Are you?

I'm currently in a leadership program. Part of the program is really learning about what a terrible listener I am. There's no emotion there - I have historically been a pretty terrible listener. I listen from the perspective of how it fits into my experience, which means most of the time I'm not hearing the person who's speaking. I'm hearing myself. I'm hearing my relatedness. I'm hearing some spin on what the person is sharing. It's natural, I suppose. But it means I forget things like names, places, and details of experiences people share. I forget who I was talking to when I go to relate a story to someone else. I forget about the impact I have on the person I'm communicating with - in every sense.

This came up in a way last night that I cannot express without feeling incredibly embarrassed. The vague way of saying what happened is that I got lazy, and was called out on it. Given the idea that there are times when I impact nobody but myself (which is totally bullshit, because we always have an impact even if we don't see it), I let things slide. I don't take care of myself the way I should, and then when the universe throws something unexpected my way, I am confused as to why it doesn't go as well as I'd hoped. Or maybe it does go well externally, but this is only because I'm so caught up in my head that the underlying tones of what someone is trying to tell me in a gentle way are completely over it - that is until they put it in plain words.

Luckily in this case I've met someone who does just that. He doesn't mince words with me, and he doesn't sugar coat things. It's jarring. I struggle against it because I'm so used to getting my way. I'm so used to things being easy because I've surrounded myself with circumstances that I feel are under my control. As soon as they are not, I ditch. It's a pattern in my life since before I even knew there was an option. Given this new state of affairs, I've become crystal clear that it's a pattern that won't serve me if what I'm up to is something bigger than myself.

I went home from hanging out with said new character in my world and threw a narcissistic tantrum about 'meeting my match' as a friend said. How dare he call me out even if he was totally right, and I had nobody to blame but myself? I felt out of my league intellectually. I hated it... and was completely turned on by it. I realized in that moment that if what I was up to was everything I said it was, this was exactly the kind of people I wanted to surround myself with. People who intimidate me because they are up to bigger things and are willing to be authentic with me about the impact I have on them. I looked around my house as though for the first time, and realized a little girl would feel incredibly comfortable there. The color, the things, the whimsy. My inner child was alive and well, and all this time I'd made it wrong to be a 'grown up.' Being a grown up meant an end to fun. It meant being serious. It meant having to work hard for something that had no promise of working out. It meant not running away as soon as I thought I would fail. Having just read an article about Peter Pan syndrome / SF as Neverland, I was awestruck by finding that there I was... Peter Pan. Mother eff.

I awoke today with a new introspection. I'm an incredibly gifted communicator, but it's quite one-sided and self-serving. It's time to knock that off. It's time to really get with being a listener; with supporting someone without feeling a need to control them. It's time to just hear people from where they are, and to recognize how I affect that space. This isn't limited to to one person - I want this to resonate throughout my spectrum of experience with people. I have no idea what the impact will be in how the universe responds to me, but I believe that it is a mirror for whatever vibration I'm emitting. This isn't a realization that started last night... it just finally, like a key fitting into a lock.... *click. So far in this new found processing, I've gotten really clear on some behavior patterns I need to let go of. I've also had the incredible fortune of connecting with a few people (both within the program, and obviously outside of it) who I feel inspired by; people who makes me want to pay closer attention. I like it.

Starting From One

Today is the first full workday that I'm not on Facebook. It's only been 2 hours, and already my urge to post something has been palpable. I feel a need to connect, to write, to express random thoughts that occur to me. As this happens, I find myself pondering where that stems from - what need there is for me to connect with my social circle. Is it truly a narcissistic wish to be admired? To be thought of kindly? As smart? As clever? I think we all have those feelings, but I have a tendency to simply act out in ways that will soothe the need for acceptance by my peers. People often refer to it as courage, but it's never felt as such to me. It's always struck me as somewhat more akin to getting 'a fix.' The fix is in the connection to some degree - the being heard, but it's also simply found, for me, in the act of writing.

I realize that social media, in its own way, fulfills the very niche that writing in a journal always has held for me. It's the reason I've kept a journal since I was 12 years old. I have pages upon pages of rants and venting; mania and depression; dreams and tragedies. It's what writing is for me - a place to cleanse my mind. Through writing, I purge myself of thoughts/feelings that overwhelm or distract from tasks at hand - the past and the future collide and are swept clean from a mind trying so desperately to remain present.

Were someone to base their entire view of me on my writing, they may well conclude that I suffer from all forms of psychological malady including but not limited to OCD, Manic Depression, and perhaps even Multiple Personalities. The cathartic exercise of writing soothes the aspects of my obsessive tendencies, and often keeps me from acting out in ways that I would likely regret upon reflection. I'm a firecracker, and my spontaneous nature does indeed lead to many adventures... but it's also somewhat reckless and has a tendency to get me in trouble. Writing keeps my feet on the ground, so to speak, before I am carried off my some tsunami of feelings and what ifs.

I hope if anything that my month away from Facebook will provide a return to that writing, but perhaps with a greater clarity and focus that is somewhat less narcissistic. I don't know why, but writing about my experience always seems natural to me, albeit a bit myopic. Facebook took away my connection to Livejournal and Blogger, and I've often lamented of missing that outlet, yet there I sit day in and day out on Facebook accomplishing nothing save being a politically correct stalker. The conversations shared on LJ were richer in hindsight, but that may be nostalgia more than anything. Nostalgia tends toward a sweetness that reality can't seem to capture most times. But maybe they really are richer when someone writes from the heart, versus spitting random thoughts onto the page to gain likes. I may opt to try my hand back in this arena again, not for commentary, per se, but because without having that purging in some form, I fear I may go even more insane.

Dream: "It's a Trap"

Image by xoxoVendetta on DeviantArt.

I awoke this morning from a vivid dream. I was breathless and afraid, and the memory was so clear I could swear it had happened yesterday. A cat lay softly purring under my arm. The world was right again. This is the story of my dream:

I was working in a suburban area of South San Jose - a very similar girl to who I was in my early 20's. My office was on the 3rd floor of this office complex. I worked there with 2 other people, but I'm not entirely certain what I did. I'd realized at some point on my drive over that my boyfriend had left his cell phone in my car, so I was walking into the building with both in hand.

On the street outside there was an RV-looking truck with some people milling about. Over the side of the truck was a yellow sign with bright red block letters that read "It's a Trap!" They'd been here for a few days now, and as far as I could tell it was a game to promote some guy's artwork. You'd spin a wheel, and whatever it landed on you could either answer a question about it or walk away. If you chose to answer and got it right, you won a piece of art. If you got it wrong, you were taken into the truck and when you exited you were painted up like a clown. I'd thought about checking it out, but it seemed like the questions must be really difficult because most people left painted up like clowns. For some reason today I was especially curious, and being that I was early to work, I decided to check it out.

The guy outside the truck was young and attractive - probably in his early thirties. He reminded me of someone famous, but I couldn't place who it was. Light brown hair and a killer smile. The kind of guy that could draw in girls like me. He struck up typical conversation you'd hear at a carnival where you might try to toss a ring over a bottle or knock some milk jugs off a pedestal. He was smooth, and I found myself laughing along with him and the cute clown-painted girl beside him. She was petite and reminded me of a cupcake in her pink ensemble.

I stacked the phones in my left hand and spun the wheel with my right. I don't recall what it landed on, but I recall the question being one that could have several answers. I smirked and said "So THIS is what you mean by 'It's a trap.'" The clown girl giggled, and the hawker asked me for my final answer in his best TV Game Show Host tone. I expected it to be wrong, but he clapped his hands together and said "Ding ding, winner! Please step inside to claim your prize!"

Climbing the pair of steps into the RV, I realized it had been converted into a studio of sorts. There were still a few windows you could see the street through toward the front, but the back walls were mostly covered and it smelled of cigarette smoke. There were shelves lining the sidewalls about halfway to the front of the vehicle, and a chair in the enter with some sort of bucket of dingy water next to it. The shelves were covered with paints, clown makeup, rags covered in various paint colors, wigs, polka-dotted fabrics, tulle - all the things one would expect to be transformed into a clown. It also contained several canvases with various portraits of clowns painted on them, all of them female and sad-looking.

A man with buzz-cut grey hair sat on a stool to the left of the chair smoking a cigarette. He must have been in his mid-40's. His need to shave made him look even more like someone who actually worked at a carnival. He smiled at me, and asked me to sit in the chair, pulling the stool closer and grabbing a box from the shelves. I sat down and he began painting my face. It took me a beat, but I finally said "I thought only those who get it wrong were painted like clowns." He chuckled and said, "Honey, that's part of the game - you all get painted like clowns." Suddenly it made sense to me why so many people came out looking like they escaped from the circus. "The difference is, as the winner you get to have a portrait done of you afterward. But we've gotta go to my studio because I'm out of canvases.

It was then I heard a door close. The chair I was seated in was facing the back of the truck, so all I knew was the door closing was behind me. The engine started up and the truck was moving. "It's not very far, and we'll have you back before anyone realizes you're gone," the voice oozing charm called from the front of the RV. Something in me wanted to protest, but his voice eased my fear. I gripped the two phones tighter in my hand and ran through a list of what to do if this went horribly wrong. Everyone outside surely would notice that the truck was gone and I'd never left it. Surely, when I wasn't at work on time someone would ask around.

The grey-haired man continued to draw on my face, and I waited, feeling the bumps in the road as we picked up speed. We were on a freeway, I had no doubt. The painter was smiling slightly, but something about his smile made me uneasy. "You're a masterpiece," he mused as he painted my eyebrow. "It's so rare I get to paint someone I actually enjoy painting." I bit my lip. Something was wrong here. But there were three of them. How could I get out of this situation?

I heard an extremely low-flying airplane overhead and realized we were near the airport. We exited the freeway, and as the painter stepped over to find some item on the shelf, I craned my head around to look out the window. We were on a road paralleling the freeway with the airport on our right. "Would you like a drink?" the painter asked. I shook my head, and he produced a can of Coca Cola, unopened. I realized my nervousness was making me quite thirsty, so I changed my mind and took the can. It was a sealed container, so it couldn't be bad, right? I opened it and drank. The soda was refreshing, although a little flat. The man came back and continued painting my other eyebrow.

The truck came to a stop, and he smiled at me. I'd started to feel a bit less stressed out as he led me out of the truck into the daylight. We stood sandwiched between the airport and the freeway. There was an olive green door built into the side of a hill that reminded me of a bunker. The charming man stepped toward me "Wow, you do make a lovely clown," he preened, and turned to the grey-haired man. "The truck needs gas, so I'm gonna do that while you get set up." He hopped back into the driver's seat as the cupcake clown took me gently by the arm and led me toward the bunker door. Panic surged within me, and yet it was blunted by another feeling - an odd sense of destiny unfolding soothed my fears. The artist followed us inside as the younger man backed up the truck. I glanced back and he smiled at me - an odd smile that made me think of my cat.

The olive green door was left slightly ajar as we stepped into the first room of the bunker. It looked much like the interior of the RV had looked. Canvases and shelves covered in paints and clown attire. "Wait here a second while I prep the studio," the pink clown said as she released my arm and stepped through another door into an adjoining room. The grey-haired man followed her. I could hear murmured conversation between them, but couldn't make out what they were saying. My head was feeling a bit dreamlike, as I thought to myself that I should text my boyfriend, immediately realizing that would be useless since I had his phone with me. GPS coordinates came to mind. How could I figure that out and send it to someone? I opened my phone and began texting my best friend, but my fingers were useless and I couldn't get out the words correctly.

I found myself gazing absently at one of the clown portraits. The girl's face was so sad and despondent. She looked serene and yet... absent. A wave of realization washed over me and left my entire body covered in sweat. The girl in that portrait was dead. Whatever was making me feel dreamlike vanished in a heartbeat. Thoughts came in a flutter - could they have punctured the soda can to drug me? If so, it was only going to get worse in a hurry. I looked back for a moment to verify conversation was still happening in the other room, and clumsily walked as quietly as possible to the door that led outside. The moment I'd passed the threshold I broke into a run toward the freeway. Someone would stop. They had to stop. I looked down at myself and realized at some point in the truck there'd be discussion of a costume, and I'd half-undressed myself. I was wearing a bra and panties and nothing else. When had that happened? I couldn't recall as I tripped and hit the dirt in the grassy field between the doorway and the freeway. I managed to keep the phones tightly in my grasp, though I'd forgotten all about them.

Getting to my feet, I heard a yell from behind me, and realized the artist was at the doorway. He was chasing me onto the freeway. The world was spinning. I ran again, and stopped at the side of the freeway waving my arms. Somehow I still had the sense to not run into traffic. Cars were flying by as I waved my arms again - my head felt darkness coming - head-rush from standing and running too quickly after hitting the ground. I looked back and saw death coming toward me... stalking slowly, like my cat. "It's a trap," I thought to myself and laughed, cell phones falling from my hand. Darkness swirled through me, enveloping the world and I woke up.

From the blue journal - "Crybaby"

I've spent all of my life trying to make sense of how easily I'm brought to tears. Well, probably most of it has been trying to harden myself against that reaction, and trying to make sense of my failure to do so. People say one should embrace the ability to cry. That it's purifying and all that. Those people don't realize it's also the thing that will discredit one's position in a debate, disagreement, or conversation. The moment tears happen, any view I may have is now marred by the opinion that I've "turned on the waterworks" to gain sympathy.

This morning I was awakened by my partner tutting at the cat. I asked him to please stop and thus began an disagreement about how many times and how long he'd done it, which was irrelevant to my half-awake self. I'd awakened from chaotic dreams about us breaking up, which left me emotionally raw - paired with being groggy and awakened far too early on the last day I could sleep in a little before Dickens opened, it became an argument. In the end our opinions around noise in the morning were different, but as things progressed I found I was less upset about being awakened than by his belittling reaction to my asking him to stop tutting. This, of course, resolved to me in tears. The saddest part of which was that he was wholly unaffected by them.

When I commented on that, he accused me of using my tears to manipulate him. This was based on my vocal observation that he was unaffected by my crying. While on the one hand I can see why it could be viewed as such, on the other this was about a point in a relationship where the emotional response in your partner ceases to hold any connection. Where rather than a moment of wishing to reconnect, the emotional response (in this case crying) creates a disconnect - the dismissal I'm all too familiar with when I break down in tears.

This brought on a feeling of anger that he could actually think, after what I've told him about my experience crying, I do it on purpose. I felt accused of being a liar. A faker. I was suddenly 9 years old facing a teacher who once said "What goes around comes around. Your tears won't get your way with everyone." But moreover it was as though a giant weight of sadness settled itself firmly on my shoulders once again as I understood yet again that tears lost any logical argument/opinion I could have. In order for this relationship to prosper, I was yet again going to face the struggle of not allowing myself to be overwhelmed by tears - otherwise we'd end the same as every partnership before - as a failure.

I thought of my ex then... how he'd been me. The only partner I'd ever had who cried more than I did - and how even I was frustrated by his lack of 'self-control.'

Therein lies the distinction for a crybaby like me. Would I rather my partner thought of me as not having self-control? As a lesser of two evils, yes. At least I'd not be thought of as a manipulator. Though really, I just want him to be the partner who helps me kick this lifelong struggle, by recognizing it as what it is - an overwhelmed emotional response. It's like a panic attack, in that way. And it needs patience and acceptance that even I haven't been able to give it. How do I ask that of another person? Though I guess that means his response to it needs the same patience from me.

The next question is - How do I cultivate patience while in the midst of a panic attack? I guess I can try to remember the things that matter:

* I love him.
* He loves me.
* He's not trying to hurt me.
* This feeling will pass.
* Just listen.
* There's nothing wrong with crying.
* Let it go.

My Experience w/ The Forum.

As some of you know, I did the Landmark Forum last weekend. After years of trashing it, and talking about how it was a scam, a cult, brainwashing. All I can say is... Wow. Absolutely game changing - The way the rave scene and all its experimentation was for me - The way Burning Man was and continues to be for me - The way travel has been for me - The way love always will be for me.

If you've been a part of my life in the past 6 months to a year, you are well aware I've been on a path of growing integrity and gratitude for the life I have and the path I'm on and the people who make up my experience of the Universe. This was long before deciding to do the Forum. If we've been in contact you've probably heard me tell you that I think you're fantastic and inspiring. You've seen me step out of my comfort zone to understand what's really going on. You've had my support when you've asked for it, and sometimes when you were too afraid to ask. You've gotten honesty from me when it's been terrifying to give it. You've heard me own up for not living up to my word. Because I believe in it. That's what I'm about, and it just so happens Landmark is about the same thing.

Where I thought there was far-out new-agey philosophy and fiction and probably some religious undertone, I found the opposite. I found taking responsibility for the person we are choosing to be - because we are always choosing. Every single moment of our life. I don't know if I believe in everything Landmark is about yet, but I believe in what I've experienced so far.

I had one comment - and this isn't something I was told, or came from a handbook, or is something the Forum leader said. This is authentically from my perspective: Everything I've done to improve my life has had a cost. Education, work-related seminars, therapy, travel, renting property, even being inauthentic has cost a lot - though not necessarily financial. I worked through the money aspect before I went to the Forum to see if I felt like it'd be worth the financial obligation. The Forum cost just over $13/hr for me to gain a priceless clarity & accountability that no amount of class at college, or travel to Thailand, or therapy or living situations or leadership seminars have ever given me - they've come close, but not quite It. If that's not worth it, then man... I don't know what is. Sure I could and still can get there on my own, but there is no denying it's easier to figure things out as a group than it is on your own. I truly believe nobody *needs* Landmark to get what they're teaching... I was well on my way... But the jump start and the community all striving toward the same goal - a world of integrity and gratitude - is totally worth it.

Namaste.

Meeting People Is Easy

Good morning, my intrepid friends and colleagues. It's a lovely Ash Wednesday, and I've been doing some thinking about the social world I find myself currently frolicking through. I often find myself in a situation where I am told that the amount of courage I have is impressive, although this is sometimes balanced with being told that I'm incredibly aggressive. All -sives aside, I think it's important to realize that courage isn't something that you have or don't. It's nurtured, and anyone can have it given enough practice.

Last night I went out to a performance at the DNA Lounge for the Jerk Church sing-along. First let me say what an incredibly impressive group of musicians these folks are. I had a fantastic time singing along with songs I know, as well as learning songs I may recognize but wouldn't have known lyrically. They supplied songbooks and cue-cards, and lots of eye-candy (partially in the form of one of my two best friends in the world). It was an excellent time had by many on a lovely Fat Tuesday.

Once I got home I found myself reflective about a comment (from said bestie) having to do with how 'courageous' I was about meeting people. It got me to thinking about what exactly causes nervousness in situations like those. The answer of course is rejection. Nobody wants to feel like they're uninteresting or stupid or worse: ugly. Perhaps I have it easy as I tend to think I'm interesting, fairly intelligent, and cute most of the time. If I felt myself deficient in any of these areas, I sometimes wonder if I would find it harder to talk to people I didn't know. One can only speculate really, but I came to an interesting conclusion before drifting off to sleep.

Confidence isn't about having something that is impressive to other people. Confidence is about having something that is impressive to yourself. My world is incredibly complex, strikingly beautiful, and fascinatingly surreal. I'm drawn to that in other people because I identify with it. When I talk to people it's more out of curiosity about what their world must be like. And physical attraction, I'll grant you that. In the times that I've been "rejected" (which does happen), I don't feel like I'm somehow deficient. I don't lose confidence - at least not for very long - because my world is so filled with wonderful things already that I chalk it up as the universe's way of saying that this particular person's interactions with me wouldn't have gelled with who I am as a person. Energy is weird like that - it attracts itself, but every so often that attraction only goes one direction, and it's the realization and acceptance of this that I've been personally working on. We are magnets for what we can identify with. The times where the resonance happens one way I like to think they're doing me a favor by leaving me open to find someone who does have a reciprocated magnetism. Thanks for that, buddy. Have a good night.

So the next time you're out and you see some person that you're interested in talking to - just talk to them. Tell them something honest - about yourself, about the environment, about your impression of them, about what you want. It doesn't really matter. They will respond, and you'll know if it's worth continuing to talk to them. Not a good connection? Tell them you just thought they should know you think they're adorable, and wish them a good evening. And most importantly - Let it go. The opinion of a mostly-stranger should have no bearing on your opinion of yourself. Again - they are doing you a favor of saving you some unforeseen drama. What a nice person! With so many incredible people in the world, connections will happen. Their feeling on you approaching them is irrelevant - the fact that you put yourself out there and smiled in defeat should be impressive. If not to them, definitely to you. And really, if you're impressed by your abilities, you've won the day.

Welcome to My World

Let's just start this where it matters, shall we?

Important Things to Know About Me

1. I'm pretty adaptable to every situation. Most times it's an incredible asset, but on the flip side it also means that my attention span is pretty short... most of the time. I definitely have the ability to focus on something for an expansive period of time if it's really caught my interest, but I suffer from the perpetual "Oh, shiny!" syndrome of distraction... In all things.

2. I'm a bit of a polymath. My toes are dipped into a variety of areas including pretty much every artistic arena imaginable, a bunch of business-related endeavors, and varying degrees of MacGuyver-esque problem solving skills across a vast array of fields. Generally if something needs to be fixed, I'm the one to do it. If I don't know the answer, you can bet your ass I'll find it. For that reason I tend to take on a heavy load of work most of the time, and not spend nearly enough of my week relaxing, which is why I do yoga and meditation on a regular basis, because otherwise I think I might die.

3. I have the greatest best friends ever, and we are complete asses together. We will embarrass you, and yet you will be completely smitten with us. Learn it, live it, love it.

4. I don't give a shit about this whole "gamer girl vs girl gamer" debate. I'm a gamer. Period. I think you can figure out that I'm a chick on your own.

5. I have absolutely no issue asking for what I want. I will be bluntly honest with you. I don't bullshit, and I expect no bullshit back. If you're a manipulator, have an incredibly entitled or superior attitude, or are the type who leeches happiness from others, chances are I won't like you. No hard feelings - I just don't have time for that kind of energy in my world.

6. I will readily admit when I screw up or are being an jerk, and I love people who have the self-confidence to do the same.

7. I'm constantly on a path of development, and I recognize that within myself every single day. I love to experience things, and therefore curiosity is often my biggest influence when it comes to my sense of adventure. Often it causes drama I might have avoided, but in this life I figure the last thing I want is to be 80 years old and wishing I did all the things I ever had urges to do. Sure sometimes fear keeps you from doing inherently stupid things, but most of the time it also keeps you from doing truly remarkable things as well. Here's to a truly remarkable life full of stupidity! At least the fun kind, I hope.

8.... is my favorite number. Must have something to do with my obsession with infinity. I'm an Aquarian Dragon, and I'll be 36 in 6 days. My favorite color is deep teal - like the color of a stormy sea.

Nice to meet you.

Current Music: Bauhaus - She's In Parties