Planetary Platitudes made new again.

My brain is a universe made of many worlds:

There's the (literally) self-centered world where the actor is the product, and we sell ourselves all day.
The needing to save the world world. That one is an end from the means of... money, power, fame.
The world where all I do is follow love, and I'm so, so happy.
There's the world where I take care of my family (present and future), and I feel good.
And there's one that burns with the passion to make music and make sure it swirls around the world.

I love them all. I do. I mean, I put them there. But...

I'm stargazing, with my feet planted on... something.
I think, "If I'm the universe, they all exist within me. But one will be my home." And for the first time in my entire life, my feet leave the ground, and I'm orbiting. Window shopping.
Working so hard to live in the present moment but too aware of the future to care.
I look up. Down. Within.
So many things are a means to an end... Except love. And except music.

For 29 years, I placed on an alter an image of me, holding the scales in an almost perfect balance--a planetary platitude reading: I will have it all.
And I will. One day I will.
But in ancient times, alters were for sacrifice... and it didn't dawn on me until this week that happiness might come from simply lowering my arms. Or letting go of one for another. Or juggling with a partner--hey that sounds fun.

I had a dream I sold everything and bought a jet pack. I flew to the middle of nowhere. When I got there, I stopped in a seemingly endless field (they have those in space). It was pretty, but I couldn't tell if I'd flown TO it or just away from where I was.

With great talent comes great responsibility. Just like a superhero.
With great humanity comes the power to choose. (And a heart so big the beating is like white noise underscoring every step.) Choice--I think I feel that word welling up within my chest. I may have been neglecting it.

The sun sets, and I'm in deep space darkness, sense deprivation silence. I'm finally in the moment. I can feel the force of the atmosphere against my skin, and I remember that I'm only my own pilot--I can't control the rest.

I close my eyes and let my imaginary self lower my exhausted arms. The scales spring up, free from all the weight. Imaginary me lies on the ground, eyes closed. Huh. It's not so hard... to put everything down. Put one down. Pick one up. Cradle them all and just breath. I've been stubborn. Sometimes in a gloriously determined and optimistic way. But with my eyes closed and my heart beating, I surrender.

I envision a planet with rings of love and philanthropic moons and successful skies... and I laugh at myself for being so dreamy. And I love myself for believing that dreams can become a reality.

So.

Some day soon, I'll tell him my story.
I'll set the dowel rods and toothpicks and styrofoam balls on the table. And hopefully, we can work on building the model for a new solar system. With plenty of room for stars. And dreams. And realities. And space (and space). And time for holding someone's hand, appreciating what we built, and always appreciating the moment.

Good night, space monkeys. : )

Superheros may choose to use their powers for good, but they still have to punch bad guys in the face sometimes.

Oh my oh my, it's been so long.
There's that old adage about writing when you're sad, and yes, I write more when there's more on my mind. But I also realized I write more when my nights end earlier, quiet, alone. There was a big outpouring of song this year to cover some of those feelings. But I've felt a lot brewing for the last few weeks, and it's had nowhere to jump out from. So here I am. Back again.
Today, I got some really infuriating news--the kind of news where no matter how hard I tried to put myself in someone else's shoes, I couldn't fit into their size 12 malicious to imagine a human being capable of doing what they are attempting... I simply couldn't understand it.
Those of you who really know me know that it's hard for me to hold onto anger for very long. My most recent song says, "Some say that I appreciate the whole. Some say I seem too falsely in control. I know it's just a waste of time to dwell. No matter the crime, I still will wish you well." And most of the time, it's true.
I cringe when I hear someone wish ill upon someone else.
It hurts me when I hear someone described simply as "a piece of shit."
Or when someone says someone deserves something awful.
Or when someone says they want to hurt someone.
Or when someone simply holds a grudge.
But after the cringe and the hurt, I take a breath, and I forgive.
And today, when I got this news, the anger came... I felt it... I processed it... And it didn't leave... at which point I started to get frustrated with myself for holding onto negativity.
Which brings me to this post--Put here a little bit as an attempt for me to release the rest of the knot. And put here mostly because it brought to light just how comfortable some people are with anger and just how uncomfortable I am with it. For even when I'm feeling it momentarily, I simply can't relate to people who run on the fuel of anger and spite.

I think it made me realize what a super pacifist I am. We are all humans. And I feel like there's so very little reason to hate and so great a reason to find peace. And I so greatly want peace that I usually find it nearly impossible to hold on to pure anger.
Today, I felt like I robot brought to life for the first time: What-is-this-feeling-it-feels-like-I-want-to-punch-person-but-that-does-not-compute.
In reality, it computes perfectly. Someone wants to hurt me. And anyone who wants to hurt anyone makes me upset. And anyone who wants to hurt a pacifist is just mean. And when that pacifist is me, it's just a big circle of humanitarian confusion.

This is not to paint me as superior, and it's certainly not to paint me as weak. It's just to say that I've never been able to make sense of war. Because I suppose the truth is, I have it in me. My own mother once told me that with my words, I could unite countries or tear them apart (paraphrased). I live with the ability to battle harder than most, but I'd rather kill with kindness than hurt a civilian...
Strength is two fold to me--the strength to survive, and the strength to refrain. Those are both beautiful. But the strength of bullies and violence is hard to swallow. Certainly from afar. And now, from up close. Killing with kindness is a kind of magic... until I realize that kindness can't always deliver the blow you need it to, which is what led me here, feeling less than equipped for the battle that should have been over if everyone would have just played by my marshmallow rules.

It will all be fine. I know it will. It's just a strange feeling to realize that not many people are like yourself... and to wonder if you should be frustrated with them, with you, both, or neither. Being able to let things go is a truly lovely quality, but it doesn't always move mountains. I realized that today. The thing is, it's been years since I realized I want to change the world.
As I feel the lingering tension leaving my body, I realize I simply have a new mission. I said that what I really want is to change the world. I now know that to do that, I need to reconcile my kindness with a little bit of boat rocking. (See title of post.) Yep. That's it.

: )

: )

I haven't been here for a while. It's for the best reason. I've been living. I try to fight against the whole writing more when I'm sad cliche, but I admit, I've been running around in happy land and jotting down a private smile here and there--but not here.
But now it's the last day of the year, and that calls for some public reflection--or at least some acknowledgement of this place, eh?
I have such vivid memories of last New Years Eve--the choices that were taken away from me by mr. pickpocket and the choices I made afterward. The night is a perfect snapshot of what 2012 would become--my year of choosing and my year of learning.
I remember that as we drove South the next morning, he asked me if I'd made any resolutions for the year. I didn't have a great answer at the time. The thing is, I think it was an entire year of resolution--and revolution. I've found a place to live where I'm constantly resolving--evolving. But that place coexists with the beautiful peace I found, too.
If you'd been looking into my window this year, it would look like not much has really changed. I can tell those who really know me, though. Because they can see how eventful this one was for me--inside out. In 2012, I was reignited. I am light again. The path was often ugly. But standing here at the end, looking back, almost all of it finally makes sense. And I have this wonderful feeling that sometimes eludes us adults. I have that first day of rehearsal excitement about the coming year. I can't even see that path yet. But I know I'm going to make it the best one. I have everything I need to get everything I want. I have myself. I have my people. I have fire. And that is all I need.
My heart is very full today as I let go of this year and get ready to welcome the next one--with a big, cheesy hug. I feel very lucky, very grateful, and now very eager to make 2013 shine as brightly as I'm smiling.

Wouldn't you?!

While watching the Bears game today, I got a text from Badass mentioning how good the Bears looked. I texted back, expressing how happy I was about that very fact. He said I must be extra happy that his team, a Bears rival, had lost. At this point, I had just gotten into my car and heard that with 4 seconds left in the game, his team had tied it up and gone into OT. Confused, I texted back--

Me: Did you turn off the TV too soon? I heard they were in OT.
B: Oh shit. You're right!
Me: And you were gonna give up... :)
B: Wouldn't you?!
Me: I always watch till the end. I'm an optimist, remember?
B: Of course you are!

His team won a few minutes later, and as I got out of my car and started to walk home, I started laughing to myself. Sure, we were talking about football, but I couldn't help but see a bigger metaphor.
There really are two types of people in this world--those who turn off the TV, and those who hold out hope until the buzzer sounds. The pessimist. The optimist. I'm not saying anything about my dear Badass. And I'm not saying one is right or wrong or better or worse. It was just a reminder to me that with "4 seconds left," I never think it's over. I need to remember that about myself. Sometimes, I need to remember that's a wonderful part of me--it makes a beam of light, and it makes me tenacious. And sometimes, I need to remember that it makes it very hard to let go, move on, and, G-d forbid, give up.

Hours later, I was getting back to my place again, and my phone beeped. Badass's phone had re-sent me a message: "Wouldn't you?!" I smiled. I felt like the world wanted me to hold on to that thought, ask myself that question one more time. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you give up? Wouldn't you turn of the metaphoric TV?
No. I wouldn't.
Then I thought, maybe the world wants me to pass this valuable question on to all of you. I think we can all benefit from knowing these things about ourselves, eh? So I'll just simply leave it here as a question to think about, to reflect on, to learn from. So:
When you're down by 3, and you've got 4 seconds on the clock, would you believe you can do it?
(I hope so...)

Adventures on Beacon...

Two weeks ago, I came down with this awful cough/laryngitis thing, and since I didn't have too many commitments, I was able to dedicate a couple days to resting my body and my voice. The first day, I didn't talk all day... until I took Blitz out for his afternoon walk and myself to Baker & Nosh to pick up some lunch. When you live in the friendliest neighborhood, it's difficult... Well--Blitz draws a certain amount of attention pretty much all the time. So as usual, we had to stop and talk about him a few times. And then I got to the Nosh, and Dr. Barista was working. I call her this because whenever I walk in, she takes a serious look at me and asks, "What do you need today?" Not what do I want, but what do I need based on the day. She sees me fresh out of bed or post-audition and lots of times in between, and she really does serve my needs with a drink or some food and her caring heart. I bought myself lunch plus a comfort brownie and continued on.

A day or two later, Blitz and I were on our bedtime walk. Suddenly, the bang of a firework broke the silence. I looked up the street to see a man standing on his balcony firing a sort of bottle rocket gun thing. He fired about 10 shots, readjusted his aim so the sparks arched over the street a bit further, fired a few more, and as soon as the last one was finished, he casually walked back into his apartment. There were three police cars on the street within the next couple of minutes. A few other late night strollers and I gave them the scoop, and that was that.

A day of two later, Blitz and I found ourselves on another seemingly normal bedtime walk. Then a car stopped in the middle of the street. I could hear a dog barking inside. Two men got out, and I heard one say something, but I was coughing up a storm and trying to just finish the walk and get inside to go to sleep. Then I heard him:

Ballsy Dude: Oh, so I guess not then.

Me: Oh, what did you say?

BD: I asked if I could take you out sometime...

Me: Oh, I didn't hear you. Um, I'm not really looking right now, but have a good night.

(Walking toward me and extending his hand.)

BD: Oh, well I thought it would be fun. I'm (he said his name, but I was only half listening), by the way. What's your name?

(I shake his hand.)

Me: xxxxx. Look, I'm kind of sick, so I'm just gonna go walk the dog.

BD: So, can I take you out sometime?

(I assess the situation. I have a huge dog at my side. It's 11:15pm, and this guy just approached me. I feel pretty awful. But I have a realization.)

Me: You know, usually guys roll down their window and yell something disgusting, so thanks for not doing that. I'll put your number in my phone. 

(Maybe I'll never call him. But I like to think of this as a gold star for being both ballsy and respectful and treating me like a person rather than an object. Maybe I'm a bitch for leading him on, but in the moment, I thought it would make him feel good. And I really doubt he's sitting by he phone.)

Hey, can you spell your name for me? 

BD: xxxxxxx. Call me if you ever want to do anything.

(Really, Larry Life? Standing right where I was standing? Sorry, Buddy. But you've got the wrong name.)

Me: Will do. 

A day or two later, I took Blitz for his evening walk, and we ran into three greyhound owners who walk their dogs together. The dogs sniffed, and we chatted--just a typical stroll through friendly town. After a bit, Blitz and I continued up the street. This woman came out of Badass and Tex's building, and her dog and Blitz started sniffing each other. I looked at the basket of vegetables she was carrying:

Me: Those are beautiful! Did you grow them?

Garden Lady: They're from my mom's garden. I have way too much. Please take a tomato. 

Me: Are you sure? 

GL: Oh yes. I can't eat it all. In fact, please take a cucumber, too. Make a salad!

Seriously. This is where I live. Then Blitz and I got back to the yard where we visited with one of the neighbors and his dogs. And the neighbor reminded me to please pick from his herb box while making this salad. Who needs Whole Foods? And as long as I have Blitz, I guess I don't have to look too hard to find new friends.

Speaking of friends, that same night, I dropped off two of mine who had come over for the evening. When I got back, I parked the car, and Blitz and I were walking toward home again. We came upon what appeared to be a whole family walking together--a mom pushing a stroller, a boy dribbling a basketball. Granted, this was at 11pm. But they were just walking and talking. Of course, they took one look at Blitz, started asking questions, and we chatted a bit. Eventually, Blitz and I picked up the pace and passed them up. The mom called after me:

Ma: You single, sweetie?

Me: Oh, I've got my big boy right here (giving Blitz a pat).

Ma: You don't need a big boy. I bet you need a grown ass man!

Amen, lady. Amen.

The next day, I was standing outside in the rain about to go to work, trying to add oil to my car so that I could make it to work. Of course, the oil cap was stuck. I was standing there summoning my muscles, when this guy in a shirt and tie on his cell phone yelled to me, “Hey, I like your jersey.”

Me: Thanks. Go Bears!

Shirt and Tie Guy: Actually, I don’t really like the Bears. I was just trying to flirt with you.

Me: Well, if you want, you can help me get my oil cap off…

(SATG comes over, still talking on his cell, and after almost giving up himself, finally gets the cap to budge. I thank him, and he continues down the street. After I’m done and just cleaning up, I see him walking by again.)

SATG: By the way, you know what you’re doing, right?

Me: Yes I do. All done.

(SATG continues on.)

Last night, I was walking Blitz at 1am, and when we were just about home, I saw this woman a little younger than me looking a little lost. I asked her if she needed help, and she launched into this story about meeting up with this guy, but he wasn’t picking up his phone… She didn’t know what to do. She had driven down from the burbs, and she was super uncomfortable standing out on the street. So I stood with her for a little bit, and we talked. After about 10 minutes, I started to walk her back up to Lawrence, toward her car. I had just finished giving her my man advice of the week: It should be easy. It shouldn’t be texts and complications and doubt and waiting on a street corner. It should be happy and full of mutual effort, rendering it effortless. It was the first night I’d spoken those words out loud and actually believed them, found peace with them. Of course her phone rang right at that moment. The guy’s reception had been bad, and there he was to meet her. We parted ways having exchanged our contact information, and I continued home, still firmly believing in what I’d told her.

I slept in today, and I finally managed to get Blitz and I out the door for his walk. It was raining, just slightly. Halfway back home, a car horn. A grin.

Father Time. Larry Life. My heart.

Another too big coincidence to try to make sense of. Stirred me.

The moments too fast to process. Thoughts racing. Then stifled. Stuck.

Small talk.

Paw prints on a shirt to match your eyes. I brush at them as if my hands could dry them, and somewhere underneath, I’m registering muscle under cotton. Muscle memories?

And then another ellipses...

Leaves me a storm of pieces vs. peaces.

The rain. My brain. My heart.

I remember the first time I saw it. It was late. I made a right turn, and I suddenly found myself in this dark sea of wrought iron and trees and quiet. It took my breath away. Like its residents, Beacon is a complex street, and I've always found it to be full of dualities. It’s quiet, but the nature makes me itch. It’s a little sketchy, a little yuppy…

You know how there are some moments of your life that just pass and some that are somehow stamped in your brain? Moments that are strangely memorable (and why those moments)? Or moments that are memorable because they are just a little weird or hard to believe? Moments like these make life seem so magical to me. And if that's the case, Beacon has been such a magical little roller coaster. So many big things have happened here. Granted, it's been a big year. But I've been running away to Beacon Street for a long time. And if I really think about it, no matter where the roller coaster was at that moment, Beacon has always provided some sort of happy serenity to me. Sure, sometimes I think moving here was the worst idea I’ve ever had. But then I look around, and I find so much peace here. So this place is full of dualities, but it's so full of feeling. And sometimes feeling is what feels like home... or action... I'm not sure… of anything really except I've been sure the adventure will continue.

But Beacon Club is dissolving. Badass is away (again). And Tex and L are leaving. And A, L, & Lola are leaving. That's Blitz's favorite lady dog. Who will he play with? Who will I play with? I'm getting all sentimental wondering if we're reaching the end of our of magic trick here or the end of our roller coaster--I can't keep my metaphors straight. I'm just very thoughtful today. I've come to expect so much from this place--the dualities of action and peace. This is the place everything changed. And this is the place I started over. I could say both of those sentences about a dozen different times, and it would be true. So now the characters are changing, and I don't like it. But the character of the street remains, and so I'll let the lake wind carry me to whatever happens next... on Beacon Street.

Time Signatures...

Last night, there was some magic. Some evolution of music and heart.
I sat in the same seat at the same bar and listened to the same songs sung by the same voice. The song she dedicated to me when she knew I needed it. The song I claimed as my theme song one month. A song that used to hit too close to home. It was like my musical life of the past six months flashing before my eyes. But the songs finally felt different. They made me smile and laugh and remember and roll my eyes and 'Amen' and beam some sort of empowerment.
Music is magical already. It makes us feel, sometimes even catching us by surprise. It buries its self deep within our sense memories. I've written a lot lately about how listening to music is different at different emotional life points. And last night, there it was. Sure, there were a few of those surprises... and still a few things that now hit even closer to home. I felt those moments. And I embraced them. Because the pit in my stomach apparently has this new iron lining, and I heard everything through a filter of strength. Relating to 100 sad songs does not make me sad; it makes me real.
That was the music. And then there were the people. And the thoughts. I like to play this game that goes: "If this shit hadn't happened, then this wouldn't have happened, and then this wonderful thing never would have happened." It tends to bring me this incredible peace about the ups and downs of that thing called life. I wasn't intending to play last night. But then I looked more closely at the two beautiful people next to me. I smiled to myself--to think, I met them in that dark kitchen at 3am. Ha.
And there it was: If I hadn't gotten robbed, I wouldn't have run there that night.
(I would have played it cool, and I wouldn't have been invited to.)
Sure, I might know them very casually. But not like this. She has been such a source of strength and peace and instant, unconditional friendship. And it's all because a man reached into my pocket because he saw me send a text to the friend whose place I was going to about the number of pigeons on the el platform.
My mind did all this wandering under the music last night, and I found myself feeling grateful for the man who robbed me and led me to that kitchen.
I think my new favorite game is "If I never get anything else out of _____, at least I got _______." So--if I never get anything else out of (it), I got these two dear friends who even show up to gigs. And I got an album. And you know what? When life is this beautiful, I honestly don't understand how anyone can think less optimistically than that. Why let a drop roll down your cheek when you can let it roll off your back?

Sometimes It's Enough To Just Stand...

I never did like rollercoasters. I could turn myself upside down every day--flips galore. But I never wanted some metal train to do it for me. And now my life is metal trains, and I have to wrestle the operator to the ground to press the stop button and resume flipping myself...
Rehearsal was good today. But then business was down. And on that note I loaded our things into the car. The phone rang a name I haven't seen in weeks, so I answered. I always thought only the self was capable of thinking up the worst things about us. But no. The voice told me things darker than I could ever imagine. Things that weren't true. But that's just it. The voice is just a voice. The voice doesn't have eyes, and so the voice can't see me. Really see me. See the good that everyone else sees in five minutes. See the good that can only be seen at heart level.
I reached down to where my bootstraps live, and I gave the biggest tug I've been able to muster in a while. I bared my teeth in a growl that turned smile. And just like mom said, it stuck that way. It carried me.
And for the first time since I started my Tuesday learning time, I was ruler of my body. She didn't fight me for nerves or tears. She let me lead her by the bridle. We've started down a path, and since I do what I'm told, I'll continue down it. And as I'm telling myself, I'm going to power walk.
Back in the car with my sidekick, I hummed through some of my recent compositions. So I didn't notice the entrance of Father Time, lord of traffic and parking and how long it takes my dog to sniff stuff for two blocks. And there we were, face to face with the eyes. See, if the voice can't see me, then this one must be the eyes. Because this one sees me. As I am. And gives dose after dose of wonderful just based on the vision and nothing else. But the eyes were... full of something I've never seen. The eyes see me, and I see the eyes, but because we've never been precisely eye-to-eye, I didn't know what to do... I'm not sure there was anything to do. Eyes and voices, even ears, and especially mouths all have these things happen from time to time, and it's not as ugly as they think it is. But I was a bit paralyzed. I'm probably still processing the information somewhere... deep in some corneal tissue... because yes, my eyes may be a little clouded on this one. But, here's the thing. One of my favorite and least favorite things about the eyes is that they don't always see their own reflection. It's my favorite because if they could see, they would know how beautiful they are, and then they would cease to be as beautiful. (And as they are, they are simply one of the most beautiful.) It's my least favorite because it hurts them. They tell me not to waste a second on their hurt, but that advice is futile... because yes, I'm head over corneas. I wish sometimes that they could borrow all of our eyes, take a peek in, and see what we see--so, so very much more than they think. I want to give them the gift of my eyes. I want to give them the gift of rest. The rest is coming.
I tightened the laces of my heartstrings, tied them in a bow, and continued down the street into a dark home. I could already see two shadowy figures on the ceiling. Yes, while I was gone, there had been an invasion of Evanston proportions. It was my turn to curse. Yet after all of the ups and downs, I thought it funny that once again, this one event--catching or squishing or not catching or squishing an invader--could be another part of the coaster. It turned out there were four of them--two small, one medium, and one large (or prehistoric, as we used to call it). I've heard hairspray is good for these types of things, so I tested it on a small. This resulted in a dead centipede stuck to my ceiling.  There it remains. One more small I shoe smacked. One more I tried to spray--it dropped to the floor, and I stomped. Disgusting. The last was the big one--about the length of a key. It was in the corner, so I had one gym shoe shot at it. I pitched. I missed, but it dropped to the floor anyway. And unlike the trophy on my ceiling, I have no idea where this one has got to. In my nightmare, I will awake with it crawling on my face. In reality, it is probably back in the walls. In reality, too, it is disgusting. Then again, maybe I'm just using the wrong set of eyes...
On days like today, when I look at my life--angry people, endings, things that won't even begin, three jobs, one fur ball, one very active brain, more ambition than I know how to wrangle, and everything that lives beneath the surface of all that, in me... People ask me how I am, and I put a lot of stock in my answer being truthfully positive. But days like today in the context of this life are a fantastic reminder that sometimes it's enough just to be standing on my two old gymnast feet. Though I'm so proud of myself for how I tamed each metal car today, I also remember tonight that sometimes it's enough to just stand.