As I pulled into my driveway this morning after running errands, I saw two impatiens blossoms, white and open as full as any jazz trumpet, waving in the morning breeze to greet me. Add these gracious hosts to the still vibrant lilac blooms on the butterfly bush by my back gate and the lurid pink mouths of the sweetheart roses near the door, and no one would believe we were midway through October.
These flowers and their extravagant shocks of color woke me up this morning to an idea that's been tickling at my brainstem for awhile but wouldn't quite come into focus until now. I've been thinking so much about timing lately, about seasons, about the cycles we follow by rote, the ones we follow blindly, the one we adhere to without even realizing they exist, and the ways those cycle dictate a life to us that may not be the one that is most authentic to us as individuals.
Katherine Anne Porter wrote: “There seems to be a kind of order in the universe, in the movement of the stars and the turning of the earth and the changing of the seasons, and even in the cycle of human life. But human life itself is almost pure chaos. Everyone takes his stance, asserts his own rights and feelings, mistaking the motives of others, and his own.”
If she is right--and my life over the last couple of years certainly dictates that she is--and we are all living lives of almost pure chaos, then our feigning rightness, order, and certainty must be a huge part of what contributes to humankind's general unhappiness.
I have many friends in the throes of crisis today, personal, professional, internal, external, tangible and intangible, and at the heart of all of that suffering--and at the heart of my own--lies an overwhelming need to do what we all feel we "should" as opposed to doing what we want. I keep wondering what it is that has convinced us all that we don't deserve the joyous lives we envision for ourselves, what keeps us running around the track, chasing a mechanical bunny that never slows down, that always eludes us, that never ever ever satisfies.
And then, I think about my flowers. The rose and butterfly bushes are perennial, meant to return each year, but they are both far past their blooming season, and by all practical calculation the impatiens, an annual flower I plant each spring because their bobbing blooms always seem like nature nodding yes to me whenever I want to scream no, should really be dead by now. But they're not. These flowers aren't adhering to any cycle that seeks to see them wilt, die out, shrivel, or go underground for another year. These flowers are blooming--blooming!--right here by my door, reminding me that the only limits to my own blossoming are the ones I set for myself.
Today, I choose color and life and beauty, joy and brightness and blooming. I hope you, dear reader, do the same.
16 October 2011
14 October 2011
In This Moment
Anyone who tells you life is easy once you get what you always wanted is both a liar and a genius.
The thing is, once events transpire and stars collide, there's almost always another piece that needs to fall into place, more work that needs to be done, four thousand conversations to still be had, and even after all of that, new crops will grow, reach their needy hands to the sky for sun and rain.
My point is that we are always transitioning.
I know what I can and cannot control. I know who I can and cannot trust. I know when I do and do not feel safe, and I am getting really good at figuring out how to handle all of it, but there are days when I want the future to be right now.
I am a big believer in living in the moment, and lately I have had some pretty spectacular moments. Blissful. Peaceful Easy. Loving. But that doesn't mean my heart doesn't skip a beat when the past rears it's ugly head or that my eyes don't start to twitch when I contemplate possible roadblocks in the future. It's human nature, after all, to plan, to think, to reflect, to wonder, to speculate, to dream. The trick, I think, is to be just as invested in the right now as we are in the before and the what comes next. I just have a really hard time doing that.
A friend once said that living in the moment is great except it means we never deal with the past or prepare for the future, and--if we don't--the past can come up and knock us on our ass and the future can knock the wind clean out of us. I get that. I have knocked out and breathless more times than I can count, so you'd think I'd be better at letting go of the bullshit attached to the residual and the possible, but I'm just not.
Today, I am trying to live in the light of what I know to be true rather than trying to stay in some arbitrary moment that feels like a whole lot of nothing. Today, I know I am loved. I know I am good. I know I am made of joy and truth and compassion.
I am.
And, in this moment, that is all that matters.
The thing is, once events transpire and stars collide, there's almost always another piece that needs to fall into place, more work that needs to be done, four thousand conversations to still be had, and even after all of that, new crops will grow, reach their needy hands to the sky for sun and rain.
My point is that we are always transitioning.
I know what I can and cannot control. I know who I can and cannot trust. I know when I do and do not feel safe, and I am getting really good at figuring out how to handle all of it, but there are days when I want the future to be right now.
I am a big believer in living in the moment, and lately I have had some pretty spectacular moments. Blissful. Peaceful Easy. Loving. But that doesn't mean my heart doesn't skip a beat when the past rears it's ugly head or that my eyes don't start to twitch when I contemplate possible roadblocks in the future. It's human nature, after all, to plan, to think, to reflect, to wonder, to speculate, to dream. The trick, I think, is to be just as invested in the right now as we are in the before and the what comes next. I just have a really hard time doing that.
A friend once said that living in the moment is great except it means we never deal with the past or prepare for the future, and--if we don't--the past can come up and knock us on our ass and the future can knock the wind clean out of us. I get that. I have knocked out and breathless more times than I can count, so you'd think I'd be better at letting go of the bullshit attached to the residual and the possible, but I'm just not.
Today, I am trying to live in the light of what I know to be true rather than trying to stay in some arbitrary moment that feels like a whole lot of nothing. Today, I know I am loved. I know I am good. I know I am made of joy and truth and compassion.
I am.
And, in this moment, that is all that matters.
12 October 2011
11 October 2011
Reading Makes the Waiting Go By
Head over here to read a great little piece by Sharon Randall. I'm in the grading vortex today, but her words are worth posting: Reading Makes the Waiting Go By
After all the essays are done, maybe then I can tell you about my booksale finds and how good life has been lately. Or, maybe, I'll read the books and live for awhile and not have much to say.
We'll see.
After all the essays are done, maybe then I can tell you about my booksale finds and how good life has been lately. Or, maybe, I'll read the books and live for awhile and not have much to say.
We'll see.
10 October 2011
For Good Reason
Even though there are good reasons for me to feel like pendulum Peggy--swinging wildly from one emotion to the next--I hate it. I want to be in a place of complete trust and safety, total joy and belief, a place where I know in my heart of hearts all will be well, but I just can't 100% of the time.
There are circumstances far beyond even the slightest hint of my control, people and places and histories that matter more and deserve time and effort towards an evolution and resolve that has not a damn thing to do with me, but I still wish I could know beyond all doubt that those wheels within wheels and fires within fires would all come to rest, flame out, and the scarred earth left behind would be truly ready for planting again--and soon.
And I wonder if my anxieties are solely about others, or if I've got some residual lack of faith in myself, in my worthiness of happiness, of joy. I know that I am good, whole, full of wonder at the world--I know I am a catch, but my hangups--sometimes--are that I don't always know everyone else knows it, so I get really antsy and irritated.
I hate being that girl.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, in The Scarlet Letter (which I love more very single time I teach it) writes: "[I]t is to the credit of human nature...that it loves more readily than it hates." Many of my students, today, disagreed and said human nature was hateful first because it was easier, that love takes work and most people are too lazy to do that work. I don't think that's true for me, or for them collectively as this year's crop is a pretty loving bunch, but I have to admit their words have haunted me all day in that I think--if not outwardly, towards others--perhaps inwardly we are exactly as they say, hateful towards ourselves because it is easier. Think about how hard it would be to wake up every morning and say, "I am beautiful, joyful, worthy of good things" and then navigate a world where no one else thinks so.
I guess my point tonight, and through all this ramble I swear I have one, is that even if there are good reasons for me to be anxious, afraid, swinging, there are better reasons for me to be full of love because, in the end, as Ryan Adams would say, "Love takes care of love, hate just burns you out." I don't want to burn out; I want to be made of light.
There are circumstances far beyond even the slightest hint of my control, people and places and histories that matter more and deserve time and effort towards an evolution and resolve that has not a damn thing to do with me, but I still wish I could know beyond all doubt that those wheels within wheels and fires within fires would all come to rest, flame out, and the scarred earth left behind would be truly ready for planting again--and soon.
And I wonder if my anxieties are solely about others, or if I've got some residual lack of faith in myself, in my worthiness of happiness, of joy. I know that I am good, whole, full of wonder at the world--I know I am a catch, but my hangups--sometimes--are that I don't always know everyone else knows it, so I get really antsy and irritated.
I hate being that girl.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, in The Scarlet Letter (which I love more very single time I teach it) writes: "[I]t is to the credit of human nature...that it loves more readily than it hates." Many of my students, today, disagreed and said human nature was hateful first because it was easier, that love takes work and most people are too lazy to do that work. I don't think that's true for me, or for them collectively as this year's crop is a pretty loving bunch, but I have to admit their words have haunted me all day in that I think--if not outwardly, towards others--perhaps inwardly we are exactly as they say, hateful towards ourselves because it is easier. Think about how hard it would be to wake up every morning and say, "I am beautiful, joyful, worthy of good things" and then navigate a world where no one else thinks so.
I guess my point tonight, and through all this ramble I swear I have one, is that even if there are good reasons for me to be anxious, afraid, swinging, there are better reasons for me to be full of love because, in the end, as Ryan Adams would say, "Love takes care of love, hate just burns you out." I don't want to burn out; I want to be made of light.
08 October 2011
Simply Beautiful
Today has the potential to be simply beautiful. Gorgeous weather, clean house, new books to read from the Lawrence Public Library book sale, good friends, Bright Eyes & Ryan Adams on the hi-fi...yep.
Great day.
07 October 2011
I Love My Job
I love my job. I work with kids all day long that remind me what it means to be youthful, hopeful, excited about the future, full of the wonder and total joy that possibility breeds in the human heart.
Today I got to tour the C-SPAN Campaing 2012 bus that stopped at our school so that our amazing Student Council kids could interview them.
Later in the morning, a former student sent me this image from Pinterest that reminded her of me--it's spot on and I loved that she sent it.
Another stopped by to hug me in the middle of a class.
After school I learned another former student just became the newest intern at the Art Institute of Boston gallery--I couldn't be more proud of her if I was paid to be.
Do you see what I'm getting at?
I know, every single day, that the job I do touches lives and makes a difference. But, not just for them. Being a teacher helps me to be a better me.
If it weren't for my job, it would be pretty easy for me to turn inward, get dark, and focus only on the things that scare me in my life, but I am a teacher, and I see every day what positivity, joy, laughter, and yep--love--can do when applied in daily practice to the lives of people learning who they are.
Today I got to tour the C-SPAN Campaing 2012 bus that stopped at our school so that our amazing Student Council kids could interview them.
Later in the morning, a former student sent me this image from Pinterest that reminded her of me--it's spot on and I loved that she sent it.
Another stopped by to hug me in the middle of a class.
After school I learned another former student just became the newest intern at the Art Institute of Boston gallery--I couldn't be more proud of her if I was paid to be.
Do you see what I'm getting at?
I know, every single day, that the job I do touches lives and makes a difference. But, not just for them. Being a teacher helps me to be a better me.
If it weren't for my job, it would be pretty easy for me to turn inward, get dark, and focus only on the things that scare me in my life, but I am a teacher, and I see every day what positivity, joy, laughter, and yep--love--can do when applied in daily practice to the lives of people learning who they are.
06 October 2011
Two Things
I'm pretty sure I'll spend forever with the man who figures out these two things are the way to my heart.
I Knew a Woman, Theodore Roethke
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways.)
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways.)
05 October 2011
Direction
Years ago, in another life, I was an actress. A high school theatre geek, a college actor, a woman of the stage, and I wasn't bad. I played some great roles and felt strong on stage, certain that I could deliver a performance that would move someone, and isn't that all any of us want to do? Put something in the world that will be well received, lauded, celebrated, praised?
Of all the parts I played, Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors was probably the most fun. So many of my then friends were in that little crackerbox of a show in the teeny tiny blackbox theatre of Hashinger Hall. I had a beehive, four inch heels, and one night I skidded across the stage and pulled a set wall down at the end of an act as I tried to keep from falling down.
But the role that challenged me most, bar none, was Meg in Crimes of the Heart. Not only was I terrified to do it--it was a big part and I felt like I knew that character so well, I wasn't scared of failing so much as I was afraid I wouldn't be good enough to do her justice--but the director was also a man for whom I had (still have) so much respect, I can only imagine it must be what working with DeNiro is like.
Greg wasn't just smart, talented, soulful, kind, funny--he was also my savior while I was in college. I was barely a non-traditional student, just two or three years older than my classmates, but damn if I didn't feel like I was living in another world. I'd attend classes and then sneak into his office and sit with him, laughing and talking and exchanging ideas, this man who was my mother's age though I never saw him like that made me feel like a full grown adult woman capable of making astute observations about the world. And he took me seriously. Not in that buttoned down, let's all have a cup of tea sort of a way but in that way that let's you know someone sees exactly who you are and completely digs you for it.
I've been thinking about Greg a lot lately, about the gift he gave me by casting me as Meg, and about all the other ways he helped me see myself in a whole new way. I'd returned to the small town where I went to high school and felt a little ashamed of that, I was in the same graduating class as my brother--this year marks our ten year college reunion (something only a school as small as ours would have)--and it felt a little degrading to be back where I'd started. But Greg gave me something better than direction on stage, he gave me direction in my life. He appreciated my early writing, encouraged me, and saw a spark in me that I wasn't really sure was anything more than a little psychological aurora borealis, my light just a phantom of the other lights that had come before me.
Today, I finished staging the show I'm directing this fall, and I got so excited about the way that final moment is going to look, about the way those kids are going to make an audience feel, and about the way I--hopefully--am going to be able to make those kids feel about themselves: strong, seen, capable.
Much as I loved being actress, nothing has ever felt as good as giving--and taking--direction.
Of all the parts I played, Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors was probably the most fun. So many of my then friends were in that little crackerbox of a show in the teeny tiny blackbox theatre of Hashinger Hall. I had a beehive, four inch heels, and one night I skidded across the stage and pulled a set wall down at the end of an act as I tried to keep from falling down.
But the role that challenged me most, bar none, was Meg in Crimes of the Heart. Not only was I terrified to do it--it was a big part and I felt like I knew that character so well, I wasn't scared of failing so much as I was afraid I wouldn't be good enough to do her justice--but the director was also a man for whom I had (still have) so much respect, I can only imagine it must be what working with DeNiro is like.
Greg wasn't just smart, talented, soulful, kind, funny--he was also my savior while I was in college. I was barely a non-traditional student, just two or three years older than my classmates, but damn if I didn't feel like I was living in another world. I'd attend classes and then sneak into his office and sit with him, laughing and talking and exchanging ideas, this man who was my mother's age though I never saw him like that made me feel like a full grown adult woman capable of making astute observations about the world. And he took me seriously. Not in that buttoned down, let's all have a cup of tea sort of a way but in that way that let's you know someone sees exactly who you are and completely digs you for it.
I've been thinking about Greg a lot lately, about the gift he gave me by casting me as Meg, and about all the other ways he helped me see myself in a whole new way. I'd returned to the small town where I went to high school and felt a little ashamed of that, I was in the same graduating class as my brother--this year marks our ten year college reunion (something only a school as small as ours would have)--and it felt a little degrading to be back where I'd started. But Greg gave me something better than direction on stage, he gave me direction in my life. He appreciated my early writing, encouraged me, and saw a spark in me that I wasn't really sure was anything more than a little psychological aurora borealis, my light just a phantom of the other lights that had come before me.
Today, I finished staging the show I'm directing this fall, and I got so excited about the way that final moment is going to look, about the way those kids are going to make an audience feel, and about the way I--hopefully--am going to be able to make those kids feel about themselves: strong, seen, capable.
Much as I loved being actress, nothing has ever felt as good as giving--and taking--direction.
04 October 2011
Spaces
I am a creature of space. I always have been. Pictures from my childhood bedrooms show them as rooms no one could have inhabited but me. Wallpapered with posters of Kirk Cameron and New Kids on the Block in middle school, then ads torn from Interview magazine in high school, glossy photos from theatre programs I thought I'd attend, quotations I loved.
In college, more of the same. Interview stuck around a long time, Rolling Stone covers, poems I loved, song lyrics, photos of friends and family. I've always needed the place I lived to look, to feel like me. To really reflect who I am. And, I've been blessed that my spaces have--usually--brought me great peace.
The house I'm in now has a copse of trees to the north that rushes in the breeze with the sweetest song, my sky pinks and purples, oranges and blues with each sun rise and set, and inside the rooms reflect everything about my personality from childhood til now.
Today, I was in a new space for a little bit. A space I hope to spend a lot of time in, a space that could--potentially--feel as much like home as this one.
Here's hoping.
In college, more of the same. Interview stuck around a long time, Rolling Stone covers, poems I loved, song lyrics, photos of friends and family. I've always needed the place I lived to look, to feel like me. To really reflect who I am. And, I've been blessed that my spaces have--usually--brought me great peace.
The house I'm in now has a copse of trees to the north that rushes in the breeze with the sweetest song, my sky pinks and purples, oranges and blues with each sun rise and set, and inside the rooms reflect everything about my personality from childhood til now.
Today, I was in a new space for a little bit. A space I hope to spend a lot of time in, a space that could--potentially--feel as much like home as this one.
Here's hoping.
03 October 2011
Spotify
With a special thanks to Jamie over at Mojo, etc., I have become a lover of Spotify. It basically makes your music collection available anywhere you have the application downloaded. All of it, as far as I can tell (every little dirty secret in your iTunes--Britney Spears, Foreigner, Oran "Juice" Jones, what have you). And you can look up new stuff and share playlists with friends. It's pretty badass.
These are just a few of the gems I've uncovered in the past few days. Enjoy.
These are just a few of the gems I've uncovered in the past few days. Enjoy.
Katie Herzig, "Oh My Darlin"
Lanterns on the Lake, "You're Almost There"
Fun featuring Janelle Monae, "We Are Young"
Andrew Belle, "The Ladder"
Bon Iver, "Towers"
02 October 2011
I Won't Let You Go
James Morrison. Amen.
when it’s black
take a little time to hold yourself
take a little time to feel around
before it’s gone
you won’t let go
but still keep on falling down
remember how you save me now
from all of my wrongs, yeah
if there’s love, just feel it
if there’s life, we’ll see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
say those words
say those words like there’s nothing else
close your eyes and you might believe
there is some way out
open up
open up your heart to me now
let it all come pouring out
there’s nothing i can’t take
if there’s love just feel it
if there’s life we see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
if your sky is falling
just take my hand and hold you
you don’t have to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
and if you feel the fading of the light
and you’re too weak to carry on the fight
and all your friends that you cared for have disappeared
i’ll be here not gone forever holding on
if there’s love just feel it
if there’s life we see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
if there’s love just feel it
if there’s life we see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
i won’t let you go
i won’t let
i won’t let you go
i won’t let
i won’t let you go
i won’t let you go
when it’s black
take a little time to hold yourself
take a little time to feel around
before it’s gone
you won’t let go
but still keep on falling down
remember how you save me now
from all of my wrongs, yeah
if there’s love, just feel it
if there’s life, we’ll see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
say those words
say those words like there’s nothing else
close your eyes and you might believe
there is some way out
open up
open up your heart to me now
let it all come pouring out
there’s nothing i can’t take
if there’s love just feel it
if there’s life we see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
if your sky is falling
just take my hand and hold you
you don’t have to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
and if you feel the fading of the light
and you’re too weak to carry on the fight
and all your friends that you cared for have disappeared
i’ll be here not gone forever holding on
if there’s love just feel it
if there’s life we see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
if there’s love just feel it
if there’s life we see it
this is no time to be alone, alone, yeah
i won’t let you go
(won’t let you go)
(won’t let you go)
i won’t let you go
i won’t let
i won’t let you go
i won’t let
i won’t let you go
i won’t let you go
01 October 2011
Exorcism
For some, exorcism conjures images of pea green soup and possessed little girls, priests and the seedy underbelly of Catholicism where it meets mystic and demonic ritual.
For me, it's about closets.
I have this passion for tearing everything out of my closets and exorcising the demons of my disorganization, be it clothes or office supplies, shoes (yes, I have an entire closet for shoes--and three shelves in another closet), or bath products, I have closets galore and they are filled with so much stuff that, when I get busy, I often just grab and shove until there's such a mess I can't tell my spaghetti strap tanks from my solid cotton t-shirts.
Everything used to be sorted by color--I still sort of stick to that--but now it's more about like items with like items, and today, digging through drawers and closets, boxes and bags I haven't looked into for awhile, I'm finding all kinds of things I'm just done with. Do I really need a t-shirt from a concert I didn't attend, even if it is a band I like, when I haven't worn the thing in seriously over five years? Or how about that pair of shoes I got way way way on clearance with the killer spike heel that hurt so much when I wear them that I basically always have to be sitting down?
Nope. Today I am the exorcist, sorting and tossing and generally putting things into an order that suits this me. It feels so good to take control of your space, even if I have basically been working on one room for the last four hours. But a woman's bedroom is a sacred space, it's bound to take a little time.
Take heart, though, fans--I am not haphazardly gutting my life. I have held on to the really important items, like the necklace my grandmother had made for me when I graduated from high school and my Ghostbusters eraser from 3rd grade on which I wrote my name and the fact that I was in 3rd grade. Priceless.
Some things have to be let go so that we can move into more open space while others, even if we thought we were done with them, resurface and prove to be the most important things in our lives.
Love, I have discovered recently, is like that, too. Sometimes we have to say goodbye to the love we thought would be our life so that the truest love can take root, hold fast, and grow.
For me, it's about closets.
I have this passion for tearing everything out of my closets and exorcising the demons of my disorganization, be it clothes or office supplies, shoes (yes, I have an entire closet for shoes--and three shelves in another closet), or bath products, I have closets galore and they are filled with so much stuff that, when I get busy, I often just grab and shove until there's such a mess I can't tell my spaghetti strap tanks from my solid cotton t-shirts.
Everything used to be sorted by color--I still sort of stick to that--but now it's more about like items with like items, and today, digging through drawers and closets, boxes and bags I haven't looked into for awhile, I'm finding all kinds of things I'm just done with. Do I really need a t-shirt from a concert I didn't attend, even if it is a band I like, when I haven't worn the thing in seriously over five years? Or how about that pair of shoes I got way way way on clearance with the killer spike heel that hurt so much when I wear them that I basically always have to be sitting down?
Nope. Today I am the exorcist, sorting and tossing and generally putting things into an order that suits this me. It feels so good to take control of your space, even if I have basically been working on one room for the last four hours. But a woman's bedroom is a sacred space, it's bound to take a little time.
Take heart, though, fans--I am not haphazardly gutting my life. I have held on to the really important items, like the necklace my grandmother had made for me when I graduated from high school and my Ghostbusters eraser from 3rd grade on which I wrote my name and the fact that I was in 3rd grade. Priceless.
Some things have to be let go so that we can move into more open space while others, even if we thought we were done with them, resurface and prove to be the most important things in our lives.
Love, I have discovered recently, is like that, too. Sometimes we have to say goodbye to the love we thought would be our life so that the truest love can take root, hold fast, and grow.
30 September 2011
When the Music's Not Forgotten
Some days, when hope comes winging into your heart despite your best efforts at bird proofing, the best you can do is open your voice and sing, try to match the song as best you can, harmonies lifting until there is no difference between who you want to be and who you are.
This, today, is my song: When the Music's Not Forgotten, Deadman
Please come close, for I long for you to hear
Hear the sound
That will rid you of your fears
In a land, where no water can be found
In a place, where there is no fertile ground
Longing for, yearning not to be forgotten
In an age, when the music is forgotten
In an age, when the music is forgotten
In the truth (in the truth)
Speaks of great and mighty things
Teaching us (teaching us)
What the peace of heaven brings
We must give (we must give)
We must give to all the others to those in need (those in need)
Who we fear to call our brothers
Reaching out (reaching out)
So that we are not forgotten
In a time (in a time)
When the music is forgotten
In a time (in a time)
When the music is forgotten
If we stand on a hill and do not touch
How can we do good?
If we wash our hands with all our friends
Where change can really come
If we hide our fears and don't draw near
Have we really lived?
Or are we all just standing here
Hoping there is grace?
In a dream (in a dream)
That I had not long ago
Visions of (visions of)
In a city made of gold
And a sound (and a sound)
That I never heard before
Such a sound (such a sound)
Saturating to the core
Such a sound (such a sound)
One that cannot be forgotten
[x4]
In a time (in a time)
When the music's not forgotten
This, today, is my song: When the Music's Not Forgotten, Deadman
Please come close, for I long for you to hear
Hear the sound
That will rid you of your fears
In a land, where no water can be found
In a place, where there is no fertile ground
Longing for, yearning not to be forgotten
In an age, when the music is forgotten
In an age, when the music is forgotten
In the truth (in the truth)
Speaks of great and mighty things
Teaching us (teaching us)
What the peace of heaven brings
We must give (we must give)
We must give to all the others to those in need (those in need)
Who we fear to call our brothers
Reaching out (reaching out)
So that we are not forgotten
In a time (in a time)
When the music is forgotten
In a time (in a time)
When the music is forgotten
If we stand on a hill and do not touch
How can we do good?
If we wash our hands with all our friends
Where change can really come
If we hide our fears and don't draw near
Have we really lived?
Or are we all just standing here
Hoping there is grace?
In a dream (in a dream)
That I had not long ago
Visions of (visions of)
In a city made of gold
And a sound (and a sound)
That I never heard before
Such a sound (such a sound)
Saturating to the core
Such a sound (such a sound)
One that cannot be forgotten
[x4]
In a time (in a time)
When the music's not forgotten
29 September 2011
Cool
I have never been, by my own definition, cool. That term always belonged to other girls, my grade school friend Jennifer's older sister Juie who had Molly Ringwald's 16 Candles haircut, posters of Duran Duran, and a complete disdain for everyone younger than her. Cool.
Or the older girls I saw cruising Fe--Santa Fe St. In Salina--who had thick eyeliner and smoked and had their own cars and seemed untouchable by things that haunted me like wanting to be liked and feeling unattractive to boys.
Or, when I got to college, the kids who were so plugged in to their thing, music or art or whatever, that they really seemed to not even see the rest of us, like we were invisible obstacles on whatever planet of awesome they inhabited.
But, and this is a big one, I think, seriously, that I may finally be sort of, kind of, dare I say it, cool. Possible evidence to that fact: I really don't care what people think any more. I mean, at all. If I want to wear cowboy boots and a dress and a cardigan and sort of look like the love child of Courtney Love and Loretta Lynn, so be it. I think misogynistic rap lyrics are wrong but I rock out to them at the gym and in my car. I'm embracing my multitudes and contradictions for the first time.
Point 2: pop culture references at the drop of a hat that. 4 kids I love hollered "yo ho ho" at me in the hally today--I later learned they'd just left a class where they were reading Hamlet--and my response was "and a bottle of Brass Monkey, when my girlie shakes her hips she sure gets funky.". Yeah. I said it.
Point 3: and most importantly, I can laugh at myself and not just when others are laughing. Today, I said something really dumb about why i don't wear a watch anymore. For those of you who were there, ugh. I stopped wearing a watch because it made me so anxious, I was constantly checking it, feeling like I had to plan and time everything. It made me nuts. But, today, I said I stopped wearing it because "I didn't want to be a slave to time anymore.". Oh, god, even writing it makes me feel like a douche. But, and this is why I may be cool, I immediately said I knew the comment made me sound like an asshole, and we all had a good laugh at it.
Finally, I think I mint be cool because, after all this time of feeling like I wasn't I sort of don't care anymore if I am. And that makes me ultimately cool.
Right? (okay, maybe I still care a little :)
Or the older girls I saw cruising Fe--Santa Fe St. In Salina--who had thick eyeliner and smoked and had their own cars and seemed untouchable by things that haunted me like wanting to be liked and feeling unattractive to boys.
Or, when I got to college, the kids who were so plugged in to their thing, music or art or whatever, that they really seemed to not even see the rest of us, like we were invisible obstacles on whatever planet of awesome they inhabited.
But, and this is a big one, I think, seriously, that I may finally be sort of, kind of, dare I say it, cool. Possible evidence to that fact: I really don't care what people think any more. I mean, at all. If I want to wear cowboy boots and a dress and a cardigan and sort of look like the love child of Courtney Love and Loretta Lynn, so be it. I think misogynistic rap lyrics are wrong but I rock out to them at the gym and in my car. I'm embracing my multitudes and contradictions for the first time.
Point 2: pop culture references at the drop of a hat that. 4 kids I love hollered "yo ho ho" at me in the hally today--I later learned they'd just left a class where they were reading Hamlet--and my response was "and a bottle of Brass Monkey, when my girlie shakes her hips she sure gets funky.". Yeah. I said it.
Point 3: and most importantly, I can laugh at myself and not just when others are laughing. Today, I said something really dumb about why i don't wear a watch anymore. For those of you who were there, ugh. I stopped wearing a watch because it made me so anxious, I was constantly checking it, feeling like I had to plan and time everything. It made me nuts. But, today, I said I stopped wearing it because "I didn't want to be a slave to time anymore.". Oh, god, even writing it makes me feel like a douche. But, and this is why I may be cool, I immediately said I knew the comment made me sound like an asshole, and we all had a good laugh at it.
Finally, I think I mint be cool because, after all this time of feeling like I wasn't I sort of don't care anymore if I am. And that makes me ultimately cool.
Right? (okay, maybe I still care a little :)
28 September 2011
3 Laughs
I have been writing a lot of personally introspective things lately, so tonight I'm taking a break. These three moments have made me laugh in the past couple of days. They say a lot about my sense of humor.
I.
Today I misread an email subject that read "Excuse for Gymnastics"--as in please excuse these students who will miss class for a gymnastics tournament--to read "Excuse for Gymnastics" as in these students are our excuse for having a gymnastics program.
I laughed right out loud at myself. Go me.
II.
Yesterday, after texting a student who was missing from rehearsal, I received a text saying I had the wrong number (I later learned the missing student had incorrectly written his cell number). I replied "Sorry," and the following text exchange occurred:
Anon: That's okay. I play the kazoo, can I come rehearse?
Me: Uhh, no thanks, but good luck with the kazoo.
Anon: Hey, thanks. My mom says I'm really good at it.
(I secretly wish I knew who this person was so I could tell him/her they made me laugh)
III.
A private joke about "just sitting there and doing nothing" has been making me laugh all day and night since it was first used in the exact way you're thinking it was used earlier today.
Sometimes, a little laughter is all it takes.
I had a lot of it today, much needed, with the friend from III. Here's to more of that.
I.
Today I misread an email subject that read "Excuse for Gymnastics"--as in please excuse these students who will miss class for a gymnastics tournament--to read "Excuse for Gymnastics" as in these students are our excuse for having a gymnastics program.
I laughed right out loud at myself. Go me.
II.
Yesterday, after texting a student who was missing from rehearsal, I received a text saying I had the wrong number (I later learned the missing student had incorrectly written his cell number). I replied "Sorry," and the following text exchange occurred:
Anon: That's okay. I play the kazoo, can I come rehearse?
Me: Uhh, no thanks, but good luck with the kazoo.
Anon: Hey, thanks. My mom says I'm really good at it.
(I secretly wish I knew who this person was so I could tell him/her they made me laugh)
III.
A private joke about "just sitting there and doing nothing" has been making me laugh all day and night since it was first used in the exact way you're thinking it was used earlier today.
Sometimes, a little laughter is all it takes.
I had a lot of it today, much needed, with the friend from III. Here's to more of that.
27 September 2011
Honesty
I have, for a very long time, prided myself on being honest. I tell my students they have to be honest with me if they didn't do or didn't understand their assignments because it's the only way I can help them. I tell them they have to be honest with each other if they want to have meaningful relationships, and I tell them they have to be honest with themselves if they ever hope to live their most authentic life.
I am full of shit.
Well, sort of.
See, I completely believe all of this for everyone else. Sometimes I believe it for me, but not always. And I certainly have a hard time telling the people I love most the truth, especially if it's stuff they may not want to hear. I have this deep need to please, to be liked, and it can get in the way of me being me, of living--you guessed it-- my most authentic life.
So, today, I told the truth. A lot. I said a whole lot of things I haven't been saying, I trusted myself and someone I love to be able to take it, whatever the consequences.
I am too old not to practice what I preach, and if I'm telling my students to practice honesty, I'd better be just as brave as I expect them to be.
Cross your fingers that I made the right choice.
I am full of shit.
Well, sort of.
See, I completely believe all of this for everyone else. Sometimes I believe it for me, but not always. And I certainly have a hard time telling the people I love most the truth, especially if it's stuff they may not want to hear. I have this deep need to please, to be liked, and it can get in the way of me being me, of living--you guessed it-- my most authentic life.
So, today, I told the truth. A lot. I said a whole lot of things I haven't been saying, I trusted myself and someone I love to be able to take it, whatever the consequences.
I am too old not to practice what I preach, and if I'm telling my students to practice honesty, I'd better be just as brave as I expect them to be.
Cross your fingers that I made the right choice.
26 September 2011
Shoebox
A good friend of mine used to have what he called his 'shoebox of lies.' He took the name from a Barenaked Ladies song, and his box was filled with old letters and card, gifts from people who had once cared for him, people whom he had once cared for. We joked about that shoebox thousands of times, but he recently told me he threw it out. Time to clean house, move on, start fresh.
I have a box like that, not filled with lies, but with the words and music and gifts of one particular relationship. I have not opened it since I filled it, eyes full of tears and heartsick that I may never see or hear or feel those things again. I couldn't throw those things out, though. I couldn't let the artifacts of love, the evidence of joy rot in some landfill somewhere while I wept over their loss. And I didn't want to be one of those people who thought the love that had existed between us was somehow false or dead simply because one of us made a huge mistake.
I have, of late, been wanting to open that box, to sift and see, to dig and dream. In my reverse Pandora story, there is no evil to be unleashed by looking, but there are small winged moths of hope that may come flying out should that lid be lifted, and I may be, today, more afraid of those flutters than of any other carnage or chaos because, when hope is shattered, when faith goes, there is simply no other road to travel.
So, for now, the box is buried, the lid latched, and I wait, wondering if there'll come a day to dream again.
I have a box like that, not filled with lies, but with the words and music and gifts of one particular relationship. I have not opened it since I filled it, eyes full of tears and heartsick that I may never see or hear or feel those things again. I couldn't throw those things out, though. I couldn't let the artifacts of love, the evidence of joy rot in some landfill somewhere while I wept over their loss. And I didn't want to be one of those people who thought the love that had existed between us was somehow false or dead simply because one of us made a huge mistake.
I have, of late, been wanting to open that box, to sift and see, to dig and dream. In my reverse Pandora story, there is no evil to be unleashed by looking, but there are small winged moths of hope that may come flying out should that lid be lifted, and I may be, today, more afraid of those flutters than of any other carnage or chaos because, when hope is shattered, when faith goes, there is simply no other road to travel.
So, for now, the box is buried, the lid latched, and I wait, wondering if there'll come a day to dream again.
25 September 2011
Make It, Make Your Way Home
When I was in college, I bought the soundtrack to My So-Called Life. This song, Juliana Hatfield's "Make It Home," was on it, and it is without a doubt one of the most heartbreaking pieces of music I have ever heard. Every time I hear its opening strains and then her faint hum before that voice kicks in, the one that manages to be both raspy and girlish, my vision clouds and the world goes blurry, not from tears so much as from a want to believe that we will all find the home she sings about.
I read recently that, when you find true love, it is like coming home. I imagine it's like entering a house you've never seen but somehow, it's yours. You belong there. All the furniture conforms to your body, the bed supports you, the water temperature is always perfect in bath or shower, the sunlight splays across the floor in that way you like that is so singularly yours. The bookshelves are filled with your dearest loves, the artwork on the walls was made just for you, and no matter what you're hungry for, you can find it in that space because it is where you were meant to be.
Each time I hear this song, I say a little prayer for all of us looking for true love or trying to make our way to the ones we have already found, that we will, before too long, make it home.
Hmm..mmm..mmm...
Mmm..mmm...
Mmm..mmm...
Mmm.....
Deepening night, think on a time
All was bright
Here in this dark place, I see in your face
All is not right
Make it, make your way home
Better than the last
Break it, break the alone
Take a second chance
Open a window, let in the snow
Cold is all I know
Go to the fire, stir it around
There's a warmer place for you to go
So, make it, make your way home
Better than you have
Break it, break the alone
Leave it in the past
Oh, look and you'll find it
Someone wants to love you
Look and you'll find it
Someone wants to love you
Wake it, wake your dream
One forgotten me
Sleepin' deep inside o' you
Heavenly peace
I read recently that, when you find true love, it is like coming home. I imagine it's like entering a house you've never seen but somehow, it's yours. You belong there. All the furniture conforms to your body, the bed supports you, the water temperature is always perfect in bath or shower, the sunlight splays across the floor in that way you like that is so singularly yours. The bookshelves are filled with your dearest loves, the artwork on the walls was made just for you, and no matter what you're hungry for, you can find it in that space because it is where you were meant to be.
Each time I hear this song, I say a little prayer for all of us looking for true love or trying to make our way to the ones we have already found, that we will, before too long, make it home.
Hmm..mmm..mmm...
Mmm..mmm...
Mmm..mmm...
Mmm.....
Deepening night, think on a time
All was bright
Here in this dark place, I see in your face
All is not right
Make it, make your way home
Better than the last
Break it, break the alone
Take a second chance
Open a window, let in the snow
Cold is all I know
Go to the fire, stir it around
There's a warmer place for you to go
So, make it, make your way home
Better than you have
Break it, break the alone
Leave it in the past
Oh, look and you'll find it
Someone wants to love you
Look and you'll find it
Someone wants to love you
Wake it, wake your dream
One forgotten me
Sleepin' deep inside o' you
Heavenly peace
24 September 2011
Nothing/Everything
Fay Weldon wrote, or said--I don't know, it's on an old card I saved from someone I don't remember that I found at the bottom of an old hatbox I got from a store that no longer exists--that "Nothing happens, and nothing happens, and then everything happens."
I want to believe that.
I've spent the past couple of months honing my precious live-in-the-moment skills and now they are sharp as shrink wrapped steak knives, capable of cutting through tin cans, bullshit, mid-thirties heartbreak, and three inch thick candle wax with the same dexterity as slicing a Porterhouse. I have become an appreciator of sunlight, naps, old movies, new books, all things I have loved in the past but got away from, distracted by life and technology and hopefulness and what ifs and maybe sos and somedays.
I don't want to be someone who says, "I'll be happy if..." and then the litany begins. I want to be the person who can say, "I am happy now. As I am. No changes, substitutions, exchanges or returns." And you know what, in a lot of ways, seriously, A LOT of ways, I am. There's just this one thing, this one thing that makes all the rest feel like so much nothing because that one thing has the potential to be the aforementioned everything, so I am sitting here on a Saturday afternoon hoping Fay Weldon in her curvy creamy script on this old red card is right, and that all this nothing that has been happening will soon become the promised everything.
I want to believe that.
I've spent the past couple of months honing my precious live-in-the-moment skills and now they are sharp as shrink wrapped steak knives, capable of cutting through tin cans, bullshit, mid-thirties heartbreak, and three inch thick candle wax with the same dexterity as slicing a Porterhouse. I have become an appreciator of sunlight, naps, old movies, new books, all things I have loved in the past but got away from, distracted by life and technology and hopefulness and what ifs and maybe sos and somedays.
I don't want to be someone who says, "I'll be happy if..." and then the litany begins. I want to be the person who can say, "I am happy now. As I am. No changes, substitutions, exchanges or returns." And you know what, in a lot of ways, seriously, A LOT of ways, I am. There's just this one thing, this one thing that makes all the rest feel like so much nothing because that one thing has the potential to be the aforementioned everything, so I am sitting here on a Saturday afternoon hoping Fay Weldon in her curvy creamy script on this old red card is right, and that all this nothing that has been happening will soon become the promised everything.
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