Morbid Thoughts on Morning Commute

I wish sometimes that I could port my thoughts directly into text - dreams of some sci-fi future from the 80's that never came to pass, or at least hasn't yet. I compose best in my head. By the time that I go to write or type it all out, it comes out not nearly as creatively as my thoughts had been. This is another attempt to extract meanderings in my mind that I had on my way into work at the theatre today.

Each time one bus leaves, the sidewalk is teeming with little old Asian people. Bus fills, sidewalk clears, bus departs, sidewalk refills... rinse repeat. I find myself singing a Beatles song in my mind "all the lonely people, where do they all come from?" as I board the next bus pulling up, gym bag over my shoulder with a newly purchased Revlon hair dryer that was on sale for $11.99. I hope it'll prevent my post-pool and shower wet hair from making me sick again. The air in San Francisco is too chill in December to be walking around with wet hair.

And then I remind myself again that it's December. Where did this year go? Why do I care so little for holidays that aren't about dressing up as someone you're not? My love of Halloween is probably because I'm so unapologetically me the rest of the year. But my feeling of meh about Christmas and such could be a number of things really... family hasn't ever been a huge thing in my world outside of my grandparents, now deceased, and my Mom. My half brother and I were never really close save a short stint in our early 20's when I was partying like it was 1999... because it was. He doesn't call, but neither do I, and it doesn't seem that big a deal for the most part.

But I digress... I'm back in my mind on the bus. As is a normal thought lately, I'm surprised to find that I am probably the youngest person aboard. And the only one with blue hair wearing legwarmers for sure. The bus pulls up at a stop and a dozen or so elderly shuffle out like geriatric penguins. I've been standing rather than risk the evil eye of someone a generation or two ahead of me when the next wave boards. I honestly avoided taking the 30 or the 45, mostly due to my lack of empathy for people who block the sidewalk, and Stockton being a nightmare of cheap produce markets and all sorts of giant jars of unidentifiable objects labeled in a cryptic language I don't understand. I'm guessing it's Mandarin or Cantonese. I've never been very clear on how to tell the difference between many of the languages of Asia save Thailand, but that's mainly because I lived there for a year. I still couldn't tell you what any of the little symbols sound like by sight.

I take a seat finally, three stops before mine. The little old man next to me gives me the once over in a way that makes me think of zombies, stirring a morbid thought to the surface. It's one I've thought many times in my life, but more and more the older I get. Man, I don't want to be like that.

I've said before I've never had a fear of death. Death is fine - nobody knows what happens afterward. There's a lot of conjecture and some maybe believable experiences that are 100% based on trusting the story you're being told by someone who could very well be full of shit. What I fear is frailty, helplessness and memory loss - the trifecta of what seem like inevitable parts of growing old.

How broken in spirit people seem to be at that age - people my age even, who am I kidding? My mind drifts into a philosophical space that ties back into why I have a distrust of community and by proxy holidays having to do with community. Our world is built on community agreement about the stories we hear and learn and understand. From the start children are lied to about a myriad of subjects - Santa Claus is a good one that people think has no real impact on kids' psyches. According to Steinbeck making something from your life that's outside the wheelhouse you're born into is an impossible dream. We learn that people lie "for our own good." To protect us. And in a way, it tells us nobody is honest. It makes me wonder if that's what breaks people's spirits - that they stop believing; stop trusting. We're spoon fed this idea that if we conform to whatever standard we find ourselves in, then we're doing good in the world - a world that continues to have starvation & disease & war. But don't worry, you're doing the right thing just following the footsteps of everyone generations before ours - they wouldn't lie to you, right? And hey, if you're more financially successful that just goes to show you've improved upon the previous generation. My heart's just never been in it, because I always come back to this other morbid thought - let's call it #2, because it's poopy.

None of it matters.

You hear people say it all the time - that the journey is what matters, not the destination. Why does the journey even matter though? Some people have awful journeys that are entirely out of their hands like being born in a place being bombed by some other more powerful country. Or a place that cuts off parts of your body because it's a purification ritual. Or a place where you're so poor that your single mom, let's say, works all the time and you basically are on your own to figure things out, with your only thought being that you don't want to struggle like that when you're an adult, but the only way you see to get out of that is to also work all the time at a job you hate because at least you won't be poor, but then you find you just can't do it because you feel it's completely meaningless to continue to drudge through and try to follow a path that doesn't feel right for you.

Yeah that last part may have been a little personal. But I know I'm not alone in feeling completely cheated by how this world is and a bit helpless to change it - one part of the 'old' trifecta, remember? People tell me I've got a sadness behind my eyes... and that helplessness is what it is. We live in a world where anything is possible. And inherently we know that, but at the same time we don't really believe it. We find that it's just too overwhelming - like being born in a red state as a blue voter. You feel like whatever you do doesn't really matter, because the tide is against you. The only option really is to leave, because convincing a million people that their view isn't going to make things better is ridiculous - or in my case, I'd be purple in a red or blue state trying to explain that the whole game is rigged. Nobody wants to hear that.

That's how life often feels to me. People run around the world acting like they know what's best for everyone else while secretly they're doing all the things they tell people not to do. How can one be that way and not understand that means everyone else is probably doing the exact same thing? I feel really alone in that thought. It's why when people ask why honesty is so important to me, I tell them "if I am not honest how can I ever believe anyone else is?" So it goes for everything. But the truth is - I think everyone is a liar and a hypocrite, but I get that it's not their fault they have been that way - it's only their fault if they recognize it and continue to lie. Not that I think there is any saving anyone with that rhetoric. I mean, look at Jesus Christ. Of course he let them crucify him - he saw the pointlessness of it all, and knew this was the best he could offer - not taking part in it. Then of course there are stories about him coming back to life and all, and maybe that stuff happened, but even if he rose from the dead and told everyone "See! It's all a lie!" the impact was and still is: people kill in his name, almost indiscriminately sometimes.

That's where my mind ended up on the bus wishing I could port my thoughts into text surrounded by the aged populace of San Francisco who I can't help but wonder if they ever even think about these things. That in the end, even if you are the greatest being ever to walk to Earth - even if you got everyone to understand how they've had blinders on and can choose something else - you'd be spoken of anecdotally when you're gone at best, and murdered for at worst.

I think that's why spirits get broken. The fight is pointless. Yet I continue to fight it for some insane reason. I continue to be real and honest and give my best at all things. But I wonder if that's out of my fear of being broken - of turning into an old cataract-eyed waddling penguin of a human riding a bus back and forth to who knows where wishing I'd done things differently until the day they find my body and tell stories about what a crazy lady I was. I don't want to be regretfully elderly. And the most morbid thought of all - in all its selfishness is: I hope either I die or the world ends before I become that. Wish for that on your birthday candle. I just wish the world would be different for us all.

And that's a typical morning commute in the mind of me. You're welcome.

A Key Fitting Into a Lock

For half a moment I considered ridding myself of this stupid obsession I have with love... or with writing about love... or anything to do with that silly romantic notion that has been a driver of every creative thing or random adventure this life has held for me. Everything. When asked what drives me the answer is always love. Always. My understanding of what that looks like is tumultuous and ever-mutating, shifting, growing, accepting. For a moment I thought maybe I needed to shut the fuck up about the topic completely... But then I remembered something someone once said to me - that no matter what happens in my life... "Stay being you. Stay being just you... You are something special."

And then I remembered that I trust this universe to bring forth exactly what I need when I need it most. It always has - for me at an incredibly unusual rate - which I've been told is because serendipity and synchronicity are something I am seeking. Works for me! Sure I've worked hard to have things I want, and I've created possibility & opportunity with that drive. But in this world, I feel it's a balance - you get what you give... like the New Radicals song from the 90's said. So I try to give communication, patience, acceptance, laughter, adventure, and love. Those are the things I want most in life.

All that being said, it's easy to get caught up in the emotions of others and lose sight of yourself and what matters to you. It's also easy to get caught up in the insecurities of others and the misguided perceptions of others and allow those things to tarnish the core of who you are. But tarnish is all they can really do, because the core of who we are is unbreakable. At least that's what I believe. It takes some time to polish that tarnish off sometimes (or maybe a pickax or a blowtorch), but it's always worth it.

I've noticed that on first thinking about things I'm dealing with, I blame the perceiver for their incorrect understanding. Then I tend to blame whatever circumstances may be at play between us. And then I realize that it really comes down to a failure in my own communication, and often in my myopic view not recognizing the impact of my actions or words. It leads me to a place of introspection about how to better land in the world around me in a way that I intend. I talk about "Intention versus Impact" a lot in conversation, wherein I say that the impact may not feel like it's more important, but it is when it comes to how to deal with a problem - or at least it should take priority. Intention can't be understood if someone is so deep in the impact of it they can't hear what you're saying. Whatever happens, every circumstance is an opportunity for growth, and I try to recognize that. To continue on the path of greater comprehension and... kind of an odd sort of premonition I suppose of the future, I have to be more conscious of the impact I make. I have to have a greater understanding of people who are not like I am, because those folks seem to be the ones I inadvertently hit the hardest. I'm not like most people. I'm willing to talk about pretty much everything with pretty much anyone. I rarely feel things like jealousy or regret - I am the eternal optimist, and every struggle - every tear shed - is part of the journey toward being the person I want to be. One with both an incredible passion and an equal measure of humility. It's a very delicate balance between the two.

And of course I digress... Like I do. I've got no idea if anyone even reads things I write, not that it matters, really... Though if you want to understand me, it's a good place to start. I don't even know if it makes any sense, or if my rambling poetic nature causes massive whiplash from eyerolling. Don't worry, it's a daily occurrence at myself as well. I think if I had a day where I didn't consider myself to be possibly the most ridiculous individual I know, I would think something was very wrong with the world.

So, TLDR - I fuck up! It's true. But I'm working on things, and always failing better. Every step feels like a new lock falling away... a new door opening to some new level of understanding. It's funny to me that people think I never make mistakes. That I'm just naturally good at things. I hear it a lot. I can safely say this month: Nope! I make mistakes with gusto. While I can keep a secret like the best of them, generally I tend to put it all on the table. And as I've learned... when it comes to anything to do with my heart, I go blind. It's a lock I haven't quite found the key for yet. But I think I may have it around here somewhere.

Have you? (a stream of thought blog about soulmates)

Have you ever met someone who no matter time or space the connection you have is unchanged - untouched by the wars that ravage around us all? Like you had made a special request to the fantastic band that creates the soundtrack to the universe and they released this song, and it was completely and utterly yours? Someone you perhaps spend a lot of time telling yourself you're ok they aren't in your world more closely, but honestly you hate it more than words can say that they are so far away. Someone who when you see them after a period of perhaps two years you are overwhelmed with gratitude that they still live and breathe, and suddenly feel as though you've been holding your breath for a very long time and the air tastes so incredibly sweet. And you understand their communicative quietude as probably wisdom when they look at you and say yes... yes, they believe in meant to be, but it's not been worked out just yet. And you forgive them for "life getting in the way all the time" because you know it does for you too. Someone who when the two of you find yourselves within reach you cannot refrain from having some part of your bodies in contact at all times - a finger, a knee, a head on a shoulder - it doesn't matter as long as there is contact - as long as you both can sense the realness of the other - and you know that feeling is mutually why your fingers are entwined. And it's never contrived. And it's impossible to focus on anything but that touch and those eyes and that ridiculous Scottish-lilted laugh that cuts through the hidden Scottish pub where you decided Scotch for breakfast was better than nothing because your appetite had vanished the moment you saw one another.... And you chuckle to yourself, because Scotland. And you want more than anything just one moment longer of their fingers pressed into the back of your neck, and their giggling at the fact that you have tears welling up in your eyes. You laugh together at how completely idiotic it is that it's been so long apart, when it feels as though you'd said goodbye yesterday even tho so much happened in those two years. And you promise to both be better about being in touch even tho you know the only way that will happen is if one of you moves... and you know that means you, because it's who you are. And you let that seed start to germinate a little more in your mind. And you know the communication will be as it ever is, because you both live far too much in the here and now to worry too long for anything outside of it.... until you do. "You feel like home to me..." you say. And he says yes, he knows. You can't not tell him the truth always - you told him you loved him the last time you said farewell, which was the second time you'd been in one another's presence. It's always been so. And yes... You feel at home here... in this city... with a silence of the jigsaw puzzle falling into place in a way you can't describe with words... but with gazes and touch and laughter and... can't I just breathe for a little longer here? What does it take to have this not be yet another pause in a story so incredibly... ours. We pinky swear we'll see one another before another two years has passed. Might be in SF, might be NYC, might again be London. But it's a promise I plan to keep. I told my mother once I didn't believe in soulmates... I was lying. I just, didn't believe I'd ever find mine, or perhaps I'd be too dumb to recognize it when I did. I was wrong. Have you met someone like this? I have... once. Two years ago. When I asked the universe for a song I'd recognize. And there he was... the most beautiful song I'd ever heard. And OMG I am the sappiest person on Earth, I swear. He is so significant in my heart... on a level that is mind-blowing to me every time I think of it. Unconditional. Timeless. "There ain't nothing that we need 'cept one thing... and it ain't hope, though that can help I suppose. Stamina. Stamina. Stamina. Stamina...."

"We never change, do we?"

I feel like this is a question I've fought for a long time. The first memory I have of really struggling against what is seen as a fairly normal belief was when we read Of Mice and Men when I was in middle school. It was the first time that I recall being upset by a concept I read in a fictional story, and that was that we can never escape that which we are born into. I feel like I have to re-read it, because it's been nearly 30 years, and the only part of it that I really recall is that dreams are great, but you are stuck with what you have been dealt. I'm sure someone more versed on the story would have further insights into this, but... I'm just train-of-thoughting at the moment, and this concept has been on my mind of late.


Mostly it's been on my mind with regard to the idea of if people can truly change. If once someone shows their 'flaws,' if believing that they can overcome those things and perhaps grow beyond the need to lapse into them again is a foolish belief. Once a tiger shows you they are a tiger, why would you expect them to behave like a fish? It's where my mind is currently given recent circumstances around the concept of deceit and selfishness. When someone has shown themselves to be a liar, can they ever truly be trusted not to lie again? Certainly circumstances exist that create the seeming need for someone to think that is their best option... but, who's to say that circumstance won't appear in some other way, and thus this behavior appear once again, perhaps even worse than before? Once someone has lied, obviously the expectation is that they will lie again. And even when they say "I'll never lie again" - if they are a liar, then that is also a lie, or least... one must assume it is. But I still want to have faith in the potential in people for good things, and I can't help but feel that is incredibly both brave and stupid at the same time.


I was talking today with a friend about expectation, and the attachment to what we expect in a person versus being open to the possibility that is within them. There is a struggle wherein we expect certain behaviors from people and when we don't get them, we are disappointed/hurt/upset/angry, and how the issue there lies within the expectation we create of that person. Now, that's all well and good, but also I think it's important to have boundaries for oneself in regard to health/honesty/respect/etc. If I learn definitively that someone is a rapist, putting myself in a position where I say "Well, it's possible they won't rape me" and hanging out one-on-one with them seems just a bit naive.


So the thing I come back to is... As a person who wants to believe in the best in people, and also wants to believe that people can change if they want it enough and really work hard not to revert to past destructive behavior... How do I continue to have a person in my life who I have lost faith in without constantly fearing that I'm being... tricked? Conned? Fooled? Whatever. How do I continue to support the possibility of change without ending up in a dangerous situation for my personal well-being? I know I can never know if what I am getting is honest... but as a person who holds honesty in the highest regard, I am struggling with how to move forward in a positive way for anyone who has been impacted by recent events. I don't write people off... ever. I believe in redemption, but I don't know what that looks like currently. I don't think anyone is a lost cause. I want to believe we can overcome the circumstances we have been placed into, and be our best selves and achieve our dreams if we truly choose to. How do I stay safe while accepting and supporting with my own choices my belief that everyone is worth fighting for? It's a weird space to be in right now.

Labels By My Brain: The Saboteur

Disclaimer: This is a train of thought entry, so if it makes no sense at all, I apologize. I also feel highly caffeinated at the moment, so things tend to meander. I've contacted my doctor about obtaining a therapist, because I've hit a point where I feel that my mind is running in circles over the same issues, but not making progress. I tend to become obsessive and anxiety-ridden when this happens... and I'd like to figure out how to take a step UP from this place. Having an objective and detached third party seems like a really lovely concept. I'm gonna roll with that. I've never seen a therapist really, so we'll see what happens. But this is what's going on in my brain this morning:

I've struggled with the concept of labeling things in my life for a really long time. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm hyper-organized and part and parcel to that is the seeming need to label everything. How else can one organize their life without compartmentalizing every little thing? It's funny, I was talking about that word yesterday, and it appeared as we were watching 'Jessica Jones'... It was not lost on me that it's not a word that comes up all that often on television shows.

Anyway - I've struggled with this need to label everything in my life for what seems like always. This is great for things like boxes of stuff I own, spices, games/DVDs, whatever. Label away! It's part of why I never lose things. It keeps me sane when it comes to material things, but there is one area that I seem to really lose some sanity over this urging to label: Relationships to people generally.

I'm becoming quite clear that my need to label the relationships in my life often prevents me from being content/satisfied with what exists. If there isn't an understandable definition for what it is, I feel lost and out of control. I feel like I can't have any expectation of it, and not having an expectation makes me feel... I don't even know. This is what I'm trying to figure out right now. It's like, without a label, which provides a certain set of parameters for what expectations I can have, I feel no sense of purpose. To that end I head into a realm of feeling like any action is pointless, because... without purpose I feel listless and lethargic and lacking in direction. I feel stagnant. I become a mass of blah. Hmm.

Ok, so I have a sense of why I feel driven to label things in a positive way - it gives me purpose. Hope, maybe. But definitely a sense of a direction to grow into. It's like sunlight - I lean in the direction that the label's expectations provide, if that makes sense. So what about the negative aspects of having labels?

First off it's confining to what is possible for my current relationship based on a definition I learned in the past. Currently I find this most trying in the area of romantic relationship. I have a definition of what that looks like based on some earlier version of myself and my experience (and society's opinion of what a romantic relationship should be like), and I struggle with the parts of it where those parameters aren't being met, even if I know at the core that the definition I have is what is limiting my experience of it. I find often that I disagree with a societal norm for the definition of a functional romantic relationship, but I still have a drive to adhere to it... even though I disagree with it. WTF is that?

Secondly, I also find that often the label I want is the one I don't have. Even when I know that I have what I want when I have the other label. As an example - When I find myself in a monogamous relationship, I find that I feel confined and restricted from being my natural self (which tends to be flirty and impulsive). But when I find myself in a non-monogamous arrangement, I somehow long for it to be monogamous. Which leads me to believe it's less about the state of the relationship and more about ownership via the label of boyfriend/girlfriend. Like... this is mine. You cannot have it. Which I know is also bullshit, but it's still there. Make up your damned mind, brainmeats!

So yeah... this is what's been on my mind lately. I feel chaotic and contrary and annoyed at myself a lot. I feel like this weird wishy-washy need to have a label that I don't even know if I want causes me to be less than I am capable of being for the people around me. I struggle with the same thing with friendship labels. I could go into a whole new story about inclusion and my weird nomadic sense of not wanting to be part of a community because I feel like it's exclusionary. But then longing to be part of a community because I feel left out, while still not wanting others to be part of the community because they just don't fit my expectations for it. I say I love paradox, but man... Sometimes it's a bitch. I just want to be happy with my circumstances as they are. Because really when I look at it, I've got it pretty damned good right now despite the rough edges here and there. I hope that I can gain some clarity from a good therapist, because I really like what I have right now at the heart. It's just the stupid story-spinning Saboteur that is my brain that keeps making me feel like I'm going crazy.

"Stop being good at everything!"

Being a jack-of-all-trades has its perks. I pick up anything I put my hand to rather quickly. Steep learning curves are much less stressful to me than most people. I test well, I have a great memory, and I've got a vast amount of experience in an array of subjects people are often surprised by. I've tried many things... sometimes twice. I feel my knowledge of the world is pretty vast, even if I tend to feel like I know less and less as I learn more and more. That's wisdom for ya.

The down side, in my experience, is that polymaths have a sense of restlessness that follows us where ever we go. We are all about progress, possibility, growth, creativity and finding inspiration in mastering new skills and pursuing new endeavors. For that reason, although we can adapt to almost any situation, we tend to get bored once we've hit a certain level of mastery with a subject, and move on to something new. There's a certain lack of longevity with things that I've experienced, as I tend to want to learn about everything as soon as it piques my interest. I get easily distracted by different things as my mood strikes me. In some ways one could say I am incredibly flexible, with a willingness to change to the next thing if the air seems right. However, seen another way one could also say I'm simply non-committal.

For example - I don't have a degree. This is in part because when I was younger college wasn't presented as being a real possibility for me. Once I realized I could have made that choice (OMG is that what adulthood is all about?), I had a job that made going to school full time impossible. Going into debt on a subject I was actually interested in seemed silly, given that most people I knew who had a degree in film or theater or music or photography work in jobs that have nothing to do with their degree's subject matter, and those who do are usually teachers (not that there is anything wrong with teaching - kudos to teachers - you are wonderful human beings). I've had several bouts of thinking maybe I could teach, but I end up disillusioned by (again) the cost of the education I have to complete in order to take on a career whose salary will likely ensure I'm paying off student loans for the rest of my life. Meh.

On top of this is the thought that if I wanted to go back to school full time I would have to quit my job, and take a job at night making likely a lot less than I'm currently making. I did that once, and although I quite liked working in hospitality and service most of the time, I also found that I'm quite weak-willed when it comes to not staying up until dawn with friends having deep philosophical discussions (and booze of course), and then sleeping all day. Not so conducive to being in class in the morning.

It's a cyclical battle with me, as all things I care for seem to be. I find myself struggling to figure out a path that involves doing something I love that also does something for the world, but doesn't have the requirement of going to school for it. It's proven fruitless so far. I'd love to get more involved in working on films or in music production or event production, or any kind of production really (as long as it has to do with something creative). Thus far I've found the work to be intermittent and certainly not enough to keep paying all of the bills I have each month.

I'm a bit at a loss with how to get where I want to go. Given I don't have a degree it's ever more difficult to jump into anything new that pays the bills, because it seems to be a requirement at most places I would want to go. All of the creative endeavors I tend to get involved with are non-paying (or basically stipend based), and done out of love. But I really want to break through that barrier and start working with something I'm truly passionate about. I learn so quickly, and I work incredibly efficiently, and I really am good at pretty much everything I attempt. I feel most of the time like that fact is wasted on things I don't care about (or is cut short by things like work visas). Some have said that it's my perspective that needs adjusting, and I really should be able to find that love in anything I am doing, and maybe that's true... but the fact of the matter is: I haven't found it yet, even though I make a point of looking every single day.

It's useless being good at everything when you can't seem to figure out how to use it to your advantage financially. There's got to be a way to make what I love life-sustaining.

Pale September

Pixie Elijah?

It's always an unusual state of affairs when I find myself in a funk, but this funk is an old wound sort. You'd think after 18 years this funk would be an old familiar friend in some sort of re-assuring way that love endures despite all odds. The anniversary of Elijah drowning in the bay looms heavily on my horizon - a storm cloud of sadness that threatens to pour forth into my world with the same biblical proportions as ever before. Sometimes I try to think of something to say about the situation, and more often than not words fail me. I miss him... as terribly as I did the day I found out he was gone. It's a hole in my heart that can never be mended - a puzzle that can never be finished. He'll always be that little girlish 14-year old that made me giggle when I watched The Professional, because Natalie Portman looked so much like him.

This year marks 18 years since that day I collapsed on his father's living room floor in sobs of disbelief. It's an age he never reached, though I had. He would have turned 32 last month... and the difference in our ages would have long been unimportant if it had ever shifted from the kinship we shared into something more. I always entertained the idea of us being romantically involved at some point later in life. I loved him completely. I wanted to protect him and allow him to protect me. I wanted us to teach one another. He was more like a little bird I was caring for who I knew someday would probably break my heart. I had no idea it would turn out to be with his passing. He was impulsive - an instigator, a prankster, a true fae-spirit. He would at once be wise beyond his years and then the next moment obviously a young teen boy. He loved being mistaken for a girl, and he believed in whatever he wanted to believe with no thought to what the world had to say about it. I admired that about him. I wanted to retain that within my own heart as I felt the strengthening hand of a society telling me I had to fall in line. Sometimes I think I have done so because of his absence from my life. It still pains me that I never told him I loved him, even if I know he knew. He told me once, on the phone. It was the most adorably awkward moment I've experienced in life, that accidental 'I love you.' I wrote about it in my journal.

It's good to write... I feel like there should be a point to it all, but I suppose the point is release. The image here always reminded me of Elijah - it's a Brian Froud sketch, but somehow it's always been him for me. The little pixie he was, and maybe still is somewhere out there. There are experiences I've had since he's gone that are hard to explain but keep me connected to him. Some of you know the stories. Some of you were there. I know people tell you loss like this gets better with time, but I don't really agree with that 100%. Some loss never heals - the tidal wave of phantom pain always seems to return at some point on an unending cycle. I may have a year or two where it's not as sharp... but this year it's intense. This year for some reason I find myself welling up with tears when I think of him. This year I cry to my sweet partner, who happens to be the same age Elijah would have been and similar to him in more ways than I am usually willing to admit, and he is graciously comforting and tender. I seem to find shreds of Elijah within everyone I love.... and this is no exception.

I'll be glad when this week has passed. I know that the flood will come again, as it always does. It's a pain that I'm used to, yet it always fittingly comes with the feeling that I'm drowning. I know people generally see me as the happy, optimistic, silly person I am... but sometimes I get a comment about a sadness in me. If you find yourself wondering, now you know - this is a big source of that sorrow.

I miss you, my sweet prince. <3

Trust Your Struggle

Driving to work this morning, I found myself pondering the current state of affairs in my world. I tend to think of myself as the embodiment of hopeful progress most of the time, but also get a bit beaten down by the system here and there. My world is filled with people who I love and want to support in being their most awesome selves, because I know we all can be with some genuine support and effort. It got me to thinking - What exactly is my struggle? Where do I find that I falter? Where do I get push-back? Where do I feel I fail most frequently? What's going on in my world right now that illustrates these things?

It always comes down to patience and listening for me. It's the place I am the hardest on myself, and it's the place that I feel I am the worst at. My OKC profile even says something about this topic that, if you've ever seen me in a truly "there's nothing you can do" situation, you will know is accurate. It says:

"When patience is the only option, I have it in spades, but hold no virtues when it's not."

I am the calm in the eye of the storm when there is nothing to be done, but if there is a possibility of averting things - of growth, change, transformation... AH! Mow the lawn! I'm not having it with waiting. I get restless - I want it NOW, dammit. Why wait? Time is of the essence! There are times when this actually works out in favor of the potential I see, but many times... like with my current circumstances, I find it alienates me from the progress I can almost taste. When I really think about it, it seems to have a tendency of making people who aren't on the Stefi-Progress-Train feel inadequate and inferior - especially if they don't have faith in the future I swear is just around the corner.

That is where my deficiency in listening shows it's face. It's like flint and a spark - once the patience drops, add a spark of not listening, and suddenly there is a blazing fire of failure because I'm not actually hearing what is going on. I'm so caught up in what I want to happen that I stop paying attention to the needs of those around me who don't have the manic fearlessness that I seem to possess. It's maddening, because it creates a downward spiral of everything we all at the heart want totally falling apart. I get frustrated, and then I listen even less, because frustration is the result of this double-edged sword of impatience and lack of listening, and then it's tears and tantrums and feeling worthless and hiding from the world.

It's funny because you'd think that making this distinction would make it easier to avoid it. Not so much. It gets harder, the more heightened it becomes, to stop the trainwreck that is nearly certain. But I'm working on it. I have a tendency of scaring new people. They don't know yet that things with me come in waves. The sea is my thing, and it always has been. I'm cyclical like the tide.

So if you're one of those people who's been impacted by my struggle, just know that it will pass, because eventually I get back to trusting myself. My intentions are always good, because it's just who I am... a little chaotic good maybe? At times I'm simply distracted or looking too closely or maybe even too much at the big picture and not enough at the details. I'll get there, and I am doing my best to listen to what you need for that to happen, I just fuck it up sometimes. Bear with me. I trust my struggle, though I really want to take it out back and put some Office Space-style smackdown on it.

Who Is It You're Listening To?

It's been coming up a lot in my world lately. Conversations about that little voice. You know the one - it's the one that tells you that you are incompetent, doomed to failure, a terrible person, worthless. We all have it. We all listen to it sometimes, and allow it to shade our perspectives. We become defeated and resigned to what that voice says about us. We take it is truth, because we've had it with us our whole lives. We think that voice is who we really are. But the question I always come back to is....

If that little voice is me, who the hell is the person listening to it?

There's an old concept of the angel and devil on our shoulders. "Conscience." It shows up in cartoons, shows, movies, comics. We give in to the temptation offered up by the little devil, and the self-righteous angel tut-tuts us for falling prey to their scheming. Even in this concept, those voices aren't us. Who are they? Where do they come from? How do we choose which one to listen to without feeling like we are failures when we choose what we know is the poorer of the two choices? Hell, sometimes the 'bad' choice is a whole lot of fun. I choose that one a lot, knowing full well that the outcome may be less than stellar. It's always worth it if I learn something, I tell myself. I almost always do.

When I was 17 I hated nearly everything about myself - or at least what I understood, since I felt like a complete moron most of the time. I was naive and gullible. I wasn't quick-witted (I'm still not), and I felt like a gangly, nerdy, stupid, ugly creature in a big cruel world full of opportunistic people, liars, cheats, and all-encompassing fuckery. I knew for a 'fact' nobody loved me. How could they? I certainly didn't love myself, so what person in their right mind would feel anything like that for the hideous monster I was.

I had a new friend... well, I call him my first love. We hadn't known each other long at that point, but 22 years later we are still friends. He's a great guy (Hi, David). He had a habit of always telling me how amazing and beautiful I was. I told myself I hated it, because it was bullshit, but I was still drawn to him, because maybe he meant it. He seemed sincere, and I wanted it to be true. But given how gullible I was, there had to be a point where the other boot would fall. How the hell could he think I was beautiful or interesting or smart? I knew better. My little voice told me - I was dumb. I was worthless. I was so gullible. He'd just end up hurting me in the end, and then I'd be ashamed and embarrassed for trusting him. Given how much I hated myself I was drawn to that possibility as well. I just knew I was right, so why not take another opportunity to prove it?

One day amidst his cooing over how lovely I was I broke down in tears about how it didn't matter what he thought of me. I knew the truth. I heard it in my mind every day. His response will stick with me forever. He got very serious, stood up, took my hand, marched me into the bathroom, and stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders. I struggled, face down, tears falling. I couldn't even look at myself, let alone in front of another person, without making a face of distaste and disappointment. "Look in the mirror. Do you see that girl there? She is beautiful. She's also smart, funny, and simply amazing, and guess what - she's you. Don't ever talk down about yourself again. It's not who you are. You are incredible, Stefani. And if anyone ever says otherwise, fuck them. What the hell do they know?"

I never had anyone stand up for me like that. I certainly never stuck up for myself that way. The only time someone would tell me things like that was when they wanted something from me, but he didn't seem to want anything outside of spending time with me and making me laugh, as well as making me feel beautiful. For some reason I trusted him over the voices in my head. I'd always defined myself by people's opinions of me - by the voice's opinion of me... but hey, here was a person who asked nothing of me but to simply love myself and see myself as beautiful, because he did. This time when that voice yelled in my head, I chose to listen to my friend instead. The self-worth stuff didn't disappear immediately - it took time, but it was a spark of possibility that somehow stuck with me. I started to feel angry whenever that voice spoke up. What the hell did that voice know? Who the hell is that voice anyway? I started to rebel against that little voice. Every time it told me I couldn't, I would offer up a big 'fuck you' and master whatever it said I would fail at. Whenever fear hit me, I would beat it down and kick ass at whatever I was afraid of. After a time something magical began to happen... I stopped listening to it altogether. Sure, sometimes it would get the better of me, but the more I ignored the voice, the quieter it got overall.

So... if you're not the little voice in your head... who are you? The answer is: Whoever the hell you choose to be. And who you choose to be is not static - it's malleable, fluid and strong. The less power you give that voice, the more power you give your vision of who you want to be. Listen to the voices that tell you that you are fabulous, and if they aren't in your head, start listening to the ones who are outside of it that tell you how incredible you are. Ask yourself: What am I passionate about? What lights me up? What inspires me? What makes me laugh like nothing else? And then... Do that! Be choosy about how you spend your energy, and who/what you give focus to, and if it starts to feel toxic or bad, then find something else, because you know what - you have that power. You can do what you want, and nobody is the boss of you except you and the actions you take to define who you are and what really matters to you. You're amazing, and deep down, when that voice shuts the fuck up, you know it. And so does that little voice, which is why it's trying so hard to tear you down.

I don't think a lot of people had someone in their lives like I had... And I'm lucky to have had it at such a young age. I'm grateful to that every single day. It's who I want to be for the people I love... and you are many. You're amazing. Trust someone who knows... Way better than those little fuckwits on your shoulders.

Just Let Me Breathe

en·nui /änˈwē/ noun: a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.

I've always self-identified with what is commonly known as the goth community. Even the times when I was a manic candy raver, the goth community has always been home to me. I've been called a 'bubbly goth,' which is quite endearing. I imagine myself as Bubbles from the Powerpuff Girls... in black with some crazy colored hair. I bet there's an image of that online. Now I miss my pigtails.

Ennui has been a word I've identified with for a long time. It's distinct from boredom for me. I can be comfortable in ennui, but boredom makes me restless. It's like zen-ennui (zennui?): acceptance of listlessness. It comes and goes on some infinite loop, but nearly always returns after a turn of feeling excited about something. Psychologists would probably say I'm on the manic-depressive spectrum somewhere with a lean toward mania more often than depression. There's a dance of possibility and probability that happens in my mind when I think about the future of humanity, and maybe that has something to do with it. Some people get angry, some entitled, some really depressed. I just get... listless and dissatisfied. It's not so much a negative feeling though - it's just a sense of... yeah, c'est la vie. Maybe we're going to annihilate ourselves... *shrug. Ok. There's a sense of melancholy sometimes, but normally that has to do with a feeling of personal failure in the task of changing the world for the better. I try not to think of myself in terms of success and failure in a world that is so hyper-focused on it. Changing the world is a pretty big goal for someone who doesn't tend to be goal-oriented beyond finishing tasks, connecting with people, continuous learning, and seeing the world. When you really think about it maybe it's unreasonable and unrealistic. According to some that's the point of having a big goal - creating it as reality even in the face of great seemingly-insurmountable obstacles.

Then I start thinking about the concept of being able to create your state of being afresh as you wish. I feel like a fraud when I try to do that, because I'm not really letting it go most of the time; I'm just pretending it's not there and eventually it goes away. Fake-it-til-you-make-it style. The funny thing is, there are a lot of really excellent things happening in my world right now, and somehow the ennui still sneaks in like a ninja and the excitement about potential is muted. And I think... "Am I the only one who feels like this sometimes... randomly? For no real reason other than the world is fucked up, and I'm not really sure if I want to save the human race anyway." And that... That right there... is the rub. I'm not really sure if I really want to. Every so often I think the apocalypse would be pretty exciting. Not such a bubbly thought that one. But I don't feel moralistic about it... it's just there. As a possibility. And I'm weirdly ok with it.

The tie-in of ennui & the goth community always comes back to music. Times like this I am moved to listen to my Dark Hearts playlist (or of late also Gabriel's Gothulhu playlist) and allow myself to feel whatever it is to feel about the state of things and the future that could be. How do you choose to want redemption for the human race when sometimes you don't?

"Disintegration" by The Cure starts playing in my single earbud while I compile data for the sales team at my work... I love this song. Persephone was a well-chosen myth for me to fall in love with when I was 6 years old. I enjoy my time in the Underworld just as much as I enjoy my time in the rainbow-filled Overground.

Could also be I'm sick, and missing fun things to do while still managing to do things that aren't necessarily fun out of necessity. That would certainly create a cataclysmic desire for the world. Just gonna breathe through this... or try to, stupid sinuses. *sniff