red

my creative self has lived in a black hole for about a year and a half now. from a running injury taking me off the road and out of my body, to a twist in a relationship taking me into dark woods, nothing has escaped the consequences. from my painting, to my the living sculpture of my home space, to my words i used to write here, everything has come silently and almost imperceptibly to a stand still. inertia you sneaky thing, you, slipping in the backdoor while i was listening to the many other things in my life that make a lot of noise: finish this, accomplish this, edit this, photograph this, pay this, work this, work this, work this.

my life has become an endless horizon of to-do lists running before me, taunting me with a speed my injured body cannot manage, succeeding in distracting me from the things i want most above everything: to feel whole and sound while i stand still, connecting to something greater than myself, listening to it passing through me, hearing each throbbing beat leave an echo that my every pulse will answer, my every breath expanding in an attempt to consume it. that bursting stillness. that quivering silence. that moment before creation and the sweet rush as it begins, followed eventually by the quiet satisfaction of completion. that is the thing i have been missing. 

and perhaps it is now inertia that has become my friend, pulling me down just far enough past unbearable that suddenly everything absolutely must change. of course it could just be the weather,  external circumstances, or my expanding waistline {gratis of a car accident preventing me from working out entirely}, but life is converging once again and suddenly i'm alive to its many tolerably painful places and it's beyond me how i'm waking up again so far from anything that looks even remotely like my art.

a fresh red dress has been purchased, new photos of it are on the horizon, and i am held accountable, in weekly increments, for pulling myself into motion again. my body is finally healing nearly 6 months after a car accident, and my mind and spirit are keeping track with the changes {which is only fair since they were the ones to push their soft machine sister forward in the first place}.

warm sunny skies are lighting the way though my words are slow and clunky. but i'm here. i'm here. i'm here.

i can almost see the colors again.

red, you always were my friend.

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.

reconciliation

some nights you can feel insomnia sneak slowly up the back stairs–creaking a loose board, bumping into the rail, then slipping open the back door that i was sure i had locked. but tonight is not that kind of night. tonight insomnia shattered through wood and glass, launched itself across the kitchen, and bounded squarely on top of my bed and heart. i never even bothered turning out the light. i knew sleep would never come.

for the record, this is not how i wanted to welcome in the new year. sleepless and tired. restless and jaded. this is a time for fresh starts and resolutions. optimism. hope. at the very least this is when i should be getting a jump start on my new year's resolution of giving myself one of the primary building blocks to health and a happy life: sleep.

but we don't always get what we want. we don't always get what we deserve. we don't always get the answer or clarity or truth even when we ask for it. and deep disappointment has joined hands with insomnia to guarantee a long night dedicated to asking why and why not?

i find myself looking back to exactly a year ago, to the person i was inside my skin, a nomad eating pho in seattle one night, boarding a transcontinental plane with a compass and empty red travel journal the next, flying across the world to a fantastic city far away and embarking on a month that still means so much to me as insulated by distance and time as it now feels. and in particular, i go back to this moment looking out the airplane, when i turned toward the window to hide a rush of hopelessness and tears and immediately was presented a shooting star and the northern lights. and the voice inside my head accompanying the vision was calm and crystal clear: you are grieving but there is no need...all will be well...all will work itself out...this is your sign... 

i spent the next long while, tears instantly dried, watching in wonder as aurora borealis shared her glory.

and i have done my best. i have spent 2012 listening to that voice, listening to the truth resonating so clearly inside of me despite what prudence or reason would suggest. this voice is the essence of how i have always preached we should live our life: with our heart, our intuition, our gut, and through our vulnerability. and in this year i have made some great friends along that path, pushed them further along in their life and in turn been pushed myself, welcomed the magic of a gorgeous home space, and finally, with the help of several of you, begun the journey toward telling the story of sieve.

i realize all that should be proof that it's working, it's a successful way to live, but today, now, as i turn toward a new year, i also must consider a different way of life. one of reconciliation.

it's an attempt to acknowledge that my heart is a tender, optimistic organ, capable of clearer sight than i have ever imagined, but one that has been known to be mislead {by myself as much as others} and at the very least, too consistently open for repeat bruising. in the end, she must learn to live in the same body as my mind and the two have been in conflict, this entire year particularly, seeing the same life from very different perspectives. it's time compromises must be made.

and tonight.

now.

right now.

i begin the process of reconciliation: balancing the sight of the heart with the {hopefully} grounded, logic of the mind. i don't know how to do this without withdrawing from the realm of the heart altogether but i just have to trust that in the wake of this year of failure, this is the only way forward i haven't tried. the only way to find any sort of clarity and balance. i trust that the voices reflecting my life back to me will tell me if i go astray, but at the moment, i am so done with the arguments between what the two voices tell me. so done.

wish me luck on sleep and have a happy new year, however it welcomes itself into your life. my hope is that 2013 steps forward into my life with honesty, openness, and tenderness.

god, i long for tenderness. where has its soft caress gone?

not running

if i had just registered in time for the half marathon on october 27th, i wouldn't be here forced to make an obvious decision. i would be on the other side of the race now with whatever significant thing that is left in one's hands after a physical test is passed. if i had registered in time i'd be done. victorious. fulfilled.

but i didn't. and last wednesday, a week and a half before my second-choice date {registration safely completely long ago}, my right foot started aching. it was a weird sort of ache, something stretching seemed to have a temporary effect on—annoying but not painful. so the next day i ran my 5 miles and spent the rest of the night limping in what was now something to pay attention to.

so i took it seriously but firmly held on to the goal of running on the 17th. i iced. i stretched. i went to the chiropractor twice in one week. i practiced yoga. i stayed off the foot and iced some more. and it was working. today, less than a week later the ache was quieter now than when it first appeared. things were looking up. my chiropractor hadn't said no yet and was even still saying might and could.

but this afternoon found me face down on the table in his office as he so very gently tore through the painful muscles and ligaments up and down my right side, enumerating all the factors that have added up to one sore foot: adrenal fatigue and stress to the body {training for three months}, not sleeping enough {guilty}, mental/emotional stress {in spades} and chemical imbalance {see mental/emotional stress for easy justification of indulging my usually in check sweet tooth}. now an increase of any one or two of the above would have been fine, but all of them combined was the perfect storm. so here i am, waves of reality crashing against me as i cling to my life raft called hope. hope to run, hope to achieve. hope to find something out there in the race to hold on to right now.

and in the quiet of the chiropractor's office, as we both concentrated on listening to what my body was saying, a few simple, obvious questions bobbed to the surface right under my nose: if i ran this weekend, why? and how could whatever i have in my hands after the race possibly be worth more than my longterm health and recovery?

yes, i'm aware that i'm not being asked to give up the olympics or a chance to qualify for the {insert prestigious name} marathon, but this isn't about the rest of the world or its standards, but about me and my life, my goals. me. i am drawing to a close one of the more intense years of my life, hoping to transition into a new decade with ease and strength. the past three months of focused training have helped me move toward that end. they have helped me find a physical fitness i have always longed for and a slimness i always doubted i could achieve. and above and beyond anything, the time, the focus, the goal, it was all for me. about me. in my life that is so busy, very little of it is actually about me. it's about earning money, making art, connecting with others, writing emails, sending postcards, preserving and understanding moments, cleaning my apartment. the list goes on. it's exhausting sometimes to think about it.

so the pressure to run isn't just because i'm a completionist, and the disappointment in the face of losing this chance isn't just about crossing a finish line. it's not just about about the act or the proof that i really have achieved the physical and mental space needed to run a solid race—it's about the surprises the test would bring, the discoveries i know i would make. in not running on saturday, i am losing one of those rare opportunities to live at the very edge of myself at a moment in my life so marked by a strange blend of transition and grief and progress. my first half marathon {posted here} still features largely in my personal narrative, and this time i am so much more prepared, so much more ready to focus all 13.1 miles, push myself harder. more than anything, i wanted to see what is out there at this particular moment of my life, what is just beyond my sight and understanding of myself, and most importantly learn what she has to teach me.

but if i have learned anything this year, it's that sometimes the strongest decision is to embrace the imperfections of the moment rather than plowing boldly {and occasionally recklessly} on toward what my brain/ego/hope/optimism sees as possible. so here, with you standing in for the friends i had {rather vulnerably} asked to stand along the race course for me, you invisible, silent witnesses are cheering me away from the route i should not run.

i surrender the race, surrender the hope, surrender the experience and insight and epiphany i might have had for a cost i am deciding i cannot afford: my body.

my body. my hope. my soft machine. you have carried me so far, so fast. i will give you the rest you ask for and we will try again soon. we will try again soon.


---------------------
on the topic of milestones, this is my 900th post.

moving on

a salt lake city sky and a dallas sun.

stepping away for the wedding and then some work travel (in portland) for the next week of being away. away from life. away from thinking too much. away from routine and the grind.

so once again my nomad shoes are on and my heart is free to the horizon.

a house of grief

i am pet sitting up in the sammamish highlands in a house i have returned to many times over the past four or five years. and as i drive out here each time, i think of how many of my stories this house has witnessed, most particularly, stories of separation, space and loneliness. how often severance {of varying kinds and importance} has struck while i have been here is almost eerie, but in the end, i have decided that it has been a blessing to be able to leave the grief behind, turn a key, turn my back and let it all rest in the bones of a house i do not inhabit every day. the only thing i have to take away is the adoring eyes of the pets i walk and feed. these are the same pet who often have crept up to my dangling hands, butting their noses into my fingers as i cried. unconditional love at its best. so i guess i am saying there is gratitude here for this space that has taken as much care of me as i have of it.

today i come a little raw, a little worried, questioning some significant parts of myself even as i pull from a steady stream of confidence and certainty i cannot entirely explain. i am grateful to it as much as it scares me as well.

so here i am, writing from a foreign bed, kittens walking across my keys*, curling up to my typing fingers and purring their miniature purrs.

and i am still happy.
still.
still and happy.


so i say goodnight {or good morning} and leave you with a song on repeat for me of late from cocoon. it's called cathedral. lyrics below.







I came from the valley
And you came from the sea
You smell like the sand

How far up the river
Would you go, would you go
To meet me again ?

And I built the cathedral
With the shelves that you held
In the hole of a tree

And I love the words you said
When I told you what the ravens
Sing in my dreams

You pushed on my heart
Every night and every day
To keep me alive

And you kiss my mouth
And I learn to walk
And I learn to try...

Can you hear the horses
It means the seasons changes
It means the seasons changes

When the rivers overflows
I run to the bridges
I run to the bridges

And for now don't be afraid
If the sun never rises
If the sun never rises

There's a time to let it grow
There's a time to let it slow
And a time to let it go..




*one just strolled across the unmute button blasting music suddenly scaring both it and me. 

optimist

i am coming to the end of two weeks of a controlled fall, where lots of big pieces i held gently in my hands suddenly started unraveling all at once in slow motion. nothing i tried to do was able to stop the momentum and chaos reigned for a bit despite my best efforts. but i am grateful for the warning, grateful for the meandering pace, and especially grateful for the slowness of it all giving me the chance to back up my ailing hard drive, save my unedited europe photos, and resign myself to having this stubborn cyst sliced from my lip that won't otherwise let it go.

i'm not sure where i'm going next, but i'll be carried forward by this music which i had the honor of seeing performed live last night by the breathtaking cellist, zoe keating. the videos below will give you just a taste of the magic that is her music as she records every intricate layer of her song, playing with and against herself in such wonderful ways.


yes, it's easy to be optimistic when this is on repeat:

and since i really can't only pick one favorite from the night, i will leave you with this one as well. the title appropriately embracing a sense of fatalism that is of the moment.

wise words

i have been shadowed by many friends this week even if across state lines and sent via text, holding me close, reminding me to breathe. paul, eden, lindsey jo, sea-oh, cameron, dagob, ross, mom, brian, amanda.....how you all were always there when i needed it most, often times without even having to ask. it was a good week even in its hardness.

here are two gems from phone conversations with lj:

there is a difference between being on top of an emotion and being underneath it.


and

they weren't true beliefs but they were true emotions.

lonely & me

i recall loneliness from my childhood like a dear friend. we spent a lot of time in each other's company tucked away in a bedroom, meandering about our alabama-backyard, telling secrets, listening to whatever stillness we could find, and always and forever hoping for more.

as an adult, however, i'm proud to report i'm a bit estranged from my old pal, lonely. but he does come to visit on rare occasions, sidling up to me in a dark car parked in front of the apartment, fog insulating me from the world, my mind milling about around me like a flock of birds. and then suddenly he's there, quietly expectant, noiseless and persistent, scattering my thoughts as they take refuge in the sky.

tonight was one of those nights it was just lonely and me, sitting in the cushioned quiet of jasper – but rather than intruding on the space i had just made savoring the final measures of a song, he joined me without taking anything away. my heart was pierced by his tenderness as he perched sideways in the passenger seat staring back at me with calm eyes, listening to every silent sentence running through my mind.

sadly, he never seems to come with answers in his pocket, merely a little space and always and forever hope.

not touching

a dessert-sized portion of my life at the moment, delivered to you in the brilliant words of billy collins.

not touching

The valentine of desire is pasted over my heart

and still we are not touching, like things

in a poorly done still life

where the knife appears to be floating above the plate

which is itself hovering above the table somehow,

the entire arrangement of apple, pear, and wineglass

having forgotten the law of gravity,

refusing to be still,

as if the painter had caught them all

in a rare moment of slow flight

just before they drifted out of the room

through a window of perfectly realistic sunlight.

13.1

i ran my first half-marathon today. this was an achievement for me since not only have i stated on several occasions that i would never be crazy enough to run for 2 hours, but who, on january first, would have laughed hysterically if i had been told i would even be running 7 miles regularly by the middle of february and a half marathon by the end of the year.

but life can change direction quickly and it did for me on january 9th and the bumps in the road i navigated for a week or two begged some form of outlet. so i put on my old running shoes and went out in the cold january nights, with not enough visibility gear and certainly not the right materials to run in. and to my surprise, not only could i run 5, 6, 7.5+ miles, but i enjoyed it. couldn't wait to go on runs, would laugh like a giddy school girl when my muscles pumped out a few jogging steps in ballet flats or flip-flops rushing between store and car, car and home. and the first few blocks of an actual run would find me just as joyful.

i loved to run. quite the novelty.

but then march hit with a bang and an injury. 10 minutes on the floor, sobbing, unable to get up, a few days in bed barely able to make it to the toilet to pee or get up from it again after i was done. thankfully {surprisingly}, my body bounced back and took only a week and a half out from running followed by a month of cautious runs, carefully monitoring the body i had neglected in my enthusiasm. the half marathon i was sure i would run in may became perhaps july in the chiropractor's words. july turned to august and with a rigorous work, rehearsal & producer schedule on the horizon, september became the last opportunity i would get to run a half marathon this year.

i closed my eyes, stretched my arm out and pointed at random: black diamond half marathon. here we go.

i had a month to train but had been logging fairly consistent 6-8 mile runs and my goals were modest: run the whole way, don't stop, cross the finish line. if i beat my sister's time of 2:04 yippe-ki-ay! but i knew that would be asking a lot. i am a pretty slow runner on a regular basis--the greenlake regulars pass me all the time and i pretend not to care, but i have to tell myself maybe they are only running three miles to make it okay in my head to just chug away one step at a time.

but then this morning arrives and i spent much of it wondering what the heck i had signed up for. after a late night party celebrating freehold's 20th anniversary and a 3am wake-up-can't-get-back-to-sleep-till-4am (thanks, wind) i was pretty tired and a little nervous. not nervous about whether or not i would finish, i knew i would, more because of the visible and exposed nature of the race. why did i feel the need to drag myself out of bed at 6:30 am and drive an hour out to a state park and run like a lemming around a 13.1 mile course and have a time publicly logged? why not just set out 13 miles around my neighborhood and call it a day. cheaper too and who needs a poorly designed shirt? but the excitement was contagious, gradually working it's way into my system and i realized it felt nice to feel a part of something.

and then we were off.

i started modest at the pace i typically run on my own. slow and steady. easy does it. but then it felt too slow. i had more in me, so we went from a 9:30 pace to a 9:05. then the 9:05 became an 8:55 and then an 8:40 and 8:20 at times. i kept pushing a little faster and my brother kept mocking my promises of an easy 10:30 pace that surely he could keep up with despite not training for 2 months {he's been cycling significant distances--very different muscles}.

first it was the tattoo-armed girl that was just that little extra ways in front of us. then the green shirt. then the grey shirted girl we learned is named jessica. one by one i set out to overtake someone and we did and without too much effort. at the halfway point, we were clocking in 5 minutes under an hour and that was without even trying and a slow first mile, mile and a half to boot. it was weird how easy it was. i mean, for a good part of the first half we were joking around between the two of us probably annoying half the folks around us who were heads down and serious, but we were having fun. i did worry that somewhere around mile 9 i'd tank out and all the people i had so boldly passed would then overtake me, but i couldn't hold back. it just felt right to go at the pace we were.

around mile 8, i left ross behind. he was having a hard race, his stomach a ball of acid and his body protesting the lack of practice runs as well as a lack of proper recovery from last week's 600 mile bike ride. so suddenly i was on my own and that was when the race really started for me. now it was just me forging ahead, picking up speed as i could, passing first the man in the blue and orange who we had alternately passed and been overtaken by. he turned and smiled at me acknowledging the current move of our leap frog game. i smiled back, again worrying my body would fail me and i'd see the back of him once and for all before too long.

i never did. i kept going as miles 9 and 10 started asking my body to work a little. but it did and still i kept passing the other runners. green shirt. red shirt. pink shirt. crazy shorts girl we talked to at the starting line who has run several halfs already and who was so far ahead earlier in the race. dark green shirt. one after the other after the other. then the little old lady who barely came up to my arm pit. she was my hero and that was near mile 11. a tough victory. i was to the point where i was thinking i could call it quits, take it easy and glide in probably sub 2 hours anyway. but something happened as i was rounding the corner into the park, the officials pointing the route we needed to take while throwing in an encouraging word. that's when i knew i wouldn't slow down, knew i could stride it out and knew i would do better than i thought i could hope to do on this first race.

and just as all this happened, the decisions made on a preverbal level and my body responding to the demands automatically, kicking it up a notch for those last miles, i slammed into a wall of grief. my chest squeezed up around my heart, tears started streaming down my face and i was overwhelmed by a great sadness. and while the rational part of my brain could monologue internally about the embarrassment i would feel if i broke down at the finish line or even somewhere in between, the rest of me was just running and running and running all the while softly cataloging the different dimensions of the feeling. it wasn't like in the past when a surge of grief overtook me as i did something i knew was taking me farther away from something i want {like sleeping with an ex i should have been long finished with}, no, this was more tied to the success i was about to achieve and how much i have gotten in the way of my own self historically. by achieving this seemingly impossible thing, i opened myself up to the truth of all the other million and one things i have told myself i couldn't have or do because they too felt impossible. and yet, here i am, able to do something just because i put my mind and body to it.

and perhaps part of it was grief for my poor mishandled body. this long and lean form i have criticized, prodded, picked at and blamed for so many things it was not responsible for or were simply untrue: my body is not beautiful enough to attract someone i am attracted to, she is not graceful enough, strong enough, a fit and athletic man would never want me {sadly a literal thought from the other day}, my skin is not good enough, even after losing a little weight i still have so much further to go, it's craving weird foods, why does it want to each so much, why did she just say that, do that, eat that???

if my body were a separate being, she would not be friends with my mind. my mind is a bully, my body is the weak kid with lunch money, waiting to be pushed in the mud.

and yet, here she is, generous and loyal to the core and so wonderfully showing up and doing exactly what i asked and even more. and even while i was able to feel a rare moment of untarnished pride, and as much as i was grateful, i was also sad for her and the abuse she has suffered through. deeply sad.

and to get through to the other side, i did what any actor would do: rather than fight the emotion, bring the emotion to the fight, put it into the work, or in this case, the run. so i breathed it out, put it into the ground, put it into my legs, slowed the wheezing breath that hadn't strained all race until the grief came and seized control of my chest. and mile 11 became 12 and i was still passing folks, and 12 gave way to 13 and what became the only brutal mile of the race. it went on too long, had too many hills and was full of the uncertain footing that trail running brings. my pace slowed. i passed someone on a hill only to be passed at the crest {the only person to pass me the whole race}. tanked out a bit until i felt someone coming up from behind. she never got too close but the threat was enough to light a fire under my bum to make it through to the end. finish line. photo. yippee. relief.

kind of surreal. more than a little exhausted. excitement in seeing racecourse friends catch up and finish: the red shirted man from mile 11 {just after little old lady} who gave me a high 5 as he walked passed asking if we broke 2 hours, crazy shorts girl, jessica, ross. the green shirted woman from several minutes behind who clocked herself in at 1:55. yes, success.

and now i am home with achey hips. taking an easy afternoon. stretching. bath time. compulsively checking for the results so i can figure out my time. resting in a clear victory of myself which is rare for me. i like to put caveats on things, lessen them a bit, but today i felt the deep consequences of that mindset and i'll try to change so that next time, there won't be such a battle. just me and my body, working hand in hand effortlessly letting success come in response to the simple elegance of making a decision and the athletic grace of putting your heart and muscle into something.

{thank{s}taking}

i had a hard time giving thanks tonight sitting in a bath grown cold despite the numerous refills of scalding water. i think i was hitting hour number 3.5 or 4 when my comfort read was done. my skin was cold when i moved against the water. but if i was immoble i didn't notice the lack in temperature and so i just sat. still. temporarily anesthetized but knowing that it's only while the words of someone else's story lingers. but they end. they always do. and i am left to think about how the universe seems to tell me to look closely and pay attention. but while i can see what it's saying i can't make out what it means.

in a one week span late this past summer i learned that three men of varying significance to me had "another woman" in their lives. a man from my past, a man from my present and a man i had hoped might stretch out a while into my future.

and now, the fall has cupped within it a similar story, through a different vein, and i am left to mourn the probable loss of not one, but two amazingly-incredible-resonating!!! friendships that toed the line of more, all the while pushed up against me with generous and full interest, only to flicker out again and dim abruptly, leaving the faint whiff of a dying fire and sincere words of kindness that only somehow make the burn go a little deeper.

so the bath gets colder, the books get their happy endings and even ophelia gets hamlet, despite the fact that the world kept them apart.

and i am left. here. not knowing what to make of the reoccurring themes and only wishing for myself that i could live in emotional abstinence for a while. not care, no matter how sweetly i am asked. not give, no matter how generous my heart feels. just sit a while and steep in solitude and knitting.

so tonight, universe, i give you thanks for the lovely house i have been able to create for myself, thanks for the lovely people who choose to stay in my life, year after year, despite {because of!} the vivid being i am, the fact that today, i gave some poor boy sitting on a cold, frozen cement sidewalk not just that first $1 bill but then a minute later, when driving past, a rolled down window and a line from a movie 'hey kid!' repeated until he turned, took the steps to my car, saw the measly $5 i then passed through the window and gave back at me the soft, surprised words of genuine gratitude and appreciation as though it were a $50. and i am blessed. blessed that i not only have the money to spare $6 but to buy the food i did today, as well as the growth in my spirit and bank account that i can spend $100 without using guilt somehow against myself. gratitude that in my heart, in the face of all my years of heartache and doubts, i know of a secret place i pretend not to believe in that truly knows in that deep internal trust sort of way that this whole wide world is capable of producing one fucking man capable of not being afraid of risking for me. for something. for anything. and eventually for a future. for the life we want to glean from this world and the kids we want to bring into this world. and that will be a scary place. and we will navigate it together. and it will be beautiful as only he and i can see now, apart, and one day we can envision together.

filling the form.

i don't know. i don't know. i don't know. i don't know. i don't know. i don't know.
what. what to do with restlessness. what to do with paralysis. fear. impatience. loss. anger. faithlessness. justice. hamlet. hamlet. hamlet. stirring up. his ability to finally speak his truth. truth shied away from, manipulated and rejected. i loved ophelia, forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum! and how he nailed it. after all those other moments he nailed. darragh kennan. well done. how i have an actor's crush on you. and at the same time, such tragic love, while i don't desire that, i do. ask. for. more. more than has been given to me. more than others have had the courage to offer.

so here i am. and where have i gotten myself? what am i doing? why does it always come to this? a fine-toothed examination of all the things i have not done. the people {person} i have not met. {effectively blasting past all the things and connections perhaps i deserve to give myself credit for?} michael caine didn't decide to act until he was 28, so i'm ahead of the game by his schedule. and yet, i am lodged in between fear and inertia and forgetting about this all entirely, jeweled up and jazzed by yet another space that cannot hold me. i am too big. i am too much. again. always. until i figure this thing out with myself and where i am going, i will always. be. too. much. and. yet. never. enough.

i go to hibernate. don't talk to me for a week.





not really.





but really.








and, in an effort to do more than just whine, let me write my list of things i must do in order to facilitate the possibility that i might do more than just shake my fists at the sky and wonder why i am not doing exactly what i want with my life. here are a few things that will help:

join tps.
ask freehold to facilitate a dialogue with tps about accepting meisner grads without two acting credits {perhaps i can scrape up two anyway} for general auditions.
contact annette for coaching
solidify your two monologues
go. to. a. fucking. audition.
practice yoga 3x a week
pray. pray. pray.
breathe.
make a 5 year plan
open a bank account to set aside money to move to new york city someday.

already i feel a little better.



currently listening to: samskeyti - sigur ros {which makes my heart restless and achy even when it already is}

in progress {painting}

the sky is emerging, the wave is forming
and the only thing that is missing is the beach, and you.
i wish i had brought my suit that day not knowing
that was our one chance to swim.
yet i can still feel you at the far end of the beach
chest exposed
but heart hidden
and wearing those sunshine yellow swim trunks
i never got to see in real life.

shasta & aslan

i was in the middle of rearranging the furniture to take in all the new finds of the day when, in the middle of sweeping, i was caught red-handed with a thought i knew i to be impossible to fulfill: the desire i find rustling around in me to understand someone else's story. almost immediately this passage was called to mind and since i have referenced it once before on this post, i thought i would put it here in full. for me and perhaps for you.

so here you are, my sweeping stopped mid-stroke to give you a portion of a horse and his boy by c.s. lewis:

and being very tired and having nothing inside him, he felt so sorry for himself that the tears rolled down his cheeks.

what put a stop to all this was a sudden fright. shasta discovered that someone or somebody was walking beside him. it was pitch dark and he could see nothing. and the Thing (or Person) was going so quietly that he could hardly hear any footfalls. what he could hear was breathing. his invisible companion seemed to breathe on a very large scale, and shasta got the impression that it was a very large creature. and he had come to notice this breathing so gradually that he had really no idea how long it had been there. it was a horrible shock.

it darted into his mind that he had heard long ago that there were giants in these northern countries. he bit his lip in terror. but now that he really had something to cry about, he stopped crying.

the Thing (unless it was a Person) went on beside him so very quietly that shasta began to hope he had only imagined it. but just as he was becoming quite sure of it, there suddenly came a deep, rich sigh out of the darkness beside him. that couldn't be imagination! anyway, he had felt the hot breath of that sigh on his chilly left hand.

if the horse had been any good--or if he had known how to get any good out of the horse--he would have risked everything on a break away and a wild gallop. but he knew he couldn't make that horse gallop. so he went on at a walking pace and the unseen companion walked and breathed beside him. at last he could bear it no longer.

"who are you?" he said, scarcely above a whisper.

"one who has waited long for you to speak," said the Thing. its voice was not loud, but very large and deep.

"are you a giant?" asked shasta.

"you might call me a giant," said the Large Voice. "but i am not like the creatures you call giants."

"i can't see you at all," said shasta, after staring very hard. then (for an even more terrible idea had come into his head) he said, almost in a scream, "you're not--not something dead, are you? oh please--please do go away. what harm have i ever done you? oh, i am the unluckiest person in the world."

once more he felt the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face. "there," it said, "that is not the breath of a ghost. tell me your sorrows."

shasta was a little reassured by the breath: so he told how he had never known his real father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. and then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all their dangers in tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. and he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded aravis. and also, how very long it was since he had had anything to eat.

"i do not call you unfortunate," said the Large Voice.

"don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said shasta.

"there was only one lion," said the Voice.

"what on earth do you mean? i've just told you there were at least two the first night, and--"

"there was only one: but he was swift of foot."

"how do you know?"

"i was the lion." and as shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "i was the lion who forced you to join with aravis. i was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. i was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. i was the lion who gave the horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach king lune in time. and i was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."

"then it was you who wounded aravis?"

"it was i."

"but what for?"

"child," said the Voice, "i am telling you your story, not hers. i tell no-one any story but his own."

"who are you?" asked shasta.

"myself," said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again "myself," loud and clear and gay: and then the third time "myself," whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.

the nightmares

it's becoming a habit of mine to wake up between the hours of six and seven in the morning. i can almost set my clock by it. the dreams have been vivid. restless and fleeting. flirting with the line of nightmares. usually just a flash or two of disturbing imagery. a feeling or a face.

this morning was no exception except the dreams i am shaking crossed well into the territory of nightmare and were more than a little heavy handed in the symbolism.

i was at a concert. outside. unspecific band {most, perhaps even all concert dreams are about thom or radiohead}. it was a single male performer, but someone newer, not as familiar though still a favorite. we were waiting for him to take stage when a band of musicians came up that had bullied their way in to the full venue. they were reckless, dissonant to the mood and willfully abusing their celebrity status.

their hair was wild. their faces pierced, shadowed and aggressive as they mocked the crowd for even showing up. what fools we were their bodies said and here i had been so happily in my place by the bar. right at the front. just where i like to be. peacefully and expectantly waiting for him to show up.

the four guys then rustled through the us striking outnd scattering the crowd on to the beach we were near. i was part of the group they started herding down the length of the beach pushing us forward with their anger and words. it was terrifying. and the worst part was that eventually our singer did appear. off in the distance i saw him at the far end of the beach both hazy in the distance and also somehow close and a part of the group that was looming over us with their threats of violence. but i could easily distinguish him by the cut of his bare chest, the line of his torso and the sunshine yellow swim shorts he was wearing. so radiant yet blurry with distance. i kept on peering down the length of beach, wondering when he would stop the violence. this was his place of power. his stage. his art. only he had the ability to change the situation and yet he stayed away.

the next section of the dream was a little more obscure and yet the connections still so clear in my head.

i was working on becoming a nanny for this family. we were somehow old friends from the past and there was this expectation that this should have been a safe and welcome place, except that it wasn't. the doorway was rigged to a contraption that only made sense in the dream but served to almost drop me on my bum while entering. the family was chaotic and in a state of disarray and my place within it somehow confusing.

then we sat down to dinner. and my spot at the table was was moved and i was given the worst seat where an additional table stored under the large one we were sitting at threatened to jab at my legs. more discomfort. more confusion.

and then the men from the last dream showed up and this time the whole family was complicit to their presence. the lead man, the tallest and darkest and by far the scariest started selecting out a goat from the herd that was in this pen visible to the whole family {the pen being conveniently attached to the dining room in that way of dreams}. he took this 10 foot long pole and pointed it at the smallest of the herd and just bullied it right out in to the center of this pen. the family rustled their acceptance, even if silently unwilling and somehow i knew that whatever was coming up next would be too horrible to sit through.

i got up from the table and started to flee but not before the beating began. i had to pass the staging area to leave and the man had already begun tearing into the goat. i both feared getting hit by the long arc of his swings and even more the damage to the little, stiff-legged with fear, goat. the look in its face as it had been selected still kills me.

as i neared the edge of the area, away from the threat of the sweeping pole, the beating accelerated and the final blow was made. without looking i felt that soft little body being broken, it's blood spilled and i sank to my knees and let out the most grief stricken wail i have ever heard. grief. powerlessness. grief. and more grief.

the tearing sound as it escaped my throat was still tangible in my mind when i woke up thirty nine minutes ago, shaken, near tears and certain it was between six and seven in the morning.

for now.

words are not coming tonight. caught up in a paradox that tastes too similar to so many i have known. am i too much. i am not enough. i am too much. i am not enough. and whether or not i am enough of either to overcome someone else's challenges, well, that's not up for me to decide. so i'll go back to pretending i want to learn caution because life is a hell of a lot safer that way.

but a little less colorful.

and let the record reflect, i liked your colors. including the murkier ones and the ones you barely let me see.

now i'll have to ask you to disappear completely. walk away and take with you all those things you put out into the space before me. not that you were cruel, but only that hope is a scary thing too and i was willing to risk it in the face of what i now should start expecting to be almost certain disappointment.

last flowers to the hospital

happy birthday thom {though it's officially the 8th right now, i haven't gone to sleep, so it's still the 7th in my universe}

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

and this is from me to you:




appliances have gone berserk
i cannot keep up
treading on people's toes
snot-nosed little punk

and i can't face the evening straight
and you can't offer me escape
houses move and houses speak
if you take me there you'll get relief
relief, relief, relief, relief...

and if i'm gonna talk
i just wanna talk
please don't interrupt
just sit back and listen

cause i can't face the evening straight
and you can't offer me escape
houses move and houses speak
if you take me there you'll get relief
relief, relief, relief, relief...

it's too much
too bright
too powerful

too much
too bright
too powerful

too much
too bright
too powerful

too much

closure

i have a confession to make. one that many of the social networking generation is guilty of:

i, nathania tenwolde, confess that every couple of months, in a fit of restlessness or boredom, i'd google my ex.

and not just any ex, but the big ex, and really, the only one that matters in terms of ex-ness {all the rest of the ones worth mentioning i am proud to say are still great friends}. and even after a rather dull pull on the first, and second, and fifth googles or facebook searches, i still found myself prodding at the bruise, looking for something long after i have stopped looking for or even wanting anything from him.

and last night, somewhere around midnight, i finally found it. it wasn't the recently updated relationship status that confirmed what he told me a year ago, but rather the anniversary date of his relationship with his current girlfriend, which was something he never EVER could come clean on. because, you see, that anniversary date lands during the time we were still together. in fact, just a mere day or so after we ended our last clear and connected phone call with the standard, and at least on my part authentic, i love you's.

what's more, that was the weekend everything fell apart and he changed pretty much overnight {after not returning any emails or phone calls for a few days--later justified because he had been traveling}. and in the unnecessarily long and drawn out disintegration of the relationship, he did absolutely everything but admit to what had really happened. i even asked point blank: did you sleep with someone. to which he responded {after a one...two...beat pause}. "no." that was a long pause before you answered. {slight pause} "what do you mean?" i mean, if you asked ME if i had slept with someone, i wouldn't have to pause and think of the answer. i could just say, no.

a year later he still threw out some rigmarole about this reason and that reason that it didn't work out, but even then i saw how clearly they were sad little excuses that danced to a tired little tune trying to distract me from the real reason that was hulking silently in the corner. something i could always sense, but wasn't allowed to see.

but i closed that book long ago and walked on, in large part knowing i should be happy i didn't end up with him but haunted by my own inability to understand exactly what had gone so wrong. as much as i knew that no one makes such an abrupt shift without something changing, particularly if that something is in the shape of a female in the bed next to you and more effortlessly enjoyed than the one a hemisphere away, but i couldn't be sure i wasn't fabricating his guilt at my own need to make some sense out of it all.

so after a good night's rest i woke up today finally free of the burden i had carried for two and a half years. free of guilt for the ugly, drawn out nature of the break-up, free of the frustrations of not being able to trust my own instincts about what had happened, free of any remaining daydreams about ending up together. because while all he had to do was say i've met someone else {with maybe even an "i'm sorry for cheating on you" thrown in there for good measure}, i blamed myself for holding on too tightly, for trying too hard, for being too needy, etc {trust me the list goes on too far}...now i can finally give him back his fair share, both for the infidelity and for the lies afterward. and whatever you can say about attraction, you have a choice to move forward with it or a choice to be loyal, even if loyalty is extended merely to the point of ending things openly and honorably, neither of which was done here.*

shortly after finding out the one thing i've been looking for, i was able to cheerfully block him on facebook and be fine with never hearing his name again for the rest of my life.

free at last, free at last. god, almighty, i am free at last.

--------
an eloquent example of the situation as illustrated in the movie closer:

dan: i fell in love with her, alice.
alice: oh, as if you had no choice? there's a moment, there's always a moment, "i can do this, i can give into this, or i can resist it", and i don't know when your moment was, but i bet you there was one.

hiccups, heartaches & terry-cloth towels

tough week.
storm's just begun.
no time for myself
and the next big project is only just starting.

trying to stay present in now...now.....now........and now....which is tough for more than six seconds at a time.
and really just feeling not ready to turn 27.
i thought i would be so much farther
by now--wait, stay in the present.
that's right.
i'm here.....here....here........{still} here.......right where i'm supposed to be.

but i still envy natalie portman
and pretty much every other young actress of her ilk
but it takes me a few seconds longer before the burst
of heat and feeling of worthlessness
and the burns aren't as bad as they were.


maybe where i am this moment is farther than i think it is.


i hate that it all matters as i add up the nickles and pennies of growth i've fought so hard for these past {nearly three} decades when all i really want to be able to do is to throw in the towel and end this personal war between where i want to be and where i actually am.

i don't think i am capable, though, so the compromise is to give myself until april to finish the vets project and the wccw project {helping make art with veterans and prisoners respectively} and settle into a new home and new job.

april, nathania. april.