Commentary on life

Can I be me?

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So a while back I watched one of the many docu-stories on Whitney Houston on Netflix. It was all very riveting… I mean, she was the queen of voice, right? Super Bowl XXV and Star Spangled Banner…

Anyway, one of her docu-stories has stayed with me. I can’t remember the title – it might even be the same title as my post – but in one of the most poignant scenes, they tell her that she’s about to go on an interview and she innocently (so hopefully) asks, “Can I be me?”

Now, I don’t recall the exact answer she gets but the change in her face makes it clear that it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. And you can almost see her slowly shift into a manufactured person. The vibrancy in her eyes fades. But she does well in the interview. Her responses are well-timed and seasoned with the right amounts of bubbly. And she… she is so very severely diminished.

I revisit that image and scene in my mind often. When I encounter people who have high walls and eyes full of secrets. When I try to shade myself and make it look like feminine mystique (I often fail miserably — but the efforts are hilarious even to me). When I hear pain in stories that are so bravely told. When I hear deprecating humor and sarcasm come through in conversations. When I see longing in children’s eyes for affirmation from their siblings. When I hear my mother missing me but trying so hard not to say so. When I see my friend act out only to pull back in shame and guilt. When I interact with people at work and struggle not to reach out a hand and say, “Just be you… I promise to be me, in return.”

I don’t know why the process of human domestication requires denial of vital parts of ourselves.

Maybe the stress and exhaustion of work everyday is not in the tasks or the cleverness demanded by the roles we play. Maybe it is from the shimmying in and out of these necessary performances. Maybe our greatest fetes as humans is not in exhibiting consciousness but in the continuous acting and performance we do and pass off as living life.

Maybe it’s not as bad as I making it sound — gosh I am obsessed with the story behind the story, aren’t I?

I wonder who will serve up “Can I be me?” face today.

Rebellious streaks and being unoriginal

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So I think I like starting my confessionals like this… with “So”… anyway, that was a random observation; back to the matter at hand: rebellious streaks.

Sooooo… I recently put on a septum ring and loved it. I loved how I looked in it, how powerful it made me feel, and there was an edginess to my look that made me feel very sexy and alive. And you’re probably wondering how a simple little ring would make me feel this way, right?

Well, I have been thinking a lot about my life hurtling off into adulthood and the pressure I am feeling to act and be a certain way (again). I have written before about Proper Miss shenanigans and how repressed I feel (…because of professional work environments and other life choices I keep making mostly), et cetera. So it’s not a new feeling — this constant need to break out.

And now it has manifested in the need for me to demonstrate autonomy over my choice of body jewelry. It’s not just the septum ring. It’s also the body chains, gothic harnesses, and all other ordinarily yummy stuff, if you’re experimenting in high school or college. I wonder if me acting out this way is some subtle form of sabotage that dares the world to ask me why I am making these choices, but really I am setting myself up to lose.

Of course, I feel a deeply rooted, and mostly silent pleasure, from all this stuff. I chuckle at being so unoriginal — maybe this is my oh-so-textbook mid life crisis. And if it is, well let’s just say that it really is a feeble attempt.

But after all this thinking and musing, I am just going to keep doing it because it makes me happy and it’s part of what fuels all my other beautiful, guilty pleasures like writing and dancing. And it keeps me rooted to the core of me…

Life with no regret

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I am feeling an urgency to live the life I have always promised myself. Two of my friends died in the last two weeks, and it’s gotten me looking inward.

If I died today, would I be okay with it? I am not sure.

There’s so still so much I want to do. I have stories I want to write and publish, places I want to travel and see, people I want to love on… the love of my life that I am still holding out hope that I will connect with (sooner rather than later)… a cottage I want to build in the country side… a beach house I want to own and where I want to live when I am a full time writer.

I think death makes me experience my mortality on a very deep level. Losing loved one is not easy but the thought of me dying actually makes me sad. Maybe it’s because I realize that there are no guarantees.

In many ways I feel as though “now or never” is a mantra for this short, fleeting life (to use a common cliche).

One thing is for sure… I don’t want to live a life that will see me carrying my dreams to the grave. I am not sure if the pangs of regret would be with me after death but I’d rather not find out.

I think that’s why I am so grateful for my Pooch. Getting him was the fulfillment of a lifelong desire to have a dog as a pet.

And then my humble attempts at traveling to different places has been in the quest to quench this wanderlust that I have inside me.

I also took up dancing. That is a truly me thing — it is all about connecting with my inner child and self. I feel so liberated when I dance — I didn’t think it would resonate this much with my soul. But this is my indulgence (… well, along with binge watching crime shows on the weekend…). It is one of the few things that I can say is truly about me.

Besides the writing thing, I suppose the next thing that I most long for is to find this big love and pour affection into the second love of my life. Some people say that it is this same longing that keeps love away. I often laugh because the yearning comes from somewhere deep inside me and I almost can’t help it. And so, well, my desire for love is no different than the desire I have to fulfill my life’s purpose in crafting stories of love. It might take me longer than most but I will live this truth. I am so sure.

I suppose I just don’t want to run out of time. And when I see my friends and loved ones dying, I feel the clock ticking.

I long, long, long to convince myself that the life I am living is truly full and that it has the meaning that I secretly wish for. That it is not just for show. You know, that it is not just about satisfying the eyes that watch or those for who my ego loves to perform.

To live a life with no regrets and simple pleasures.

Energies and music

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Energy is a curiosity. It is telling of stories yet to be written and some best forgotten. As relationships develop, they often take on energies and personalities distinct from the ones of those who participate in them. When coupled with music, it is a beautiful thing — it can be inspiring. But maybe it’s anything that involves crowds working together — dancing, flash mobs, riots (maybe not those so much)… but something changes when people direct themselves into similar intentions and interactions… I think just as everything has two sides, sometimes herding is not as bad — it’s not as great when it manifests as group think, but it’s great as vaccinations and herd immunity, and also dance fests… and most things counter culture that are artistic in nature like breakdancing.

I was dancing today and then I sat and watched people around me dancing together… it was truly magical. I was swept up in the emotions of it. It was beautiful. I want to do it again. It was different from clubbing… happiness from movement and joy from moving together… it was magical.

Starting over

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So I started my new book project yesterday. Just like that. No pressure and no coaxing. The words just flowed and I kept writing. I am completely at peace with the process and I amazed myself.

Given my angst about real life romance, I suppose there is a lesson to be learned here. If it’s meant to be, it will be. Everything has it’s time. The right thing for you will find you at the right time. What you seek is seeking you. There’s so many common expressions and platitudes about timing and patience and letting things come as they will.

I guess I am so used to working hard and getting shit done that I expect everything to be a hardship and when it is not, I am shocked. I mean, it’s like an event!

But I am beginning to see that life has a rhythm that I only have to tune into… Or maybe it’s just a mindshift that I am experiencing… either way, I am not having as hard a time setting my intentions and following through. It’s really lovely not to struggle. Even better to keep promises to myself especially on word counts!

I am starting over a new book project but it feels like it’s the beginning of everything I have ever wanted to do and be.

Sometimes I am slow – part 2 of 2

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And now, the letter…

Mmmhhh… so continuing from the previous post, here’s the letter that I wrote. Somehow I am not as enthusiastic about it as I was before. I don’t even know why it was so important for me to write it or even post it. I guess it’s me needing to be heard.

I am of two minds now. Not sure if I have resolved anything. Except maybe the chance to have a one-sided conversation and make up for being really slow… Anyway, here’s the letter:

Dear Lover,

You know one of the most beautiful things about me, I think, is how much I love love… it’s kinda my thing. 

My biggest wish has been, and remains, to find this Big Love. The other night we spoke and I was not clear about the things I thought I wanted. You insisted that I knew what I needed. And I said I was not sure. I was not being disingenuous— my processor was overwhelmed by you and so things were just not ringing true in that special inner place where true wishes do.

Afterwards, nearly a week later to be honest, I was able to access myself in a way that I have not done in a long while.

It probably does not matter but I finally realized what I want. Lover, I desire to be loved deeply and truly. Being with you the other night showed me how intimacy could be. How much I missed being connected to someone. How much I really wanted to love someone back, to touch them, to nurture them, to fulfill their desires, to be close — and perhaps to give them the things they secretly wish for too — and maybe help them uncover bits and pieces of themselves they thought were lost to life experiences and disappointments.

Sometimes, like now, I am overwhelmed by how romantic and idealized my thoughts are regarding love. I am afraid that my desire to be loved in such a specific way stands in the way of me finding love. But while I know there is a good chance that these could remain longings (I am so aware of time passing), I am so totally convinced about the one thing that I cannot possibly give up: I deserve to be loved fiercely and decisively— not to be someone’s ambivalent number one. But to be wholly and boldly desired. To be chosen as the One. 

Despite being now so clear about what I desire and seek — I am terribly scared to admit it — sometimes, even to myself. 

I want to thank you, Lover, for helping me realize how important it is for me to be loved and wholly accepted and to be able to bear witness to this showing of love without confusion.  Without hesitation. And without shame of the sometimes bearing of my insecurities and neediness. 

(I am so incredibly aware of my own imperfections and inadequacies).

So you were right. I do want to be able to point and say, “Mine.” But above all this, I want the chance to be loved and to love unconditionally — and desired too — with unwavering conviction!

Conviction… Not a very romantic notion, huh?

xoxoxo

So now…

So that was the letter. I am so hopeful that I will find someone who will be sure about me.

And one who will (gasp!) give me their heart. 

And that I shall be in the privileged position of loving them too and hopefully doing it in the way they desire the most.

Exposed

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I have been trying this honest confessional thing for a few posts now.  I think it is quite refreshing.  But it is also quite bare.

I think, sometimes, that being vulnerable creates the most beautiful and relatable art. I suppose my world view has been colored by watching many hours of America’s Got Talent and perhaps The Voice.  But I think this view is largely true. Beyond just being relatable, I feel like being open brings me closer to myself.

I don’t know when this happened but I got it in my overthinking head that I needed to be this perfect person — and that I could only be good or worthy if I maintained certain standards of propriety. So on the outside there’s this little Proper Miss of myself that parades herself, seeking everyone’s approval and relishing in receiving it.  Then deep inside me is a more open and free-spirited version of Proper Miss who sits waiting for the day when she’ll be let out to play — because she’s the embodiment of every longing, dream, and being that Proper Miss wishes she had.  Hidden Miss holds the dreams, inner fulfillment, wisdom, innocence, enchantment, and essence that would make life that much lived. Hidden Miss believes in magic and kismet and the importance of softer things. Proper Miss believes too but she’s a realist and her priorities are pragmatic. Proper Miss has little patience for unfolding and letting things that’ll be, be. Hidden Miss holds life in wonderment and enjoys every morsel of life’s simple joys. Hidden Miss wouldn’t think twice about jumping off a cliff to dive into crystal blue waters or taking a walking tour in a foreign country to discover a writers’ cafe — she is all about adventure.

I am not naive. I understand that I can’t walk these streets as Hidden Miss all the time.  I would be chewed up and spat out before I could say, “YOLO” … no matter how important it is to create a life that is true and “authentic”.

Besides, Proper Miss has accumulated experiences and skills that have been equally enriching and useful in navigating through this ride. Proper Miss is a winner but also knows how to wear the scars of defeat with the grace of a warrior.

So in a way, the best version of me is both Hidden Miss and Proper Miss.

I have also found that these two versions of myself couldn’t be farther apart from each other. And what’s more, some of my most miserable life experiences have been because I was trying too hard to be one or the other.

This also affects how I write. Proper is about technical ability and getting it right from a craft perspective. Hidden is about telling the story because it is crying out from within my soul. I think it’s clear that both have a place and a purpose.

This past year has been quite interesting because I have been experimenting with trying as much as possible to be honest with myself and make decisions where truth rings internally. I have found that this exercise of being honest with myself has narrowed the distance between Proper Miss and Hidden Miss.  I have felt rewarded in my soul. I have felt incredible peace about some of the most difficult decisions I’ve had to make this year. My sister insists I am a much nicer person to know. I think my compassion for others has increased.

The exercise of being honest with myself requires more reflection than I thought. I process a lot through writing — and documentation can be jarring. I feel exposed and uncomfortable in the moment when I feel I have hit an especially difficult truth. But I feel rewarded when I think I am one step closer to bringing Proper and Hidden together.

Gawd I hope the lesson is mastered now. I want the next phases of my life to be less miserable and more peaceful. Is this what they call “finding yourself?” — that shit ain’t for kids.

Damascus experience

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So I talked about changing direction in an earlier post and how this year was a major year for me.  In the post I talk about having a “Damascus” experience — yet another biblical reference — been so full of those lately.  But my use of the expression was really to capture the life changing aspect of the experience I have had this year.

I have been struggling with grief and depression for a while.  It’s been nearly three years of being in this deep dark hole.  You know the kind where you sit in a corner, knees to your chest, and wait it out because there’s just nowhere to go except to sit in the muck of sadness.  I swear I cried so much in the shower, wailed for God to help me, and called upon every ounce of will power in order to make it through the last year.

But earlier in the year I also realized that I needed to get better.  I kept looking for a solution. I wanted to try anti-depression pills but got spooked out the first time I took a dose.  I continued with talk therapy but I wasn’t really getting through.  We tried this technique with my therapist and it was a success.  I was able to get to the root of my immediate issues and I am not sure how it all works… all I know is that I have relief.  It’s been a process of peeling back the layers and dealing with the surprises that I find.  Now, the burden of sadness that plagued me everyday, making it hard to do even the littlest of things, is loosening its grip on me.  I feel like I can breath.

It was tough dealing with depression and for such a long time.  I can do the moods and the depressive episodes — I know that we are not promised all sunny, freaking-hippy-happy days.  I can do the ups and downs like everyone else… I just couldn’t do the every day of it.  It was draining and it was like this secret I kept inside… not because I was keeping things secret but because depression is isolating.

The breakthrough with the treatment has been slow but steady.  I definitely knew something had changed but it wasn’t until a few weeks after the treatment that I realized how badly I had been doing.  I can only describe it as waking up the morning after a whole night of storms and walking through the damage.  I didn’t realize how much my writing had suffered.  I had neglected my physical health too — my quality of sleep was bad, no exercise, wild food binges — and well, I was just not happy.

As I am getting better, I am also realizing how much work has to go into reclaiming the time… the reflection, the focus back on my physical health, writing, and staying healthy. The change in direction for me is about this effort and it extends to about what I write, how I share myself, and experience life in general.

 

About dimensions

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It’s quite human — and somewhat convenient — to paint people simply.  It’s much easier to label someone as all good or another as all bad.  I am learning that people are far more than just one “thing.”

I am also conscious that this is the same thing for me… it is possible for me to exist in these seemingly contradictory spaces. I have had a hard time understanding for instance that being angry and expressing my anger does not make me an inherently evil person.  I have a lot of guilt when I express anger — and I don’t know where I got this false belief that being angry equals being a mean person.  Especially when I know that anger is a healthy emotion and that it is basically a way of signaling that I feel an injustice has been done or that I object to how a story is unfolding.

But I think what I have learnt that is truly humbling is that because I was previously opposed to letting myself comfortably occupy these contradictory spaces without losing my identity, I was unable to lend this grace to others.  And it is really sad.  I think I used to see the world as black and white — and in some ways, I still do (but hopefully less so). Living that kind of life can be quite difficult…

I suppose with age I am softening and learning to live in the grey areas and getting more comfortable with not having this purist view of life… It is both refreshing and terrifying… but it fills me with great compassion.

Fringe benefit – this realization of dimensions makes it easier to really enjoy the Meredith Brooks “Bitch” song as popularized by Alanis Morrisette:

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover
I’m a child, I’m a mother
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I’m your hell, I’m your dream
I’m nothing in between
You know you wouldn’t want it any other way
So take me as I am…

Adventure

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Creating adventure.  I want to be one of those people that embrace adventures – right to the point of pursuing them relentlessly.  I think having adventure can help my writing process even as it helps me to live a little.

Sometimes I am extremely disappointed with myself.  I am a typical hermit.  I love being home.  I love sitting on the couch and watching a good show.  I love reading a good book and just chilling.  Writing and the hermit are a match made in heaven.  But I also feel like the hermit is missing out on things — not sure what but I just feel like there is a whole world out there and the hermit is not there.

I wasn’t always the hermit, you know and there’s a part of me that used to enjoy finding new things to do. I believe adventure fuels imagination — and imagination crafts good stories.  Writing and adventure could be a match made in heaven as well.

So I think as I craft a new collectible hobby, I will also write the new adventures I want to take on.  I want to scuba dive.  Maybe do a zip line.  I want to take Pooch to the beach.  I want to see if skydiving is compatible with the hermit.  I want to do a hot air balloon ride. I want to go abroad with Pooch to a dog friendly country. I want to paint on canvas in an artists’ commune.  Maybe learn how to ride a motorcycle.  I want to ride at ATV across some sand dunes.  Camp in the wild. I want to bathe in a river.  Ohhh skinny dip in some warm, natural swimming pool. I want to get lost in a corn maze at Halloween. Prayerfully walk a labyrinth. Maybe read some badly written poetry on an open mic night.  I want to join some random music band’s jam session.  And bring along my dog to make people both uncomfortable and happy.  I would love to be a storyteller — finally do the performance I have crafted. Buy an old gramophone, play some records in the night, listen to this music, and drink champagne while seated on a blanket.  I want to write for four, five, six days at a time… really give myself over to this process of writing and writing and writing.

And… I could go on and on… I want to create adventure and then write about it.  I want to live.