“Life’s not about whats better than.” August 23, 2009

I awoke on sunday with a desire to go. I did not know where, I just knew that I had to get in the car and drive. When I was a child, my father used to take us on Sunday afternoon drives to get us out of the house, and to mesmerise us with the Vermont country side. We lived in the South-Western region of the state, home to the Taconic Mountain range that also extended through New York and Massachusetts, and provided the most stunning mix of highlands, lowlands, and valleys. The warm air carried the scent of fresh sweet corn from the fields, and moss, decaying leaves and mud from the woodlands and riverbeds. We would watch as the sun snuck behind small mountains and peaked out the other side as we drive through the windy backroads of Rutland County.

Amber and I would sit patiently, taking in the beauty around us, knowing that at some point we would be stopping for a creemy with rainbow sprinkles. I always chose vanilla, while Amber chose chocolate. My dad liked to trick us, taking old back roads and driving past our usual ice cream stops, insisting that it was closed, or that they were out of ice cream. My sister and I would know that he was picking on us, and that he would soon reveal a new snackbar he had discovered, but we still grew irritated and impatient. My father l0ved taunting us, still does to this day actually. He gets this slight smirk in the corner of his mouth, though I dont always catch it right away. He has always found it amusing and satisfying to trick my sister and I.

I have not driven just to drive, in many, many years. Being with out a car could be partly to blame, but there is also the this new awareness of the cost of oil, and the negative effects on the earth that driving causes. The thought or desire of driving without a known destination had not even crossed my mind in years.

I awoke on sunday to my alarm, with the prompt set to remind me to wake my sister up for work. I had been awakend the night before when Pete and Sean, our friends and nieghbors, entered my room at 3am to tell me that they had just brought my sister home from Club Lift, and that I might want to check on her in a while. After they had left, I donned my bathrobe and went to my sisters aid. I found her sprawled out on her back, a silly smile on her flushed face, eyes closed, and in the midst of a serious giggle-fit. I could not help but laugh through my slight annoyance, and helped her to situate herself into a safe sleeping position.

She reached over to her bedside table and thrust her phone into my face “Set my alarm for me,” she slurred and giggled. I inquired as to the time. “8am, I have to work.” I looked at the clock, now 3:30, I could not imagine she would even be sober enough to drive herself there. “Dude, that’s in like, four and a half hours… You are so screwed.” She started to giggle again as I futzed around with her cell, not able to find the alarm. “I’ll just wake you up, OK?” She shook her head yes, and instantly passed out.

As I walked groggily toward her room, I could hear her stirring. As I peaked my head through her door, I could see her looking around her room, confused as to how she was even there. “Sweetheart, you’re still drunk…” I informed her. “No, just tired. How’d I get home last night?” she looked at me smiling. Amber is not one to drink often, but when she does, like me, she drinks a lot. “The boys brought you home, I helped you into bed.” She nodded and rolled over.

“Oooooh, my feeeeeet!” She exclaimed. “I think I fell last night again… Yeah, I fell on the dance floor. Oh man… ” She strechted her legs, her face wrinkled in pain. Sitting up, she pulled the sheets back from over her feet. From where I stood, I could see that her right ankle was severely swollen. “Honey, you’re gonna have to call into work today,” I told her. “I can’t, theres no one else to open.” She slid of the side of her bed and tried to put weight on her foot. Groaning, she limped herself to the bathroom to take a shower. “Can you give me a ride to work?” She asked me. I agreed, though I only wanted to sleep.

“SEABAAAAAAASSSS!” Amber and I exclaimed in unison from the car window as we drove past my friend Sebastion on our way to the mall. He smiled and waved, crossing the street to Small Dog Electronics. I helped my sister out of the car, grabbing the crutches I had unearthed from the basement out of the backseat. “Get along, hobbles,” I joked with her as she slowly made her way toward the back entrance of the mall.

All you want is
What you can’t have
And if you just look around man
You see you got magic
So just sit back relax
Enjoy it while you still have it
Don’t look back on life man and only see tragic

Because you could be better than that
Don’t let it get the better of you
What could be better than now
Life’s not about what’s better than
You can be better than that
Don’t let it get the better of you
What could be better than now
Life’s not about what’s better

All the time while you’re looking away
There are things you can do man
There’s things you can say
To the the ones you’re with
With whom you’re spending your day
Get your gaze off tomorrow
And let come what may

Because you could be better than that
Don’t let it get the better of you
What could be better than now
Life’s not about what’s better than
You can be better than that
Don’t let it get the better of you
What could be better than now
Life’s not about what’s better

All I know is sometimes things can be hard
But you should know by now
They come and they go
So why, oh why
Do I look to the other side
‘Cos I know the grass is greener but
Just as hard to mow

Life’s not about what’s better than.

All you want is
What you can’t have
And if you just look around man
You see you got magic
So just sit back relax
Enjoy it while you still have it
Don’t look back on life man and only see tragic

Because you could be better than that
Don’t let it get the better of you
What could be better than now
Life’s not about what’s better than
You can be better than that
Don’t let it get the better of you
What could be better than now
Life’s not about what’s better

Previous Post August 20, 2009

This song has become my new theme….

Another lesson learned August 18, 2009

So a few weeks ago, my friend Ethan suggested that I use my downtime at work to “work on my novel” rather than futz around on facebook. While Ive spent most of my morning doing mostly that, I feel like I have been rather productive.

This summer has been a serious head trip for me. I’ve been spending most of my time and energy on a really great guy. Time and energy that I do not mind giving, though it does not seem like it has been the right time, for him at least. Now I am working on turning that time and energy around, and giving it back to myself, which is proving to be both difficult, as well as rewarding.

This last week we decided to keep our communication strictly snail mail. While I enjoy writing and recieving letters, there is still a great element I feel I am missing out on by not having direct, verbal communication, and I find myself struggling at times when my mind begins to wander. This, with the combonation of heat, exhaustion, boredom and an over-abundance of time to over-analyze, I have found myself in a pretty fragile state.

Until this morning. One might say that I woke up on the right side of the bed, though I believe it was the power going out and my fans ceasing to keep me cool. I felt hot and sticky, the sheets clinging to my naked body were enough of an annoyance to force me out of bed. It was then that I realized that I had slept through my alarm. That is the last time I use chirping crickets as the sound prompt for my alarm.

I had thirty minutes to take a shower, get dressed, gather my things, get food and get to work. My sister, known for her long, steamy showers, had already claimed the bathroom several minutes before I had awoke sweaty and irritable. I banged on the door only to recieve a response of “In a few minutes…”  Which directly translates to “I’ll be out in exactly 30 minutes, unless you continue to bother me, then Ill take my time.”

I shouted at her through the door, letting her know the urgency in which I needed the facilities. “I have to be to work in thirty minutes, I need to take a shower… Hurry up.” I snapped, unable to control my annoyance. “OK,” she retorted with an sharply matched temper, “I’ll be out in a minute… God.” I heard the shower turn off and the curtain get thrown back as she irritably grabbed for her towel. I went into my room, not wanting to deal with any comments that might have led to an argument. I just wanted to shower and leave.

My nerves were high, after a week of introspection and dealing with my own personal deamons, but as soon as the cool water began to run over my body, I felt the tension melt away. I sighed as I decided to let it all go. I went through each tension that had staked its claim on my psyche and body this week, starting with recent events and moving back through. I decided that I was going to take my time in the shower, and allow myself to be late to work. It would still be there when I arrived.

I washed the lake from my hair and let the soap sit a bit longer, the bubbles softly massaging my scalp. As I shaved my legs and under-arms, I thought about all of the stress I have built up this week, not allowing myself to let go. I slowly started to sift through, conciously letting go of each concern I had attatched to each issue surrounding my heart and head. By the time I got out of the shower, I felt like I had washed away more than sweat and lake debris.

I felt lighter, cleaner, softer, and more open to inspiration and action than I have felt all week long. I have carried on this lighthearted air all day long, and feel so motivated to get things done. From this moment on, I will look forward, not back, and I will allow things to take thier natural course, and know that any outcome will be the best one possible. “Wei Wu Wei” a good friend once told me, “Do without doing” . I believe that this is the true path to success when it comes to relationships, espeacially for myself. I have a tendancy to try to control things, so as to avoid heartbreak, but in doing so, I have created a vicious cycle of self-fulfilled prophecies.

This same person also helped me to realize that the more I focus on myself, and allow myself to glow from my own heart-center, the more attractive and desirable I would be to others. The trick with this, Ive realized, is actually doing it for myself, and not as a way of attracting men into my world. That, of course, would be counter productive. It has taken me this week to come to this conclusion. I get it now. *Sigh

So now I see myself going through my usual steps after a broken heart. I’ve mourned, attempted to control, mourned the failed attempt, met someone else, realized that substatution is not an option, had an apiphony, and I am now moving into clearing my space, both physically and mentally. This, for me, is usually one of the last steps toward full recovery. Over the next week I plan to purge my belongings, getting rid of stuff I never use by way of a yard sale. I have plans to purchase filing cabnets and a dresser to organize my room more.

I will begin and end this week of change and healing with my oldie but goodie way of celebrating life and self love: DANCE! Tonight I am going out to Parima to get down with my friend James (Dj Not Ted), and will be ending the week at Vermonts Liberate Festival http://www.liberatevt.com/ Where I will be fire preforming in the evenings, and taking yoga classes, hooping, and dancing to the amazing bands during the day. Perhaps I will see your smiling face

 

 

Bill looked at me wide eyed and amazed “You are so young and have already had such an incredible life.” I chuckled, as I am often mistaken for an 18 year old, “Not that young Bill, I’m closer to 30 than I appear.” Now it was his turn for a chuckle. “Yes, perhaps this is true, but if you continue on your exciting path, imagine the things you’ll have done by the time you approach 60…”

I am worthy of: LOVE, both from myself, and from others. Admiration, I have done, and continue to do SO many incredible things in my life. Happiness, and dreams come true.

And so it begins… August 17, 2009

One of the many books that accompanied my grade school projects...

Ok folks, here we go. My first blog post. I have spent all morning coming up with excuses as to why I couldn’t post this blog. Before giving you those excuses, however, perhaps I should share the reason as to why they exist to begin with: I am an aspiring writer… with a deep seeded fear of writing. I am sure you can see the problem with this. I can even see back to where it began, both my love for writing, and my anxiety.

 All I have ever wanted to do is to be a writer. I have memories from elementary school of  local authors visiting and speaking with our class about what it was like to write and illustrate books for children. I remember being captivated by the creative process, and felt as if they were speaking solely to me, giving me encouragement to go forth and write. From then on,  every project or presentation I did, there was a neatly hand written and illustrated book to accompany it.

     My favorite classes were reading and creative writing. Although I was not one of the best readers in class, and often stumbled over words as I anxiously read aloud, I took deep pride when my teacher would commend my ability to take it slow and sound out the words. I would sit in my seat, tall, proud, and slightly flushed from the rush of anxiety. In creative writing, however, I was a shining star. My teachers would compliment my use of vivid and colorful imagery, and encourage me to expand upon parts that felt a little bland. I never felt bad about these suggestions, but rather challenged and excited.

    I continued to create my world through words, reaching hardly a challenge that I could not face, until 5th grade. It was the last few weeks of school, and our very last project was a school wide writing contest. I was ecstatic. I new without a shadow of a doubt that I would win first prize. I had been prepairing myself for this moment throughout my entire elementary education. First prize was mine.

      The categories were split up between grades: First and Second grades had “Animals”, Third and Fourth had “Family”, and the Fifth and Sixth graders had “Inanimate objects”.  My story came to me instantaneously. I began to write very diligently. There was not a distraction in the world that could tear my eyes from the paper in front of me. I finished my first draft in class the first day. We still had a week to work on it, and many students were still strugging with choosing a topic. I brought my paper to Mrs. Ames for feedback. She made minimal marks on the paper with her red pen and encouraged me to elaborate on certain parts of the story.

 I excitedly spent the next four days, both in school and out working on the assignment and sucking up all of the praise that was sent my way. My father, my teachers and my peers had assured me that I was in good standing for first place. My story was about a frisbee who longed to travel the world, catching breezes and viewing the 7  wonders from soaring heights.

Unfortunately, for this sad, beaten little frisbee, he belonged to a large, slobbery Rottweiler, who either chewed him up, or forgot about him altogether. One day the dog picked him up and shook him so hard that he flew right over the nine foot fence and into a river that took him to a park, where he was discovered by two little boys who sent him flying through the air to another person who brought him home and then to a far away beach where he caught a wave that took him to distant shores, and so on. This was my best piece ever. I was more proud of this one paper than I had ever been in my entire 10 years of existance. I knew that when I won first place, I would certainly go on to be a published author, right then and there.

   The day came to present our  papers. We would be reading them in front of our peers, parents, teachers, and a team of judges that included two local authors, our lunch lady, Larry the janitar, and the principle of our school.  I was nervous, but sure that I would win it. Fifth graders read before the sixth grade, proving ourselves to be formidable opponants to those one year ahead of us. I made eye contact with the judges to guage thier reaction as I recited my story almost by heart. They seemed impressed and smiled at my jokes and witty similes. I continued to watch them as the others read thier stories, convinced that they were not nearly as enthralled as they were by my own.

  At the end, we took a break for snacks while the judges convened to tally up thier scores and choose a winner. I enjoyed my sugared cookies and fruit punch while classmates showered me with praise and admiration for my story. I took it all in and imagined myself as a famous author, with a bookstore full of my work. My dreams were coming true, at the tender age of ten.

The judges called us back to our seats and began with a speach about how we were all winners, and all great writers. They reiterated the criteria on which they were judging, and set the trophy for first place on the podeum. “And our first place winner is…” My heart raced as I sat on my knees in the front row, waiting for them to call my name. “Jodi! With her story about the dizzy earth!” I jumped up expectantly, only to sit back down quickly, and utterly embarrassed. I was in shock, how could they have chosen her story? The earth is technically a living organizm, not an inanimate object… it admittedly was a good story, but she should have been disqualified for not following the rules (“Don’t be a sore loser,” my father later told me on the ride home. “But I am sore dad, that hurt…” I shot back)

    In the end, I won third place, behind an epileptic Earth and an American Flag. I didn’t write much anymore after that. I was afraid of being less than perfect, and worried about being judged by those who were more talented, knowledgable or skilled than me. I have spent the last 16 years jotting down ideas, writing outlines and empty stories, and procrastinating from what it is that I really want to do with my life. I have held onto fear of judgement, but find that the person judging me most harshly is myself.

Over the years I have become a master procrastinater to avoid doing what I really want to do. I come up with all kinds of excuses as to why I can not just sit down and write. Here are a few: It’s too hot, I should go to the beach, the house is a disaster, I will write after Im done cleaning and organizing, I should really update my status on facebook, I have no clean underwear, Im completely broke and cant go sit and write at Dobrah, so im not going to write at all, I should read more before I write, for inspiration, I should be working, I have nothing to write about, I dont like my writing, I do not have a very extensive vocabulary, or I just plain dont want to write right now.

The problem with these excuses is that they are exactly that. They hold absolutly no weight against my writing or my writing practice. If I took even just a half hour each morning to sit down and write, I would easily get into the groove of writing, and it would then improve exponentially.

A few days ago I was taking a walk with a friendly acuiantence named Sean. He told me that every day that I do not write, is another day lost from living my dream. I realized then, that many people have to work so hard to even get to the first step of being able to live thier dream. All I have to do is write. It is so readily available to me. I have all of the resources I could ever possibly need. All that I need to do is take action.

Once I parted ways with Sean, I came straight home and come to my wordpress site. I had set up the account in May while I was in Minneapolis, with every intention of blogging about my time there, and beginning my regular writing practice. I had two weeks off with days free while Alicia was away at work, and I still managed to distract myself from writing. I guess all that matters is the NOW. I am writing now, I am happy to be sitting in my 90 degree, stuffy appartment, drinking XXX Vitamin Water, and forcing myself to finish a blog before I even get up from my bed.

It has taken me three hours to write this. Humming and hawing over what to write next. But I didnt allow myself to go back and re-read or re-write any part of this blog (id be here for 8 hours then…) I am just going to post it, and allow it to be what it is. My first blog. I will hopefully come back months or years from now and read this, and think to myself “Wow, I am really glad I started. My, how I have improved.

Thank you Sean for your encouragement. That is exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.