for the last time

sometimes the maze of hell and back can unfold without ever leaving your seat. 

sometimes it takes hours longer than you think your eyes and heart can hold out, peering through the darkness, to get to the oh so crucial and back again. 

and not sometimes, but always, you have to let the sun set before it can rise again on a new day–watch as it disappears beyond the horizon, pulling along with it all its colors and glory to wash away the past. 

this night is a dark one to burrow into, fall having taken a strong grip on the year. but a glint of silken silver, a stripe of african blue, are better than anything ariadne left behind.

waking dreams

i'm still not exactly sure what was the dream and what was reality. i know i yelled, loudly, and several times. but i am only certain it was out loud because my throat burned as i leapt out of bed throwing the covers off of me at the same time. all the while, i kept my eyes completely focused on the spider perched on the edge of my bed just a foot or so from where my sleeping head had been. my eyes, my whole body in fact, was trained on the spider as i moved around the corner of my bed closer to the thing, heart beating madly, terrified but determined to rid my life of this too-big-for-comfort-spider so inconsiderately shaking me from sleep. but as i got closer, the spider faded suddenly into nothing as i reached out, disbelief and my hand touching the empty sheets at the same time.

i know it didn't scamper up over the edge and into my blankets. i know it didn't drop down the side of my bed when it saw me coming with all eight of its non-existent eyes. i know it with complete certainty because i have never been so singly focused on one thing in my entire life.

i stood for a few moments staring at the unoffending sheets, lavender {as usual}, lit by the candles i had chosen to leave burning when i had turned in for the night {not usual}. i turned on the light by my bed to make sure i wasn't completely crazy and to give myself some time for my heart to reluctantly return to a more normal speed.

i would blame the candles, a trick of the light, but a whole day later, i am just not sure. somehow it feels like the lines between waking and dreaming were blurred. but i wasn't sleep walking, i was aware of it all, every moment, every decision, every ounce of focus on the spider. yet as it disappeared, as the space its 2 1/2 inch body had occupied on my bed revealed itself to merely be an unconvincing line of fabric, i felt myself surfacing, as though in that moment my consciousness shifted from one thing to the next as tangibly as a soft breath air on my face.

this has only happened one other time about 12 years ago. my year in australia was coming to a close and i had come back early from a night out, content to be alone and reflective on one of my last days in the country rather than dancing about town with some folks i didn't really know. the girls in the house i was crashing at woke me up about an hour or so after i turned in {similar to last night} and when i returned to bed, the celestial print on my bed sheets was rippling like water. i stood in amazement looking down on my bed that look like a stream was superimposed upon it. and somehow, it felt like the water was rippling across my eyes at the same time. i looked away, at some other object in the room, and satisfied the whole world wasn't liquifying, i turned back to my sheets, watched it for several moments and then started narrating exactly what i was seeing and feeling for my friend who was crashing with me in the room. i spoke out the entire phenomena to my half asleep companion, affirming more to myself than to her exactly what was happening. then someone switched on a light in the hallway. the spell was broken and the sheets returned to their usual static design.

really, i'll take rippling stars and suns and moons any day to a med-large house spider perched at the edge of my bed. either way, hopefully it'll be another decade before i straddle the line so tangibly between the two worlds of my consciousness, or at least if the next one features a phobia again.

and tonight, i'm exhausted.
and jumping a bit at shadows.

right

the place where we are right           
--yehuda amichai

from the place where we are right

flowers will never grow
in the spring.
 
the place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard.
 
but doubts and loves

dig up the world
like a mole, a plow.

and a whisper will be heard in the place
where the ruined
house once stood.

the bear hug

this was a week to wrap up in my arms and hold tight for long minutes. this week deserves a big bear hug of generous love. the kind that keeps going, arms shifting, necks curling in toward each other, skin holding on too. this week deserves to be savored and held up to the sky to see through and again and again and again because the people adorning the hours, the ones i got to sit across from between last sunday to this one, they make it one of the richest weeks i have had in a long time.

it was a week of changing tides. it was a week of encouragement and words and spontaneity and bitter sweetness. but most of all, it was a week to remind me what my life truly is here, how it can change in the course of one conversation or one meal, and what direction i might need to go next. i know there are losses ahead of me and at the very least changes, but i feel a peace swell up even in the face of these shifting lines and all i can do is hug tighter and longer and sweeter with a pause to pull back, look out and say yes.

and as the sun comes up over the horizon on a new week, it brings with it the clarity i have long been praying for and the realization that my life is rich and filled with wonderful people. i just need to slow down and savor it more often, which can be as simple as giving it a big bear hug, especially when it surprises me with a bear hug of its own, catching me by surprise, and keeping me grateful. so completely grateful.

housemates for a night

they talked over one another, one joke running into the next, laughter tying it all together in a neat bow on my back porch. the chinese lanterns were on. mojitos poured. and the night unfolded so perfectly,  so unexpectedly, to think i had almost let it slip me by.

a few hours before i had been sitting at dinner with four men i had never met before in my life. these four aussies converged earlier this week on spokane, washington with their newly purchased motorcycles which was the starting point of their trek down hwy 101 to los angeles. stops along the way include cape flattery, a moto guzzi shop where the premier guzzi mechanic works, and seattle, to visit me.

this last agenda item is solely because of one, random little website, that came and went several years ago called ten15am. it was a site dedicated solely to posting photos that anyone from around the world could submit as long as it was taken at 10:15am. it's a simple concept that was playful and fun, but also created many lasting connections to people i still am in contact with now, over 4 years later. it's amazing what you can learn about someone just from a regular cross section of their life put on display to the world. there was the father of two who traveled to turkey early on in my participation*, the well-heeled audiophile from melbourne*, the graphic designer from london with a cheeky sense of humor*, and the woman from the midwest who always photographed the same little figure on a box of matches, just to name a few.

and then there was scruff. the aussie from sydney with motorcycles, good taste in literature, and a massive beard. unlike some of the others, we never really got into the extensive email dialogue i have with the starred ones above, but he did express a particular joy at posting photos of passages from his current book to see if i could figure out what he was reading. he was also always happy to play along at whatever game we partook in on the site {my favorite being the alphabet game -- each day the 10:15am photograph featured a subject or caption starting with a and moving through the alphabet}.

on a whim {because i often get postcard sending whims}, i sent him a postcard a year ago that featured hwy 101 in washington state and i was surprised to get a reply that he would be out this way in 2013 and we should grab a pint. but i pint with scruff became dinner with the gang and five of us sat down to a meal of mostly friend chicken and beer at skillet diner last night. while we were there, discussions on where they would stay for the night ranged from the arboretum {no, they'll kick you out of there} to a last minute rental of a houseboat when i chimed in spontaneously, apologizing for the hardness of my hardwood floors, and offered up my generous space to their sleeping bags and sleeping pads.

and that's how my dinner mates became housemates for a night. and what a night it was. really. i've been writing here for about 2 hours, pitching every start, second guessing every paragraph because i can't assemble everything that this night was.

it was more than just a sum of their well-worn-in camaraderie, more than just the joy that a night of deep laughter can account for, more than just the gentle surprise any time these men, who can barely speak without playfully talking over one another, quieted down like gentlemen and listened to me tell a story or add my bit. it was definitely more than just a few lemonata mojitos made at the encouragement of brad, the un/official captain of the bunch. more than the generous compliments for my home and space they all made. and more than just the gratitude for being given an impromptu place to stay for a night. somehow, quicker than i could follow, i got let in on this band of friends quite alike one another yet so unlike me, and still i was welcomed in by open hearts and big laughs and that is all it took to bring our kindred spirits together.

scruff in his lounging glory. 

i really wish i had gotten portraits out there of them all.

the jokes about the effects lake water on the digestive system, totally okay. the ride on scruff's triumph down to lake washington to admire the stretch of the cascades from baker to rainier, absolute bliss. and i earned my badge by carrying the case of beer home with one arm secured around the box while balancing on the back of the bike and praying the cop we drove by wouldn't realize there was something funny about scruff's headlight. we hung out all night on my porch with a show and tell of the footage from the day, hoping we were talking quietly enough for the neighbors, and discovering that scruff, introduced this cocorosie song to his teenage daughters. at some point there was even a short duet sung by the brothers {scruff and lachlan are related if you can't tell from the below photo}.

i went to sleep listening to the chorus of snores from my living room and briefly considered closing the swinging door between the dining room and the hall, but fell asleep before i could.

waking up this morning and traveling from bedroom to bathroom in my pjs, my hair standing up on its end, i paused long enough to admire the state of the kitchen: hugh working his way through the eggs i had promised them, making breakfast for us all. earl grey was steeping in mugs on the counter. unusual on a work day, i sat down to a meal and let the morning stretch over more stories and one amazing egg sandwich. i wanted a refill of my tea and linger at least another 12 hours with them all, but the day and my job called me forward, the road calling out to them.

and here they are below, the lot of them lined up, ready for their adventure, unaware of how incredibly empty the house would feel later on today.

i consoled myself today by going through the photos i hastily snapped as they packed up, doling them out one by one on instagram. reliving snippets of stories. it has been something to hold onto as i think about why exactly, last night was so wonderful, and why, exactly, that kind of wonder and joy doesn't happen more often in my life.

sitting across from one of my best friends tonight at dinner, telling her a bit of the tale, we laughed together every time a song looped through on the restaurant's soundtrack that just happened to be the same instrumental song lachlan's computer used for the photo slideshows on my porch just 24 hours previous. she reminded me that i have a knack for the sort of magic and synchronicty that made last night happen and that it portends a promise of more joy and more opportunity to come.

yes, please.

but tonight, i'm just a bit lonely, feeling like the house is too quiet/ missing my new friends.

left to right: hugh, lachlan, capt'n brad, scruff

scruff packing up to head out.

rambles and reminisces

five years ago today, i went on a walk along lake sammamish with my sister. until i told her at work, she hadn't yet read the email that dragged me out of sleep that day. the one that said my grandfather didn't have long left in this world.

at nine am {and i distinctly remember marking the time}, i stood out on a narrow sliver of sand extending its long finger into the water and i looked up just as an eagle soared effortlessly passed. to this day, i remember what i said inside my head: i wonder if that is what death is like. just a silent, majestic coasting out.

we returned to work a little while later and spent the day working in calm and quiet.

sometime after noon we got the email that my grandpa had passed away quietly at home with his wife's hand on his heart and his daughter at his side. he left this world at 9am, about the time the eagle was sailing over head.

leaving work early, i came home and spent the day alone, walking, wallowing, and then finally turning toward words, the computer, this blog, and created a space that has been as much about the conscious preservation of my stories as about the unintended consequence of refining my relationship between the textures i experience and my ability to communicate them.

my grandpa was a magnificent storyteller. and his voice was big and his heart bigger. and here, five years later, reading the email we got that day in 2008, just a few spare sentences telling us he had passed, i can easily remember the electric shock followed by numbness that washed through me, insulating me from my self and the world as i floated toward my sister's desk and told her the news. i still recall with awe the contradiction of feeling everything and nothing at once and how that is the only time i've experienced loss to that magnitude.

and it's a good reminder on days like today when i get angry at my mom while she's trying to give me advice on the phone. days like today when i say goodbye to my best friend who is one of quite a few people in my life taking these next, bold steps forward and away into their lives. on days like today when i eat the cheesecake that only allowed me passing happiness with a stomach ache to follow. and days like today when i realize it's been months since i've written a line here or jogged a physical line for any serious distance, either. days like today when it's all converging fast on not good enough and failure and something must be wrong.

this is not really much of a blog post. more of a ramble and reminisce. this has been the longest stretch of not writing probably since i began, so it's as much about getting back into the words as it is an acknowledgement of five years and 915 blog entries.

so here's to storytelling. to my grandpa's long life. to making moves toward my own next milestones. to running again. to staying in my apartment for at least two years. to the herb garden i just planted and the rose bush on my porch named delilah. to you, my friend. to me.

good night.

encore

james blake.


he came to me by way of "wilhelm scream" on a music mix. october 2011. oh, what a month that was for me. the beginning of an era i haven't entirely made sense of. one not entirely come to fruition. it was the month i turned 29 and started rehearsing for the play. the month i got this mix and played a hole into the cd on a drive down and back from bend, oregon.

and tonight, as blake came back on to the stage after a set that wasn't nearly long enough, he opened up to our pleas for an encore with the notes to the song "wilhelm scream" and my heart opened up too – suddenly. after a set that was largely sonic and visceral, he surprised me right at the end. reminding me of a time before the song, before a deep gulf was exposed inside of me. before a year of painful struggle and growth needed to span it closed again – helping me towards whole.

the melody and words were a sudden and direct line back to the person i was when the song first came to me. i stared that older version of me in the face with a heavy dose of empathy for what the next year ahead of her would be, how it would be one of the hardest of our life. and though they come far less frequently than ever before, some days, like earlier today, i face the chasms still remaining and wonder if i would make the same choices again. put her through what she went through, daunted as i am at how far it sometimes seems that i still have to go.

but really, decisions of this magnitude have never been something i can second guess, ever, despite the fact that many of you have done so {lovingly} on my behalf. even as my heart goes out to her, that person i was, and in turn reaches around through time to me now, i know that this was the best and perhaps quickest way to becoming the person i want to be.

instead, here i am, running myself in {smaller, less frequent or frenetic} circles much like the lyrics of the song. here i am managing to stay tied to my very clear marching orders forward, tied to the fact that all i can do, all i want to do, is move further into my life in the name of truth. move forward in the name of strength. move forward in the name of love. even if it feels like i'm falling. falling. falling. 

and as long as i'm paying attention, i see those small signs that tell me how far i've come. and they are the ultimate comfort to the person looking forward at me from a year and a half backwards in time. and in her eyes, i can see she is filled with relief and encouragement that all along, it was for something. more than something, actually. everything. even if i can't hold it yet.







I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm lovin', fallin', lovin', lovin'Might as well love you
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm turnin', turnin', turnin', turnin'Might as well turn in
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'
I don't know about my loveI don't know about my lovin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin'Might as well love you
I don't know about my dreamsI don't know about my dreamin' anymoreAll that I know is I'm fallin', fallin', fallin', fallin'Might as well fall in.

cut

evidently my older sisters fought my mom a lot when it came to brushing their hair. too much work. too many tangles. too many tears. i'm guessing here because i was too young to remember at that point, but it must have been something pretty dramatic to give my mom the resolve to maintain my untidy and unfeminine shorn cut that followed me around through early grade school.

what i do remember clearly are all the attempts at reasoning with her, all the promises to brush my own hair, swearing myself to silence no matter what the effort was to hold in the pain of grooming – anything to keep it longer than boy-short and awkward. i remember the injustice of it, of my lack of say in what happened to my own body. i remember the disappointment in yet another hair cut and the envy i harbored for courtney-from-kindergarten's chin length hair curling in gently toward her face. i knew her hair would have been an acceptable compromise between the tangle-free length my mother insisted and my desire to look like a girl if only i could get my mother to understand.

somehow even then, i felt like my hair was tied to being a girl or perceived as a girl {i very well may have been called a boy once or twice in that 0-6 range and certainly remember a friend's younger sister being called a boy and my well of shame in empathy for her}. even then, i felt lacking in femininity despite not even knowing the word.

as soon as i was allowed – about 3rd grade or so – i kept it long. shoulder length slowly became even longer – something to pin up. braid. ponytail. brush long down my body. it was always everywhere, but i embraced its imperfect disorder and loved the messy bun of hair achieved with one rubber band and a practiced set of twists and turns that was the perfect unity of balance and disorder.

the first time i cut it shorter {chin length} was in my best friend's kitchen toward the middle of high school. the request was shoulder length. she was wielding the scissors. i was there, emboldened by her daring hair colors and cuts: bright pink one day, the next it might be platinum or just as easily raven. she was bold and beautiful and i wanted to own some of that daring, but only to a point. unfortunately that point got crossed as one uneven side led to another, and suddenly the hair is up above my shoulders and that's long after i had begun crying from the first snip. luckily she was able to get things relatively straight before it passed my chin. for several years after that incident, i kept it the longest it's ever been {more than halfway down my back}.

wanting to be bold and being bold are two totally different things.

i'm not sure exactly where the idea came to chop off my hair this time around. perhaps it was as simple as needing a new haircut. perhaps the motivation to return to my normal hair color was a factor. i think seeing both anne hathaway and charlize theron {particularly the latter, a tall beauty as she is} helped i'm sure, and about a month ago, for the very first time in my life, i seriously considered taking the blade to my hair and hacking it off for real. as in: above my chin. as in: a bob cut. as in: boy-length hair.

i did some research, pinned some images on my underused pinterest board, found a replacement hairstylist after my last one moved away, screwed up my courage, and then almost backed out.

wanting to be bold and being bold are two totally different things.

but somehow i found myself in a salon chair today, musing on connections and sensory input in a technology driven culture, being grilled on some of the details of my personal life {i adore my new stylist for many reasons}, and watching a razor seemingly haphazardly take off all of the dyed bits and about 90% of my length, at least in back.

it was a scary process as relaxed and entertained as i was. looking at myself in the mirror while my wet hair is plastered to my face is one of the least flattering views of myself ever. so to have to sift through that bulbous view of my cheeks as i curiously peered back at what is emerging...it was a hard hour in the chair. down to the last minutes. even after everything was done and the hair was given life again through some pomade and hair dryer. i still wasn't sure.

and as i left the salon, self-consciously running my hands through the absence on my right side particularly {she left a little length on my left}, i still couldn't quite make of it who i am underneath. one part the shy elementary school girl still wanting the sixth grade boy to notice her. one part the stubborn girl just wanting to look like a girl. and one part the woman i am, excited by a change, conscious of sloughing off the past year's worth of growth {physical and emotional}, and relieved at letting go of an 8 year dying habit.

but tucked away in some out of the way corner of my brain, i am also aware that i am letting go of something i have long been hiding behind in my own little ways. boldness aside, that is a victory in and of itself. my step is a little firmer. my gaze, stiller.

the shit storm

a note to the reader: this is a vivid dream i had last night that, in the way of dreams, addresses things i don't normally deal with using language you won't otherwise find here on my blog – mainly the image of shit and the use of the word 'shit.' it's what i dreamt, it's the word that occurred to me in the dream, and so i present it here to you as part of one of the most symbolic, meaningful, and in its own way, comforting dreams i've had in years.

i was in a restroom stall having just used the bathroom. as i flushed the toilet, the water began rising instead of falling, pushing up a dense and massive pile of shit. having never clogged a toilet in my life, i was horrified and embarrassed, but that gave way to alarm as the water began rising faster and faster and quickly began overflowing in this swirling vortex.

just as the water and shit began spilling out onto the floor, i realized the whole bathroom was shaking and that's when it occurred to me that i was in the middle of an earthquake. drenched i fled the bathroom running through the building looking for the way out, puzzled and even alarmed by the people in the halls cowering passively in doorways waiting for the earthquake to end. why aren't you doing something?! i yelled at them inside my head. we should all be going outside into the open where it's safe! but they were all motionless and in shock as i frantically passed them.

in my rush to safety, the earthquake ended. wet and even though i couldn't see it, i knew i was covered from my waist down, i returned to the bathroom to clean off. i was back in the cramped stall as the excrement speckled water quickly drained away and it was about then that a man joined me. i remember his hair being mid-length and unstylish, his face unattractive, and his manner vaguely annoying, but i also felt a deep kinship and feeling of connection to him. i knew he was a true friend despite what he appeared on the surface and he was there to keep me company as i sat naked on the seat of the toilet pumping handfuls of soap from the dispenser and covering the lower half of my body with handful after handful of soft, white liquid-soap. then i slowly washed the soap away, one body part at a time, cleaning any trace of the grime from my body.

when i came out of the stall, my friend was gone, and in his place, lying down on the floor was the first real love of my life. one of my first friends. my first soul mate. and despite only have been met with rejection or disinterest throughout high school and college, he was also the first truly painful and un-requited loved of my life. and though now i love him with the simple constancy i love my brothers, for several years i held his memory as the one i loved but was frustratingly 'never good enough to have.'

in this dream, he was lying on the ground, his back toward me, but somehow not closed off from me. quite the opposite. he was just there. vulnerable. spent, but present. quiet and calm.

i knelt down behind him, looking at his back, feeling his openness to me, and as i cautiously reached my hand out toward him, resting it gently on his back, finally able to touch him, the dream ended.

sieve - slow sifting

editing my short film has been hard. i have always been a harsh critic of the contours of my face and the broad sway of my gait, so hours of footage with an abundance of both has been an emotional trial. the first day i began sifting through the footage, one of my best friends, sitting on an adjacent couch, watched me writhe inside, trying my hardest not to feel the restless shame coursing through me. it had already held me back for months, but i still couldn't avoid it. and even with that first victory over inertia, it's taken me more than a month to fully step back into the project again. a month of avoidance and distraction. a month of sitting and mulling about it in the back of my mind. but not actually looking at it. not actually doing it.

until today. 

at the gentle promptings of another friend currently walking the hard road of a passion project of his own, this morning found me at my desk with the project hard drive. finally. and it was still hard, but a little easier than last time. and after a half an hour of enforced focus, i set my alarm for 20 minutes and vowed i wouldn't check in on facebook, email, or my phone until the buzzer set me free. but it only took me another few minutes until i found the below frame and suddenly felt....

felt a lot. 

something new and exciting and confident, and an amazement pure and full: these are my features, this is my face, but where did the purpose come from? the fierceness? and what about those lines? the life and stillness of the frame as a whole, it swooped me up and carried me along until i realized lines and phrases and editing choices were scattering themselves into notes on a page. today is the day a new life began for this project and i'm not exactly sure where it will take me. 

in the meantime, i'm very grateful to my two andrews, one my collaborator and the other my guardian angel to this project.

on anger

i am not afraid of anger anymore.
mine.
yours.
my father's.

especially my father's.

i realized this in the car this january after a wonderful visit with my father while he was here over christmas. driving him back to my sister's on the last day, he suddenly began raging at a small and inconsequential request. raging to the point of dark thoughts and darker threats. he considered opening the door and exiting the car currently driving down a busy freeway to never coming back to the united states ever again except to see my brother {who quietly sat in the back seat next to my mother, waiting for the moment to pass} because we were all just here to squash his voice, no one understands him, he is a failure, and the list rambled on.

this outburst was one i was familiar with as a child – as common around in our home as morning edition and oatmeal. but this one was the first i had seen up close in a while and came in the wake of a spectacular visit. a week ago i invited a handful of my closest friends here in seattle to share a meal with my family. and on that night i stood, open and loving and proud of this lovely collection of people, unashamed of the things i knew my father would say and no longer even thinking of the way i feared my family might be. this was the moment the two became one.

i made a brief speech before inviting people to dig in. rare for me, but it wasn't premeditated at all. just spontaneous and raw as i stood as part of a circle of "the family i'm stuck with {my blood} and the family i've chosen {my closest friends}." already tearing up before i even opened my mouth, i paused,  after my small attempt at humor about being stuck with my family. and in that moment of suspended vulnerability in front of so many {there were 13 adults and one precocious 17 month old} i spontaneously threw my arm around my father who was standing next to me and hugged myself into his shoulder, curling my head into him like i would, overcome, as a child. and it was just that short, spontaneous rush of emotion as i laid out so full and bare before so many, that prompted the small physical gesture of the hug.

my father called me the next morning in tears, telling me how much it meant to him. to have one of his daughters hug him like he hasn't been hugged by one of us since we were little children. that small moment of pure feeling we all once knew, suddenly shared between two people who have lived decades with walls slowly accruing between them.

so the violent temper tantrum coming from the passenger seat not a week later took me off guard with force. faced with illogic, i tried to reason with it, tried to argue with it, tried to stop the brute force flying around the small space of my car. my mom coached me from the back to just let it pass and after a minute or so of futile efforts, i listened.

suddenly met with no resistance, it only took a few more minutes for the rage to pass. and as the dust settled around us, straining the air we breathed, i skattered it away with the calm truth that i spoke into the silence: dad, you know, the only thing that has been a problem of this visit is this rage right now. other than that it's been amazing. so if you don't want to come and visit any more, that's fine, but i won't let you use this stupid excuse to say you're not wanted or appreciated. it's not true. it's been a beautiful visit but what you decide to do is your choice.

and what happened next is why i am not afraid of anger:

robbed of his flawed thinking, he could finally admit what was underneath it. because there is always something underneath it: a truth not consciously felt or acknowledged or spoken. some thing swallowed hard and kept in, bursting under the pressure of too much or not enough.

after he admitted what he actually was responding to, together we held that truth between us, the truth of his real fears. and the anger, just a moment ago comprising and threatening our entire universe, suddenly changed. it became a gift – the vehicle in which the truth could no longer be ignored. the way in which it needed to be born out.

and, as you know, truth is all i ever need. all i ever want. it is the unavoidable through line that connects everything. a path so visceral that it resonates everything. its heart is beauty. its soul is love. and i am grateful for everyone who gifts truth into my life, both the give and the take. even at the small price of anger and doing and saying things we don't mean. as long as we're willing to stick through to the other side, it was worth it. our journey was worth it. and the Truth will always be worth it.

the journey

the journey ~ mary oliver 

one day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-----
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"mend my life!"
each voice cried.
but you didn't stop.
you knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations ----
though their melancholy
was terrible.
it was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do----
determined to save
the only life you could save.

my unconventional valentine {part 2}

it was almost a year ago to the day when i first stepped across the threshold and spotted the ugly yellow fridge of the apartment i now call home. nearly a year ago i thought with relief i'm so glad it's not perfect because then i won't possibly fall in love with it and have to make a hard choice. because, as you might recall, i had already committed a signature and $645 to another.

but it was also a year ago that i dared to look closer, dared to notice the length of glass and wood cabinets staring back at that fridge, dared to risk my word signed across a check and application i had handed someone else for another apartment. dare. risk.

risk.

dare.

and i did dare and i did risk. and a year later, they have proved worthy, as most lessons are that start with a toe on the line of fear traced in front of you. it's why i have made it a habit in my life to find places i feel fear and step boldly toward them. because i have known that one day the moment will come when Everything will be on the line and a second's hesitation could cost me that Everything.

i wasn't always this way. i actually know the span of my life that taught me the benefits of living on the very edge of myself. it was the 9 months of the meisner-based acting class i took in 2008/9. this was the class that took my life by the ankles and shook it upside down until all these the parts of myself i didn't want to look had spilled out on the floor for everyone to see. that was the year i discovered the best classes were the ones i was most afraid of – those days i could barely get myself to walk up the flight of stairs and down that long hall into class. those were the days i made the most progress – learned the most about myself. those were the days the teacher had no criticism, just a stoic glance in my direction and a single, rare nod of approval.

so i slowly and begrudgingly became comfortable within the discomfort. it hurt no less, still hurts no less, but now i don't fight it so much and that makes it easier. and though class ended years ago, i find a million little ways to keep this practice present in my daily life. i have my weekly singing lessons because it was literally the last thing i could possibly do. i bought a bowling groupon because i've only been twice in my life and bowling scares the crap out of me and embarrasses me all at the same time {double whammy}. and i have learned how to speak truth into hard relationships when i'd rather ostrich myself in a corner with my head in the sand and pretend everything's okay.

all this so at the right moment i could risk $645 for a crazy apartment with the ugly fridge and shaggy carpet in the bedroom that, despite its imperfections, sang to me in a way i could not ignore, even when i tried my hardest not to hear.

because: the heart knows. it knows how to make sense when everything on paper doesn't add up and the head shouts loudly to go in the opposite direction. it knows when reason and friends and family point elsewhere. and you know what, mine has always been pretty spot. especially this year.

and, in turn, my heart has been rewarded in her choice. i have lived so much and so well in this apartment and it has loved me hard and held me softly in return. we have thrown warm parties, spreading out across its wooden floors, shared quiet evenings with myself and a friend unfolding gently to each other. and i have spent {too many} restless nights awake till dawn beneath its watchful ceiling. rested an aching body and spirit nursed by its solitude and silence.

this space, this collection of wood and white and walls has held my tears, has held my fears when there was no one else. it has elevated my joy, echoed my song, framed my colors for all the world to see and enthusiastically welcomed others to partake in it's life.

so this is for you, my apartment, my valentine, my truest of the trues, dearest of the dears. you have been worth every risk. worth every fear. and you have proved my heart true.

the estes blues

despite a rocky, sleepless start, this trip has bestowed the peace and nourishment and space i had envisioned coming here. and i find that the layered colors of the mountains, the deep frame of the skies, and the cold depths of  the ice hold all the bitter and sweet blues of a vacation that has passed its halfway point.   

{for the first time in a long time, words seem reluctant to come to me tonight so i will let the colors speak on their own.}

...................................

estes nights

a grandfather clock is an insomniac's worst nightmare. when i can't sleep at night, the last thing i want to know is the time. how much has passed. how much is left before the sun comes up. before i have to wake up again. before i have to face the world and a day dragging my feet still planted in the hours behind me that should have been spent asleep. but in the stately presence of my grandfather's grandfather clock, every quarter hour is accounted for. every restless series of turns pulling one more chime into its wake, notifying me, unequivocally, of the time.

but the night is brilliant outside my loft – the mountains visible under tonight's half-full moon and a star moves quietly in the center of the black rectangle of window. the star shimmers and shifts under my gaze – refreshingly optimistic, reassuring me in her sweet and playful dance. this is a lighter kind of comfort than what was bestowed a few nights ago during a run that drove me deep into old heart ache. i was under a clear sky and a thin sliver of a moon that was reassuring in a way no human being has ever been for me. so full and clear and wise despite her crescent spareness. so soft. so certain. god, that certainty hurts me in all its hope and strength.

i recall exactly when the night sky began speaking to me. just a little over a year ago on my flight to paris when it delivered not only a shooting star and aurora borealis, but a clear message of truth and hope as well. i only pray the message, constant since that first streak across the sky, is correct.

estes park, colorado

in july of 2008 i spent a few days, maybe a week, at my aunt and uncle's house in estes park, colorado. i went to step outside of my life and away from distractions, to find peace and quiet and free time, and to have some mental space to do research on grants for the project that has now become sieve. 

grants applications really didn't happen {i remember feeling guilty about it at the time not knowing that a thing called kickstarter would eventually come to my aid}. however, in a spontaneous and unpredictable twist, the time i spent there was when this blog really took off. giving myself an abundance of sleep and free time, i found i really wanted to write. so i did. even if i didn't know about what, exactly. and the writing started me on a path that years later would be a central element not only in creating sieve, but in attracting my collaborator, andrew, to my work.

in just a few days, just about four and a half years later, i return, last minute and urged by some drive of spontaneity and adventure. i bring with me my writing, my short film, and my future – all things i need to sit down with and sort out. i go to find places for things. take steps forward with others. end the ongoing battle to decide how much or how little a role my life as a professional photographer will play in my future. edit my film. cook. breathe. run. play. last time the summer suns shone down on tank top garbed hikes. this time, the winter cold will nip at my exposed face and welcome me out for snowy hikes.

this feels right in such a beyond-logic-and-understanding sort of way and i am here. ready. patient. happy.

two iphone photos from last trip when the sun was warm and close.

 

the 86 year old

my resolution to reach a reconciliation between heart and mind {and perhaps even toss out the heart altogether for a bit} didn't last a week. hardly a day. i cannot live with anything but my heart first and forward-most. it was silly of me to make threats and consider otherwise.

but something needed/needs to change and all i can think to do is seek advice from the 86 year old version of myself – the weathered, sweet woman who has seen the world, lived it in, loved it best, and learned to soften the voices inside her head long ago. she is the one i turn to these days when uncertainty stares me down and fears fester inside me. she is kind and patient and smiles often with this knowing look that hurts my heart to think too much about – hurts because she can look back at me, at this person i often struggle so hard to find, and appreciate the work i'm doing for her, and in turn, give me back a little of the wisdom i'm slowly uncovering that she's steeped in for years.

thank you my friend, mother of my children, keeper of my future. you make my present clearer.

the lists of 2012

2012 Concerts

• radiohead {x3}
• m83
• zoe keating
• hilary hahn & hauschka
• the xx
• sigur ros
• beirut
• macklemore
• brother ali
• shabazz palaces & THEESATISFACTION

2012 travels

• paris
• vienna
• ilz
• venice
• rome
• dublin
• killarney
• galloway
• vancouver, bc {x2}
• st. louis, mo
• kansas city, mo
• dallas, tx {x2}
• portland, or {x3}
• washington dc
• moneta, va
• santa barbara, ca
• bend, or
• bayou la batre, al
• orcas island, wa

2012 MOVIEs

• christmas vacation
• the hobbit
• star trek
• star trek: the search for spock
• star trek: the wrath of khan
• mission: impossible 3
• back to the future 3 {while editing photos}
• back to the future 2 {yes, you read right}
• slumdog millionaire
• lincoln
• cloud atlas
• perks of being a wallflower
• skyfall {x2}
• quantum of solace
• casino royale
• the dark knight rises
• moonrise kingdom
• --------------
• SIFF 2012:
• grassroots
• killer joe
• badlands
• people like us
• beasts of the southern wild
• keyhole
• shorts festival closing night
• safety not guaranteed
• sleepwalk with me 
• the do-deca pentathalon 
• the avengers {not SIFF....shhh don't tell the festival}
• camilla dickenson
• eden {go. see. it!}
• your sister's sister
• --------------
• solaris {original russian version}
• the descendants
• there will be blood 
• pina
• perfect sense
• sherlock holmes
• heima

today

there are some days you cannot account for. they cannot be predicted, premeditated, or contained. they find you, usually when you need them most. they are the gift of a sign. an extra sweetness. a hug held longer and tighter to remind you that the world is okay. your life is okay. you, you are okay. more than okay, actually, because the day takes you to a place so far beyond okay. a place where you are free and spontaneous and true, soaking in the expanse of land and sky and life around you.

today...

today was one of those days. 

and here at the end, as it wanes to a close, i am left so tired and so full. especially my heart. a huge piece of me so recently squeezed dry, tonight it rests soft and satiated. and try as i might, i can't really account for the gift of this day. i certainly didn't predict or premeditate it, but here in this humble collection of words and images and phrases, i will try my sleepy best to contain it. the day. the beauty. the fresh, clean snow. a new day. a new year. a new direction. a new start. 

today was just one of those days.