own and saying, "maybe I should be doing what they're doing..." we may open up or minds, or generate inspiration, which is good- IT'S GOOD TO THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX, as long as you don't forget what's already inside the box you HAVE- if the reason for wanting THEY have, is actually because you don't know how to have what YOU want... you'll only get fuzzy images of what "happiness" means to you- because you're comparing it to what happiness means for someone else. When the "maybe I should...." is so far off of the things you KNOW, maybe what we really should be doing is settling into the fact that maybe you should just let it be for a bit, until all the maybes aren't a question, but they're that steadfast, BREATH OF AIR- the "yes" that breathes a sigh and a weight from your shoulders. The energy that opens the door and knows, without a doubt that it was Door #1....and that everything that lies behind it is in it's right place.

There are a few things that I know for CERTAIN that any job I have from here on out doesn't involve excessive color coding, or intense math- I know for certain that I can come up with a killer idea, but I'll probably hate the idea within 48 hours and have an equally killer idea to follow up with it-I know for certain I'll never be a chef and I have terrible knife skills, I cant stand the sight of wet food and I'm not sure how to pick out a good cantaloupe? I know for CERTAIN that I like to inspire people with words, whether I'm singing them, writing them, or teaching them in a class- I know for certain that I shine brightest when I get to hold court and that I'm the most comfortable when I'm the center of attention- I know for certain this is something I see as a part of (or AS) my job at some point- in which capacity, I don't know yet. I also know for certain that I hate wearing the color mauve. And that three months without sex is simply too long. FACT.

I know for CERTAIN that I'm happiest surrounded by joyful, thriving and motivated people. I know for certain the next job I have will read my blog, love me in spite of it and will be progressive, stimulating, and unique. I know for certain I can't budget to save my life and that my eyes glaze over when someone says the word "stock." I know for certain that I'll never, ever care about the animals as much as I should, and that if I'm supposed to wear my contacts for two weeks, I'll likely wear them for seven. And a half.

I know for certain that maybe all I should REALLY do is continue harvesting and praising and loving all of the bits about me that even if no one else sees them, I KNOW are fucking remarkable....and that all in time, those "bits" will/do come to the surface and the eyes, opportunities and places that matter, laying behind your Door #1 will see them, in all their splendor.


Monday, August 2, 2010

I was a TORNADO of a human last week- Good thing it's Monday. REDO!

Hi Monday, I've never been so happy to see you. Let's make out.

It was somewhere between my car temporarily breaking down, realizing my ex-Love (hi, that's weird to say) had jetsetted off to Japan for a major tour that would go through the U.S. opening for a big artist (whom you all would know), while I was stuck here mending and questioning and not! touring! the! world!, then getting sick (antibiotics mean no drinking? For one. whole. week.) and losing a couple different major freelance jobs in the matter of one week, that I decided I'd like a "redo." Easy button perhaps? Voodoo to release past karma- did I steal from the elderly in my previous life? Hunt ivory from endangered species? What the hell? I was honestly waiting for the last shoe to fall; a gigantic clunky heel of death. Or some incurable stage 5 disease. Boyfriend, gone. House, gone. Job(s), gone. Car, gone. SANITY, to smithereens.

While I was leaning over the hood of my car like the beginning of a bad horror movie, trying to figure out how to open the damn thing, my dress flying wildly (up and into places that onlookers shouldn't have seen) and my hair getting stuck to my lip gloss- I decided that not only did this week suck a hard nut, but that being single did too.

"This is what boyfriends do! They fix car things, or at least talk you through the roadside panic." I growled to myself through a clenched jaw, throwing in a few "Fuck my lifes" in for good measure, "GOD DOESN'T WANT ME TO HAVE POSSESSIONS EITHER?!" I think I maybe screamed that. Maybe. Then I stomped. Because I'M A CHILD. And because my car represents the last ounce of "home" and control that I still have. Control to drive for hours if I feel like it up the highway and back listening to chick songs and ugly crying, or overdosing on iced coffee.
....Or to toy with the idea that maybe one day, I'll just keep driving.....somewhere....until I've found a new life, a nice life- with pretty colored glass jars, sun tea with fresh lemon slices, simplicity and boys that bring you daisies.

When I realized that I had I absolutely no way of fixing my car without some assistance (Hi AAA, you save my life- turns out the battery was just 'disconnected'), I did what any smart woman does in a time of need; I ATE PIE. A LOT OF PIE. Like, a whole fucking pie.

When the pie settled, that choice felt just about as good as a one night stand. Tasty and tempting, but leaves you empty, regretful, void of substance and even hungrier for the "real shit."

Stomach ache in full throb, I realized; The reason all of this was so hard was because I was being manhandled into making choices, starting over and letting go of things that I wasn't ready to. The slate was wiped clean for me and now I actually had to fill it up with something new, but what would that be?

Sometimes when we aren't making choices for ourselves the Universe/Life/Whatever you want to call it, steps in and decides to make those choices for us. They rip off the Band-Aid and make you face the fact that you're trying to hide something under there that needs your attention. It's painful, it stings- you want to tell everyone to "fuck off" and throw the middle finger right up to the sky- I know, I'm the master of this these days. The amount of discomfort you'll feel when you're pinned into making a CHOICE that you weren't making in the first place because it was terrifying, or you were unsure, or it meant facing other unsatisfactory aspects of yourself, is ASTRONOMIC.

It's about as uncomfortable as having a nipple itch when you're leading a PowerPoint presentation.

You're forced into making choices now that you weren't ready to make.....but would you have ever made them if you weren't forced to???

I can't say that I would've. I like to think that I would be smart/creative enough to get myself out of certain ruts that I'd made a nice nook in, but I can't say that that'd be true. So yes,
things are wildly uncomfortable right now. My canvas is still relatively blank, my bank account is shameful, my heart is still pulsing to the rhythm of a twisted and depressive Rachael Yamagata song and sometimes I flip things off. Yes, things.....but in these moments of distress and self-doubt, when I start feeling sorry for myself, or slamming random letters on the keyboard to my ever-patient friends, and whimpering like a puppy into my wine glass, I remind myself of the quote by Rumi;

"This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all!.....He may be clearing you out for some new delight. " Rumi- full poem here.

What will you "welcome" into your life today??

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'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 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.....


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;


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 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....)