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.

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?

snow globe

some nights should be held close in a snow globe, words swirling around gently like flakes, settling down after a while; clarity left visible in the stillness. we rest together in the peace and comfort of truths spoken out loud as the glass slowly fogs to opaque. the bottles empty. the cd changes. the words pick up again, shaking out our world with more truth, more flakes catching the flicker of the ferries passing by in the rain.

but the real victory is, for perhaps the very first time, the words not ready to be spoken, truths not ripe to be understood, rest patiently in the spaces between the now still snowflakes. they are comfortable knowing that one day they too will be tossed into the air and allowed to give voice to the life already lived out between us.

one day. not today.

until then, some nights, we should hold each other close inside a snow globe, care swirling around gently like flakes, settling down after a while; love left visible in the stillness.

awash

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.

celebrate

counting. sweeping. killing. the new is finally here. history made. remade. the next chance. restart. more words. more commitment. strength. truth. confetti. so we danced in the street, drank from paper bags we passed around, hit balloons, blew bubbles, found friends, hugged strangers, smiled large, and held the world closer in the moment when it was all decided.

again.


for the record, i was scared, but never doubted. hope never doubts. it's too pure. too clean. too bright. so let it shine a light forward and celebrate.

atoms for peace

atoms for peace - thom yorke

no more going to the dark side with your flying saucer eyes
no more falling down a wormhole that i have to pull you out

the wriggling, squiggling worm inside
devours from the inside out

no more talk about the old days
it's time for something great

i want you to get out
and make it work

so many lies
so many lies
so many lies
so feel the love come off of them
and take me in your arms

peel all of your layers off
i want to eat your artichoke heart

no more leaky holes in your brain
and no false starts

i wanna get out
and make it work

so many lies
so many lies
so many lies
so feel the love come off of them
and take me in your arms

i wanna get out
and make it work

i want you to get out
and make it work

i'll be ok

so many lies
so many lies
so many lies
so feel the love come off of them
and take me in your arms

word.

relationships are the battleground where we fight for what version of ourselves we become: honest or deceptive, independent or lazy. they reflect all of our potential and all of our weaknesses at the same time...when you start a relationship, you always have ideas about how the other person will broaden your horizon and lift you up, but truthfully a relationship will always redefine itself around the level of its greatest weakness.

-the tobolowsky files