Let's Talk Over Toast

The benefits of losing benefits

2012-01-31T19:28:00.000-08:00

As of tomorrow, I will be benefit-less. As of tomorrow, if I fall and break my leg or catch pneumonia, I am officially fucked.

I never thought I'd allow myself to be in such an undefined transition with a professional vacancy as this, but that's probably because nobody mentioned how euphoric it can actually be. Of course, the logistical headaches like losing your benefits and a fat, consistent paycheck can take their toll, but ultimately, it all boils down to what the epic TV series Friends so poignantly identifies as the fear:

Rachel: I'm training to be better at a job that I hate. My life officially sucks.
Joey: Look Rach, wasn't this supposed to a temporary thing? I thought you wanted to do fashion stuff?
Rachel: Well, yeah! I'm still pursuing that.
Chandler: How... exactly are you pursuing that? Ya know, other than sending out resumes like, what, two years ago?
Rachel: Well, I'm also sending out.... good thoughts.
Joey: If you ask me, as long as you got this job, you've got nothing pushing you to get another one. You need the fear.
Rachel: The fear?
Chandler: He's right, if you quit this job, you then have motivation to go after a job you really want.
Rachel: Well then how come you're still at a job that you hate, I mean why don't you quit and get "the fear?"
(Chandler and Joey both start laughing)
Chandler: Because, I'm too afraid

Well folks, I went out and got myself the fear, and I must say it tastes pretty good. This is the taste of movement, this middle ground where things are unknown and guarantees are not given, this is where the work is done and growth results. I've been propelled into this uberproductive yet somehow simultaneously restful place. I feel more at peace with myself and my decisions, and more congruent with my priorities than I have in a very long time, and this- all in the absence of pragmatic responsibility. I have moved on from a fantastic job because it had become painfully obvious that it was a terrible fit for my strengths and passions, and for that, I couldn't be prouder.

In this time of empty space, loose-laid days, and sleeping in, I've begun the most aggressive pursuit of what matters most to me, and I don't think I've ever been so thrilled to be smack in the middle of that vicious and glorious place called uncertainty.

My occasional scribblings on mornings..

2012-01-31T18:42:00.000-08:00

Have your mornings.

have them.

Have them on purpose, in purpose,

they are newness, delivered by hand from some saint in the night.

Remember they're gifted, not guaranteed.

Have them with spirit fresh and eyes half-open

untarnished by day and unmet by night,

take heart in the morning

for the possibility

and the light.

***

3 times before, I've woken up in this ethereal, inexplicable state of peace; 2 of those times were prior to 5am. Upon waking I felt an immediate and undeniable air of peace so thick and saturating, inescapable. The first time it happened was easter morning in 2008. My mom and I got up before dawn to attend the easter morning sunrise service on Mount Helix, so as tradition dictates I woke around 4:30. The moment I opened my eyes I could tell something was different. As I got ready and met my mom in the kitchen I could tell I was perceiving and responding to my environment in a new way. I remember feeling unweighted by the burden of rational thought, like all my words and motions were dictated solely by ideals, rather than the selfishness or impatience that typically seeps into the human day. Something about this state of being felt so pure and genuine, almost monastic; it was a curious and alluring thing. But as the sun rose, caffeine and loud voices and traffic seeped into me, and the simplistic bliss of my early morning dissolved.

Whenever I think of those few mornings, I wonder if simple discipline could bring me to that state more frequently. I find such opportunity and wonder in the mornings, something happens during sleep that resets the mind and heart, and regenerates the chance for change. If daily I could wake in peace, ease into being, and create a nurturing space to mold a purer me before the muddle of life makes its own mold of me, then after enough time I wonder if that mold might just stick....

***

Mornings are not to be taken lightly, they are not to be passively moved through, but rather responded to actively. Mornings hold such untainted richness, refreshment of the highest form; there's a sound and a feeling at the start of day that'll sit you up a little straighter if you pay attention to it.

Even the most hungover or depressed mornings hold a bizarre kind of hope and renewal. I'm telling you it's something in the air, before the atmosphere's been cluttered by gossip and deadlines and critiques and heartbreak.

Flannel lessons

2011-12-07T19:01:00.000-08:00

I was walking in a store the other day and saw a flannel shirt on a shelf. I looked at it for a moment and thought to myself, "I like that color combination... should I buy it?"

I was wearing a flannel at the time.

Sometimes, inconsequential moments can be vessels for surprise epiphanies, and this was just such a time. The differences between the flannel on the shelf and the one I was wearing were few, but some minute characteristic made me think for a split second that it could be rational to buy another shirt so similar.

Now the materialistic and often manipulative influence of a consumeristic society certainly plays a part here. With such a surfeit of material goods, whatever's newer, better or bigger somehow has the power to overshadow our perfectly adequate current possessions. Of course, this is the success of consumerism- access to an overabundance of products paired with strategic marketing to create an unending desire for more. Despite this being against everything I'd like to represent, I can't say I am exempt from this effect. I can express gratitude for the things I have, and then in the same breath express desire for something new.

(*For the record, I do realize that living in a socioeconomic position where an overabundance of provisions is even something to wrestle with is, in itself, an immense privilege. But the basic truth is that we wrestle with the culture we're immersed in, relative to what we've known and experienced throughout our lives..)

I've thought before that perhaps the best way to avoid getting sucked into the vortex of materialism is to avoid stores altogether. If I'm not exposed to what's new, I won't desire it. But standing in front of the flannel on the shelf, I realized that hiding from the market we live in is an impermanent and hallow method of remaining materially content. A more genuine solution to keep my behavior congruent with my values occurred to me:

Contentment is not about the absence of something better, it's about- in the presence or possibility of something better- choosing to be content through gratitude for what you already have. It's being able to acknowledge that yes, there is something newer or greater, but what I've got does the job, and I'm satisfied with just that.

Since that day, I haven't gone more than a few hours without thinking about this. It's a simple and possibly obvious statement to some, but nonetheless has impacted me significantly; although the situation may have seemed trivial, this perspective is applicable to the non-material areas of life as well the material. Be it with technology, relationships, food, or a car, this is one way to mobilize gratitude- move it from a state of feeling, to a state of behavior-affecting action.

The Break-in

2011-11-21T11:33:00.000-08:00

Most of the time, the internal call to create, to activate artistic vision (be it through writing, or otherwise creating with my hands) feels like a wild beast.. a roaring and grizzly face that comes out from within to stare me down and demand productivity. It's an indispensable urging, but even so, feels like a monster of a task the majority of the time.

Sometimes though, the calling exudes a kind of glowing allure, and rather than demanding, it feels as a seductive beckoning... an irresistible desire to get moving and making before the wave of motivation washes out..

But those times are infrequent for me, and I feel lucky to be so inspired on such occasions that I'm immediately compelled to drop whatever nonsense I'm up to to give time and energy to the good work of creating. Typically though, as is the case when staring into the more beastly face of art, I'm faced with the challenge of persuading myself into action in the absence of inspiration. I recall Picasso's quote, "Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.."

This is a true and bittersweet recognition; it's encouraging to know that action produces momentum to continue, and sometimes momentum is enough if pressing inspiration is nowhere to be found. The only difficulty then, is getting started: how do you get moving before momentum or inspiration have even awoke? (I'm sure procrastinators of the world, in whatever field or discipline, can unite in this struggle.) In fact, I face the same exact dilemma with exercise, because unless there's a soccer ball involved, working out has very little appeal when I'm comfortable at home. So a few months back I started trying a sneaky back-door approach, to see if I could coax myself by only committing to a deceptively small amount of exercise. 10 minutes was the expectation, no more no less. As it turns out, it is 100% inevitable that once I've finished the 10 minutes, once I've begun to sweat, I want more. After experiencing the most minute accomplishment, I wonder how much more I could push myself...

So I figure this approach has got to work for my artistic life as well, but what is the break-in? What small fragment of the process will lure me into the work? it must be manageable, non-intimidating, and virtually impossible to deny the ease of. When it comes to writing, the task is daunting for many reasons ("What's the point? I don't know what to write about. I suck. I haven't got the time..." and so on.), so what if my lure tactic was to require simply that I sit down and write 200 words; they don't need to amount to anything cohesive, they don't need to glow with genius, there simply must be 200 of them. It can be the worst combination of sentences I've ever composed, and with that, I require that I be completely satisfied.

If the expectation is simply that I sit down and write something shitty, then the barrier of intimidation is obliterated {mission accomplished!} and 99.9% of the time that I've done this, by the time I hit the 200 word minimum I'm actually believing I have more to contribute to the page, and I crave to continue. Perhaps this is what Picasso felt, as though inspiration creeps by your door every so often, peeking in silently to see what you're up to. When I'm found complaining and making excuses to evade work, he backs away, because who would want to work with a whining artist? But when I'm found quietly working in his absence, he enters, pleased, and pulls up a chair.

Econ.

2011-09-07T22:45:00.000-07:00

All of life functions within various economies, as defined as "the management of resources, especially with a view to its productivity." Our bodies operate on an economy of air, nutrients, water etc. Business functions within an economy of money. There is another pivotal system of resources though that I think we ought to acknowledge- the economy that regulates what we do with ourselves day in and day out, managing the currency of time. In this economy, every little thing we do has a price, and how we spend our wealth both reflects and determines who we are.

The unique thing about this particular economy is that everyone is allotted the exact same amount of time at the start of each new day (save for the day we die or become otherwise incapacitated). Just by nature of being alive and functioning, we all begin the day equal in wealth, regardless of geography or history, and it pays no mind to the differences imposed by other resources.

...this is an incomplete thought, I just find it curious to consider that in this economy of time, we all begin the day with the same currency to make, save, and spend, and that our decisions with this resource represent who we are perhaps more than with any other system of life or society...

Landscapes.

2011-09-07T22:14:00.000-07:00

I sometimes imagine the experience of living as geographical terrain; changing emotions are mountains and canyons. Some days, the dreary ones, it feels like some invisible ceiling is creeping down, leveling all the peaks and valleys into one pancake-like existence. The thought of this flattening scares me shitless and rattles my insides...

because as exhausting as it is to climb those mountains and sink into those canyons, without them, life would just be a lonely trudge through a dull open plain.

On Escapes (and still more on pain)

2011-05-25T23:09:00.000-07:00

(to preface: I began writing this one soon after I wrote the initial Pain piece, but of course neglected it and lost track. Came across it again and it still resonates, so I buffed it up a bit and here goes...)

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU HURT, I WONDER? Sometimes all I can do is escape..

Human escapes are myriad: alcohol, shopping, eating, dating, gambling... they can all be thieves. They can also be illusionists, taking reality and dressing it up in a new outfit, perhaps softer fabrics and more attractive colors..

Escapes are seductive.

..but when they prove themselves empty and deceptive (and when abused, they always do) how else do you exist in the eye of your storm? I’ve been thinking about refining my struggles, letting all the curiosity and loneliness and wonder manifest however they want..

Better to consume it all and use it, before it consumes us.

I’m reminded of Ray Lamontagne speaking to his demons, fierce and poignant, disregarding fear like some pedestrian absurdity:

“I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest, said ‘Do your best to destroy me.. see, I’ve been to hell and back so many times I must admit you kinda bore me.’ There’s a lot of things that can kill a man, there’s a lot of ways to die. Yes and some already did and walk beside me..”

In the face of your demons, I can’t think of anything more powerful than to call them small and mundane, bare your chest, and ask for more.

Don't let your demons take the fight out of you;

in fact, they should put the fight back in.

Burn

2011-05-23T21:36:00.000-07:00

I've been told that during workouts you must always push past the initial sting of muscle fatigue. When your muscles first start to feel tired is precisely when you need to push harder, because remaining after that point is what will get you results. Once the burn has set in, it's tempting to quit in the interest of the body's desire for comfort. But to gain the most from a workout it's imperative to dig deeper than that first pain and ultimately, you will be much stronger for it.

I believe this is much like love, as it is most powerful, most compelling, shows its deepest colors of commitment, and experiences most profound depth and growth when upheld

through the burn.

2011-05-05T13:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, the most healthy and necessary thing you can do is get outside of yourself.. step away from the vacuum of your own cyclical worries and analyses to nourish yourself with the reminder that all along, there has been an entire world carrying on outside while you were cooped up in your own mind..

2010-11-21T17:15:00.000-08:00

(This is an edited and trimmed version of a piece I recently wrote at the request of a friend for a project she's working on. Her prompt was "Post-graduation life" ...just as massive and open-ended as that...)

Finding your passion, in terms of your ‘life calling’ is not always the simple result of being a passionate person. I used to think that if I had passion, strong beliefs and devoted ambition, I’d just passively realize a dream that was acutely fitted for my skills and interests and chase after it.

Sometimes though, no matter how much ambition you have, clarity and vision don’t reveal themselves simply. I've spent the greater part of the past 3 years fighting this strange tension which could be summarized as: “I will work so hard! But work for what?? I want to move forward! But in what direction?? I want to make great change in the world! But in which field??”

My subconscious response to this tension was to try to do it all; if I couldn’t narrow down my interests enough to start moving in one direction, maybe I could just move in all directions, pursue everything, lead the most eclectic and diversified life possible so as not to miss out on anything. I saw this as the best use of my twenties: to take advantage of this phase of questioning, challenging, and experimenting, with the hope of one day stumbling upon something I’d like to dedicate myself to more wholly.

To some degree, I still believe that. This should be a season of life free to be unconfined and undetermined. But as I’ve learned, there is also a level of restraint that does a body good. I built up a life as a business representative, soccer player, soccer coach, youth group leader, bartender, balloon artist, writer, social butterfly.. etc. With a schedule so full, I couldn’t help but find purpose somewhere soon, right?

Did you know that one dictionary definition of busyness is: "Lively but meaningless activity"? I embodied this definition to an unhealthy degree for quite some time. In the chaos of my hastened life, I adopted the habit of skipping through my routine engagements mindlessly. I abandoned the basic investments that kept my spirit constant when everything else was changing. My art, my health, and my relationships all took the hit; the things I supposedly cared most about were suffering because of my myriad demands. I was gradually shifting from eclectic, to empty. Somehow in the midst of trying to be everything, I ended up nothing like who I wanted to be.

This apex of exhaustion awakened me to a new challenge of balance and intention. I decided that my quality of life and impact on the world would never be measured by the length of my resume but by the substance of my experiences and my resulting character; and as obvious as that may seem, I took it to heart as enlightenment.

So not long ago, I started stripping my life down to what I knew I could do 100%. There are only so many hours in the day, so many days in the week, and so many things you can invest in. After a period of complete overload, I had to step away from the things that didn't fit with who I wanted to be, and re-comitt myself to the things that would sustain a life I could take pride in. I'm still training myself to practice the simple disciplines that keep my body and mind healthy, my creativity nourished, and my priorities in line.

Although post-grad life has felt more inconsistent and aimless than any other season I’ve been through, it’s also compelled me to take ownership of a new resiliency and strength I never before needed. After many cycles of pain and redemption, I’ve developed a great reverence for the fruit that struggle bears.

As for today, I am still learning how to wear myself, and I still put up a great fight when I look in the mirror most days. I still get frustrated that periods of immense growth often come along with lessons of loss, uncertainty, loneliness, and failure. I still have too many questions about where I am headed, but I’m starting to feel like I am entitled to more than my insecurities, and that I am indeed capable of some extraordinary things when I roll up my sleeves and put in the hard work. I’ve also come to appreciate a whole new angle of friendship. Countless times over the last few years I have sat with a friend, either saying or hearing “I know what you’re going through, I’ve been there too” or “I’m feeling the exact same thing! Will we make it through??” That state of exasperated togetherness, comrades in utmost despair, is a union of immeasurable value. No matter how maddening or trying relationships may be, I am nothing without companionship and this has never been made so clear as in the last 3 years.

I’ve realized we live the impossible garden- where it’s always planting season and always the harvest. We are constantly laying the groundwork for some piece of the future, and always reaping the fruits, or spoils, of some previous season. I can only hope that what I am planting right now is the start of a prolific period defined by a commitment to incessant creating and learning. In 10 years I hope to be able to look back and say, “Those uncomfortable years were used well- I let it all in, ignored nothing, questioned everything, acted on my beliefs, and invested in relationships.. those years validated the truth of being a part of the human community. I accepted the struggles, capitalized on the blessings, and never settled for mediocre contentment. I used my time.”

-ON PAIN, AS A PERSON-

2010-09-01T10:04:00.000-07:00

Pain, as a person, comes in and commissions great things of you, but only if you allow him to take his role center-stage and show you what he's got. I imagine he’s the type that likes a fair amount of attention, not because he’s self-centered or because he was the middle child neglected by his parents as a kid and so he compensates for it by always needing to feel like the center of the universe, no he simply needs to be acknowledged because when he’s ignored completely, he can’t do his job.

I believe Pain as a person would ask to be dignified before imparting any of his wisdom or perspective, and this could happen one of two ways: a) You resist to the point of exhaustion. Unable to keep up the act forever, Pain enters in storming fashion, crushing your comfortable avoidance. Pain as a person is a strangely recurrent yet transient member of our lives; our defenses never really keep him at bay, because his arrival is not a call to arms. He just waits at the door until we’ve tired and in weakness, finally dropped all weapons.

Not to say that it’s always got to be such a war with this character, because I think there is an alternative- b) You make a conscious and brave decision to honor the reality that Pain has come a’knockin, and recognize that he actually offers a great deal of potential.. you let him in and accept him, make him a cup of tea and sit with him, ask him questions and find out who he is, where he was born, why he’s visiting.. this discussion with him will probably be heavy and revealing, as he tends to be brutally honest when you let him. But a disclaimer about this relationship you may build with Pain: I wouldn’t bother asking him when he plans to leave; to that question he may very well give you the wrong impression, or just remain silent leaving you to your own misguided assumptions. Better to just let him exist with you as a temporary guest for as long as he deems necessary. Another disclaimer: he might trash your house. Did I forget to mention that by profession he is an interior decorator of the most extreme variety? He might come in and throw things upside down, turn the tables, uproot your garden, I mean hell- he might even demolish the foundation of your house.. he doesn’t really hold back once you’ve let him in.

If so, this will feel like a massive violation of space and peace, like a raging hurricane has swept in. But I'll say from my own experiences, when he breaks things it often becomes apparent that they were already broken beneath the surface, or on the verge of breaking anyhow; the walls he tore down had already eroded on the inside. The foundation he shattered turned out to have cracks running through its entirety. The tables he turned were actually facing the wrong way to begin with..

He’s also not great at keeping to preconceived deadlines, confessing things like “Well I know I made you think I would be done and out of here by next month, but you see when I took down that drywall I realized the structure was a lot more compromised than I expected. It’ll be an extra 3 months before I’m finished..” Give him grace though, there’s no way anyone could’ve known what would be found once the walls were torn down, or how long it would take to repair.

Ultimately though, he is one-of-a-kind. Nobody else is in the business as he is, and nobody can do the same work… and in the end, he almost always does great work. His patterns of demolition appear destructive, but be reminded that this is actually the first sign of renovation.

Pain comes because something in your internal or external world has invited him, whether or not you are conscious of it, understand it, or even want it. Whatever the reason though, he has earned your respect, hasn't he? and in the long run, he plays so much more nicely when you give it.

2010-06-06T23:41:00.001-07:00

"A man who wants something will find a way.

A man who doesn't will find an excuse."

-Stephen Dolley Jr.-

I've been judging myself by this quote lately. So- evidently I am someone who does not want to write, because I have been making excuse after excuse for why I don't have the time to just sit down and put pen to paper. But that's crazy, because I know the freedom that writing affords me and I know it's something I will 'ever desire. Now this is certainly not the first time I've realized I'm devoting excessive time to things that are not representative of who I want to be, and insufficient time to the things I really am passionate about. So, I intend on giving myself a good pep talk about this, followed by a quick kick in the ass, and then setting a daily scheduled time to get back to writing persistently and fervently. Hopefully this means there will soon be more to come.. hopefully....

Enough said.

2010-05-19T08:03:00.000-07:00

it resonates..

New #9

2010-05-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

::back to basics::

2010-04-20T22:21:00.000-07:00

I said to myself,
'Self, let's get simple. What do you want right now?'

1/ to create + contribute
2/ to rage against the dying of the light
3/ a new opportunity

'..and what do you not want?'

1/ to devalue any human
2/ to waste time
3/ to be a waste

I appreciated my honesty. I think it's good to ask simple questions when the mind is getting out of hand spinning on its axis of chaotic thought and uncertainty, and to see what your answers turn out to be..

What do you ask?

2010-04-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

To live only for some future goal is shallow.

It's the sides of the mountain

that sustain life, not the top.

-Robert M. Pirsig-

Saw this quote on the website of a photographer I met once whose work I really appreciate. Being that all current distress stems from my seemingly directionless future, and directionless present for that matter, it's good to keep reminding myself that the above is true; that it's on the sides of the mountain where the action happens. It's during the hike up with friends where people get closer, inside jokes are made, injuries occur, questions are asked, answers are stumbled upon..

and the top is simply where you enjoy the view together.

New # 8: Spanish bravery

2010-04-08T08:20:00.001-07:00

I've been craving Spanish like nobody's business lately. The kind of crave where I sigh and give a longing smile with my brows furrowed in nostalgia every time I hear someone reference Spain or travelling or learning a language. I seldom use my Spanish these days, which has inevitably resulted in loss of fluidity and comfort; I'm much more halted and insecure in my conversational ability. I have to confess though that it's not a lack of availability that is to blame for my English-only lifestyle. It's not like I live in the backwoods of Kentucky, I live literally 2 streets away from Spanish-speaking communities, but unless I step out intentionally to find the opportunity, it's incredibly easy to stay within the daily confines of English.

So, I decided it was time to do something about it. Instead of hanging on the occasional conversation at a supermarket or at work to practice this gorgeous language, I thought it was time to try something a little different. I found out there are groups that meet all over the place on the simple basis of loving and desiring the Spanish language and culture. Despite my many initial hesitations- "It's probably just a bunch of people who need friends," or "I'm too rusty to do this" or "what if it's a bunch of creeps?!" I thought I'd give it one chance. So after a lot of searching for a group that sounded authentic, I found one that appealed. The first event I attended was a Spanish tapas party, naturally. I second guessed myself a ton beforehand, because who in their right mind goes to a party where 1. they don't know a single soul, and 2. nobody is speaking their primary language?! But I resolved that it would be my new and scary thing for that day, so I went, homemade tapas in hand. I approached feeling like a little kid at a new school, trying to make new friends with enticing snacks.

Turned out to be exhilerating, truly! There's a rush I used to get in Spain when speaking with locals, trying so hard not to sound American; it's a mix of insecurity and excitement at knowing every sentence exchanged was adding to my verbal repertoire. With the margaritas and wine flowing, cheese tasting, dancing, and some of the most colorful people I've met in a while, the night brought me back to a passion I'd let fade over time.

Lessons learned:
1) If it's scary, then there's potential for something great to come of it. If you're nervous, you should probably do it. (Note: This does not apply if you're contemplating jumping off a building)
2) I know you know this, but please don't judge people before you give them a chance.
3) Don't forget, it's your responsibility to find opportunities to practice what you're passionate about; it's your job to seek out the things that make you come alive, because they won't always fall in your lap. We can't wait for thrills to be served up on a silver platter, they must be sought with wild persistence.

2010-04-03T12:36:00.001-07:00

DEATH IS NOT THE GREATEST LOSS IN LIFE.

THE GREATEST LOSS IS WHAT DIES INSIDE US WHILE WE LIVE.

-Norman Cousins-

The Bag Lady

2010-03-10T21:01:00.000-08:00

It’s been a strange and frustrating time. I confess, in a moment of utter discouragement and anxious uncertainty, I literally typed “Where do I go in life?” into the search box, offering up my every question of life-purpose and direction to the gods of Google.

There’s been talk lately about frustration with jobs and peoples’ souls being eaten by stagnancy and dying passion. And while I resonate with this to a lesser degree, the restlessness is indeed unsettling; but I keep remembering the look on his face when he said, “Why would anyone, EVER, make themselves so vulnerable to their job that they let it eat their soul???”

I thought that was brilliant, and also difficult to reconcile for a person like me.

All my personal anxiety in this regard came to a peak on Monday. Bubbling over with frustration, I reached a new readiness for change that exceeded anything I’ve felt in the last 2 years. I woke this morning with the weight of it all pressing my chest and head into my pillow, suggesting I shouldn’t even bother getting out of bed. But I did, and decided the only thing to do was break out the strong coffee, paper bag, and a sharpie. This Paper Bag Therapy, as I have named it, is one of the most cathartic things I’ve ever done for myself. Lying on my stomach, I uncap the marker and have at it; the Sharpie didn’t have the slightest clue what was coming.

Furiously writing every scattered thought, question, idea, conundrum, obstacle and need, I categorically spelled out everything I know and do not know about what I want in life, at this point in time. It’s worth mentioning that the header reads: “PAPER BAG THERAPY, Session #2, 3 march 2010, Age 24. >>HANG ONTO THIS, I'M SURE YOU'LL GET A KICK OUT OF IT WHEN YOU'RE 50.”

So although I’m knee-deep in the murky ambition of a twenty-something, I can still appreciate the fact that this is a stage, a necessary stage of searching and exploring, and when I’m much older with much more perspective, I’ll laugh at the adorable innocence of all my current anxiety.

I was however able to identify some things I most definitely do NOT want as I move forward in life (ehem.. marketing/sales positions). Beyond that, the list of potential career interests was somewhat vague- lacking practical knowledge of professional applications or the steps to even ‘get there.’

But despite the lack of resolute clarity, I feel a bit better. I feel honest about where I’m at, mostly joyful while searching, and certain that life can still go on colorfully in the face of aimlessness and uncertainty, if you decide so.

New #7: The Finished Product

2010-03-10T14:58:00.000-08:00

(Done at the request of a friend; centered around a theme of homelessness)

Canvas, synthetic fabric, paper, coffee, thread, spray paint, acrylic, wetfoam, clay, glue.

A question emerges:

2010-02-23T09:03:00.000-08:00

How come writing words feels like
freedom
but art feels like judgment?

New #6: Night Ride

2010-02-18T08:55:00.000-08:00

Rode my bike at 10:30pm to the Pasadena City Hall building. If you've never seen it, take a look at the gem we have sitting right in the middle of our city: (and don't judge me for getting the photos from google, mine from that night didn't turn out)

It was freezing cold (freezing by a San Diegan's standards, probably picnic weather for a New Yorker).. but I rode there to sketch. I'm not a good drawer I don't believe, but it felt good to circle a couple times admiring the whole of it under moonlight and florescents, a nice contrast to the morning light I typically see it in. I settled myself on the front stoop-like stairs to take it all in.. found some great lines, interesting angles, shapes and textures. Felt like I was doing research on how to appreciate something gorgeous.

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer (a Native American Elder)

2010-02-16T22:20:00.000-08:00

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God's presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!”

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

[passed on to me from a friend. too good not to post]

New #5: Swimsuit Yoga

2010-02-12T14:11:00.001-08:00

The other day I had every intention of going to the gym, but it was raining so hard I couldn't bear the thought of bundling up just to get to my car. So inside our cozy warm house from the heater running all morning, I got in my bathing suit for some reason and found my own gym alternative. There's a website that posts a new hour-long yoga workout every week that you can watch for free and follow along. I've always meant to check it out, but until my rainy day sit-in I'd never gotten around to it. But I'm glad I finally did, because swimsuit yoga on a rainy day was just the mid-week refresher I needed

New #4: The Woods

2010-02-11T00:41:00.001-08:00

Went to a new bar called The Woods, it's located in Hollywood a little off the beaten path, and located in a tacky strip mall between a laundromat and a mediterranean food joint. Looks supremely trashy from the outside, but inside it fosters a surprisingly unique vibe and comfortable ambiance. Wood blocks of varying grain and depth line the north wall, and the full bar is backed by a frosted lit glass pane highlighting tree branch silhouettes. Deer antler chandeliers are the cherry on top of this mountain cabin-turned hipster locale, all glazed with a subtle 70's tinge of earthy tones and lighting. Might be worth checking out sometime if you find yourself aimless in the neighborhood..

New #3: Starting

2010-02-10T23:57:00.000-08:00

I started a new project, for a friend to use in a thing he's doing later this month..

{Progress updates to come!}

New #2: Home of the Fry Bread

2010-02-10T22:44:00.000-08:00

My neighbors/housemates technically (they live on the bottom unit of the house, we live on top) are an Albanian family of 3, 2 older parents and a middle aged son who moved in last year. The parents are darling, though view of them is limited to the occasional passing in the garden or front yard, as they tend to daily routine activities. They don't speak any English, although their son Maxsim does, but they never fail to wave when we cross paths.

From time to time, my roommates and I are gifted with a plate of food. It typically consists of an unidentifiable dish that Allison has deemed "fry bread-like." Maxsim also happens to be the property manager/quasi-fix it man of the home.. so so kind and exceedingly helpful, he always does what he can to help when something breaks down on us. His accent is thick and sometimes difficult to understand, but he's so genuine and conversational it's hard not to just fake it and act like you know what he's talking about..

But despite our friendly exchanges, our interaction with the family has been limited; our picture of their life has been pieced together only by the bits of information that Maxsim offers as conversational filler space between washing machine repairing and cable installing.

The other day, I locked myself out of the house. Brilliant. I had to call the landlord to let me in, but he was tied up and couldn't make it for half an hour. Maxsim came out and tried to pick the lock, but to no avail. Assuming I'd just wait for the landlord on the stoop in front of my door, I plopped down and pretended to need to make phone calls and texts. Maxsim, standing at his front door right across the foyer left it open and said, "you come in now to wait!" I replied with a cordial but empty "oh thanks!"

With no real intention to take him up on the offer, I remained sitting and fiddled with my phone. I'm sure I subconsciously assumed there would have to be too much intentional conversation and strained formal smiles if I went in and sat awkwardly with Maxsim. But when he offered a second time, I couldn't say no.

Sitting in their living room, I saw his mother peek her small face around the corner of their tiny hallway, smiling briefly and deliberately. His father was watching the Maury show, and I can't deny how intrigued I was at this elderly man who speaks not a single word of English, intently watching Maury administer paternity tests and mediate the slapping and screaming fights between women and their illegitimate "baby-daddys."

I took in the peculiar scent wafting from the kitchen, and chatted with Maxsim about, oh ya know.. the usual stuff. Like how hard it is to meet "good American woman in bar." Despite the empty moments of slightly uncomfortable silence, I learned a great deal during those 20 minutes. I saw pictures of Maxsim's new wife he 'acquired' while visiting his home country, of his young son, and of his extended family. I learned how different the basis for marriage is in Albania, and what the appropriate grounds are for forming that union.

So it was nothing big. I simply sat with my neighbor for a short while, looked through his photo albums, and chatted. But it was new for me to extend more energy than just a quick hand wave or "hello" in effort to connect. I stepped outside the ease of faking phone calls to evade social interaction (don't hate, you know you've done it before) and chose to sit with another human instead, learning some things I didn't know before.

It's been far too long.. Time for a comeback (!)

2010-02-02T01:12:00.000-08:00

All this New Year's Resolution business is funny. I used to be a mega-resolution maker with lengthy, elaborate lists of things to change or improve, ranging from superficial physicalities, to deeply-rooted character adjustments, to habit changes in daily living. Then I became anti-all of that because I just wasn’t real impressed efforts to change that were initiated solely because it was time to buy new calendars. Don't get me wrong, I'll be the first to say there are things I'd like to change about my life, and I also think the end of year/holiday season is a natural time to reflect and reassess. But I also think that if I truly desire to change, I should be pro-active regardless of convenient societal phases of 'newness.'

To reach goals, some like to establish tight parameters boxing in their behavior, keeping the path to success on the straight and narrow. But ultimately, perfect adherence to stringent rules and schedules is not necessarily life-enriching in itself, nor is it change-yielding. Like a kid in a school class- perfect attendance would matter very little if not accompanied by participation and engaging the curriculum.

It's funny because 'attendace' in the context of life would probably just refer to being physically present, simply breathing, heart beating... real inspiring huh? So while showing up for the job consistently is commendable, it won't necessarily incite growth.

***

So as I contemplated setting a new year's resolution for 2010, January 1st came and went with little inspiration, and I still wasn't sure if I wanted to sign up for some lofty goal. Then late-night January 5th came, my 24th birthday-eve. That night I lay on my floor, a little perplexed and mildly overwhelmed about the thought of entering what I suppose to be my ‘mid-twenties.’ Mind unclear, I naturally took out a fat marker and a disassembled Trader Joe's paper bag and I wrote, and wrote furiously. Quick blurbs of thought lightened up some deep personal analyses; the overarching theme of it all seemed to be born of some lavish desire for newness.

So I responded to the evident urge of this 24th year- I made a ‘New Life-Year’s Resolution:’

DO SOMETHING NEW, EVERY DAY.

It’s just so frighteningly easy to pass through an entire day lazily, carrying on as steady as possible to accommodate comfort and ease above all. How many times have I gone from sun up to sundown without stepping once outside my daily muscle memory long enough to realize how many opportunities there were to move through time uniquely? I think most of the time we have a choice, an equal opportunity- either to slip through a moment passively, ineffectually, OR to participate in your own life affectively, and open to being affected.
So this little endeavor of mine could entail making something I've never made before- creating of any kind (because creating inherently ushers newness), trying a new recipe or restaurant, changing a habitual routine, taking part in a new activity... etc etc etc. Sounds easy enough, right? At the inception of this whole thing, I was flooded with ideas of things to try.. but as a realist I know it's difficult to label anything consistent these days. So even the smallest of tasks could present quite a challenge to keep up.

What’s most important in all this though, is that my commitment lies in trying, not in perfection.

Because I will inevitably fail some days, and the self-deprecation and discouragement that would typically ensue won’t be of any use. So when I miss a day of newness- I’ll simply acknowledge my imperfection, yet recognize I’m still worth enough to keep trying.

So New #1 for me was snowboarding @ Snow Summit with family, a huge log cabin, late night poker, junk food... Who could ask for more? And yes, my tailbone was bruised for over a week, but through all the falling I found it fun enough to want to go again :)

From here on, I'll try to check back in regularly to share my New’s, as I'll call them. I've no idea what will come of all this, maybe great things maybe not.. but I feel good about finding out..

2009-11-04T16:10:00.000-08:00

came across this a while ago, can't remember where..

sometimes, i really dig simplicity.

2009-10-27T23:34:00.000-07:00

Everything new to me is something old to somebody else. New opportunities for me are quite possibly closed doors for another, and trash to one is another’s treasure.

If humanity were separated into two groups: the lively and the dull, would I be the dullest of the lively ones? Or maybe just the most lively of the dull group. The prettiest of the ugly ones, or the ugliest of the pretty. Fattest of the thin, or thinnest of the fat. I am no extreme and for some reason lying in the middle of every spectrum drives me crazy beyond belief. I am headed in too many directions, and my mind is headed in even more. I want to go everywhere, and that gets me nowhere.

Nothing will ever be perfect, there will always be something else, the grass will always seem greener (until you actually get to the other side, and realize the shade of green is exactly the same, and discover that the color of the grass is worthless anyhow if your loved ones are on the other side) so all that is left is for us to be damn grateful for what we’ve got, who we already are, what we are currently capable of, and for the fact that we are yet breathing, yet alive, and yet full of possibility.

So keep on..

“To follow, without halt, one aim: There’s the secret of success.” -Anna Pavlova

Anti-"Music"

2009-09-28T13:48:00.001-07:00

Music is something new to me today. and yesterday it was too. and tomorrow.. well I'm expecting the same. Because in any given moment, there is potential to literally change the way you see the world, because of some words and sounds strung together to seep out the speakers. Could any listening moment ever be identical to another? A song, though heard a thousand times over, must press it's way through the atmosphere before reaching the ear. What if we looked at that process as a sort of mechanism, the air and feeling floating in a space act as a shaper, to take the song as it stands, and press into it the imprint of the present moment, molding it into what it needs to be at that precise point in time. What if we saw each moment not as a passive background, but as an active force that determines how a song would be received by the listener.. not adding or taking anything away from a song, but molding it to be fitted for any given point in time? What if we thought of songs and music as dynamic in that way, never losing power.. then I think we might develop a deeper appreciation for hearing the same song multiple times.

I want to listen so deeply; I used to say I wanted the music inside me. Now I think I want to be inside the music. Saturated and surrounded, complete. Because more than just sounds, music will never run out or end the way that games and fads do.. never leave you the way time always does.

I've been wishing I had another word for it, so I could do justice to what it has become to me. You hear the word 'music' 50 million times a day, but it's an injustice to give just one ordinary, worn out word to something so broad and complex and life-saving. I've always had this dissatisfaction, with lots of things not just music.. this discontentment (near frustration) with the words used often. Especially when referencing things heavy and true, things real and saving, things of the soul, I need something more. It's caused problems before- my unwillingness to concede and be happy with speaking in simple terms. But I'm sorry, it's just that life was not made in simple terms, and I do not feel in simple terms, and so it doesn't seem right to speak as such. I still do, because commonplace verbiage is often just easier, but let it be known I don't like it. Sometimes, I'd rather not speak than say something you've already heard.

Maybe it's like the way it feels when you have a nickname for someone you care about that nobody else calls them- it's something perhaps only you two understand, but it signifies some part of the relationship that is one-of-a-kind, authentic, and grown. Well I think nearly everyone develops something of a relationship with music. And even if there are 50 people listening to the same song, that song will probably play a completely unique role in each individual. For one it triggers a thought in the brain, for another a drop in the pit of the stomach, or a tingle in the hand, or a gasping for breath, or a stream from the eye, or weighted heavy eyelids, or a lessening of pain, or a surge of movement in the limbs..

It can't be enough! To use a single emotionless word to discuss the things of greatest importance to me- like "Friend" or "Love" or "college" or "Music".... So maybe the same challenge poses itself for all of these most intense and significant things: When one (or a few) word(s) is a disservice, all you can do is give in, share & describe what you've been given, and then give back. Do what you can, however possible, to sustain the life and meaning of the things that matter most.

Floss.

2009-09-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

I was just flossing and thinking how it's no fun at all, yet it's so worth doing. I liken it to this whole constellation of things in life that we do, or should do, or try to do, that are no fun in the moment yet have significant positive impact in the long run. Every day I wake up and take part in this world, I realize more and more that much of life is like this- critical and yet not fully, or even hardly, enjoyable in the moment of action. Some of our most basic disciplines in hygeine and health may parallel the need for discipline in other pursuits:

..just as I floss to avoid gingivitis, so do I need to write regularly in search of new ways to view, communicate, and connect with the world

..just as I try to drag myself out of bed to go to the gym, so do I need to set aside time to read consistently and cultivate a learner's spirit

..just as I take vitamins every morning, so do I need to work with my hands when I feel the tingling pulse of creation inside

I think there is some validity and wisdom in all those phrases like "It's not about the destination, it's about the journey" and "It's all about the process." But there are some essential aspects of living that are absolutely nothing about the physical process of doing, but are rather entirely about the end result. Depositing the efforts now to withdraw meaning and growth from later. Investing now (however mundane, ineffectual, or tedious a task may seem) to make small additions that, ultimately, will layer up a life well-lived.

2009-09-02T14:31:00.001-07:00

I'm curious, if I asked you to finish the sentence- "There are 2 kinds of people in the world: ____" and you could only choose one answer, what would it be?

I'm still thinking about mine....

2009-07-24T13:56:00.000-07:00

Contrary to what seems to be popular belief, freedom and boundaries are not enemies. I've been seeing in myself that certain measures of limitation or constraint are necessary to enable myself to maximize the freedoms I have. Because most of the time, boundaries are necessary in order to maintain balance. In the absence of balance, freedom can exert itself as uninhibited excess; self-destructive free reign; cyclical behaviors that lead us nowhere... Freedom Wasted.

So in some ways, I'm trying to shift my perception of boundaries from something that limits my freedom- to something that enables it.

2009-07-24T13:55:00.000-07:00

A lot of the time I think faith is selfish.

And I wonder if that is okay.

2009-07-13T00:35:00.000-07:00

The mark of a true artist- To continue producing, especially when you think you suck and your work is crap

$2.15 and No Cream

2009-06-30T09:41:00.000-07:00

Just now the girl told me how many dollars I owed, and asked if I wanted room for cream. I reached into my wallet and paused.. left her for a moment in expectant and confused silence. Don't know why, but I was suddenly inundated with thoughts of how quickly my perspective on life changes. I re-focused momentarily to tell her ‘no,’ but sitting here now I’m trying to grasp the impermanence of my views. I’m a fickle being; I can dance between optimism and lackluster indifference within a matter of hours.

I wish I was better at creating visual representations of my thoughts.

Because I’m wondering what would happen if I were able to take the way I feel right now about myself and my future and translate it into an image on a transparent sheet, and then tomorrow do it again, and then next week do it again… and so on and so on, until 40 years from now I would have stacks of transparencies filled with myriad designs. And I could lay them all on top of each other to see the lines of doubt and optimism bleed into each other. Splotches of discouragement and drops of apathy could seep into the curves of hope. And I think that’d be nice to see.

Many people think that each phase of life contributes something to the ‘big picture;’ that every experience and relationship holds some kind of significance, whether or not we understand it. But individually, a moment feels like just one moment, and sentiment for the current experience is isolated.

But imagine seeing all of it together in one comprehensive image- a glimpse of how even the ugliest and most pessimistic of days contributed to the stunning final piece. I imagine I'd be wonderfully shocked at how instrumental each ordinary moment really was..

to the tired but hopeful one.

2009-04-06T00:32:00.000-07:00

I’ve been away for a while. I could say it’s because of magic vacations, or the excessive weights of work, or crazy days and crazier nights….
But no, it’s been lazy-on-myself-ness, that has kept me in the dark. And I have been,
In the dark,
Quite so.

I don’t know when it got to this. I think somewhere along the way it became a process of forgetting that the choices I make today, are the choices I make for life. I’ve become a master of projecting into the future the goals of today.
“Ooooh I’ll be like this tomorrow. And I’ll do that next week! And when things really change, I’ll say this and that, and I’ll be the girl who chooses this not that…”

I forget that what I do today, who I am to you today, is who I am for life. Because today is life.

Where on earth did I get the notion that the current moment is somehow exempt from the responsibility it takes to change?? As if discussing the noble call to shed an old skin for the likes of a new one does anything to actually move us forward. As if talking about sacrifice, is really giving anything up at all. If I am not willing right now to do what it takes to change, how can I expect to be willing tomorrow?

Humans and the world have taught me, that you can say whatever you want.

And as it turns out, saying things and not doing things has become too easy for me, a detrimental easy. I speak the things of fantasy.. things that are neither impossible nor free of demands. Change begs discomfort of us, much. But mostly, I think one thing that change could give a shit about, is words.

I’ve been one to confuse admiration with envy. I’ve been through that forest of confusion and I still go back from time to time.. And beware! It’ll catch you, twist, sit you down and pull you back, behind the face of what you’d like to be. Alternatively- let yourself be inspired by others’ success and exotic adventures, not diminished by your envious gaze.

I’ve become too good at giving up on the day, letting it just be- bland, vanilla, decent (gag). Unwilling to give what it takes to become something better, to produce something fruitful, to be made new again and again. I’ve lately given in to a so-called ‘lack of energy;’ which is, in fact, one of the many masks that a non-committal heart likes to wear.

But don’t fret, I literally said out loud to myself in the mirror this afternoon.. you’re ok.
A creative dry spell (or any other kind of internal obstacle or battle for this matter) can only go as far as your accommodations for it last. And I choose for this one’s stay to end with me now.

No, struggles won't just disappear on a dime. They undoubtedly reside, but I've found it matters a great deal how hospitable we are to our weaknesses; and let's say I've been putting mints on the pillows, serving continental breakfast and the whole nine...

Choosing (making) better for yourself seems so simple, yet can prove difficult as hell, for some odd reason. But when you do, it carries a certain clarity: one that reminds me of thanksgiving day, or the air after rain, or the breath you can see on that annual cold morning before the sun’s grand entrance, on the mountain called Helix overlooking southern San Diego....

2009-03-09T23:50:00.000-07:00

To be honest- sometimes I wish that art and poems and literature would stop. Hold on, even back up.. and just let me freaking catch up.

But then I realize, ohhhh right.. that’s the absolute perfection of it all- it will never end and I will never have seen it all.

another response to a response

2009-03-09T21:17:00.000-07:00

So perhaps it would have been good to preface the previous entry with some parameters, something like the following:

As alex mentions, it’s certainly true that not all circumstances allow for interpretation. Many situations are objectively unfortunate in a way no one could contest. No matter the perspective, regardless of attitude, opinion, or background, some things are just factually difficult. So what should have been prefaced was that this whole thing about choosing the tone (or ‘song’) to which you move through your life is necessarily directed at, and in fact limited to, those that have ‘options,’ those who are fortunate not to find themselves in circumstances for which positivity is irrelevant.

By no means are we able to change the actual reality which we’ve been dealt. But to elaborate on the childish proverb “when life hands you lemons….” I do believe it matters significantly the stance we choose to take in moving forward with our lives.

Life happens- we can’t change that.
Life’s significant events stick with us- we can't avoid that.
We have to move forward (if nothing else)- Here we have a choice. [enter perspective]

Alex I’ll expand using your 'singing together' analogy; I think my previous entry was meant to complement this concept rather than overlook it. I agree that it can be too easy for us to base our perspectives on narrow worldviews, failing to acknowledge the songs of others. By living with intentional perspective when possible [i.e. situations that foster interpretation] we deliberately choose to open ourselves to the reality that there is a world bigger than ourselves, than the narrow playing field we actually see from day to day.

The previous was written upon recognizing a struggle within myself, and feeling that I could gain something more if I simply shifted my outlook- ditch the ‘woe is me’ frame of mind and move forward- new lesson learned, and a world to keep facing that’s full of much more than my own strife. This is not to minimize the healthy process of facing the shit life throws our way, but rather addresses the moment that follows- the crossroads of moving on. It seems the self-focused nature of personal struggle often causes failure to attend to the rest of the world. In other words, you aint singin with nobody else if you’re locked in your room cryin about your life. You cannot recognize the songs of others, let alone sing with them, if you haven’t taken initiative to move forward with your own life. Stagnancy with oneself inhibits connection with others.

So I’d never claim that struggles are comparable, because they’re all relative, always. It’s just a human fact that we are incapable of knowing anything beyond what we’ve faced thus far. But at least being open to that surprise ‘interlude,’ or ‘someone else’s song’ we can ensure that when another comes along, we will be ready to harmonize. It’s like walking with one headphone in as we walk down the street- playing the song we choose to walk to. But always leaving one headphone out, an ear left open to the other songs passing by…

2009-03-01T20:24:00.000-08:00

There will always be great things and terrible things and fun things and not so fun things and hard things and new things and surprises and plans and changes in life. Of course it matters a great deal how we responsd to our world.. but before that happens it's critical to acknowledge how we perceive and process the events of our lives. In what light do we view each day? I see perspective as the song selection you would make to play in the background of any particular stage or moment of your life. It would have such an impact on the tone in which you took in any given situation..

But! it’s necessary to be open. You know the interlude of a song- where the tempo is thrown off, the words don’t match, the beat may stutter.. sometimes- that’s best part of the song. That unexpected alteration where rhythm loses all predictability. You must select the music to live your life to. But I recommend remaining open to the possibility that there are songs you have yet to hear that could be even greater.. a better screen to hear through and a better beat to walk to. Living in exclusive dedication to just one jam, oh my friend, you could miss out on something that could truly release you.

2009-02-18T22:45:00.000-08:00

I wish that i talked less. and walked more.

very literally.

and very figuratively.

2009-02-06T08:01:00.001-08:00

“Word Salad” is a phrase used to describe a common symptom among schizophrenics- muttering a series of jumbled, illogical words, strung together in a manner that’s often as incoherent for the mentally ill speaker as for the listener. Often, the only connection is rhyme or similar sound among the otherwise disconnected words. It’s peculiar.. I’ve sat and listened to bouts of genuine word salad before. And I wondered at myself, why I would listen attentively to something so blatantly incomprehensible? I think it’s because- Some definitions of word salad mention “seemingly meaningful words that together, mean nothing.” But I consider- what if it could be that in certain instances, it’s the other way around, that seemingly meaningless singular words, when strung together, mean everything? Like there are fragments of truth so small that independently strike no harps, turn on no light bulbs, lead to no epiphanies.. but when joined by a precision so rare that it could only be by accident, they could break down walls and build up confident armies of revelation.

I would imagine that this concept i am pondering is the foundation on which many cultures have based their belief that the mentally ill are actually the most valuable in society, like shamans, deserving the highest place of honor for their power to deliver spiritual enlightenment. Now I’m not suggesting the same extreme- that the mentally ill are like gods- but on even the smallest scale, perhaps just that they are not what our western culture has come to label them..

Those dealing with a mental illness are no doubt dis-eased. But how much of that is due to the actual disease, and how much is due to their treatment by the outside world?

Being simply categorized on the sidelines of mainstream ‘normality’ is one thing, because in the end why should we give a shit what Joe Shmo thinks of us anyhow? But as social ‘placement’ in our culture has come to usher harsh and broad-sweeping stigmas, the impact on those being marginalized has grown: these aren’t just internal thoughts some may hold about ‘the other,’ but instead a projected and felt behavior which tangibly affects the life of that person so different from what’s comfortably acceptable.

Ray McDermott and Herve Varenne wrote an article about the need for change in the mental health system, and in it they highlight that Western society, over time, has developed an extreme emphasis on single-mindedness, focus and hard-work, environmental mastery to achieve success. They bring to light the irony that a culture so set on enabling success, has become a powerfully disabling institution.

I can feel the vigor of my sociology seminar class arguments on social justice brewing back up, so I’ll step back for now.. (My ramblings can tend to get passionately disjointed when not kept in check)
It’s just that I began ruminating all this because I’m reading a book on a paranoid schizophrenic who frequently tosses word salad. And so it occurred to me how shockingly poetic it is at times.. and poetry, to me, always has the potential to be a conduit of great truth.

So I can't help but wonder if wisdom surprises could rise from a sea of chaotic babbling, about the workings of the world, or about something bigger..

if mental illness could foster unwitting revelations of light..

if truth leaks from unquiet minds..

Question mark.

2009-02-01T00:40:00.000-08:00

No matter where you are,
or what you are feeling,
or how you look,
or or how you do not look,
or what you are thinking,

No Matter Who You Are:

You are not,
the center,
of the world.

2009-01-23T00:51:00.000-08:00

Side note: Paper bags are my new canvas. For everything. They start off imperfect and that makes me comfortable, and ready.

Happy face.

Response to a response

2009-01-22T08:06:00.000-08:00

it's funny. because sometimes there is a black hole in certain lifey moments (particularly, the ones involving loneliness) that silently sucks you into feeling like the absolute only one on earth feeling that way. So confidently, and so easily, I'm convinced I am the only one I have, to figure things out..

i've seen 2 faces of solitude: a peaceful one I seek for rest, and a bewildering one- overwhelmed with insecurity. Drown in thought, or drowning in the inability to think anything straight at all..

Funny how all these intricacies we try to rummage through by ourselves, can be unraveled at the seams by the simplest of gestures by one good friend. Something as simple as a text or message from one responsive friend reminds us that we are most definitely- not- alone.

He told her about lifey moments. And then she said,

Let me know next time you have one,

so I can remind you you're not alone in it.

2009-01-21T23:31:00.000-08:00

Side effect #1 of me being stressed: Sharp decline in the already weak ability to make decisions.

Exhibit A: Jam vs. Honey

I spent a good while staring, contemplating, debating. jam, honey, honey, jam, jam over honey? little honey little jam? Until I decided I couldn't decide, and had to have both.

I think our minds do strange things when they're on overload...

The bread crumbs left from 2 days of away:

2009-01-21T22:51:00.000-08:00

I left for 24 hours, maybe not even that long. These are disjointed tidbits of a mind in the mountains.

**

The Drive: Great songs, great in different ways, and strung together randomly by the mystery that is 'shuffle'....

Inner Light: ‘Arrive without travelling. See all without looking. Do all without doing.’

Blessed to be a witness: Like good questions never asked, is wisdom wasted on the past? Only by the grace of God go I,
go I.
I am blessed to be a witness. So gather ‘round, for today won’t come again, won’t come again.

[The volume’s @ 6]

Sweet mistakes: Bless your sweet mistakes that crumbled you down to your knees, changing you by degrees. So raise to the future, drink to the past, and thank the Lord for the friends he cast in the play he wrote for you.

Scenic world! When I feel alive, I try to imagine a careless life.. a scenic world where the sunsets are all breathtaking

[take it to 7]

I’m flying away with those Byrds.. to everything, there is a season.

Let go: well whatcha waiting for? There’s beauty in the breakdown.

[skip to 10.. my ears kinda hurt but it’s just wrong to listen to this quietly]

Cat Stevens and I- we’re thinking about the world as one, and the good things to come..

**

Elevation got to 3,000:

I yawned to pop my ears so I could hear the music louder and more clearly..
The ipod selected a gem of a song, and the sounds of the Beatles brought that beautiful image of last week to mind:
~ The funeral had just ended, and to continue the ‘togetherness’ of commemorating a loss, we all congregated at gramma’s. A group of the ages, we looked lazy, but no.. just tired. Not much speaking, just together-ing. And then he came in, sat at the piano on that old bench I used to hide important puzzle pieces in to drive my family crazy when I was 7.
He patiently started walking his hands through Let It Be..
And in the instant they all recognized the tune, I saw heads turn towards him, a pause- he kept playing, unaware; and the look we shared on our faces was weighted with acceptance for the present hour, and sad, but knowing, half-smiles.
It was as though that light but heavy song walked into the room with a somber gratitude that tipped it’s hat, and said ‘thank you, for the most fitting words you could find for a moment like this.’

**

Mountain playtime:
Sometimes, I try to strategize my way to a restful soul. Oh foolish! Often, it’s playing that brings the most clarity and calm.. I might say there’s a form of meditation in times of reckless abandon. A new focus, born from a time of unfocused release. It’s effortless, this most natural expression of liveliness..

**

If you haven't got a pen to create....

alone was the first and the last place i wanted to be.

2009-01-19T23:44:00.000-08:00

"Wherever you are, it is your friends who make your world."

2009-01-14T22:29:00.000-08:00

ecc 7:3 ..beacause a sad face is good for the heart.

i am wondering what this fully means..

2009-01-13T17:58:00.000-08:00

Not surprisingly, I've been thinking about big-picture kind of lifey things lately. So much so that I've had a hard time caring about the day to day responsibilities that continue as normal. When my state of mind is as it is right now, I find it annoying that we have to keep up with the minor duties of life like oh, say.. our jobs.. while simultaneously musing the greater purpose of living and breathing. But, I suppose the truth is that just because I'm choosing to spend the majority of my time thinking about things more lasting than a patient review meeting, or the rent check, or my insurance claim, doesn't mean it's wise to abandon my place among my duties. ..or sometimes, to some extent, is it?

i don't even know what i mean by "wise"...

sorry i don't think this thought is going anywhere. i'm just tired. i'm too tired to even continue capitalizing my i's.. much less process the mysterious balance between living in the real world and living in the curiosity and idealism of existential thinking.

..if i were to write a movie scene about how i've felt the last few days, it would read as follows:

[Me, sitting at a weathered dining table, quiet, patient, a bit disheveled. I'm staring out the window, hardly acknowledging the presence of anyone else. Real Worlder busily passes through the kitchen for a moment..]

Real Worlder: "Hey Tobin have you figured out what you're doing for dinner? Oh and have you had a chance to phone the cable company yet? The connection keeps cutting out on us. i just can't believe they raised the rent again.. Do you want to go down to the landlord's place tomorrow and take it up with him?"
Me: "No thank you, i'll just stay here and have a cup of tea with my mortality."

2009-01-10T15:08:00.000-08:00

..written in a furious fit of thought as i was driving down the 5. Too too much was going on for one day to handle. One hand on the wheel, and the other throwing out the bagel from this brown bag to have something to write on. it was somewhat of a tear-stained trip from LA to home..

We are not meant to be kept in neatly packed boxes of emotional organization and efficiency. We are meant to run wildly through the streets singing Ole! holding hands, falling down and skinning knees, talking about things that hurt, things that are real. I recant what I've said before [see post 'There's Tobin Rambling on Life Again']- I don't believe we're supposed to be able to compress the extremes of life into pre-set frames of convenience. We cannot hope to dodge the intensity of pain born from loss..

For some reason, we do need to cry when one is lost.

2008-12-21T23:12:00.000-08:00

Youth is not a period of time. It is a state of mind, a result of the will, a quality of the imagination, a victory of courage over timidity, of the taste for adventure over the love of comfort. A man doesn't grow old because he has lived a certain number of years. A man grows old by deserting his ideals. The years may wrinkle his skin, but deserting his ideals wrinkles his soul.

Preoccupations, fears, doubts, and despair are the enemies which slowly bow us toward earth and turn us unto dust before death. You will remain young as long as you are open to what is beautiful, good, and great; receptive to the messages of other men and women, of nature, and of God. If one day you should become bitter, pessimistic, and gnawed by despair,

may God have mercy on your old man's soul.

Douglas MacArthur.

2008-12-21T23:10:00.000-08:00

我爱你,
he said.

and then i smiled for a good while..

Lo excesivo (forgive me, i've written an essay)

2008-12-16T01:17:00.000-08:00

too much driving.
too much eating out.
too much thinking about things that do no good.
too much talking when it isn't necessary.
too much sitting on the white couch.
too much clutter.
too much rushing.

Surfeit [sur-fit] n: overabundance; a general disgust with excess or over-indulgence.

In January of this year I wrote feverishly in a portion of my daybook on the concept of excess. Just excess in general, as it appears in so many different forms in my daily life. I’ve been stricken with a conviction about this periodically over the last couple years, and when it hits- maaaaan it hits.

I wrote once that I wanted to ‘wage a personal war on excess,’ within myself, and as a part of the greater society I subscribe to.

As of yet, I’d say I haven’t done a very good job fighting that war.

It’s everywhere. It’s literally everywhere. And one of the most mind-boggling thing I've ever tried to process is this: I take part in these absurdly selfish, excessive, unproductive ways, but am simultaneously disgusted by those cyclical behaviors. In a book on Benedictine hospitality, a monk wrote that immature distractions “just keep us running on the treadmill of our little egocentric worlds.”
Sometimes I find I’ve been sprinting on mine without realizing it.

What’s easy, comfortable, and instantly gratifying dangles in sparkling allure.. Even when headed in the right direction, I am by no means guaranteed a direct trip from point A to B. I get lost, lost. lost. to myself.

It’s the indelicate way I tromp through my day
Spitting out empty words and crumpled up goals.
To make a slightly over-critical analogy, I envision my priorities all written on bingo balls; they live in a gameshow raffle spinner and each morning I wake- reach in and pull out the purpose of the day. It’s a toss-up; to what will I prove my commitments today?
Vanna smiles and says condescendingly, “consistency isn’t the name of her game.”
The simple and the necessary hang at the wayside, because I’ve laid a red carpet for the trinkets of distraction.

This may be getting a bit overly-intense..**(see bottom) But regardless, it’s simple truth that I often I fail to do the things that will develop me into the person I want to become.

I sing in chorus with this tongue twisting conviction- “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate to do… For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do…”
And my behavior is as blatantly redundant as the verse is.

This poem by Tagore is unfortunately relevant:

Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them. Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed. I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room.

The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love.

My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.
-Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali

(**This certainly wouldn’t be uncommon of my writing.. I often begin with a level-headed quandary or observation, but see it snowball into some frazzled rhetoric that’s facing an entirely different direction than when I began. I think it’s because I start with an idea, but during the written expression of it I get caught up in the description and syntax and movement of the writing.. I get a bit distracted from fluid thought while riding the wave of descriptions, analogies, rhythm of language..
Ooh I’ve just realized what it is- once I get rolling, the writing pulls my thoughts to and fro, rather than my thoughts dictating what is to be written next.

The act itself of writing becomes the guide, determining the next thought to entertain; whereas typically, the act of expression is subordinate to the thought which is to be expressed.
Hmm…

Well clearly I’ve again lost cohesion of content. But at least in most cases there does remain a portion of what I've written that reflects what i originally set out to voice..)

a time when we were together:

2008-12-15T13:39:00.001-08:00

When you live in a place like this...

and this is just a typical friday night at home...

you begin to understand the invaluable rarity of the mix of people closest to you.

12 holes. always 12 holes...

2008-12-04T00:51:00.000-08:00

In a world where not many things are consistent, permanently dependable, or altogether without debate, I found some wonderfully simple kind of satisfaction when I picked up a shower curtain at the market today. Because you see with shower curtains, there are always 12 holes. It doesn’t matter what street you live on, or where you grew up for that matter. Or how many gold rings you have on your fingers, or which position you take on the wars. It doesn’t matter how many kids you have, or if you can’t have kids, or if you are depressed, or if you are an addict. Because whether you are an asshole or a philanthropist or a tiny person or a person with 11 toes.. when you purchase a shower curtain, you agree that there are 12 holes needed- no more, no less.

Trivial? yep.

But I think sometimes it is good to appreciate the transient points of connection between ourselves and the rest of the wanderers living their lives in different bodies with different minds and different eyes..

I read a quote from a magazine in the dentist’s office today from a guy named John Cacioppo who studies social neuroscience; on watching strangers at Grand Central Station in NY, he said “You’d see these people walking in all these different ways and different paces, and all of a sudden, they’d be synchronized.”
The premise of the article in which he was quoted was on the perception of loneliness in NYC because the majority of residents there supposedly lead more isolated and independent lives than in any other US city, and thus they must be more lonely. But what the whole thing set out to voice was that in fact, New Yorkers are far less likely to report feeling lonely and that perhaps amidst all the outward chaos and hustle and bustle… there is a deep thread of connection that binds these people together. The article plays with the thought of some bond existing in their being
“Alone. Together.”

And with a warm but understated smile, with just the slightest melancholic undertone, I thought 'I like the sound of that.'

2008-11-26T09:50:00.000-08:00

...during the Ray concert in october.
In a fabulous venue, lights turned off, and nothing light about the words he sang..
now i'm just remembering the feeling of listening to his voice in person. it was a sort of quivering chill sent through every listening cell in the room.. his words are raspy, patient, fierce- burdened, yet bold. upbeat or low key, catchy or crawling, you could never accuse a song of his to be lacking passion.

"I never learned to count my blessings
I choose instead to dwell in my disasters.
well I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest, said
do your best to destroy me..
you see, I been to hell and back so many times I must admit
you kind of bore me"

have you ever heard words strung together as these? ...empowering through pain.

a rhetorical nightmare:

2008-11-24T22:58:00.000-08:00

It’s a Monday, late. My face is looking as weighted as I feel. A stranger even said so! A little pissed that this adorable town can’t keep any warm place open past 10 for a girl to read a damn book and write. Mostly though, I feel wilted. (but all too emo for saying that, if we’re being honest)

I have a hard time with things that aren’t fair. And unfortunately, much of the time the unfairnesses of life are quite out of our control.

I feel like I should be channeling this state I’m in into some brilliant and poetic prose, or a stunning piece of art. Or if I should choose to ‘talk things over’ with someone close by I’m certain it would turn into some rhetorical nightmare, me- rapidly shuffling through uncertainties and what-ifs and why-the-hells.. I’d be talking, not looking for a response, but just a wall, really, to hurl my questioning frustrations at.

But more honestly, what feels the best right now is sipping this tea and listening to the drums wailing from my tiny speaker and looking at things green and growing and dressed up in holiday twinkle lights (thank you, City of Monrovia) and just letting everything absorb. not for the purpose of churning it all out again in a vigorous act of rebuttal to these things unfair, but letting it absorb just for the sake of acceptance of the way things are.

there's tobin rambling on life again..

2008-11-16T23:34:00.000-08:00

I heard somewhere this rhetorical question: “Why are we always apologizing to corpses?” So by the same token, why are we always crying at the beauty of a loved one as we look at their picture once they’ve gone? And why do we decide to see the truth and power behind someone’s art only years after their funeral?... and on and on…

Now I should emphasize first that I do believe the world is already running on the blueprints of a plan much better than anything I could scheme up or even comprehend for that matter. But for the sake of curiosity- wouldn’t it be weird to imagine if funerals were never ever sad?

Like think of the reasons why you cry at any sort of ending- a lover moving away, a family member passing away, a child growing up etc. The most probable cause for tears or heartache in such cases is this theme of LOSS. Loss of a number of things whether it be companionship, laughter, adventure or whatever you shared with that person. When you come to the end- the point where it’s gone- you’re incited to reflect on what “once was.” And so you cry, because what once was is no more.

But here’s the weird thought just for the sake of well, thought: what if each day, during the typical, ordinary, frequent interactions with others, we let ourselves (or trained ourselves) to be overtaken by gratitude for those very things worth crying for at someone’s leaving? What if I cried for you today the way I would cry at the memory of you after you’ve left?

What if by allowing ourselves to supremely cherish those things consistently, always renewing our gratitude, then when it came time to let go, we could do nothing more than reflect on how privileged we’d been for ever having experienced it in the first place. And not the kind of recognize where you notice it then move on, but the kind where you legitimately let yourself FEEL the honor of knowing this individual. And then what if when it came to goodbye, you could find no use for sadness? Tears of pain and remorse would have lost their place to the active gratitude you entertained each living day.

Now I know this is not how humans were made to behave. And I trust that we were not wired like this for some good reason (whatever that reason may be). I can also acknowledge that this train of thought doesn’t line up in all areas... I know it doesn’t sound right to think of moving yourself almost to the point of tears for appreciating every single interaction you have throughout the day. I know that there is actually a phenomenal beauty in those moments that occur unacknowledged- the ones unplanned, they carry you away, effervescent with spontaneous joy. I know that having balance between light moments and heavy moments is right. But I still can’t help but think there’s got to be a better way to indeed keep living openly free and content in the moment, but still remain mentally and emotionally present enough to feel maximum gratitude as it happens.

Hmm but maybe it really just isn’t possible to fully grasp the full value of another’s life until it’s gone, because maybe full comprehension of something’s value can only be reached in retrospect.. ?

But to loop myself back again, I’m sure there’s a reason that for the most part, humanity compartmentalizes the daily experience of relationships from the whole-hearted recognition and gratitude for such.

..ah well, just a thought ya know

3x - 42a= 6.739 + 1/2%(15x + 9.23ab)

2008-11-12T08:42:00.001-08:00

I dreamt about math last night. Serious. Equations and square roots, and even some logarithms, although I couldn’t remember how to carry them out. I think it’s because numbers oddly comfort me. They’re so logical, and feel even more so when all the real stuff of life is lacking logic.

I woke up (hadn’t remembered the mathematical dreamstate yet) and found a knot to un-do. I sat on the edge of my bed Indian style and proceeded for the next 23 minutes to work at untying this knot.. as in, it seemed not a single other thing clouded my mind while I worked feverishly with the string.. straightening what was crooked and lost. If this inclination can be attributed to anything, it must be that I feel there are things {things bigger than string} I need to make straight that are a little kinked and confused. Freeing string from twisted restricted knots make me feel better when I’m feeling this way.

on the christening drive

2008-11-09T17:13:00.000-08:00

“I wish we were driving in a firework thunderstorm” {me}

“Congratulations” {he}

OhhhhhhhhhHHHhhhHhhh I’m breathing a new independence right now, I think I might be taking more than my fair share of the sky tonight. And there’s stars out! I smiled so much it hurt, but in a good way, and only for a second. Somehow in the same frame of time I was flying off to fantasy-land, while being sobered by that frantic joy. It was that kind of feeling where simple is right, gratitude is key, and companionship is the kicker. There was this tickle of curiosity and satisfaction just for being in the place I was in, at the time that it was. There were a lot of pure moments on that drive..

frames.

2008-11-09T17:11:00.000-08:00

“The way we see other people is usually the way we see ourselves. If we have made peace with our flawed humanity and embraced our ragamuffin identity, we are able to tolerate in others what was previously unacceptable in ourselves.” –b.manning

-after reading this, I realized- damn. I’ve got some work to do in both respects. The source of value we hold for ourselves, and the way we treat others and perceive their value- these are the separate but layered frames that ask how seriously we’ve taken life, and then go further to dictate the answer.

apricot contentment

2008-11-09T17:10:00.000-08:00

Right now it’s lovely you see because in this exact moment I don’t care for makeup, or blow-dried hair, or busy agendas, or having some place to be.

I only want my candle burning that smells like spiced apricots, and the playlist I made precisely for moods like this. And for my hands to write, and create. I’m so grateful for those. I shouldn’t let a day go by without being grateful for my hands and eyes. And actually, it’s such a shame I don’t use them well more often. I use them all the live-long-day.. but all too often in such futile and narcissistic routines..

2008-11-09T02:33:00.000-08:00

PRINT, CUT, MOVE AROUND, JOIN TOGETHER, REARRANGE, WRITE MORE BY HAND. THIS IS HOW I CREATE.

>a note I scribbled to myself one day as I was frustrated typing on the computer. It felt impersonal, unnatural, and so forced. I still felt like I wanted to get something on the screen, but then I realized I’d rather get something down on paper. So for me what works is writing words then cutting them apart and rearranging them, letting me visualize connections and transitions- the flow of my thoughts. the flow of language in fact, becoming something physical i can hold and move and make. mmm this method naturalizes the creative process for me rather than forcing myself to sit down clean and cold at a keyboard, sinking me into my own wallowing attempt to write a bit of magic that became nothing more than obligatory and lackluster..

--yes this works for me. it moves me forward.

{And james, please keep reminding me that scrappy is exquisite and that unpolished can be even more striking than the refined.}

Learn, but hold on loosely..

2008-11-09T02:32:00.001-08:00

I woke up, looked in the mirror, and did it again.

Took a sip of coffee, did it again.

Putting on my shirt, stepping into some too-tall shoes, doing it again.

Yes I know, I already know this is a waste, please don’t think I’m unaware. It’s just that it’s harder than I can say to just stop something so addicting and creepily comforting, cold turkey. In those moments that are dangerous, the ones that teeter totter between settling for contented, comfortable self depracation - and decisive confidence.. in those moments i try to remind myself that I simply don’t have the time. (or i shouldn't give it time). I have got things much more eternal to get to, thank you. Be on your way, there’s nothing for you here.

Its like I’ve been this all-too-hospitable caretaker, in fact a protector, of my insecurity. But I know I have real guests to attend to, productive parts of my life throwing pebbles at my window for attention, while poisonous insecurity dressed up as a helpful friend, is uncovered as nothing but a snarled and hurtful weight in me.

I won’t call them purposeless though. Struggles are anything but purposeless, I’ll stand by that. There just comes a point where it is most certainly time to move on and away from them. In a way, these things we wrestle with, that we’ve clung to forever it seems, have been a close companion. No doubt they served to teach us things we’d never know otherwise. But as with all good things, we have to be able to let go of the thorns in our sides that we’ve ironically come to hold so so dear.

snippet

2008-11-06T01:47:00.000-08:00

It’s night now, it got darker earlier than I wanted, t’s been doing that more and more. And I’ve been letting mediocrity come too close lately. Not in the routine of schedule, but in routine of thought. I’m getting lazy on my ideas. It’s a sad and wasteful thing.. for me, it’s spending countless hours crafting these intricate plans to paint more color into my life, and then just waiting and staring at the paints until they dry up, so I can say “ah welp, guess it’s too late now..”

I find myself swimming in all these unfinished or un-started projects and un-actualized ideas. Oh the sting! ‘...So go, do.’ (I try to urge myself to get a move-on) (it often fails)

But I did have this moment, it was a sudden kind of thing while we were at Denny’s [and by the way this was a particularly juicy episode] and as we talk about our plans and ideas that make eyes sparkle, I was so stricken by the realization that we can, in fact, be the stories that we so desperately want to write into existence. The ambition we draft into words and poems and stories may just as well be made real through our trips. and talks. and tears..

skinny love.

2008-10-21T09:04:00.000-07:00

There was this song playing yesterday when we were in the car. It’s one of those that always ends too soon.. the minor chords make me melt just in themselves, the lyrics ring harshly the truth of a painful love. I don’t know music in a technical sense, but I could describe this part in the song where it shifts from a patient and pensive sadness, to a more raw and bold sadness that’s dying to speak itself out of existence. It’s this part that makes me double over with feeling.. you can hear the singer wincing through his words, expelling breath just to get out the next word of truth to himself.

It’s somewhere around this point in the song that I said, ‘man, there are those parts in songs, ya know? where you feel it so much and so deep that you need more.. yet it’s so good that I couldn’t ask it to deliver any more to my audible satisfaction. It’s like I want more of it, beyond music. I wish it could take me into its world so I could touch its sinking sadness the way I hear its sadness. And so I could see it writhing the way I hear it writhing. I’m thinking that the layers of this music have just got to be able to take me deeper than a song..

But then, maybe that’s the beauty and real power of music- it creates a desire to expand sensation beyond the ears.. it leads to a place of experience beyond what the song delivers literally- chords and words. It’s taken one medium of expression, and I- one listener at the least- am receiving that expression outside the medium in which it was dealt. I say that I ‘hear the singer wincing;’ I’m hearing something that’s visual. There exists this translation of the senses where they begin to melt into each other, it deepens the process of feeling. And I do truly feel it, but I struggle to find words that can describe the feeling I get when his hands trickle down the guitar strings and the chords imply on his behalf, 'between you and me, you have ceased to love, but I never will.'

I’ve never known heartbreak like that firsthand, but I’m trying to describe the sensation in my chest when I imagine his. It’s similar to the feeling immediately after you hear something tragic or devastating.. that kind of somber shock. It’s something to me like a quieted scream, a radiating sense of reality. Not as blatant as a vibration, but more active than an emotion. It’s a rush of energy, that somehow is anything but energizing.. it’s the most draining of energies. Maybe this sensation is actually the felt translation from emotion to physical experience. It typically forces me to draw a deeper breath, or else it would be too easy to choke on the quiet pain.

I’m realizing this is starting to sound awful; but although I may not be successfully describing it, the experience isn’t actually awful or ugly, not in the slightest. Though tinged with pain and heartache, this sensation brings the overwhelming understanding that this, this is a moment of real life. This means, if nothing else, that I have participated in life with another. That I have been present, I must have given of myself enough to create a void that was then filled with some part of another being.. and although it’s now left an emptiness that hurts and hurts and hurts- it means I participated. I gave some and I received some, and that means I have, as John Berger would say, ‘increased my capacity to be human.’ This is not a given, it’s not as easy to do as it is basic to describe, and it’s not always joyful. This give and take, it doesn’t always feel effervescent and exploding with gratitude for the reality of existence. Quite often, it feels like shit. But what I mean to say is that the effervescence and gratitude are not all that life should aim for. Maybe we shouldn’t strive just for the good and sparkling feelings of joy, but also to find satisfaction in the experience of pain, for these affirm both sides of existence.

So above it all, above the temporality of shock, and beyond the sting of the start of heartbreak, it is a sensation that confirms- you have been present, you have let part of the outside in, and you have left a part of yourself on the table for another. And I do think, that in itself is a vast and stunning accomplishment.

Re: To my unborn child

2008-09-04T23:08:00.000-07:00

In writing to you, I am adamant that this not sound overly lifey and made-for-tv-movie-ish. I don’t intend this to be scripted for misty eyes and warmth in your heart. I want it to be a raw, bold piece of truth, communicated to someone who has yet to be, but hopefully one day will be, a moving extension of me into the world. I’ll give you words and lessons at that point I trust, but I also want you to have words from the me that is now, the young the racing the glowing me that is raging with youth. When you’re a little older and you’re painfully awkward and you’re lost and confused, I want you to have words that resound from the me that was equally lost and confused at some point.. and I was ok with it. And I want you to be ok with it. I want for you to grab hold of that which makes you glitter inside, whatever makes you come alive because that is what the world cannot do without. If you’re scrappy if you’re shy if you’re obnoxious if you’re uncoordinated if you’re prissy if you’re bored if if if if….. you need to take moments to remember how little that really matters.
Should you feel aimless or purposeless, just think: Each time you breathe in and breath out let that be an assurance to you that there is someone who thinks it necessary for you to be alive. That’s some powerful shit.
Please don’t ever let the sun go down on anger. All issues needn’t be completely resolved; the problem doesn’t need to be fixed, but you can resolve to work toward a better place of mind as much as is in your power to do so. But don’t ever let yourself close the day in contented bitterness or tolerated scorn. It is these that will begin to quietly eat away at your soul. And baby, that’s something big to put at risk for the sake of pride and anger.
There is so much that I could write and record and research to try to set you up for a life of least-resistance, but- I don’t think that’s the point of experience. No doubt there’s a good chance I’ll one day become a worrying and protective parent and I’ll be eating these words in favor of safety and practicality in all your endeavors.. but maybe that’s why I’d like you to have pieces of my words right now. And from 2 years from now. And 5 years from now, so that you have written accounts of my worldview from a time before children that can identify more with the need for uninhibited adventure. The need to experience the world in the stunning light of risk and uncertainty at this fresh and flying age….

..to be continued..for a long long time..

..and so it goes.

2008-09-04T22:40:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of important things I feel and I won’t say them loudly to you but maybe I’ll whisper them. Because if I say it in normal volume I’m afraid it will sound normal and therefore be normal.

Even though,

It’s not as though,

Things are only what they sound to be..

But it’s just what I feel.
**

I've found myself so concerned at times with the impending changes that life seems to deem necessary. I'm prematurely mourning for the things that aren't gone yet. (Granted, i do have a history of doing this.) But i've been thinking so much lately about how sad it is that many of the things and people in my life right now won't be around forever. It may seem absurd or elementary, but i just have a real hard time being ok with the fact that hardly anything lasts forever, or even a few years at that.
but the truth is... the fear, and subsequent avoidance, of loss, only inhibits the true flow of life that is the necessary give and take of existence.
and so begins a very intentional 'being ok with' process. it's a daily, active aim to warm myself up to the idea of things being temporary- purposeful in their seasonality.
it's a matter of crediting the truth of where i'm at enough to lay rest my concerns of the non-present, my worries over the past, and my fears for the future.

But sometimes I wonder, is it true that it’s always and only the ‘now’ that we've got.. ?
***

So it wasn’t really that I even thought up poetry that day. It was more like poetry came dancing and rushing and flashing toward me, encircled me and wrapped me up, scooped up my restraint and tossed it to the wayside so that I had nothing left but to write.
***

a fairly recent project initiative.. the 'nutshell' version:

2008-08-18T00:54:00.000-07:00

{What if we’re not meant to live with only what we’ve got? What if we’re meant to take part in others’ lives in such a way that we let parts of them seep into us. Permeate us enough, so that we get to live by a mesh of experiences, their and ours. Wouldn’t this then equip us to face the world with a little more than we had on our own when we first began? Obvious Tobin, that’s quite obvious.. I know. But I think I’m just re-epiphanizing (I realize this isn’t a word, but I think it needs to be) to myself and to my blog that we were never meant to go this alone. This whole thing this whole process this whole challenge of keeping-on, of pressing forward, of changing things in our path for the better or at least trying to, this whole thing of trying to survive in a place that sometimes seems un-survivable.. all of it, we were just never meant to do it as one against all. Things just get so clouded that it can sometimes look that way.
So at the risk of oversimplifying, would I be selling this thought short? to say that sometimes- asking someone how their day was (and really listening for the answer) could actually change the way we live…}

So blog: I think I’m embarking on a project. i’ve realized that there is too much that people have inside them that never gets let out to be shared. Much of this realization stems from the fact that I understand all too well what it means to have thoughts that go unsaid and ideas that go un-acted upon. So I wondered- if I, just one young person, have so much to give that has yet to be given, then so must everyone else, and probably to an even greater degree! Particularly those who have lived much longer and fuller lives than myself..
So in short, I’ve decided it’s necessary for me to begin writing letters to a variety of individuals, basically prompting them to let out whatever it is they feel they have to say, whatever it is they feel needs to be heard by others before their time on earth should end.
I guess an inherent challenge in my prompt could be this: that many people don’t even know they have something of sparkling value to offer to the world. Don’t know they have something brilliantly unique, be it complex or simple, that needs to be heard.
BUT! It's only logical that if you validate someone (mind you, it must be genuine and not contrived brown-nosing) in their hidden wisdom, it’s more likely that you’ll extract some of it than if you left it up to them alone- i feel the majority of people don't even know that they have things to share and ways of voicing those things like nobody else is capable of. That may sound confusing. But I’ll step out on this limb to say that I’ve felt before like I had something valuable to say, but didn’t. didn’t because I either thought nobody would care or because I myself didn’t care. If someone had been there to prompt me, to nudge me, to kick me in the ass in encouragement then maybe I would have been more willing to open my mouth. Now I don’t think I’ve missed any life altering experiences because of reluctance like this, BUT.. just think- there must have been a devastating amount of lives that have indeed ended on unsaid wisdoms. Unshared perspectives. Unexpressed beauty..
The unheard magic of those individuals is about as tragic as tragic gets.
So I thought well ya know maybe I could do something with a few people sort of as an experiment ya know… just throw something out there, lay the groundwork for someone to bring into the light that which may be standing on the sidelines of their life. I do not believe that I am someone with any sort of prestige, but I think that is irrelevant in this particular venture. I hope to serve simply as a commissioner in this..
Well, I think I’m viewing this little endeavor of mine as small battle in the war against that stifling of humanity that we impose on ourselves and others. This would be the same war that serves to defend the truth of creation, the fact that each individual exists for a purpose having to do with much more than his or herself.

Uncle Will once told me that I need to be interviewed. I said, “I think I’ll have to establish myself as a ‘somebody’ first before anyone would want to interview me.”
“No,” he said, “you just need to find someone who will ask you all the right questions. You find someone who knows what to ask, and it’ll prove you’re someone worth interviewing.”

---well I suppose I am just setting out to be the person who asks the right questions, with hopes of drawing out wisdom offerings, perspectives and words, the life beauty that is another from me, because the truth is, everybody is worth interviewing.

{and now for a medley of unrelated thought streams}

2008-08-12T00:32:00.000-07:00

I’m finding there is momentous fragility in this venture to express.
I feel christened with imperfection. And I’m basking in the birth of this unpolished truth.
**
I envy the liberation of non-committal instability. But then, I know that the inherent uncertainty of such a state would drive me to a search for security. So I throw in the towel. I choose, for now, to give up on this unceasing game of running in circles chasing my own tail, nipping at the tail that is ‘control’... only just before it’s pulled from my teeth again.. I’m running too fast.

Again, it all comes back to perspective I suppose. I can decide to look at this all as simply, the way it unfortunately is. Or, I can decide to view where I’m at as just another place to spend curiosity, exercise creativity, and cultivate a story. So sometimes it’s as simple as laying yourself down on the day, and whispering to no one and everyone- ‘Go. Do. Shut up and just be.’
**
Irrelevant and purposeless development of the day: from now on, when entering info on itunes, I think I’m gonna end all the song titles with punctuation. I feel like names of songs look much more meaningful with the closure of punctuation :)
**
Summer Olympics! I’m watching 3 swimmers from different nations standing in font of the podium right now waiting to get medals.. how funny to think that they probably couldn’t understand a word of the others’ languages, yet they share as profound as having spent much of their lives, poured out their time, sacrificed and persisted in pursuit of the same goal.

So dare I say that it could be this way on much more frequent occasions, and not restricted to the rarity of glory-filled Olympic ceremonies? I mean when we’re waiting in line at Starbucks no, there may not be the bold-faced barrier of verbal language, but perhaps I don’t speak the language of divorced, as the guy behind me; or of workaholic, as the lady in front… rather than our words, maybe it’s our struggles that don’t translate. and how often am I so caught up in the anticipation of waiting for my medal, or latté, to be served, that I fail to acknowledge that the three of us are shoulder to shoulder in the midst of a strikingly similar battle- the one to stay afloat in a sea of change. 2 days ago someone preached to me that change is the only constant in life. And thus it’s one of the few few few things in life that every living and breathing human has in common. So regardless of the mistranslations we do or do not recognize, I’m confident there is always some other gem of common ground to be found and credited..

So good old Phelps is awaiting another gold. And it’s kinda wondrous and inspiring to imagine that maybe he feels goose bumps all over not just for his victory, but for the common thread that links him to his podium-mates.. a thread not of swimming, no not of the object of sport, but of the connecting parallel of passion.

better late than never eh?

2008-08-12T00:29:00.000-07:00

i've been camping in the eastern sierra mountains for the last few days and let me say, the thoughts were flowin.. it's late and i gotta be up for work in the morning but i'll jot some of this down because it was from this morning and i think it deserves to get put somewhere before the close of the day...

{now this was a thought process that began as an observation in my mind and then apparently desired so badly to become a descriptive piece on my morning kayak ride that i drafted the entire thing in my head while out on the water, and felt compelled to say it over and over.. and over, to remember it once i got back to shore, where i could get my hands on a pen and paper. Although the paper didn't come so readily. once i found a pen i quickly scribbled some key words on my thigh to help me re-draft it in scrappy entirety a little later..}

it's 5:50 am. way too early and way too cold to be sitting in a puddle of icy water.
i'm an electric orange vessel on a body of heavy blue true glass. and i mean true, and i mean glass. there's this ethereal fog that neither my camera nor my pen can translate. And the sun's creeping up and in..
it rises. i paddle. it rises. i paddle. i'm chasing something that's chasing me.
{i've said it before and i'll say it again: it's a tragedy not to have a pen when you need one}
In this moment i realize my marriage to writing is yes, often neglected, but by no means unrealized.
In this moment I almost want the beauty to cease for a bit, or else i'll keep wanting to write and keep not being able to.
In this moment I wonder why i spend so much time squandering the fullnesses of life, because if ever a moment were full, it's now.
"whooee, there it is. so bright. there it is," she said from behind.
I’ll commit to myself, to commit to memory, the magnificence that is now.
It’s the start of a day you just know will be technicolor through and through.
it's electric.
i'm ecstatic.
and giving out silent 'hoorahs!' for seeing and for breathing.
the delineation between the lake, the light, and the pausing of my wayward worries, is positively undetectable.

so i've been making anything "adult" out to be the opposite of "free"...

2008-07-28T22:53:00.000-07:00

Today I talked about revenue and 401K plans and networks and protocols.
2 months ago this would have incited a mild heart attack followed by some childish tears and sulking. I think I’ve moved past this extreme sensitivity to anything that feels overly “adult,” but I still worry from time to time about whether or not I’ve sold out to a standardized life of duty.
I think I’ve landed on a conclusion, however, that will keep me afloat as I ambark on this segment of life where I welcome work as simply another experience that will show me a piece of the world yet unseen; albeit less exotic than Sevilla, Spain, and less carefree than living on a houseboat, but all in all I’m learning that accepting a full-time job doesn’t mean that my life must become characterized only by revenue goals and conference calls.
..it most definitely could, if I let it.. but I’m realizing that if I choose, really I can make this next phase the most artistically fruitful time of my life. I can make the richest and most rewarding investments in relationships, not just in a retirement plan. I can boldly pursue my ideas for a life of adventure, and not just my boss’ ideas for company growth.
So I suppose it comes down to my realizing that everything is about perspective. I spend far too much time fearing what I don’t know, and it’s not until I’m in the thick of an experience that I realize it’s nothing at all like I had imagined. I’m not even gonna thing about how much time and energy I’ve waster being anxious about a fabricated daunting future. I often act as though guessing what the future will hold will better prepare me should it actually turn out that way. But let me say, I’m finding that the only truly effective way to deal with uncertainty is to welcome it. Keep hold of it. Literally wring the life out of it by seizing everything it brings you to…
Fear=stagnancy. Making friends with the ambiguity of being human=movement.
If nothing else, at least be able to say you’re moving forward. All that to say, I’ve decided to move forward, with a bold smile, a pen and paper, and the determination to maintain the ragamuffin, young, artistic side of me despite my wearing professional clothing and acting like a grown-up 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. And who knows, I’m thinking that maybe the very intentional efforts I’m gonna have to make to maintain my carefree nature outside of my professional nature will result in a period of artistic growth more abundant than I’ve yet seen out of myself.
So from 9 to 5 I may be hair pulled back, coffee on the go, contracts and appointments, but before, after, and all throughout I aim to keep letting the world in through rainbow colored filters, and moving about my days and nights as poetry in motion..

Living through a lens?

2008-07-18T00:17:00.000-07:00

Almost 2 weeks later and this is just the second entry? Well this is because since I created this thing, I have secretly been whispering to myself “this needs to be perfect before it gets posted. Oh that doesn’t sound right, oh that won’t make sense to anyone but you..” And unbeknownst to me, I was deterring myself, yet again, from the freedom that is found in expression. This internal standard for perfection and logic has been my Berlin wall. Fulfillment, satisfaction, at least some subtle form of freedom lying on one side, my thoughts on the other. Well the good thing about realizations such as these is that I am no longer ignorant to the things I do that inhibit myself. The bad thing about them is that I am no longer ignorant to the things I do that inhibit myself. Good because I am personally challenged to move past any excuses I’ve formulated or aversions I’ve schemed, bad because once you wise up to something, you hold the accompanying convictions and have lost your ticket back to ignorant bliss. Even if I wanted to return to a life unaware of these particular shortcomings, that state of being no longer exists for me (at least in regards to the issue at hand; Lord knows I am still clueless in dozens of other areas of my life) But even if I tried to return to my justifications for why I have other more important things to attend to right now, the fact is that I am now aware of my avoidance tactics and have been forced to lock this thing in as a claimed discipline.
{Sidenote: I do realize I sound like I have dual personalities. I assure you, this is not so. I just happen to have very strong goals and aspirations and instincts, but I also have some insecurities, which I am fully aware of.. but let me tell you, if you allow insecurities to take the smallest foothold, they gain power exponentially. In any case, this is essentially why I tend to articulate my internal thought processes as though it were 2 people rivaling head on.}
That said...

You know how when you’re watching a home video of someone, particularly someone that’s not with you or you haven’t seen in a long time, you tend to notice the glowing parts of their personality just bursting from the screen as clear as day? For some reason, I’ve noticed that when I watch a video of someone, or even when looking at a photograph, I see the people in them as much more incandescent than most any time I see them in person. So I’ve wondered a lot in the past why this is so.. why it is that I can watch a video of a friend, and tilt my head to the side, say “awww…” smiling endearingly, and point out every minute aspect of their character that shines like a rare gem. Tiny moments of laughter are heard as a sweet familiar song, minor facial expressions are seen as priceless signs of unique life, sometimes even comments or habits that would in annoy if he/she was sitting next to me appear rather as charmingly unique. It’s just so much easier to get that sort of nostalgic affection when you’re watching someone’s life carry on from the removed perspective of a viewer, and not a participator. This indirect position somehow fosters a perspective that seems to focus less on flaws, and notice more of the tiny fragments of light that are always in existence, yet are overlooked in day to day interaction. This line of thought sparks so many more for me.. *what is is that inhibits us from seeing people in this way at all times? And not just when we are seeing them through a lens. *are we as humans even capable of training ourselves to see the real splendor of the ordinary, or is there a reason that our views of people should be clouded by a number of things, like selfishness, insecurity, laziness, or jealousy? *is this whole pondering just a minor offshoot of the great great challenge that continues to boggle my mind: what are we missing in the present? When you pull back, and look at your life or an aspect of your life in terms of the “big picture” (whatever that may be for you) you can gain a little more clarity as to what matters and what is worth spending your time and thoughts on. Yet when you are living in the moment, you often miss the mark and don’t live accordingly, so what gives? It seems this is analogous watching someone on an old video and noticing the light they possess, but spending the day with them and never stopping to cherish who they are.
Annie Dillard is quoted as saying “how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” I just can’t stop thinking about this quote as I sit here writing because it seems so applicable: we fly through so many moments thinking “well I’ll get around to telling him or her this or that when there’s more time, when it’s more comfortable, when I’m less tired etc etc etc blah blah. But that moment, yes that one you just passed on because the conditions weren’t ideal, has gone now and that WAS your life. I think most of us have a habit of writing off moments, days, months, and sadly years sometimes, as “not the right time,” but appease ourselves by saying “oh don’t worry, I’m just waiting til it gets easier, then I’ll really live!” (likely not stated outright as this) But like Dillard so keenly states- the way you choose to utilize this moment, IS the way you are choosing to utilize your life.

this train of thought is quite incomplete. more to follow...

Regretfully, i preface.

2008-07-05T20:28:00.000-07:00

Oh the first posting, I’m nervous. Not that I know what I’m trying to start here, but beginnings usually signify so much in setting the stage for what’s to come. Well let it be said that nothing is planned, other than thoughts. Words in my head, turned into words on a page, and eventually, hopefully, turned into a sort of connection to others..
For years now I’ve known this gut inclination to write what i think, yet I’ve been feeling like it’s all just been ending there prematurely.. Writing has been this marvelous channel for me to process my movement through the days, but it’s proven insufficient in itself. Well as it turns out, (logically to most, but this took some time for me to learn for myself) there is an aspect of sharing your thoughts with others that just isn't fulfilled by simply writing down scratch notes in the little pocket book i keep to myself and shield from the eyes of even those closest to me. It’s that external delivery of thought, the throwing out of something that started inside, and letting it just be in the hands of someone else. You see that risk isn’t a present danger when you limit your expression to a private notebook. And that safety, which comforted at first, has now come to stifle.
SO, basically i've been thinking a lot about how i feel like there are things i have to say, and ways i have of looking at things, and questions i have, and sensations i get from all different experiences in life- that i want to share with other people. Being introspective and pensive has its benefits I suppose, but there comes a time, for me at least, when the things you think become the things you need to say. and if you don't say them, give them as a delivery to others (be it through speech, art, writing..) then you feel like there's something inside you that's going to do one of two things: either it will 1. build and build and ultimately burst out in some less-than-preferable way, or 2. it will die inside you. personally, i think the latter is much more tragic.
so here we have the blog- a simple, clear cut 'step 1' in the how-to process of expressing oneself and creating an avenue for others to understand the parts of you that tick madly as the world floats on. I’ve had quite a few, what I like to call, ‘lifey’ moments over the past few years that have all meant something big to me, so I’m guessing this page will become a cornucopia of past scratch notes (typically my most significant thoughts and epiphanies emerged as such), muddled in with current realizations, fascinations, observations, enjoyable words and phrases, and other assorted bits of intrigue. For some reason it never occurred to me before that there are ways this simple to begin releasing your words into the air of freedom that is the world wide web.. but i have this friend who fully understands how golden it is to express thought and perception, and after receiving a message of encouragement from him (of curiously appropriate timing), I felt commissioned in a sense.. to move forward. Because after all I happen to believe that there is very little permanence in life.. so if something feels right and necessary, then it is to be shared, now.

oh and I’ll also try to stop prefacing things so much, it’s just a defense based on insecurity after all. and I think writing, if it accomplishes anything, should aim to cultivate an openness and hunger that makes the defenses crumble at the seams...(So the prefacing thing stops now, I just had to get that first one out of my system.)