Monday, December 26, 2011

Look around Little Dreamer......

It's interesting what you see when you decide to view it from another angle.

...Like, right now- I'm sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom, a floor I've cried on, meditated on, made love on (sorry Mom, Hi Dad, sorry.) On this floor, I'm usually facing one direction- towards where the door is, but tonight- I'm facing another wall.... again, a wall I've stared at a million times- I see different parts of Me from here.

There's a stack of sheet music under my bed, for instance- one book has a 100 songs, the other about fifty plus. I've only sang, mmm, 25? There's a birdhouse, an unpainted one. Some dried up paints.... one of my Great Grandmother's vintage feathered hats....

There are two canvases hanging on the wall, from when I went through the inescapable "painting phase," that us adolescent creative-types experience, despite actual talent for it. On them are pictures of Janis, Jimmy, Mick and lyrics from soul songs.

...To my left, a present from last Christmas that I never took out of the box, it feels like I received it yesterday. Apparently, "I'll do it later..." i.e. take-present-out-of-box, never happened- just like a lot of the things I say I'll "do later..." don't happen, not out of lack of caring, but out lack of attention to what you know matters to you. Painting silly futile bird houses. Singing all 100 of those songs. Caring for your gifts, pun intended and not intended, I suppose.

A guitar case. A portfolio from an old flame. Bunnies. Records. A painting of a little pixie girl blowing kisses to a group of canaries. A Writers Market book. Lanyards. A dreamcatcher. TREASURES AND PROJECTS...always projects, only treasures. Shall we go on a treasure hunt?

A vintage camera. Folders upon folders of poems and scripts, monologues, essays- most of which I've written, or studied and fell in LOVE WITH. Words and stories that nursed me, that I wanted to tell and live through.

An Andy Warhol wig. A bulletin board covered in mini-accomplishments; show fliers, ticket stubs, postcards and a little painting of a field full of poppies given to me from a painter in Florence. A room painted crimson red and beige, with obnoxious red splotches on the ceiling from stubbornly deciding to paint the room myself, damnit. A reminder of determination and brave choices.

See, when you forget who you just have to look around.

I never know how to handle New Year's. It's always a little melancholy to me. I don't want to let go of the things that morphed me through the year, the people and the experiences that GREW ME.

For being a Gypsy you think I'd be better at Goodbyes.

I put an incredible amount of pressure on myself, where I'm going, where I've been...if I'm "on the right track." Peering too far ahead makes me all... disappointed in myself. No matter my accomplishments and that has to stop. This is my dream, why wouldn't the things I dream within it be a reality....if it's all the same thing?

This last year was so full, to the brim and while I've been home all of that unsettled stuff has tapped gently on my shoulder and reminded me that it still has a presence, that it lingers. That sometimes all you need is to see a glimpse of what "was" and all the dots connect again. The familiarity rushes back, the shape and structure of him, of it, of us and me, of hoping. They all... fit, still.

A reminder that the past and the present aren't separate from one another and that what I WENT through is still what I'm going through and most importantly that who I was, is who I AM, even when I am changing.

I'm not one for resolutions, because I like to actively remind myself, daily to find RESOLVE, FORTITUDE AND INTENTION. So, I'll say this much... look around when you feel off track. Look, Chels. Do you see yourself?

Do it often. Be picky about the things and the people that you keep because they will be your reminders. Light and dark exist at once. Bitter and sweet, are sometimes the most delicious combo. That all of it- the dreams, the past, the future are one. thing. Nothing is separate.
Make more time to let things sink in. Demand it. To really chew on something for awhile. To give attention and to make solid. REAL time for shenanigans and trifling.

..For Real Talk with your kaleidoscope mind and your little, little voice inside that big, big soul.

....find resolve in being GENTLE, in being kind. In being patient with your mishaps and your uneasy footing. Change is a graceful and clumsy dance, let it sweep you.

When I think from the beginning to end of where I started last year, when the clock struck midnight to where I'll end up at midnight, this year, I can say this- it's been more and it's been less, it's been unexpected in both good and bad ways, all of that existing within the same perfect whole. I've had dreams all year that I'm going to the moon, must mean that's exactly where I am.

This is your dream. Look around.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Getting to the ROOT of it all....

There’s this incredible tree, in front of my doorstep, that I marvel at everyday.

I just sort of sit and listen to it.

The way it moves, the way it lets the wind sort of take it and rustle its leaves. I don’t know what kind of tree it is, I don’t know how long it’s been there- but I know that it’s this magnificent organism that’s functioning, breathing, sustaining itself and there’s something about that, that I find incredible solace in.

There’s comfort in knowing that amidst the dis-order, there’s destined order and routine, the kind that doesn’t have any agenda, rather exists to remind you that when anything/everything falls you will still react to the wind, to the demands, to the seasons and you will grow anyway.

The tree lets the weather take hold of it and it still stands there, rooted, and oscillating yet steady.

This is sort of how I feel. About life. Being a part of this living, breathing, operating and cooperating organ, that is still strong and planted.

I have this thing, this thing in me that always tells me, “know more, learn me, BE more….” The other night over roasted Brussel Sprouts and San Bres I mentioned my desire to feel more adequate and equipped to create, share, and take in beautiful things; knowledge, literature, music, everything that I can sink my mind-teeth into and chew on and my dear friend Lisa, who, I’ll probably talk about here often- because she fell back into my life after years effortlessly and has since made me feel like I’ve come home to myself again- said, “You have to start with what you know…” or something along those lines, message being: delve deeper into what it is that already has a HOLD on you. And start from there.

I talk about this a lot, this whole “Bloom where you’re planted,” idea and as a natural gypsy with a suitcase packed by the door and an agenda for “the next thing” on the line at all times, I have to check back in and remind myself of what that actually means. Where are you planted? What are the things that make you bristle up with eagerness to BEGIN them, to be a part of them…. What turns that light, just a notch brighter?

I know myself, I’d like to think incredibly well. But, it’s always easy to forget- and there’s a difference between knowing yourself and BEING yourself.

The things that begin at the ROOT for me are:

Music, but not just any music- the music that wakes up the slumbering soul, the music that suggests you should “go there…” the music that suggests you should stand up, strip down the fa├žade and just. Fuckin. Dance. The music that brushes against nerves and makes the heart pangs flinch into submission, the music that makes your chest cave in and hurt so good. My root is in utmost conviction, loyalty, and unwavering reliability as a friend, as a partner and as a family member. In knowing my damn priorities and not for a minute, second-guessing who and what is important and needs attention or care.

My root tap, tap, taps on my shoulder and says, “you’re going to do that someday….carry on…” my root reminds me that I am capable and intuitive, gifted and prepared.

My root is shamelessly a lover of the vices that make you feel good and in no apologies necessary, My Dear. My root is somewhere amongst the stars and the moon, castles on clouds and neck-bending beanstalks and all the ladders, spaceships, slingshots and time traveling machines that it takes to live in their company. My root whispers; connect, create, CHALLENGE, understand, observe, demand.

My root is in full transparency, no holds-barred, take it or leave it. With a side of, let’s all just get along and be those shiny, happy, people holding hands?

My root is in, “I don’t give a fuck, but please be gentle.” My root is in happy endings, once upon a time, There Once Was A Boy…. And dreams do come true, ya’ll.

My root is somewhere wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a change of ridiculousness tucked away, just in case.

My root is somewhere in time wearing Pippi Longstocking braids, sitting around a card table with family playing Apples to Apples, drinking cheap beer and talking about love and babies, or politics, or babies, love and politics.

My root is always saying- be patient, be kind, be authentic, BE OPEN… and don’t forget to fall in love, even just a little, with something or someone everyday.

What does the ROOT of yourself tell you???

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

On being positively irresponsible and healthily selfish. There's also a Tiger involved.

I feel different.

It’s funny…. The days you think you’re supposed to feel different aren’t usually the days you do. Your birthday, usually just feels like another day and every year Christmas, Thanksgiving and Halloween inch further and further away from feeling special, especially without serious planning and allotted time for tradition and childlike enthusiasm (all of which seem to need a calendar date, otherwise they won’t happen.)

The days you’re supposed to feel a significant change aren’t real days, because change is subtle.

I was aware of the drastic changes that were happening but I was in emotional denial. Sure, I had played them out- I prepared, I packed, I said goodbye- but I wasn’t mindful of all the shifting beneath the surface. I didn’t foresee the emotional tectonic plates that were turning me into an entirely new continent and how much of me was subtly integrated into all of the details, the details that make up the BIG THINGS and by “how much” I mean…..everything. My entire makeup was defined by this lifestyle I’d created and I had gone so far away from what made me feel…..powerful and alive, for the sake of feeling secure and needed, that I’m now realizing what that means: there’s a lot of extra energy is inside of me.

There isn’t any “We,” there’s just a Me and when it’s just a YOU, you’re also the only one responsible for taking care of how you’re feeling. There isn’t a fallback, a default, an excuse- for lack of a better term, to not be doing everything in your power to FEED your happiness. To not binge on blissing the fuck out.

It’s all up to you sister. All that extra energy wants your attention….so what are you going to do with it?

Well let me tell you, I’m going to embrace it, recognize its force- which to be honest, is a little frightening at times- it’s like raising a house cat, then feeding it some Wheaties and realizing it’s a Tiger. But, despite not knowing what to do with a fucking Tiger, I will feel through every cell of my body what it means to be self sustaining, positively irresponsible, untethered, self- reliant. Selfish. Yeah, go on now Child, be a little selfish- it’s okay. You’re not a bad person.

In fact, I say INDULGE, INDULGE, INDULGE- in staying up too late, in reckless flirtation, in taking your time, in giving mixed signals because you like green and red, in holding cards, in lingering, in calling the shots, in tables set for one, in knowing YOUR decision is the right one and decisiveness can be quite a rush, in Pinot Noir, in Girlfriends Only time, in listening to a new story, in calling when I feel like it, in going for it….all of it.

I will indulge because I’ve just discovered that there’s been this bounty in front of me while I was busy foraging for food, on the wrong property. Thing is, this isn’t specific to LOVE this is specific to Living.

EXPECT MORE FROM PEOPLE and the energy they carry, bring, share- because making excuses for them won’t actually help them find their subtle shifts, the ones they need and you need, to wake up. To step up to version Rad.0 (mhm.) When there’s a million things on your to-do list, manage your extra oomph appropriately- surround it with the vibey responsiveness it deserves and you will sustain it. Notes, to self Chels.

But really, since I do have a thing for the L word….I feel different because I realize this….

….being in LOVE doesn’t have to be exclusive to being with A love, if you recognize that you are love.


Energy channeled.

When was the last time you felt "different...." and why?

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Pay attention to your instinct. You've ALWAYS known....alternate title: I cannot be tamed and other wild things.

“What is not as it appears? What do I know that I wish I did not know? What of me has been killed or lays dying?”

You know those moments when you read something and it sort of makes your heart skip a beat? The ::gasp:: happens. Then, the “Oh fuck” stomach drop hits like a sucker punch? You know the times. The times when you understand why ignorance is bliss and you’re pissed that you can’t just remain fucking blissful? Yeah, well.

When I read that sentence, from Women Who Run with the Wolves- a book that, in my opinion, needs to be on the bookshelf of every woman, (especially the ones seeking to live free, wildly, BRIGHTLY)- I literally set the book down and decided to process, the way you grieve and mourn- visceral and rapidly.

For the most part- this whole breakup, I’ve dealt with gracefully. I’ve been respectful and supportive, put his needs in front of mine…I've been trekking up the HIGH. ROAD. Wearing shiny sunglasses, peering onward and West, sans rearview mirror. I was everything I’ve needed to be for the both of us, to transition into this new period with dignity and acceptance….. so yeah, all of that happened- then somewhere between a bottle of wine and Saturday night mass emails to friends about how/why we’ve broken up, my inner resentment and I had a little TALK. A little come to Jesus, if you will. Spoken through a megaphone entitled, “Pinot Noir and Truffle Fries.”

There were things that were happening between us that I’d let myself say, “this too shall pass…” To say any of the reasons why we split came out of “left field” and sneak attacked me, would be playing the victim card and that’s not my gig. That would be a lie that I told myself to cope and frankly, I don’t have time for nonsense and lying anymore. There were things that I’d convinced myself would be “okay forever, till death do us part,” things that, in hindsight, are so far from okay the Old Me looks like she’s heavy on the crack pipe. Somewhere between acknowledging all of that and opening my inbox on Saturday night, to glass number three of my good friend Pinot- I realized, boo. Devil- I was so. Goddamn. Angry.

I wasn’t angry at him- in fact, I was the exact opposite. I was still proud and loving and maternal as every towards him. Him and I are still healthy and fantastic, no regrets. I still want him to be wildly, happy. I was….. angry at myself.

Angry at myself for getting THAT FAR AWAY FROM MY CENTER.

Angry at myself for not listening to what my intuition had told me all along. Not just one thing that I’d ignored, but a series of things. I was angry that my brain had loved someone so intensely that I was willing to accept something that, even in my happiest moments, I knew would eventually leave me sucked dry that to the point of needing him to continue. I was angry that I’d let myself love someone so hard, that I may not be able to actually care about ANYONE like that, to that capacity, with that optimism and faith….ever again.

The remnants of that betrayal towards myself all sort of…rose to the surface this weekend.

I realized; you know what Chelsea Belle, right now- you're worth letting someone worry about you, take care of you, show adoration and excitement in YOU. Let them open doors, let them chase, let them see that you aren't here to be tamed, but you're willing to let them run alongside you-- if they can keep up.

Forgive yourself for staying longer than you should, for wishing it was going to be something that it wasn't, for seeing ALL THE SIGNS and doing it anyway. For turning a blind eye, for compromising too much, for giving it all away. Ease your instinct back out of it's cave, because you need it.

Listen to yourself. PAY. FUCKING. ATTENTION. Question their motives and as much as you want to give your heart freely, be cautious of who you give it to. Not to say that I have regrets, because I do not- but this next time around, I will be alert. Demanding of honesty. Of utmost respect and transparency.

The core of our spirits have this incredible system that senses red flags, warns you of danger, stops you in your tracks. Don’t be silly with that Center that’s trying to protect you- recklessness is only so much fun, then your heart gets in the way and it’s brutal.

Forgive yourself for knowing, for sensing danger and running head first anyway. Revisit the parts of you that you let DIE and bring them back to life, because you can.

Instinct. Your feminine nature that just knows. EMBRACE THESE THINGS. My wild women. Run with the wolves again.

What part of yourself are you not listening to???

Monday, October 31, 2011

Making Space, Doing Cartwheels, Skipping beats. What a Vague Title.

Now is the time to make space.

Space- internally, behind the doors, stuffed in the back of the drawers and underneath the layers of camouflaged emotion. Rummage through the spaces you reserved specifically for all the "junk," where you kept it "in case" you needed to use it as ammo in a moment of calamity, knowing it would be there to comfort you like an old friend. That stuff, that has to go now.
There's a curbside waiting for it's arrival and there's other visitors at your door.....ready to come in and start making a home. Infiltrating you with new words and new landscapes, new rhythms and exchanges. New whirling fantasies and pretty charm.

....they'll keep you on your toes, remind you of who you are and hint at who you're becoming.... be mindful to like this person, that they hint at. Warmly embrace them. Welcome the subtle transformations like you do the changing of the leaves or the growth of your hair.
One day it wasn't and the next day is just was. Steady metamorphosis.

Choose these people, these things, these surroundings- gingerly, with curiosity and optimistic hesitation. These are the characters that will hang their hats and kick up their feet, atop all of your treasures, the ones we see and the ones we don't...they'll complicate your plans and make appearances in your day-to-day thought patterns.... they'll consume parts of you, even if you are careful. Let the pieces they consume be some of your favorites, roll with it.

Rearrange some things, tilt your head and furrow your brows- mull it over. Dance about in the emptiness. Do leaps and somersaults and salutations in every direction, to every Moon and Sun and stars.

Let the openness of this new space scare you a bit...because being afraid is exhilarating, sweaty palms and racing hearts, navigating and mastering, speaking up and skipping beats-- it's just your heart reminding you that you are ALIVE. See that? Skip, skip.

I have so much space, cleared out- cleansed, if you will, and out of familiarity a part of me wants to complicate it, fill it up with things, write on the walls and OCCUPY it. DO ALL THE THINGS, BE ALL THE THINGS, KNOW ALL THE PEOPLE, HAVE ALL THE THINGS RIGHT NOW- and I think, the beat I'm following happens to be just the right rhythm. Must just let it be, Chels. Add one new piece at a time, surveying all the parts before they become a permanent fixture.

I like this, even the awkward, sometimes-blue-and-wistful-all-at-the-same-time parts. This space-y, skippy, 'fraidy-cat, cartwheeling me. Just one piece at a time little chick.......

How much SPACE do you have in your heart and your life?

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Gypsy Girls. All the Love & My New Gig.... HUZZAH!

For most people, change usually goes something like this; something major happens and the moments to follow are greeted with a steady routine of processing first, adjusting second, adapting and continuing, third. That's for most people.

For people like me, change is usually followed up with a plane ticket. Most of the time, the plane ticket is one direction only….. A few weeks ago, I packed a carry-on bag, for my one way trip to LA Livin' on a prayer really, hoping that something would "work out." I'd been looking for job opportunities in the city since May and NOTHING. WAS. HAPPENING. I started to think I was being Sixth Sensed. Dead and didn't know it yet. Or something equally fucked up where the world just doesn't respond to your desperate pleas for change.

.....the instant I got to LA, with my seven outfits and my Non-Plan Plan, I realized why nothing had worked beforehand. I hadn't made the statement yet that I was ready for it to.

When I got here, after two weeks of an whiplash inducing, stomach churning, emotional rollercoaster rides, sans cotton candy and over-stuffed prizes--- Saying Goodbye to one life and Hello to a new one, holding onto the ledge still with one hand and reaching for New with the other, I let go. No net.....and like they always say it does, one appeared.

The day before I was about to go back home to get the remainder of my things and come back, (still with no job, a few freelance clients, a mangled soul, dwindling money and nowhere to live) OR stay in my room for the rest of eternity feeling sorry for myself, I got a phone call. About a job. A really. fucking. fantastic. job. After a few back and forth interviews, I was offered a dream position that I didn't think existed. I've taken a position for a small company that (in simple terms) assists high-profile clients, celebrities and their brands across all digital/social platforms. i.e. I get to work with amazing creative, inspiring people strategizing how to translate their awesomeness offline, online. And everyone knows what a Pop Tart I am, so working with some of my favorite celebrities on a daily basis is BASICALLY THE BEST THING EVER.

After the job was a go, the apartment fell into place, the dream neighborhood, the great furniture, the move butter. Smooth, easy, delicious. Not that I'm calling Butter slutty or anything.

Ironically, I live across the street from this lovely bird, who's an old friend (and fantastic blogger) and a few of my best friends in the entire world live in town, which means a lot of hair braiding and couch cuddling and all the drinking. The support system is incredible. Openly, unabashedly…. just, starry eyed, you-are-totally-fucking-stellar sort of adore these people.

My Ex-Love and I parted maturely, packing up my U-Haul together, moving pieces and making room like Tetris with our lives and our heart. Fitting. I miss him, everyday, I send love and light (I cry a little, or a lot) and then I continue. One foot in front of the other. Embracing all that's in front of me and sending smiles to all that is behind me and living, still, inside of me.

Gypsy Girl is used to describe the general way in which I approach life; freely, with optimism, story worthy characters, a little absinthe and a eagerness for adventure. She's back, my friends.

...sure... maybe she's running away, but she is running towards something. Even if that "something" is just a new perspective, inspired by looking at the same situation from a different angle. I like who I am when I'm moving. When I'm active, when there's demands on me and expectations that that I may not be able to live up to (but I will, boom.) Imposed pressure turns me on. So here we go.

Back to the Gypsy that I was....

Here's to all the uncomfortable, awkward, perfectly ripe and eager NEWNESS that is upon us.


Thursday, September 22, 2011

Butterflies. Booze. and HOLY SHIT SO MUCH IS CHANGING.

On my way to see My Love the other day I noticed a group of girls, about eight or nine years old....skipping alongside a reservoir, picture perfect really--- I loved that they had time to skip, I remembered having that time, what it was be joyful enough to just skip, unprovoked.

….these little ones, skipping, were holding a net. Probably for bugs, or fish....or maybe, for butterflies. I was charmed by that idea.

The idea that when you leave your house, you will encounter a butterfly and that butterfly will willingly, settle into your net, long enough for you to marvel at it.

I loved the optimism of it all...... capturing a butterfly, with no door, no motivation or expectation- no way to cage it in, just for a moment, to marvel and let it go.

Sort of what we do in life right? Look for something delicate and miraculous, something so fancy and unique and utterly beautiful, so we can hold it in our hands, open palms and just hope that it stays.

It’s been interesting. This change.

I heard my inner voice fighting without my rationale, “But I still love him” and gently, like a a schoolteacher placing her hands on top of your tiny ones, fumbling and frustrated trying to your laces, my Other Voice said, “Then, love him.”

Then, love him. that’s what I did. Just, loved him--with no real place of belonging for that love to land. Just, Open heart, flexible mind...sort of love.

I spend so much time PLOTTING life-- writing lists, planning the next step, plotting “the way.” Almost, like I’m trying to find a loophole so that everything can go the way that I planned it, instead of they way fate plans it. Dodging under beams and ladders. Starting with a running leap. Anything to just make sure there’s no mishaps.

...then you realize, life happens to you. it HAPPENS to you, whether you’re plotting, dodging, scheming, or not. It just. happens.

Let it... (Ohhh, HA! so that’s surrender, gotcha Lesson.)

Then, the way the new pieces fit into your life will feel less clunky, less awkward---they’ll settle into their due time, of course. You’ll walk around holding all this New in your hands, thinking, “what in the fuck do I do with this? I don’t know where to put this.” Until,’ll decide to replace certain pieces and it’ll feel like surgery, it’ll feel like sticky, reluctant excavation...but you’ll do it anyway. To free up your hands.

Life is shifting in the most bittersweet and beautiful way...... and all I can hope, is that I’m here palms up, open, ready for my Butterfly to land. That’s what I wish for you.


Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Saddest Goodbye......

It's swiftly dividing up your Life can be, when everything becomes Yours and Mine, and Ours isn't an approved possessive anymore.

In hindsight, we both knew. We just knew how hard it was going to be to finally walk out, the courage hadn't matured strongly enough, yet to fight through it.

It was about 6 weeks.....6 weeks, where I looked at him differently, every time we did anything, trying to etch it into my brain, burn it so deep that it would never leave.....since I knew, eventually it would. Silly things, ya know? The fuzz on his tummy, the shapes of his toes..... the sound he made when he put his nose on top of my head, taking me in. I watched my brain move through memories of his stories and ideas, our dreams together, and I grasped, hand over hand....trying to bottle them up, somewhere safe. Preserved.

This time, it's different. There was a very clear point, when we both new we had to let each We walked away knowing we'd literally given each other every inch. No regrets.

I watched my cigarette burn down, my eyes full to the brim, flooded with overwhelming ache...... "Can I please stay here tonight?"

We both wanted one more evening, where we could act as if we still belonged to each other. One more night, one more morning with sleepy heads nestled into one more coffee run, one more nightcap before everything changed.

I held him in the dark, heart pulsing, shaking, our bodies fitting perfectly- the way they did....
"I feel so empty, I feel so dead."

In the way he always knew how to calm me, "Chels, you're more alive than ever. You're more ALIVE than ever." The rawness of my pain was so clearly, LIVING, breathing on the surface of me...throbbing, accessible, conscious.

"Everything in my future has you in it.... I don't want us to be done." Time always stopped together....I felt, if I just kept holding on, we'd never be apart. We were planning things, always- we were moving in October, to a new state...we'd met our "Someday" family, in our dreams...we already liked them, welcomed them...their tiny toes and their feistiness. I couldn't let them go.


He said to me, while I hid myself inside of his arms, the ones I thought were made specifically for me. He was right, this was my Dream...he was my dream, and now....I had to walk away, knowing with my entire heart that we did every. single. thing we could.....some circumstances are just, unchangeable.

I have the whole Universe inside of me.....and one beautiful love story, that has strengthened my heart, opened me to the most vulnerable place- changed me, irreversibly.

We packed up my things, working together-- silently in sync.... detached still from the profound sadness that had now began to augment our lives.

"Promise me, you'll never feel alone.... you'll never look at the phone and think that there's no one on the other end to call."

He was, is, my Person. He said to me once, "Our souls have seen each other" and I know that they have, to the deepest capacity.

When I was sad, he'd say "I see you." When I was defeated, he'd say, "You love yourself....remember?" He'd known me...he knew my layers and how to remind me of them, when I'd forgotten and I knew his.

We sat there, on the bed, our bed---eating pizza, more for the activity than the nourishment....and he lifted his glass, piercing into me with those perfect blue eyes," our overwhelming success."
It was what he'd always said to me when we toasted. Finally, it actually made sense.
We, were successful. We love(d) so deep, so selflessly, cosmically.... we tried. We grew. We sacrificed.

As we divided our things into His and Mine....I knew, there was one thing that would never be divided, apparently....souls can't do that.

So.....My Love, as you will always be to me, here's to teaching me how big my heart actually is, to how magnificent it is to feel that love reciprocated and to our journey, together and now apart....

....I will love you. Cheers, to our overwhelming success.

Thursday, September 1, 2011


Photo Cred: Le Love

It’s important to sit. To waste time. To give your thoughts breathing room.

To having “wasting time” be a goal.

To feel the weight of it all. To feel sadness and aches, for no reason....when everything is perfect. And then, to be jolted like a slingshot into joy when it flashes across you. Wildly, unexpectedly...the surprise guest, the kind you wear your party dress for...hoping they’ll come again soon.

Bask. Mope. Drag your feet, deliberately.

Nimbly tracing, with the tips of your fingers, all the way to the end of the rope, where the fraying first began- inch, by inch. Don’t skip a moment.

Pace. Play it on repeat. Pay attention to the detours and not just the destination.

Feel sorry for yourself, silently. Ride it out.

Demand tears to come, not “if necessary,” but always necessary. Insist on hammering it out.

Lay on the floor, for an indefinite amount of time. In every room of the house. Sit in the shower....draw smiley faces on door and watch them drip.

Drift off. To sleep. To that room in your brain that you haven’t explored yet. To nostalgia, where you've convinced yourself "things were better."

Watch yourself cry in the mirror. Notice a new way in which your face moves and wonder how many people know that specific way in which it moves and think of it any time they hear your name. Associate yourself with that face....tell yourself a sad story. Imagine conversations, that haven't happened.

Stare into your coffee cup. Let your eyes tell a story, so you don't have to keep repeating it....your brain already does enough of that.

Do less for awhile.

Regret the Tipping Point. You know there would be one....eventually... you just rolled the dice.

There's never enough time, is there?

Drink too much. Have a marathon day. Do less for awhile, so you feel less guilty about DOING IT ALL.

Admit you need tending. Forgive yourself, for knowing all along.

Ignore nothing.

Wake up. Put your hands, over your heart...... and remember, It's all going to be okay. Every single thing.