There is a terrible, terrible place on this earth created to cause humans to suffer from the core of their being to the very surface of their skin. This place is a concrete cell, cold and dry. It smells of old shoes, and rotting flesh. The flickering of yellow lights one is forced to be exposed to for drastic amounts of time are used to damage your sense of direction, thus trapping you there forever. The noises and screeches of young children would send Satan himself running, and the tinting of the lighting could make even Angelina Jolie look like a withered up, old hag...
This place is called the DMV, and it is life taking, not giving.
So, after four hours of my soul screaming, and throwing a tantrum, four hours of my life I will never get back I managed to escape this awful hell with God only knows what kinds of diseases. My new license picture, if you look close enough, you can actually see daggers forming behind my eyes. A few young, innocent teens trying to get their licenses might have lost their lives to my eyes... casualties.
Death. The opposite of life. Everything in my life this past month has been the opposite of, and this is where I end up. This is how my month begins... So, what have I been up to prior to this month you ask?
Oh where to begin....
I’ve only just begun to structure my next goal, it is actually still quite a baby in it’s development, but of course... I never arrive to my goals without a learning process that got me there...
I think it’s already pretty clear; I live my life pretty compulsively, and love to feel alive. Why places like the DMV don’t make sense in my head. I breathe to feel alive, not just keep my body in motion. I am always excited for the next leg of life, for the next adventure I can chase, for more trouble I can get into. This is me, and anything that hinders me, or ties me down my spirit absolutely rejects and hates. My independent nature hates me when I entertain the thought of one day getting married, and having a nice little family ... ‘does that mean I can’t be wild anymore?’ She asks with a quivering lip.
Hmmm .... this could be a problem.
I don’t know where to start because I feel as though my emotions have been thrown violently all over the place this month. I’m up, I’m down, I’m angry, I’m over joyed, I hate the world, I wanna dance in a field of daisy’s. Ok probably not the last one, but you get the picture.
I’m emotionally aggressive to begin with, and I have been given so much to process lately, I don’t know that I can even make sense of all the chaos that is still spinning around my head. Some good, some bad, some great and some sad. Ok, I’m done I swear.
A few nights ago one of my friends who sings in a cover band had a show at a little venue in Pasadena. So, of course I went to support my friend and the art of music.
I walked into the claustrophobic little restaurant/bar with my friend and began scoping out the area for a seat. Of course finding a seat was impossible. I thought about awkwardly standing over someone until they felt uncomfortable and left, but then I reminded myself that I’m not a stalker.
As I began to scope out the audience, and of course pin the location of all the attractive strangers; I noticed a man across the room. Perhaps in his later thirties, early forties. He was wheel chair bound, and it was clear he was either mentally challenged, or in someway brain damaged. He couldn’t hold his head very well on his own, and had a lot of contraptions attached to his chair that lead me to believe he needed assistance with almost any kind of function.
As the band covered everything from Britney Spears songs to Journey, and Def Leopard though, there was one thing I noticed he was completely in control of...
His smile.
I couldn’t stop watching him as his smile literally overwhelmed his face when the band got loud, and crazy. It was almost as if something inside him was thrashing around, trying to break out of his skin as he tried so hard to move to the rhythm of the music. There was this joy inside of him that was radiating through his eyes, and that smile that leapt from ear to ear. I couldn’t help but wonder to myself ‘how often does this guy get the chance to get out and have fun like this?’. Maybe i’ll just blame my recent, fragile state; but my throat got tight, and I almost couldn’t stop myself from crying. It made me so happy that he was happy. I wanted everyone to notice him! I didn't understand my connection with this guy at this moment. He was so precious.
I couldn’t even put a finger on what it was that made my throat all tight, and my eyes water. It was something contagious about him that touched me. Maybe it was his joy, or his passion. It was so beautiful. I wanted to know about him, I wanted to make him better so that he could go to concerts every day, and live without needing someone to help him move through each moment. But then, no that wasn't it either.
Sometimes I think passion locks itself deep inside of us, and it stays trapped there at the mercy of our own decision to let it be set free. I think so many of us take advantage of the fact that we are so capable of living, but we let things tie us down, and get in the way of fully embracing those things we were created to FULLY be, then we call it “being responsible”.
Maybe this guy in the wheelchair already knew what it felt like to have no control of his emotions, or that passion burning from his eyes and writhing through his body. People who express themselves that loosely we have a term for in this culture. We call them “crazy”.
What if we’re all the crazy ones, and he’s normal? He can let truth emanate through his body, and we restrict it then call it “normal”. Crazy people can tell you the truth underneath the truth, and we lie on top of lies... then call it human. Suddenly I am jealous of what he is feeling. I want to be crazy too! Yes, maybe this is it...
Don’t anyone comment on that last thought.
Have you ever been to a concert and watched the musician play a song that set something on fire inside of you? Have you ever met, and fell head over heels into reckless attraction with someone in one moment? Have you ever read a book, or watched a movie where you found yourself connecting a character so deeply it made you want to scream bloody murder just so someone will get it? Or been so broken that you cry, not just any cry, but cry so deep you can feel your sanity cascading from your eyes with your tears?
This is the beauty, and the danger of passion. This is life begging us to set it free from the chains we bind it to so deep inside ourselves. This is where we have been told to quiet our passion. This is the edge of the cliff we come to before we tell ourselves to get real, and back away from that dangerous edge. “Be responsible”, “be careful”, “don’t be silly.” Because we have been lead to believe there is nothing but rocks at the bottom that will kill us.
But why? What if there's a pool of water at the bottom for us to swim in?
Every time I listen to “Flyleaf” (yes, it’s my angry girl music) I get mad at myself. I get mad because I want to be her! I have wanted to be in a band since I was twelve, and I told myself that was a dumb idea that would go no where for .... ok let’s not think about how many years it’s been.
But what if we just decided to be reckless?! What if we jumped? Let the fire consume us, be reckless with the stranger just for once .... scream .... go. absolutely. nuts.
What would happen?
So, yes I’m already one step ahead of myself and have already been in hot pursuit of my dreams this year .. but alas, I have so many dreams. Why not pursue them all at once?
I decided the time is now. Now that Dark Heart Picture Films is well established and on its way to winning an oscar... It’s time to start a band.
Hey, I need my Grammy too.
“But, Melissa, don’t you have enough on your plate?”
“Nonsense Melissa”.
So, after a few text messages, and bribing a musician here and there to show up to practice. Holding them at gun point and such. I started a band.
I always get what I want.
So, of course I show up to our first practice with chords to Paramore and Flyleaf songs, not knowing exactly what we’re going to get out of this. After my amazing musicians picked up Paramore with ease.... my drummer got frustrated. *sigh* Artists are so moody.
“Didn’t you write anything!?” He burst out.
“Well, uhm, yeah but it’s not done, or good, I dunno, I mean...” I blurted out insecurely.
With a less than gentle nudge he forced me to pull out my notebook full of songs I lied about writing.
“Taylor, play something. Any little lick you’ve been working on” he then instructed my guitarist.
After about two hours of going over about a quarter of one song with Taylor’s little ditty, and my drummer, Kyle’s, beyond talented drumming.... the most amazing thing happened....
We made music.
That man in the wheel chair who was about to explode with passion ... that’s what I was feeling. This is what I was relating to him that night, it was a deep appreciation and understanding of passion. And what I learned that night is that ... sometimes that understanding is a wordless exchange. I got it. It’s not just living, it’s life on steroids, it’s igniting that fire inside that’s gone wild, and allowing it to burn.
I am unable to believe that we had just created, more or less, our own original song.
Ok, it needs a lot of work, and it sounds a little weird right now, but it’s MINE.
“We did it!!” I’m screaming like an excited little kid on christmas morning.
To which my drummer replies in a very monotone voice:
“Yeah, it’s our generations Freebird. What’s next?”
Like I said; my emotions are a little aggressive this month. We’ll leave it at that.
Perhaps sometimes in order to achieve our dreams, or live fully alive we need to lose our minds a little bit. After all, the best artists are either completely insane or dead via suicide.
Don’t worry - I’m not slitting my wrists yet.
But, I have tasted this new experience with passion. This recklessness, this jumping ahead without thinking, this insanity... and guess what?? I found water at the bottom of the cliff. So, I invite you... come swim with me...
There is something very real, and honest, and raw about passion. Something that screams truth before there is a second to twist it or exaggerate it even a tiny bit. Like jumping off that cliff and only feeling the butterflies in your stomach before even thinking about what’s at the bottom ... and just holding onto that feeling. Trapping it in time, and soaking it in. It's vulnerability at it's most frightening level, it's breathless, and loud at the same time. It's inside of you too...
As I walked out of the DMV today, my skin now aged about ten years, and cancer swimming in my veins, I realized something; It’s the moments, or hours, like these that make me truly realize how much life I live. If there weren’t places like the DMV that completely entrapped the feeling of death, maybe we wouldn’t be able to fully soak in the moments we get to be fully alive. And we should be taking advantage of that freedom! Maybe not everything in life can be jumping off of cliffs. And maybe this is the natural structure to life. The moments of being forced to feel dead, to feel nothing to remind us that there is a life beckoning us to inhale it. This is the process of heart ache and moving on, the process of failing but continuing to fight, going to the DMV and then to band practice.... Not that I’m planning any future trips to the DMV - I think I should be good another ten years. But, there’s something to be said for fighting to live through the moments our soul detests.... there would be no reward of passion to come home to.
“Have you ever told a lie and enjoyed it? Or wished you could be a child forever? Crazy is not being broken, or swallowing a dark secret... it is simply me, or you AMPLIFIED.” - Girl, Interrupted
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Learning: Goal #8
Here I sit, a month away from when I first sat down on my couch after a counseling session with “George the wise” for advise on my failing life, and wrote a list of goals.
These goals were filled with adventure, and passion, and wild journeys I had always dreamed of going on. I sat so filled with determination. This was going to be the year things changed!
As I looked back over the list, and the blogs I wrote I began to realize; there was some change, but in most of it there was learning. Learning that meant even more than the changes.
One of the things I noticed that I had written on my list was “Learn something new about yourself”. Needless to say; I think I learned something new about myself each time I sat down to update this blog. I learned I could accomplish something, I learned about my family heritage, I learned that I was strong, that I could create things without the help of a degree... That’s a lot of learning.
I am sitting here trying to think of what great thing I accomplished this month that I can speak specifically about, and the truth is; I did a lot of things this month. But, I can’t put my finger on one specific thing. I can’t grab very tightly onto one thing and own it.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, perhaps it is writers block, or maybe this weather has got me in a tired funk.... and yet... I still feel like I have learned a lot. So, in review of, not only my month, but my blogging journey; here is what I have discovered anew about myself.
I made one of my goals this year to travel more, and I made it about as far as Humboldt County to see my family.... Never fear there is still two months left to the year!
Ok, that was cheesy.
Anyways, what I learned. I wasn’t necessarily excited to see the sights of Humboldt. Going home is usually only exciting as I get to see my family. Yet, what I walked away with managed to take me off guard...
Have you ever stood so much in awe of something, whether it be a view, or a piece of music, or a painting, that even the mere touch of another human being could cause you to fall to pieces? Have you ever been so filled that you feel you might burst open and cease to exist all together?
I learned that I will never find so much fulfilling beauty in any other location then when I am standing on top of the cliffs of Centerville Beach in Ferndale. I will never find a place that enlivens my mind with story, and creativity more than when I am looking out over that cliff, and watching the waves crash against the jagged rocks that seem miles below my feet as the cold wind tousles my hair. I will never need anything else on that cliff.
I learned that cold weather is my favorite, but I much prefer the sun to accompany the cold than the rain. Perhaps that is the result of my new adapted acceptance to country music.
I learned that my sisters aren’t nine years old anymore, and they are growing up into women without me...
I learned that twelve hours driving in a car is far to much time for my mind to wander, and dangerous things happen when caffeine is involved.
I learned that as much fun as blondes may have ... I am much more suited to be a brunette, and far more comfortable with myself in darker shades. I don’t quite think I have the personality to live up to being blonde. I was born with dark hair, in the dark month of December. That should say enough.
I’ve realized that changing ones look goes far beyond just changing a hair color. It means a change in lifestyle, a change in attitude, a change in wardrobe. People expect different reactions from you, different levels of intelligence... based on your hair color. You think I’m kidding? We loosely use the terms “Dumb blonde”, “Crazy red head”, and “Incredibly sexy brunette” ... ok I’m sort of kidding about the last one. But, as much as we may joke; there is really a part of people that believe those terms are real!
As much as I may go through my little fits of trying I know that I can never pretend to be anyone else but me. Something I have learned about honesty; I like it a lot. I can’t even pretend to like someone I don’t like. I’ve tried, it’s a really awkward experience.
Out with the blonde and in with the brown.
This month I was also greatly blessed to have the chance to see one of my greatest role models speak at a seminar... Sheila Kelley, the woman who created SFactor, the company I have now been dancing at for nearly a year, and am proud to say; I have roped my aunt into the ways of S as well (evil laughter).
I learned that this company is so much more than pole dancing. In fact, five minutes into her talk I forgot we were talking about a pole dancing class... because I was distracted by this woman’s passion, and dedication to make a change in this world. I suddenly found myself, again, so filled... Filled with pride for this company I support through the art of dance, and burning a hole in my wallet.
I learned about the destruction of sexuality throughout history, and cultures and why it is still allowed to happen. It is through this dance company She has set out to scream for attention, and demand a change.
I learned that years ago one woman, THIS woman, was brave enough to walk into a strip club and choose to see with untainted eyes. To find the beauty and light in something that has been labeled disgusting, and unworthy - that ‘thing’ being a woman’s body... Which has gotten us to where we are in our disrespect for sexuality. Because of her bravery, and passion she created a company that has given sexuality an identity... a name. A name that now thousands of women everywhere have found a deep respect for, and need to protect.
I’ve learned that great changes can, in fact, happen through acts of bravery and even crazy leaps of faith.
What if everyone found something they are most appalled by ... and found a way to call it beautiful?
I learned that I am capable of falling out of love. That I can lose love, and for the first time in a long time I can honestly say .... I think I’ll be ok. Hey, I don’t even need another rabbit to chase ... not that I wouldn’t mind one ... But, like I learned standing on top of that cliff side ... my life is full.
My heart is alive with so much more than any man I have ever dated has ever sparked in me. Perhaps it’s better off that way. Perhaps I am too much even for myself to take care of. The poor man who dares to date me....
One thing George the wise always told me (and I’ve failed to listen to it yet) was that when you’ve found the person you want to be with; they should think that you’re the one who “hung the moon”, and vice versa.
To be honest, I don’t know what it is like to be with someone who thinks I’ve hung the moon. But, that sure sounds nice, and I am learning - still - that I think I want to wait for that.... Unfortunately I’m still learning patience too.
I have recently been reading (slowly, but surely) a book entitled “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. In one segment Elizabeth talks about how her, and her italian friends spoke about how each person, and place has a word. A word that defines them, that defines that place. For example New York’s word would be “Success”. Rome’s word would be “Sex”. It is a word that thrives in every breath of that person or places being.
It got me thinking... of course... what is my word?
For years I can tell you what words I would have liked to associate myself with. Among them were words like; “Strong”, or “Dark”, or “Powerful”, or “Goddess”, or “Badass” ... depending on the current Angelina Jolie hit movie it varied. Those were words I would have loved to strut proudly.
I think I have been words I wouldn’t have liked to admit, or would have been ashamed to admit. I think I have been words like “Lost”, “Scared”, “Self Centered”, and “Broken”. I think I have tried to hide behind words like “Strong” or “Powerful” in times I have honestly been the “Lost” or the “Scared”.
I think life is a constant journey of words. I'm not so sure we are one solid word. Some words we are proud to claim and write on our foreheads, and some we’d like to lock up inside a treasure chest and throw into the depths of the sea. I don’t think it’s bad to be proud OR ashamed of certain words... as long as we own them. Like I said, I like honesty - whether it is pretty or ugly. I think the key to figuring out myself, my needs, my desires, my being has been a journey of embracing openly, and honestly my word of the season... or sometimes word of the five minutes.
Needless to say; I think my word this year is “Learning”. I think there will be a part of me that will always be learning, but this year especially I think I have allowed myself to learn.
I have been willing to look at places in my life that were ugly and embrace them. I’ve been willing to admit I actually like things I’ve claimed to detest my whole life. I’ve learned the more honest I am with myself and everyone around me ... get this ... I’m a happier person. And I don’t even have to be blonde!!
What if we all grasped onto our words without shame? Whatever our word may be at the moment. What if it’s a word we really don’t want to be, but we hold onto it proudly despite what it is going to tell us about ourselves? Knowing that; if we just hold onto that word a little while it will lead us to a better word. What if we learned to accept the hard lessons? To look around at what we hate to admit we love... and just love it? What if we all thrived and lived and breathed what we were created to be? How full can life be?
I've learned to be ok with learning.
"There are two kinds of people in this world; those who chase pleasure, and those who run from pain. Though pleasure helps us forget, pain forces us to hope" - Tenderness
These goals were filled with adventure, and passion, and wild journeys I had always dreamed of going on. I sat so filled with determination. This was going to be the year things changed!
As I looked back over the list, and the blogs I wrote I began to realize; there was some change, but in most of it there was learning. Learning that meant even more than the changes.
One of the things I noticed that I had written on my list was “Learn something new about yourself”. Needless to say; I think I learned something new about myself each time I sat down to update this blog. I learned I could accomplish something, I learned about my family heritage, I learned that I was strong, that I could create things without the help of a degree... That’s a lot of learning.
I am sitting here trying to think of what great thing I accomplished this month that I can speak specifically about, and the truth is; I did a lot of things this month. But, I can’t put my finger on one specific thing. I can’t grab very tightly onto one thing and own it.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, perhaps it is writers block, or maybe this weather has got me in a tired funk.... and yet... I still feel like I have learned a lot. So, in review of, not only my month, but my blogging journey; here is what I have discovered anew about myself.
I made one of my goals this year to travel more, and I made it about as far as Humboldt County to see my family.... Never fear there is still two months left to the year!
Ok, that was cheesy.
Anyways, what I learned. I wasn’t necessarily excited to see the sights of Humboldt. Going home is usually only exciting as I get to see my family. Yet, what I walked away with managed to take me off guard...
Have you ever stood so much in awe of something, whether it be a view, or a piece of music, or a painting, that even the mere touch of another human being could cause you to fall to pieces? Have you ever been so filled that you feel you might burst open and cease to exist all together?
I learned that I will never find so much fulfilling beauty in any other location then when I am standing on top of the cliffs of Centerville Beach in Ferndale. I will never find a place that enlivens my mind with story, and creativity more than when I am looking out over that cliff, and watching the waves crash against the jagged rocks that seem miles below my feet as the cold wind tousles my hair. I will never need anything else on that cliff.
I learned that cold weather is my favorite, but I much prefer the sun to accompany the cold than the rain. Perhaps that is the result of my new adapted acceptance to country music.
I learned that my sisters aren’t nine years old anymore, and they are growing up into women without me...
I learned that twelve hours driving in a car is far to much time for my mind to wander, and dangerous things happen when caffeine is involved.
I learned that as much fun as blondes may have ... I am much more suited to be a brunette, and far more comfortable with myself in darker shades. I don’t quite think I have the personality to live up to being blonde. I was born with dark hair, in the dark month of December. That should say enough.
I’ve realized that changing ones look goes far beyond just changing a hair color. It means a change in lifestyle, a change in attitude, a change in wardrobe. People expect different reactions from you, different levels of intelligence... based on your hair color. You think I’m kidding? We loosely use the terms “Dumb blonde”, “Crazy red head”, and “Incredibly sexy brunette” ... ok I’m sort of kidding about the last one. But, as much as we may joke; there is really a part of people that believe those terms are real!
As much as I may go through my little fits of trying I know that I can never pretend to be anyone else but me. Something I have learned about honesty; I like it a lot. I can’t even pretend to like someone I don’t like. I’ve tried, it’s a really awkward experience.
Out with the blonde and in with the brown.
This month I was also greatly blessed to have the chance to see one of my greatest role models speak at a seminar... Sheila Kelley, the woman who created SFactor, the company I have now been dancing at for nearly a year, and am proud to say; I have roped my aunt into the ways of S as well (evil laughter).
I learned that this company is so much more than pole dancing. In fact, five minutes into her talk I forgot we were talking about a pole dancing class... because I was distracted by this woman’s passion, and dedication to make a change in this world. I suddenly found myself, again, so filled... Filled with pride for this company I support through the art of dance, and burning a hole in my wallet.
I learned about the destruction of sexuality throughout history, and cultures and why it is still allowed to happen. It is through this dance company She has set out to scream for attention, and demand a change.
I learned that years ago one woman, THIS woman, was brave enough to walk into a strip club and choose to see with untainted eyes. To find the beauty and light in something that has been labeled disgusting, and unworthy - that ‘thing’ being a woman’s body... Which has gotten us to where we are in our disrespect for sexuality. Because of her bravery, and passion she created a company that has given sexuality an identity... a name. A name that now thousands of women everywhere have found a deep respect for, and need to protect.
I’ve learned that great changes can, in fact, happen through acts of bravery and even crazy leaps of faith.
What if everyone found something they are most appalled by ... and found a way to call it beautiful?
I learned that I am capable of falling out of love. That I can lose love, and for the first time in a long time I can honestly say .... I think I’ll be ok. Hey, I don’t even need another rabbit to chase ... not that I wouldn’t mind one ... But, like I learned standing on top of that cliff side ... my life is full.
My heart is alive with so much more than any man I have ever dated has ever sparked in me. Perhaps it’s better off that way. Perhaps I am too much even for myself to take care of. The poor man who dares to date me....
One thing George the wise always told me (and I’ve failed to listen to it yet) was that when you’ve found the person you want to be with; they should think that you’re the one who “hung the moon”, and vice versa.
To be honest, I don’t know what it is like to be with someone who thinks I’ve hung the moon. But, that sure sounds nice, and I am learning - still - that I think I want to wait for that.... Unfortunately I’m still learning patience too.
I have recently been reading (slowly, but surely) a book entitled “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. In one segment Elizabeth talks about how her, and her italian friends spoke about how each person, and place has a word. A word that defines them, that defines that place. For example New York’s word would be “Success”. Rome’s word would be “Sex”. It is a word that thrives in every breath of that person or places being.
It got me thinking... of course... what is my word?
For years I can tell you what words I would have liked to associate myself with. Among them were words like; “Strong”, or “Dark”, or “Powerful”, or “Goddess”, or “Badass” ... depending on the current Angelina Jolie hit movie it varied. Those were words I would have loved to strut proudly.
I think I have been words I wouldn’t have liked to admit, or would have been ashamed to admit. I think I have been words like “Lost”, “Scared”, “Self Centered”, and “Broken”. I think I have tried to hide behind words like “Strong” or “Powerful” in times I have honestly been the “Lost” or the “Scared”.
I think life is a constant journey of words. I'm not so sure we are one solid word. Some words we are proud to claim and write on our foreheads, and some we’d like to lock up inside a treasure chest and throw into the depths of the sea. I don’t think it’s bad to be proud OR ashamed of certain words... as long as we own them. Like I said, I like honesty - whether it is pretty or ugly. I think the key to figuring out myself, my needs, my desires, my being has been a journey of embracing openly, and honestly my word of the season... or sometimes word of the five minutes.
Needless to say; I think my word this year is “Learning”. I think there will be a part of me that will always be learning, but this year especially I think I have allowed myself to learn.
I have been willing to look at places in my life that were ugly and embrace them. I’ve been willing to admit I actually like things I’ve claimed to detest my whole life. I’ve learned the more honest I am with myself and everyone around me ... get this ... I’m a happier person. And I don’t even have to be blonde!!
What if we all grasped onto our words without shame? Whatever our word may be at the moment. What if it’s a word we really don’t want to be, but we hold onto it proudly despite what it is going to tell us about ourselves? Knowing that; if we just hold onto that word a little while it will lead us to a better word. What if we learned to accept the hard lessons? To look around at what we hate to admit we love... and just love it? What if we all thrived and lived and breathed what we were created to be? How full can life be?
I've learned to be ok with learning.
"There are two kinds of people in this world; those who chase pleasure, and those who run from pain. Though pleasure helps us forget, pain forces us to hope" - Tenderness
Monday, September 20, 2010
Rejection: Goal #7
It was just like any other normal morning. I had my coffee, I had Sonya on my lap (Sonya is my laptop), I had to go to work in a couple hours and I was in a bad mood. Then I opened my email box....
“Thank you so much for querying us with your project. Unfortunately, we did not feel it was the right fit for our agency. Thanks for thinking of The Knight Agency and we wish you nothing but the best in your writing career.
Sincerely,
Jane Doe
Associate Agent/Submissions Coordinator”
My very first response letter from a publishing agency. I have been waiting for this day since I wrote “The Magic Key”.
Of course, the response I was expecting was something more along the lines of:
“Dear Melissa,
Please oh please send us your full manuscript, I just can’t wait another minute to finish your brilliant story. J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyers can both say goodbye to their careers once your novel hits the shelf of every major bookstore in the world. Enclosed is a check for one million dollars as a down payment, once we receive your full novel you will receive another ten million.
Sincerely,
your biggest fan
Scholastics publishing agency.”
Ok, so we can’t all have our way. But, to tell the truth - I was, in a way, sort of excited to receive my first rejection letter. It says so many things to me about who I am, and the goals I am trying to accomplish. All I can do is laugh. Ironically - it brightened my day.
When I decided to create a film company, I wanted it to be a place where artists could find solace in that inner tortured place that most artists go. I want to take those dark stories, those sad life experiences, those twisted minds that make most people wince and I want give them a new name. I want to shine a light on those things. I want to make the ugly beautiful.... No, not even that.... I want to show that the ugly was never ugly in the first place, I want to show that you’re just not looking at it the right way. I want to give a safe place for the “ugly” to go, and say “You’re not ugly, there is beauty in this situation no one has ever seen before, and I’m going to tell your story to the world because you deserve it!”.
I want Dark Heart Picture Films to be the light at the end of the tunnel for sadness. I am convinced there is freedom to be found, rather then an endless stream of hurt, and darkness. I have to believe this.
Now that is a lot to live up to, and, turns out, it’s not as easy as it sounds. What am I saying? It doesn’t even sound easy.
How do you take the story of, say, someone who has been murdered, and shine light on it? I asked myself this question, then ironically, I ended up getting a little kick in the pants when I caught a movie entitled “The Dead Girl”.
Directed by Karen Moncrieff (I just love finding successful, female directors), she tells the story of a girl who has been murdered, and how this girl’s death affects four different women; the stranger that finds her, the coroner that autopsies her, the wife of the murderer, and the mother of the dead girl.
All of these women actually begin major life transformations after this girl’s body has been discovered, and it is only because of her death that these transformations are made possible.
Ok, I know it’s a stretch, but what that speaks to me is that; when life gets shitty, and I don’t mean your football team just lost the super-bowl shitty, I mean your (person that’s really close to you) just died unnecessarily shitty.... Maybe.... JUST maybe there’s still a light somewhere that can be found. It’s not to say it’s not awful. It’s not to say you can’t cry your eyes out until your body is numb, and shaking. But, if there is any hope to be found... I want to find it. Even if it means trudging through a swamp to find it.
Now, how do I transition this talk of death back to a rejection letter? It seems so insignificant now...
One day I was having a conversation with my aunt about how this boy had just broken my heart.... not me, right?
While words of hatred, and anger, and swearing were bouncing off the walls, she stopped, and said something along the lines of; “I think you need to go through these experiences, and be able to feel things as deeply as you do, because it’s what fuels you to be able to write the way that you do.”
Way to turn the conversation around to slap me in the face... Use my writing against me. *sigh* Perhaps I should stop complaining.
A rejection letter, out of a hundred more I could receive. Whether they are negative or positive letters, it doesn’t matter. Little let downs in life, I think, might be little reminders to say “Why are you so upset? If you'd stop crying and stop being so lazy you might be able to do some good with your sadness. Look for the good in this, and focus on that”. I think we fret little things so often, that we sometimes forget there’s any good in this world... wait that might just be me.
Either way, as a director trying to make films that find the light in a dark place; I couldn’t ask for anything more than a rejection letter. I will frame that rejection letter. I love that I got rejected. Because it says I tried, it says I sweat the time, and put the effort in, and I’m not giving up!! I did something I have been telling myself I would do for two years... I sent my novel out there into the world to be rejected!!
“Someone else’s boy, you’ve had it so hard,
Will you grow up to be you, Or a sum of your parts just hanging in the air?
Someone else’s boy, tell me your convoluted stories through a half-rotten mouth,
I will decipher them, to tell the world of your heart,
How beautiful things can come from the dark” - Azure Ray
“Thank you so much for querying us with your project. Unfortunately, we did not feel it was the right fit for our agency. Thanks for thinking of The Knight Agency and we wish you nothing but the best in your writing career.
Sincerely,
Jane Doe
Associate Agent/Submissions Coordinator”
My very first response letter from a publishing agency. I have been waiting for this day since I wrote “The Magic Key”.
Of course, the response I was expecting was something more along the lines of:
“Dear Melissa,
Please oh please send us your full manuscript, I just can’t wait another minute to finish your brilliant story. J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyers can both say goodbye to their careers once your novel hits the shelf of every major bookstore in the world. Enclosed is a check for one million dollars as a down payment, once we receive your full novel you will receive another ten million.
Sincerely,
your biggest fan
Scholastics publishing agency.”
Ok, so we can’t all have our way. But, to tell the truth - I was, in a way, sort of excited to receive my first rejection letter. It says so many things to me about who I am, and the goals I am trying to accomplish. All I can do is laugh. Ironically - it brightened my day.
When I decided to create a film company, I wanted it to be a place where artists could find solace in that inner tortured place that most artists go. I want to take those dark stories, those sad life experiences, those twisted minds that make most people wince and I want give them a new name. I want to shine a light on those things. I want to make the ugly beautiful.... No, not even that.... I want to show that the ugly was never ugly in the first place, I want to show that you’re just not looking at it the right way. I want to give a safe place for the “ugly” to go, and say “You’re not ugly, there is beauty in this situation no one has ever seen before, and I’m going to tell your story to the world because you deserve it!”.
I want Dark Heart Picture Films to be the light at the end of the tunnel for sadness. I am convinced there is freedom to be found, rather then an endless stream of hurt, and darkness. I have to believe this.
Now that is a lot to live up to, and, turns out, it’s not as easy as it sounds. What am I saying? It doesn’t even sound easy.
How do you take the story of, say, someone who has been murdered, and shine light on it? I asked myself this question, then ironically, I ended up getting a little kick in the pants when I caught a movie entitled “The Dead Girl”.
Directed by Karen Moncrieff (I just love finding successful, female directors), she tells the story of a girl who has been murdered, and how this girl’s death affects four different women; the stranger that finds her, the coroner that autopsies her, the wife of the murderer, and the mother of the dead girl.
All of these women actually begin major life transformations after this girl’s body has been discovered, and it is only because of her death that these transformations are made possible.
Ok, I know it’s a stretch, but what that speaks to me is that; when life gets shitty, and I don’t mean your football team just lost the super-bowl shitty, I mean your (person that’s really close to you) just died unnecessarily shitty.... Maybe.... JUST maybe there’s still a light somewhere that can be found. It’s not to say it’s not awful. It’s not to say you can’t cry your eyes out until your body is numb, and shaking. But, if there is any hope to be found... I want to find it. Even if it means trudging through a swamp to find it.
Now, how do I transition this talk of death back to a rejection letter? It seems so insignificant now...
One day I was having a conversation with my aunt about how this boy had just broken my heart.... not me, right?
While words of hatred, and anger, and swearing were bouncing off the walls, she stopped, and said something along the lines of; “I think you need to go through these experiences, and be able to feel things as deeply as you do, because it’s what fuels you to be able to write the way that you do.”
Way to turn the conversation around to slap me in the face... Use my writing against me. *sigh* Perhaps I should stop complaining.
A rejection letter, out of a hundred more I could receive. Whether they are negative or positive letters, it doesn’t matter. Little let downs in life, I think, might be little reminders to say “Why are you so upset? If you'd stop crying and stop being so lazy you might be able to do some good with your sadness. Look for the good in this, and focus on that”. I think we fret little things so often, that we sometimes forget there’s any good in this world... wait that might just be me.
Either way, as a director trying to make films that find the light in a dark place; I couldn’t ask for anything more than a rejection letter. I will frame that rejection letter. I love that I got rejected. Because it says I tried, it says I sweat the time, and put the effort in, and I’m not giving up!! I did something I have been telling myself I would do for two years... I sent my novel out there into the world to be rejected!!
“Someone else’s boy, you’ve had it so hard,
Will you grow up to be you, Or a sum of your parts just hanging in the air?
Someone else’s boy, tell me your convoluted stories through a half-rotten mouth,
I will decipher them, to tell the world of your heart,
How beautiful things can come from the dark” - Azure Ray
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Fire: Goal #6
Just expect these blogs to always be late, I'm tired of apologizing. Now, I keep telling myself that one of these days I'm going to write a fun, fluffy blog about going blond, or massive, failed attempts at surfing. But, for some reason they end up serious every time. Sorry readers, there is no fluff this month, perhaps next month... if my Dark Heart permits....
I remember that evening as the sun melted behind the neighborhood houses, and slithered off the black pavement. I didn’t care about the cold bite to the air that nipped at my nose, and my cheeks as I sat alone on an empty sidewalk curb. A pack of cigarettes to my right side, and a pile of his pictures in my left hand as I brought the lighter one by one to each picture. The pleasure that warmed my soul as I watched his face simmer under the blue, and orange licks of fire as I used its flame to light my cigarette was invigorating.
This, ladies and gentleman, is the darkest of my heart when I am provoked to shattering, heart break. I close off, find a lonely sidewalk, cigarettes, and fire. It’s been proven not to be the safest combination in my hands.
It’s usually during these kinds of lows in my life that I need a friend the most. It is also during these lows in my life that I want a friend the least.
Now, I believe in God, and have been told my whole life about how Jesus wants to be my friend, and God loves me all the time, and stuff like that.
I am about to get a little religious, so bear with me if you’re not religious. Remember; my target audience is YOU. Not the christians, and not the secs, (This is my new term for “secular”) only you.
Being “friends” with Jesus, and having a “relationship” with Him have been words I’ve heard spoken in the christianese language for years, and I have even spoken those words myself. Until I stopped to think about it, and came to realize; I don’t think I quite understand what I’m saying. I don’t know how to translate those words into normal people language. I might have been wrong all along.
Well, it’s the soul searching time for Dark Heart, and here is my conclusion. Actually, if it weren’t for my friend I am about to mention, and our very special relationship, I’m not sure I would have a conclusion. So, thank you Flautsy.
You see, I have this friend named Lauren. Lauren and I have a very interesting relationship, as I noted. Lauren recently sent me a text message to inform me that she was sitting at a starbucks in New York City, watching the rain flutter down on Times Square, while journaling to the sounds of Damien Rice.
I replied to Lauren to inform her that I hated her, and I did not wish to be friends with her anymore.
Lauren then responded with a simple reminder that I was a whore, and she was off to watch a free orchestra concert.
I told her the only place she could go was to hell, followed by expletives.
She then told me that I was a bitch, and she loved me, and I told her that I missed her, and we went about our day.
That’s when it struck me; I began to understand, I think, what it means to have a “relationship” with Jesus, and how that can even change over the years to mean different things.
I mainly began to think about the different relationships we have with different friends, or family members, and how that bleeds into the kind of relationship we ought to, perhaps, have with Jesus. The way I interact with God is far different from the way, say, Lauren interacts with God - this is a good thing. The way Lauren interacts with her mother is far different from the way she interacts with me - this also, is a good thing.
If Lauren were to call her mother a dirty whore, I doubt it would go over well, whereas, I would respond with “I love you too”, and my heart would go all warm and fuzzy.
Sometimes, I feel like God and I have that same kind of relationship. There is an understanding. I’m not always the most sympathetic person, but I understand where mercy is due, and where it is just being toyed with. But, still, sometimes I get that confused. Therefore, when God is trying to convict me of something, and I know it, instead of falling to my knees in tears, and asking to partake of His forgiveness, my response is something more or less along the lines of “&^%$ you”.
Then He sort of gets pissed off at me, and does something along the lines of shattering my hopes and dreams. Then I cry, and scream obscenities, and slam the door to my room. Then he ignores me, locks my door, and throws away the key. A while later I begin to softly tap on the door, and when He opens it I will come out sniffling, red faced, and bashfully muttering something like “Thanks for not letting me date him - I didn’t know he was a crack addict.”
He then says “Yeah yeah, I love you”, and we’re good.
This makes me wonder; maybe if we treated the relationship we have with Jesus - if that’s the way you choose to live - the way we treat the relationships we have with our best friends; we would know a little bit more of what it is like to be a genuine christian, and have a genuine friendship with Jesus. It’s so simple, yet so complex inside my head... being friends with Jesus... the answer was always there.
Now, I don’t go around screaming at the heavens all day every day, don’t get me wrong. But, the more I am honest with Him, and the more I just let myself display my feelings vulnerably to Him - the more I feel like I actually believe in Him.
Still following me? Great.
Besides, who said relationships of any sort were ever easy? Without a fight? Without hatred? Without anger? I think it’s the same with Jesus, and to be honest - I think he welcomes it. I think He’s ok with knowing exactly how I’m feeling, and knowing I’m being honest with Him about it. Anger is really given a bad name these days I think, because what is the best part of a relationship? It's the forgiveness after the anger. It's the beauty that flows out of that relationship when it's suffered and survived a storm. As I look at this honest relationship I now have with Jesus I realize that I am glad that I haven't always been so keen on the idea of being friends with Him. That I have been angry with His decisions, that I have yelled at Him, and that He has stuck around anyways.... kind of like a real friendship.
One day I was crying. It was over a boy. What’s new? I know.
The tears sort of came out of no where at a small group meeting, and since I am for some reason ashamed to show my face when I cry, I sauntered off into some dark corner where no one would see me. When, out of some mysterious black hole, Lauren found me. Lauren is very unsubtle about most things in life, so by this point everyone knew I was crying.
“What’s wrong?!” She screamed.
“Nothing” I squealed in a high pitch whine, as thick, muddy, black tears trickled down my cheek, and I pathetically tried to pretend she wasn’t there.
I smiled a very awkward smile, and wiped mascara all over my face.
Lauren blinked once, and gave me a wide eyed look that clearly said: “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“What’s. Wrong.?” She stated again more sternly.
I just stood there pissed off that I wasn’t being left alone in my dark corner to cry my shame away, and refused to answer any of her further interrogation.
Finally, Lauren just put her arm around me, and in silence we stood together in a crowded room. Though I was still angry - there wasn’t a necessity for words; She understood. And that was all that mattered. I didn’t want to be touched, I didn’t want to be acknowledged, but in my time of not being wise enough to know what I really needed; God sent Lauren.
There is a funny, and ironic thing about silence to me. Silence, to me, is actually a very loud feeling. It can be totally comfortable, or completely uncomfortable. Silence sometimes has a lot to say when nothing more can be spoken. It was in my irritability of attention, and in my time of vulnerability, and sadness, and stubbornness that Lauren’s silence said; “I know you’re upset, therefore I am not going to leave you alone. Deal with it.”.
Sometimes, I think Jesus gives us friends to remind us of the way He has been trying so hard to have a relationship with us. The way He would wish us to interact with Him too.
Sometimes, I need someone to force there arm around me, and make me talk about why I’m crying, even though I’d rather set fire to everyone in the room. Sometimes God tries to put His arm around me, and I try very hard to set Him on fire with my eyes. That’s when He reminds me, with friends like Lauren, that He is, unfortunately, God. And no matter what I do, I can’t set Him on fire.
And for the record... Lauren and I are still friends.
“I heard Jesus, He drank wine, I bet we'd get along just fine. He can calm a storm, and heal the blind, well I bet he'd understand a heart like mine..." Miranda Lambert
I remember that evening as the sun melted behind the neighborhood houses, and slithered off the black pavement. I didn’t care about the cold bite to the air that nipped at my nose, and my cheeks as I sat alone on an empty sidewalk curb. A pack of cigarettes to my right side, and a pile of his pictures in my left hand as I brought the lighter one by one to each picture. The pleasure that warmed my soul as I watched his face simmer under the blue, and orange licks of fire as I used its flame to light my cigarette was invigorating.
This, ladies and gentleman, is the darkest of my heart when I am provoked to shattering, heart break. I close off, find a lonely sidewalk, cigarettes, and fire. It’s been proven not to be the safest combination in my hands.
It’s usually during these kinds of lows in my life that I need a friend the most. It is also during these lows in my life that I want a friend the least.
Now, I believe in God, and have been told my whole life about how Jesus wants to be my friend, and God loves me all the time, and stuff like that.
I am about to get a little religious, so bear with me if you’re not religious. Remember; my target audience is YOU. Not the christians, and not the secs, (This is my new term for “secular”) only you.
Being “friends” with Jesus, and having a “relationship” with Him have been words I’ve heard spoken in the christianese language for years, and I have even spoken those words myself. Until I stopped to think about it, and came to realize; I don’t think I quite understand what I’m saying. I don’t know how to translate those words into normal people language. I might have been wrong all along.
Well, it’s the soul searching time for Dark Heart, and here is my conclusion. Actually, if it weren’t for my friend I am about to mention, and our very special relationship, I’m not sure I would have a conclusion. So, thank you Flautsy.
You see, I have this friend named Lauren. Lauren and I have a very interesting relationship, as I noted. Lauren recently sent me a text message to inform me that she was sitting at a starbucks in New York City, watching the rain flutter down on Times Square, while journaling to the sounds of Damien Rice.
I replied to Lauren to inform her that I hated her, and I did not wish to be friends with her anymore.
Lauren then responded with a simple reminder that I was a whore, and she was off to watch a free orchestra concert.
I told her the only place she could go was to hell, followed by expletives.
She then told me that I was a bitch, and she loved me, and I told her that I missed her, and we went about our day.
That’s when it struck me; I began to understand, I think, what it means to have a “relationship” with Jesus, and how that can even change over the years to mean different things.
I mainly began to think about the different relationships we have with different friends, or family members, and how that bleeds into the kind of relationship we ought to, perhaps, have with Jesus. The way I interact with God is far different from the way, say, Lauren interacts with God - this is a good thing. The way Lauren interacts with her mother is far different from the way she interacts with me - this also, is a good thing.
If Lauren were to call her mother a dirty whore, I doubt it would go over well, whereas, I would respond with “I love you too”, and my heart would go all warm and fuzzy.
Sometimes, I feel like God and I have that same kind of relationship. There is an understanding. I’m not always the most sympathetic person, but I understand where mercy is due, and where it is just being toyed with. But, still, sometimes I get that confused. Therefore, when God is trying to convict me of something, and I know it, instead of falling to my knees in tears, and asking to partake of His forgiveness, my response is something more or less along the lines of “&^%$ you”.
Then He sort of gets pissed off at me, and does something along the lines of shattering my hopes and dreams. Then I cry, and scream obscenities, and slam the door to my room. Then he ignores me, locks my door, and throws away the key. A while later I begin to softly tap on the door, and when He opens it I will come out sniffling, red faced, and bashfully muttering something like “Thanks for not letting me date him - I didn’t know he was a crack addict.”
He then says “Yeah yeah, I love you”, and we’re good.
This makes me wonder; maybe if we treated the relationship we have with Jesus - if that’s the way you choose to live - the way we treat the relationships we have with our best friends; we would know a little bit more of what it is like to be a genuine christian, and have a genuine friendship with Jesus. It’s so simple, yet so complex inside my head... being friends with Jesus... the answer was always there.
Now, I don’t go around screaming at the heavens all day every day, don’t get me wrong. But, the more I am honest with Him, and the more I just let myself display my feelings vulnerably to Him - the more I feel like I actually believe in Him.
Still following me? Great.
Besides, who said relationships of any sort were ever easy? Without a fight? Without hatred? Without anger? I think it’s the same with Jesus, and to be honest - I think he welcomes it. I think He’s ok with knowing exactly how I’m feeling, and knowing I’m being honest with Him about it. Anger is really given a bad name these days I think, because what is the best part of a relationship? It's the forgiveness after the anger. It's the beauty that flows out of that relationship when it's suffered and survived a storm. As I look at this honest relationship I now have with Jesus I realize that I am glad that I haven't always been so keen on the idea of being friends with Him. That I have been angry with His decisions, that I have yelled at Him, and that He has stuck around anyways.... kind of like a real friendship.
One day I was crying. It was over a boy. What’s new? I know.
The tears sort of came out of no where at a small group meeting, and since I am for some reason ashamed to show my face when I cry, I sauntered off into some dark corner where no one would see me. When, out of some mysterious black hole, Lauren found me. Lauren is very unsubtle about most things in life, so by this point everyone knew I was crying.
“What’s wrong?!” She screamed.
“Nothing” I squealed in a high pitch whine, as thick, muddy, black tears trickled down my cheek, and I pathetically tried to pretend she wasn’t there.
I smiled a very awkward smile, and wiped mascara all over my face.
Lauren blinked once, and gave me a wide eyed look that clearly said: “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“What’s. Wrong.?” She stated again more sternly.
I just stood there pissed off that I wasn’t being left alone in my dark corner to cry my shame away, and refused to answer any of her further interrogation.
Finally, Lauren just put her arm around me, and in silence we stood together in a crowded room. Though I was still angry - there wasn’t a necessity for words; She understood. And that was all that mattered. I didn’t want to be touched, I didn’t want to be acknowledged, but in my time of not being wise enough to know what I really needed; God sent Lauren.
There is a funny, and ironic thing about silence to me. Silence, to me, is actually a very loud feeling. It can be totally comfortable, or completely uncomfortable. Silence sometimes has a lot to say when nothing more can be spoken. It was in my irritability of attention, and in my time of vulnerability, and sadness, and stubbornness that Lauren’s silence said; “I know you’re upset, therefore I am not going to leave you alone. Deal with it.”.
Sometimes, I think Jesus gives us friends to remind us of the way He has been trying so hard to have a relationship with us. The way He would wish us to interact with Him too.
Sometimes, I need someone to force there arm around me, and make me talk about why I’m crying, even though I’d rather set fire to everyone in the room. Sometimes God tries to put His arm around me, and I try very hard to set Him on fire with my eyes. That’s when He reminds me, with friends like Lauren, that He is, unfortunately, God. And no matter what I do, I can’t set Him on fire.
And for the record... Lauren and I are still friends.
“I heard Jesus, He drank wine, I bet we'd get along just fine. He can calm a storm, and heal the blind, well I bet he'd understand a heart like mine..." Miranda Lambert
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Magic Key" Goal #5
When I was a little girl I started writing stories. In fact, since before I can remember; I have been writing stories, and about the time I learned how to spell I wrote a story about a girl who found a magical key that granted her as many wishes as she desired. In the end she found she had become so consumed, and power hungry by the key that she eventually wished it away.
Honestly, I can’t remember the whole story, but I think that is the gist of it.
Now, I have routinely begun to start most of my blog with an apology... this time it’s a big one. Forgive me readers, for I have sinned; it has been almost two months since my last blog.
We’ll just say I was so busy accomplishing goals, that I forgot to write them down. Does that work?
Great.
It’s not entirely false though, I have in fact been quite busy these past couple months perfecting the art of storytelling... I’ve so much to tell you all I’m not sure where to begin.
Let’s go back to the magic key.
As I said; Storytelling, to me, is an art. An art I have longed to become successful in since I was little, obviously. Growing up in the shire woods provided for quite the space to let an imaginative little girl loose with wild ideas. So, I utilized it.
To this day I find myself coming up with stories that usually take place in the midst of a sleepy, little town, or lost in the depths of a redwood forest. Ok, I’ll admit I’m a Twi-Freak...Twilight as in Vampires, not the Twilight Zone. (Team Edward).
What am I getting at? I decided it was time to be a grown up, and do something about all the stories that continually pecked at the back of my mind.
This past month I think I can legitimately say I made one of my dreams come true. Which brings me to a different aspect of my journey in storytelling.
About two years ago I discovered a great new realm of ways to bring stories to life... this great art is called “Film Making”. I fell in love with it. Every aspect; editing to the detail, splicing scenes, directing and crafting each scene, perfecting the set, coaching the actors, making the script breathe MY story.
Now I had dabbled in script writing as a child as well, and dreamed of someone, someday stumbling across it and realizing; The child prodigy had been hidden away in the shire forest all these years... needless to say it never happened, but I did decide to re awaken some of my script writing skills.
Of course the first thing I wanted to direct was “Breaking Dawn” (That’s the fourth book in the Twilight story for all of you uneducated out there). But, I was re directed in a much more practical direction, and told to start small...very very small, by a more experienced film maker. Turns out my church is flooded with more experienced film makers... hmmm... the wheels begin to turn.
With that in mind, and to make a long, and agonizing thought process of mine shorter; I began writing a story with no words. I began listening to music, which is the soul of where my stories begin, and writing. It soon became a project larger than a church skit, and smaller than an oscar nomination - not by much though.
I had this idea for a drama to music video stored away in my diary for... well too long, before I decided I didn’t need to be a film school graduate, or sponsored by Steven Spielburg to start my own film company. Things I have to re learn at least once a month. So, I sent out an email to all my little film minions, and said “Hey let’s start an indi film company”.
Ok, it didn’t exactly go like that, but never the less, I gathered a team and, to my surprise.... it thrived.
What I find myself in awe of still is the fire that ignites in a room full of artists who all breathe the same passion. Ideas begin to grow, and feed off one another. Papers, and notes are fluttering across the table in a frenzy, and frustration to perfect every last detail of our crafting masterpiece has the adrenaline of a hummingbird vibrating through the air. Smiles are cracking with the excitement of a child who’s been granted another cookie, and dreams are sparkling like polished diamonds in the eyes of all who are gathered around the table of life.
I couldn’t have ended up with a more perfect team. Not only did I whittle my team down to a photographer, a script writer, a set director, an assistant director, and producers assistant, but I landed a photographer who knows the art of lighting, and perfect angles like a professional D.P. should, two assistants who are on top of the things I don’t have time to think about, another little assistant who catches all the details I am too excited to think about, a set director who is eager, and serious, a script writer who might be the next child prodigy (after me of course), with a dad who has THE camera we needed.
It’s funny how things fall into place with the right people who have the same drive, and determination. Together we were the perfect team. So, we set out to make a movie, and become famous.
Within our planning meetings I could feel the intensity of brilliance in the creative conversations that bled into the late hours of the night, far past the times we set our meetings to end. Plans for future films would begin coming to life before we even had plans finished for our first film... that was when our brilliant little assistant would remind us to be responsible... she is younger than all of us... which goes to show; maturity has no age.
It is even hard for us to be apart of any social event without accidentally crawling into a corner, and begin feeding our film addictions like withdrawing crack addicts.
I once read a story about the first time Tim Burton, and Johnny Depp met. They were at a little cafe, and Tim burton was hiding in a corner booth with a cup of coffee, his hair a ragged mess while he vigorously scratched away at notes. He, and Johnny sat for hours shaking with caffeine pulsing through their system, wild eyed, and with ideas spilling onto the table faster than their mouths could keep up.
That story always reminds me of our film meetings. It gives me a visual of what driven passion looks like. What dreams coming true looks like on paper, what adrenaline can do when desires are awakened inside of the heart. Even as I write this now, my fingers are beginning to work faster than I can keep up, and my heart begins to beat so fast I can feel new ideas start to spin inside of my head.
With that said, months of this passed.... and shoot day arrived. The early morning sky holds only great memories for me... I never wanted to be up at 5am so badly.
There is something about early, dawn mornings before the sun has even begun to arise that breathes the excitement of new beginnings to me. This day was a new beginning I will never forget. Clip boards were ready, makeup kits being set up, tables assembled, papers signed, camera’s prepped, and “I dreamed a dream” playing subliminally in the back of all our minds as our eyes scanned the empty streets we were about to film, and inhaled the air of arising fame.
The moment came, and the words left a sweet taste on my tongue as they slipped through my lips.... “Action!”
I learned one very amazing thing in the process of all the dreaming coming true as I looked around at my hard working crew.... if you want something done you gotta do it yourself. In other words; no one is going to find you, and say “Hey, you look like you want to be a director, here’s a million dollars to produce a film”. Dreams are the product of hard work, they don’t just fall into your lap. And it sure feels so damn good when it’s really earned. The same way a good meal tastes the best when you’ve put your own work into it, and clothes always fit the best when it’s from your own hard earned money. Dreams are only dreams when they’ve been worked for, and when the work and effort has come from the depths of desire you have pined after for years.
When I wrote “The Magic Key”, even as a child I dreamed someday of publishing it. I wrote screenplays with every angle, and close up, and scene already planned out in my head. I wrote with passion, and with an end goal in my head. I always knew deep down what I was suppose to do, but I just recently figured it out. I think what we are initially created to do is most obvious when we are young, before we are marred with adulthood. Before we begin to take seriously “responsibility”, and what we’re “suppose” to do. When are minds are free, and wild, and don’t understand the concept of limitations, and rules. What if we just tap into that for a moment? How far could we get if we just let go... just for a second, and let the freedom of a child like faith invade us? What if we were all living from passion, and doing what we were always suppose to be doing? Maybe we would all be publishing our “Magic Key”.
“If you work HARD, and you are KIND it is amazing the places you will end up ... I promise” - Conan O’Brien, of the late great Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien.
Honestly, I can’t remember the whole story, but I think that is the gist of it.
Now, I have routinely begun to start most of my blog with an apology... this time it’s a big one. Forgive me readers, for I have sinned; it has been almost two months since my last blog.
We’ll just say I was so busy accomplishing goals, that I forgot to write them down. Does that work?
Great.
It’s not entirely false though, I have in fact been quite busy these past couple months perfecting the art of storytelling... I’ve so much to tell you all I’m not sure where to begin.
Let’s go back to the magic key.
As I said; Storytelling, to me, is an art. An art I have longed to become successful in since I was little, obviously. Growing up in the shire woods provided for quite the space to let an imaginative little girl loose with wild ideas. So, I utilized it.
To this day I find myself coming up with stories that usually take place in the midst of a sleepy, little town, or lost in the depths of a redwood forest. Ok, I’ll admit I’m a Twi-Freak...Twilight as in Vampires, not the Twilight Zone. (Team Edward).
What am I getting at? I decided it was time to be a grown up, and do something about all the stories that continually pecked at the back of my mind.
This past month I think I can legitimately say I made one of my dreams come true. Which brings me to a different aspect of my journey in storytelling.
About two years ago I discovered a great new realm of ways to bring stories to life... this great art is called “Film Making”. I fell in love with it. Every aspect; editing to the detail, splicing scenes, directing and crafting each scene, perfecting the set, coaching the actors, making the script breathe MY story.
Now I had dabbled in script writing as a child as well, and dreamed of someone, someday stumbling across it and realizing; The child prodigy had been hidden away in the shire forest all these years... needless to say it never happened, but I did decide to re awaken some of my script writing skills.
Of course the first thing I wanted to direct was “Breaking Dawn” (That’s the fourth book in the Twilight story for all of you uneducated out there). But, I was re directed in a much more practical direction, and told to start small...very very small, by a more experienced film maker. Turns out my church is flooded with more experienced film makers... hmmm... the wheels begin to turn.
With that in mind, and to make a long, and agonizing thought process of mine shorter; I began writing a story with no words. I began listening to music, which is the soul of where my stories begin, and writing. It soon became a project larger than a church skit, and smaller than an oscar nomination - not by much though.
I had this idea for a drama to music video stored away in my diary for... well too long, before I decided I didn’t need to be a film school graduate, or sponsored by Steven Spielburg to start my own film company. Things I have to re learn at least once a month. So, I sent out an email to all my little film minions, and said “Hey let’s start an indi film company”.
Ok, it didn’t exactly go like that, but never the less, I gathered a team and, to my surprise.... it thrived.
What I find myself in awe of still is the fire that ignites in a room full of artists who all breathe the same passion. Ideas begin to grow, and feed off one another. Papers, and notes are fluttering across the table in a frenzy, and frustration to perfect every last detail of our crafting masterpiece has the adrenaline of a hummingbird vibrating through the air. Smiles are cracking with the excitement of a child who’s been granted another cookie, and dreams are sparkling like polished diamonds in the eyes of all who are gathered around the table of life.
I couldn’t have ended up with a more perfect team. Not only did I whittle my team down to a photographer, a script writer, a set director, an assistant director, and producers assistant, but I landed a photographer who knows the art of lighting, and perfect angles like a professional D.P. should, two assistants who are on top of the things I don’t have time to think about, another little assistant who catches all the details I am too excited to think about, a set director who is eager, and serious, a script writer who might be the next child prodigy (after me of course), with a dad who has THE camera we needed.
It’s funny how things fall into place with the right people who have the same drive, and determination. Together we were the perfect team. So, we set out to make a movie, and become famous.
Within our planning meetings I could feel the intensity of brilliance in the creative conversations that bled into the late hours of the night, far past the times we set our meetings to end. Plans for future films would begin coming to life before we even had plans finished for our first film... that was when our brilliant little assistant would remind us to be responsible... she is younger than all of us... which goes to show; maturity has no age.
It is even hard for us to be apart of any social event without accidentally crawling into a corner, and begin feeding our film addictions like withdrawing crack addicts.
I once read a story about the first time Tim Burton, and Johnny Depp met. They were at a little cafe, and Tim burton was hiding in a corner booth with a cup of coffee, his hair a ragged mess while he vigorously scratched away at notes. He, and Johnny sat for hours shaking with caffeine pulsing through their system, wild eyed, and with ideas spilling onto the table faster than their mouths could keep up.
That story always reminds me of our film meetings. It gives me a visual of what driven passion looks like. What dreams coming true looks like on paper, what adrenaline can do when desires are awakened inside of the heart. Even as I write this now, my fingers are beginning to work faster than I can keep up, and my heart begins to beat so fast I can feel new ideas start to spin inside of my head.
With that said, months of this passed.... and shoot day arrived. The early morning sky holds only great memories for me... I never wanted to be up at 5am so badly.
There is something about early, dawn mornings before the sun has even begun to arise that breathes the excitement of new beginnings to me. This day was a new beginning I will never forget. Clip boards were ready, makeup kits being set up, tables assembled, papers signed, camera’s prepped, and “I dreamed a dream” playing subliminally in the back of all our minds as our eyes scanned the empty streets we were about to film, and inhaled the air of arising fame.
The moment came, and the words left a sweet taste on my tongue as they slipped through my lips.... “Action!”
I learned one very amazing thing in the process of all the dreaming coming true as I looked around at my hard working crew.... if you want something done you gotta do it yourself. In other words; no one is going to find you, and say “Hey, you look like you want to be a director, here’s a million dollars to produce a film”. Dreams are the product of hard work, they don’t just fall into your lap. And it sure feels so damn good when it’s really earned. The same way a good meal tastes the best when you’ve put your own work into it, and clothes always fit the best when it’s from your own hard earned money. Dreams are only dreams when they’ve been worked for, and when the work and effort has come from the depths of desire you have pined after for years.
When I wrote “The Magic Key”, even as a child I dreamed someday of publishing it. I wrote screenplays with every angle, and close up, and scene already planned out in my head. I wrote with passion, and with an end goal in my head. I always knew deep down what I was suppose to do, but I just recently figured it out. I think what we are initially created to do is most obvious when we are young, before we are marred with adulthood. Before we begin to take seriously “responsibility”, and what we’re “suppose” to do. When are minds are free, and wild, and don’t understand the concept of limitations, and rules. What if we just tap into that for a moment? How far could we get if we just let go... just for a second, and let the freedom of a child like faith invade us? What if we were all living from passion, and doing what we were always suppose to be doing? Maybe we would all be publishing our “Magic Key”.
“If you work HARD, and you are KIND it is amazing the places you will end up ... I promise” - Conan O’Brien, of the late great Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Peach Italian Soda's: A Reflection
Is it really that time again? My how time does fly when the sun is out, and Lady Antebellum is wailing through the speakers. Where were we? These six months seem to be coming faster than my fingers can type, perhaps it’s time to just take a little time of reflection. Yes, I’m still broke. Onward on a little skip down memory lane, or maybe it’s a soft stroll down a windy path.
Before we begin, here’s a quick FYI; unless I’m discovered by a talent agent sometime in the near future for my mad directing skills, and given a million dollars, this blog may turn into a fifteen month blog instead of twelve. Eh, life’s full of surprises like that.
Don’t worry, next month will be fun, I promise. Sort of.
Six months ago I was on the last leg of my therapy sessions, and wondering where the hell I was going next.
I was definitely chain smoking - I hate to admit by the way. Drinking several cups of......
coffee a day
Ha, bet I got you there for a moment.
An emotional mess at best, I mean what else can you be when Sweeny Todd is your therapy?
And a terrible country music prejudice. I’m so sorry Taylor Swift.
It’s funny what happens in six months.
For dance class I gave up smoking. Realizing I could either dance or smoke after one class. Was it a loss?
I opened my eyes to the family that’s always been right in front of my self centered eyes, and found the power in asking questions, in listening without deciding what to say next, and In quiet.
For lent I gave up coffee, and decided to do the healthy thing: Green tea. Bet ya never thought I could make it did you?
For awkward singleness I took on some awkward dates... Sometimes there really isn’t a lesson to learn, and it’s okay to accept a pat on the back for the effort you’ve given.
For joy; I gave up sadness.
For a smile I surrendered to country music.
Even as I write this though I realize my mistake in this outlook. I guess it was not so much that I gave anything up, but I received something greater in the replacement of what I abandoned, and let go of. Which brought me to this thought; what if we let go of things more often? What if we shed layers of ourselves, even layers we like and enjoy, just to see what else we could get?
After a month of being smoke free I began to feel my lungs, and discover the strength my body is capable of. After replacing green tea for coffee I began to feel awake, and calmly focused on a world that was always hazy and spinning. When I stopped talking, and listened to my family, namely both of my grandmothers, I saw aged wisdom, and history overlooked - and I took a deeper look at it. Once saying ‘yes’ to a couple boys I would usually flip off I realized - I still don’t like dating casually.
After turning on some country music and letting myself go, instead of snickering, I came to realize; I think I always liked country music. Kind of like that pair of lovers who always acted like they hated each other, but in reality; it was only the flames of passion they were fanning, and mistaking for flames of hatred. Like Beatrice, and Benedict from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Ok, I’m done.
What I’m saying; sometimes shedding layers that consist of the past doesn’t mean giving things up, or letting go, or even changing necessarily, but rather accepting what’s always been there... instead of breathing smoke, I will give my attention more wholly to oxygen. I'm still breathing, it's just a little different.
Now, for the question that seems to have many in controversy; Should I be ashamed of what I had to go through to learn the greater lesson? Do I forget what I've shed just because I have something new?
I am strong believer in remembering where you came from. In remembering the past. Not holding onto it, but remembering where it was that you began. The past is what has formed, and shaped us into what we are today, and to regret it or look poorly upon it is to be ashamed of who you are now. I am very proud of myself, and I am damn proud of how hard I worked to be where I am at in life today. It is to the past, the high’s AND the low’s, that I owe gratitude. So, no... I am not ashamed of what brought me to the greater lessons I have learned.
I am thankful for hatred. Yep, I said it. I am thankful that hatred gave me the deep appreciation I have now for those who love me. For my grandmother who will knit me a scarf after I’ve briefly admired hers.
I am grateful for those who have hurt me, for they taught me the raw meaning of saying "I forgive you" even when I'm red in the face, fists clenched. Likewise I am grateful for the stupidity of my faults, for I know now what it means to be humbled, and forgiven.
I am excited that I have felt weakness, because now I know what it must have felt like to be David killing Goliath. Powerful.
I am grateful that I live in a country that is corrupt with lies, deceit, and poverty; because it is the only way to fully soak in the beauty of those who will fight for truth, hope, and giving a tainted image beauty.
What does it mean to shed layers? To let go? To move on? Those words always roll with such a melancholy sound off our tongues. But, what if it wasn’t really suppose to be that way all the time? What if letting go could be done with a smile, and gratitude for the time it existed in our life? I don’t think moving away from the past, the horrible and happy moments, has to be done with sadness, or shame. I think, like love and like happiness, it is what we make it. It can be done with joy if we choose to look at the positive effect it has had in our life, it can be let go of with a smile if we look ahead at the future it has provided for us. It can even be remembered with peace. Because no one likes to be forgotten. I don’t think we were created to be forgotten, and neither was the past. It happened. It was there for a reason. If you try to pretend it never happened - it doesn’t change the fact that it still happened.
Living with consequences of stupid decisions, and bearing burdens of wounds others have afflicted us with is never exactly something we want to acknowledge every moment. And we don’t have to. But, I do think that how we react to it in the present moment has everything to do with what kind of person we allow ourselves to be.
When I was seventeen I worked at a little hometown coffee shop called “Shotz”, and when it first opened we all thought it was going to be a bar. It was my first job.
I have so many memories of that summer I worked there. I remember when both of my best friends, Jeanette and Lacey, got jobs there and we all got to work together. I remember meeting Josh, who became one of my very best friends that summer. I remember early mornings where we would get maybe a customer an hour, and how Josh and I passed the time by spilling boiling water out the drive thru window, and watched steam billow off the iced over pavement. I remember the smell of freshly delivered pastries at five in the morning, and our special bran muffins baking in the back ovens, how Josh and I discovered that lime flavoring in a white mocha smells exactly like body odor, and in the summer being addicted to peach italian soda’s.
I also remember when we were told someone was stealing money, and everyone began to point a finger at each other. I remember having to get up at three thirty in the morning to have to get there on time for my opening shifts. I remember nasty customers at eight in the morning who made me feel stupid, and developing carpel tunnel in my right hand from working the espresso machines. I remember my alarm not waking me up for an opening shift, and getting a call at seven thirty. I had left Josh out in the cold at four am because my alarm didn’t go off, and I wasn’t allowed to work my shift that day.
Today, I decided to write my blog at the Coffee Table Cafe. Mind you, it is not Shotz, but it brings back little memories of Shotz to me. The home like decor, the fresh pastries I can smell from their ovens, and the real espresso. I'm really sorry if you're a fan of starbucks.... but it's just not real espresso.
I didn’t exactly know what I was going to write about to be completely honest with you....until I ordered a Peach Italian Soda.
I remember the same day my alarm didn’t wake me up, and I went into Shotz almost in tears. My manager was behind the counter filling in my shift, and quite angry with me... Then there was Josh, who was so upset only because we couldn’t work together that day. It was when I started crying that he, bless his heart, tried so hard to keep me from crying, and later that day bought me my favorite can of Arizona Iced Tea.
I am thankful my alarm did not go off that day, because I would not have learned the power of a shoulder to cry on, and a friend that would do anything to help me learn to wipe away my own tears, and smile.
Memories can be painful. If we choose to let them be painful. But, I think often we forget to acknowledge that somewhere amidst the painful memories there was a friend. There was a moment. There was a stranger. There was the way the sun rose that gave you an outlook you may never have had before. There was a choice to take something positive away with the negative. I could remember Shotz with such bitterness for not showing me mercy when my alarm clock didn't go off. Or I could remember friends like Josh, who threw mercy at me recklessly when others didn't.
I could have bitterly let sorrow swallow me whole when all my dreams of going to film school didn't follow through... but, I didn't. I sat down and I started writing a blog. To be completely honest.... I'm glad it turned out that way.
Shotz may not have always provided me with the greatest memories. But, I realize now, in the long run; it shaped me, and now the memories leave a sweet taste in my mouth.... like Peach Italian Soda’s.
“I don’t regret a single thing in my past. If I hadn’t have gone through what I did I would not be able to write one song I have written today. I wouldn’t be able to help others who have gone through the same thing I did in my past, and I would not know the sweetness of comfort... had I not gone through what I did” - Lacey Mosley, lead singer of Flyleaf.
Before we begin, here’s a quick FYI; unless I’m discovered by a talent agent sometime in the near future for my mad directing skills, and given a million dollars, this blog may turn into a fifteen month blog instead of twelve. Eh, life’s full of surprises like that.
Don’t worry, next month will be fun, I promise. Sort of.
Six months ago I was on the last leg of my therapy sessions, and wondering where the hell I was going next.
I was definitely chain smoking - I hate to admit by the way. Drinking several cups of......
coffee a day
Ha, bet I got you there for a moment.
An emotional mess at best, I mean what else can you be when Sweeny Todd is your therapy?
And a terrible country music prejudice. I’m so sorry Taylor Swift.
It’s funny what happens in six months.
For dance class I gave up smoking. Realizing I could either dance or smoke after one class. Was it a loss?
I opened my eyes to the family that’s always been right in front of my self centered eyes, and found the power in asking questions, in listening without deciding what to say next, and In quiet.
For lent I gave up coffee, and decided to do the healthy thing: Green tea. Bet ya never thought I could make it did you?
For awkward singleness I took on some awkward dates... Sometimes there really isn’t a lesson to learn, and it’s okay to accept a pat on the back for the effort you’ve given.
For joy; I gave up sadness.
For a smile I surrendered to country music.
Even as I write this though I realize my mistake in this outlook. I guess it was not so much that I gave anything up, but I received something greater in the replacement of what I abandoned, and let go of. Which brought me to this thought; what if we let go of things more often? What if we shed layers of ourselves, even layers we like and enjoy, just to see what else we could get?
After a month of being smoke free I began to feel my lungs, and discover the strength my body is capable of. After replacing green tea for coffee I began to feel awake, and calmly focused on a world that was always hazy and spinning. When I stopped talking, and listened to my family, namely both of my grandmothers, I saw aged wisdom, and history overlooked - and I took a deeper look at it. Once saying ‘yes’ to a couple boys I would usually flip off I realized - I still don’t like dating casually.
After turning on some country music and letting myself go, instead of snickering, I came to realize; I think I always liked country music. Kind of like that pair of lovers who always acted like they hated each other, but in reality; it was only the flames of passion they were fanning, and mistaking for flames of hatred. Like Beatrice, and Benedict from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Ok, I’m done.
What I’m saying; sometimes shedding layers that consist of the past doesn’t mean giving things up, or letting go, or even changing necessarily, but rather accepting what’s always been there... instead of breathing smoke, I will give my attention more wholly to oxygen. I'm still breathing, it's just a little different.
Now, for the question that seems to have many in controversy; Should I be ashamed of what I had to go through to learn the greater lesson? Do I forget what I've shed just because I have something new?
I am strong believer in remembering where you came from. In remembering the past. Not holding onto it, but remembering where it was that you began. The past is what has formed, and shaped us into what we are today, and to regret it or look poorly upon it is to be ashamed of who you are now. I am very proud of myself, and I am damn proud of how hard I worked to be where I am at in life today. It is to the past, the high’s AND the low’s, that I owe gratitude. So, no... I am not ashamed of what brought me to the greater lessons I have learned.
I am thankful for hatred. Yep, I said it. I am thankful that hatred gave me the deep appreciation I have now for those who love me. For my grandmother who will knit me a scarf after I’ve briefly admired hers.
I am grateful for those who have hurt me, for they taught me the raw meaning of saying "I forgive you" even when I'm red in the face, fists clenched. Likewise I am grateful for the stupidity of my faults, for I know now what it means to be humbled, and forgiven.
I am excited that I have felt weakness, because now I know what it must have felt like to be David killing Goliath. Powerful.
I am grateful that I live in a country that is corrupt with lies, deceit, and poverty; because it is the only way to fully soak in the beauty of those who will fight for truth, hope, and giving a tainted image beauty.
What does it mean to shed layers? To let go? To move on? Those words always roll with such a melancholy sound off our tongues. But, what if it wasn’t really suppose to be that way all the time? What if letting go could be done with a smile, and gratitude for the time it existed in our life? I don’t think moving away from the past, the horrible and happy moments, has to be done with sadness, or shame. I think, like love and like happiness, it is what we make it. It can be done with joy if we choose to look at the positive effect it has had in our life, it can be let go of with a smile if we look ahead at the future it has provided for us. It can even be remembered with peace. Because no one likes to be forgotten. I don’t think we were created to be forgotten, and neither was the past. It happened. It was there for a reason. If you try to pretend it never happened - it doesn’t change the fact that it still happened.
Living with consequences of stupid decisions, and bearing burdens of wounds others have afflicted us with is never exactly something we want to acknowledge every moment. And we don’t have to. But, I do think that how we react to it in the present moment has everything to do with what kind of person we allow ourselves to be.
When I was seventeen I worked at a little hometown coffee shop called “Shotz”, and when it first opened we all thought it was going to be a bar. It was my first job.
I have so many memories of that summer I worked there. I remember when both of my best friends, Jeanette and Lacey, got jobs there and we all got to work together. I remember meeting Josh, who became one of my very best friends that summer. I remember early mornings where we would get maybe a customer an hour, and how Josh and I passed the time by spilling boiling water out the drive thru window, and watched steam billow off the iced over pavement. I remember the smell of freshly delivered pastries at five in the morning, and our special bran muffins baking in the back ovens, how Josh and I discovered that lime flavoring in a white mocha smells exactly like body odor, and in the summer being addicted to peach italian soda’s.
I also remember when we were told someone was stealing money, and everyone began to point a finger at each other. I remember having to get up at three thirty in the morning to have to get there on time for my opening shifts. I remember nasty customers at eight in the morning who made me feel stupid, and developing carpel tunnel in my right hand from working the espresso machines. I remember my alarm not waking me up for an opening shift, and getting a call at seven thirty. I had left Josh out in the cold at four am because my alarm didn’t go off, and I wasn’t allowed to work my shift that day.
Today, I decided to write my blog at the Coffee Table Cafe. Mind you, it is not Shotz, but it brings back little memories of Shotz to me. The home like decor, the fresh pastries I can smell from their ovens, and the real espresso. I'm really sorry if you're a fan of starbucks.... but it's just not real espresso.
I didn’t exactly know what I was going to write about to be completely honest with you....until I ordered a Peach Italian Soda.
I remember the same day my alarm didn’t wake me up, and I went into Shotz almost in tears. My manager was behind the counter filling in my shift, and quite angry with me... Then there was Josh, who was so upset only because we couldn’t work together that day. It was when I started crying that he, bless his heart, tried so hard to keep me from crying, and later that day bought me my favorite can of Arizona Iced Tea.
I am thankful my alarm did not go off that day, because I would not have learned the power of a shoulder to cry on, and a friend that would do anything to help me learn to wipe away my own tears, and smile.
Memories can be painful. If we choose to let them be painful. But, I think often we forget to acknowledge that somewhere amidst the painful memories there was a friend. There was a moment. There was a stranger. There was the way the sun rose that gave you an outlook you may never have had before. There was a choice to take something positive away with the negative. I could remember Shotz with such bitterness for not showing me mercy when my alarm clock didn't go off. Or I could remember friends like Josh, who threw mercy at me recklessly when others didn't.
I could have bitterly let sorrow swallow me whole when all my dreams of going to film school didn't follow through... but, I didn't. I sat down and I started writing a blog. To be completely honest.... I'm glad it turned out that way.
Shotz may not have always provided me with the greatest memories. But, I realize now, in the long run; it shaped me, and now the memories leave a sweet taste in my mouth.... like Peach Italian Soda’s.
“I don’t regret a single thing in my past. If I hadn’t have gone through what I did I would not be able to write one song I have written today. I wouldn’t be able to help others who have gone through the same thing I did in my past, and I would not know the sweetness of comfort... had I not gone through what I did” - Lacey Mosley, lead singer of Flyleaf.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Glitter in the Air: Goal #4
I've found in life there are a lot of conversations I remember for a lot of reasons. The conversations that have entertained hours of laughter, the conversation that has stirred up butterflies in my stomach, and then sometimes there are conversations that hold this deeper sense of remembrance. The kind that plant a seed in your heart, and continue to grow even long after the planter has walked away.
About a month ago my mother, and all four sisters came into town to visit.
My sister Sarah and I went out to a bar one night with my Aunt and Uncle - yep, they’re that cool - and, in the course of our conversations, laughing, drinking, and being merry the conversation began to land on a more serious note. No, it was not the alcohol talking. Completely. In short; we strolled into the depths of the meaning of life, and what it all means in the end anyways.
As we neared the death part of the conversation.... My sister planted something I don’t think I will ever forget... I will let her words speak for themselves.
“When we die, and get to heaven I don’t think God is going to stand there and ask if you owned property, or how many degrees you earned, or if you had three kids and a big, nice house... I think He’s going to ask things like: ‘did you take advantage of the life I gave you? Did you LOVE people? Were you HONEST?”
I love my honest sister. Most of the time.
This statement rooted its way into my mind, and heart for a while, and I really began to wonder: Do I take advantage of what I have right in front of me? Do I love people enough? I think I'm pretty good at being honest, but then again... maybe not.
My sister set a challenge for me. One that dared me to relax, love, and live care free. Sounds easy enough for me, right? Well as it turns out ... not so much.
The late, great artist currently known as P!nk once wrote in one of her songs; “Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air? Have you ever looked fear in the face and said 'I just don't care'?” This question obviously has a deeper meaning than “have you ever acted like a child?” Although I could spend a few hours diving into that one too... But I’ll move on to the point that’s in my head while it’s still there.
If you listen to the song (Glitter in the Air) I believe what P!nk is referring to is a close metaphor to what my sister was talking about, which is about letting go, letting oneself feel without reserve, love without compromise, “Look fear in the face and say ‘I just don’t care today’”. Not caring in a healthy sense. In the sense of basically saying “In the end, does it really matter?” No matter what “It” is, it could be that thing that is really stressing you out, that bill that can’t get paid, that friend that is currently getting on your nerves, that grade that just won’t go up, that STUPID boy that won’t pay attention to you no matter how frantically you bat your eyes, or (for the guys) that STUBBORN girl that won’t surrender her phone number (sorry dudley). Because, in the end which is the life God prefers for us?
Throw the "glitter", the "problems" in the air, and watch where it falls. It may take you by surprise. Watch all of the minute little pieces of shiny silver flutter all over the place until they all hit the ground, and don’t care how it’s going to get cleaned up, or out of your hair by next year. Essentially; stop thinking about how this is effecting YOU. Just appreciate the failing moment for what it is, the people there to witness the mess with you, the moment while you have it. The moment BECAUSE you have it.
So, now that I’ve gone off on that little tangent here’s my point; I couldn’t really set any high goals this month because, well, I’m a little behind on my bills. But let me tell you; those pole dancing classes are worth it. Now, that’s not to say I’m not completely without a goal. I am constantly finding myself discovering goals I never even meant to set.
What my sister really got me thinking most about was, basically, being happy even though life sometimes feels like crap. Being content.
Content.
That’s a nice thought. But, content means financially stable, happily married or in a relationship, successfully climbing the corporate ladder, and completely one and centered with your inner being.... right?
What if none of that ever happens?
Does that permit us to being discontent forever? So, after spending the past twenty-four years striving for all of this only to next have my sister part several dark clouds in my life; I decided to toss it all in the air, and start from scratch. I figured the best time to dive into figuring out what it means to be content, what it really really means and not just vomiting off words I really don’t mean, was to do it while I was completely discontent. Funny how that sucks, I mean works.
Without any gas money last week I drove off to the beach by myself.
I went to dance class on Sunday, and let myself twirl around like a ballerina as though no one were watching me.
I went to see the Book Of Eli by myself a little while ago, and pretended Denzel Washington was my big brother. Actually don’t tell anyone, but it’s kind of a secret dream I have.
I decided to smile, and talk to strangers when the opportunity presented itself just because...
There’s always something about getting out of town, even if it’s just an hour away, that makes me feel completely detached from everything that ales me.
There’s something about sitting in my dance class that is too much for me to afford that makes me forget for two hours that there is a world outside those big purple doors that I hate sometimes.
It is amazing to discover who can bring a little extra sunshine to your day when allowing people the chance, or vise versa, and
there is something about going to the movies by myself that allows to me become apart of another world, and story that is not my own. Seeing what imagination looks like through someone else's eyes and appreciating their view. Book Of Eli. Do it.
What I’m getting at; There are things in this world I've discovered that remind me that I don’t have to hate it. In fact, it is completely the opposite when I find myself focusing on what matters. There are things in this world that remind me that I love it when I choose to take a longer look at it. Things I want to take advantage of now - before it’s too late, people that make me smile that I do not want to ever get too busy to remember.
Here’s the thing I often forget; Bills will go away; eventually - and so will debt collectors (all it takes is a good shotgun). Jobs will turn up (thank God for granville). Boys will turn into men and notice me one day (at least that’s what my mom keeps telling me). People will always have bitchy days, but that doesn't mean we have to give up on them. One day I’ll go back to school. Education isn’t going anywhere last time I checked. But, when all is said, and done, and I’m eighty years old - I just want to be able to look back and say “I did that. I made sure I told that person I loved them. I was happy, and people knew who I really was. And I am damn proud of myself”. I don’t want to live with the fact that I procrastinated because I didn’t have enough money, or didn't go for something because it wasn’t the right time, or I didn’t feel pretty so I chose to be jealous, and bitter, or I lost good friends because I wasn't a happy person. Because, when I’m eighty - I don’t think I’ll remember how much money was in my bank account when I was twenty-four, and I don’t think my eighty-five year old (or dead) husband will remember the shade of my lip gloss when we met. All that will matter is that I did it. And I was happy. I said “Screw it”.
So, I tossed the glitter in the air and watched it make a mess.
You know what I discovered? It is easier to love people, and be honest when nothing else matters anymore.
I decided to smile and mean it without looking for someone to pat me on the back and tell me how strong I am for smiling. I smile because I am happy, and I want to.
I decided to love people because I want to, and not just because Jesus told me to, and, well, it turns out they’re not all that bad.
I decided I would rather swallow my pride, and be honest, and apologize for my mistakes (I’m sorry I almost keyed your car anonymous victim) than carry around hatred that slowly eats away everything in my heart that makes me human.
I decided not to be bitter, but better. I found that being content is not something one finds or fights for, but chooses.
A few nights ago I caught myself in the kitchen dancing to country music, and baking cupcakes. I know, it scared me too. But, then I realized ..... I wasn’t caring about anything.
I caught myself happy without trying to be. I found out country music actually makes me smile - who knew!! It’s crazy what one can discover about oneself when not worrying about everything.
Have I found the true meaning of contentment? God, no. But, I think I found I can toss everything in the air like a fist full of glitter, and even let it sit on the floor for a while without obsessively looking for a dust buster. It'll get cleaned up when it gets cleaned up.... until then I can dance around it, I can still be happy, and not live my life completely stressed out until it’s over.
I’m content with that.
“It’s only half past the point of oblivion, the hourglass on the table, the walk before the run, the breath before the kiss, and the fear before the flames. Have you ever felt this way?” - P!nk, Glitter in the Air.
About a month ago my mother, and all four sisters came into town to visit.
My sister Sarah and I went out to a bar one night with my Aunt and Uncle - yep, they’re that cool - and, in the course of our conversations, laughing, drinking, and being merry the conversation began to land on a more serious note. No, it was not the alcohol talking. Completely. In short; we strolled into the depths of the meaning of life, and what it all means in the end anyways.
As we neared the death part of the conversation.... My sister planted something I don’t think I will ever forget... I will let her words speak for themselves.
“When we die, and get to heaven I don’t think God is going to stand there and ask if you owned property, or how many degrees you earned, or if you had three kids and a big, nice house... I think He’s going to ask things like: ‘did you take advantage of the life I gave you? Did you LOVE people? Were you HONEST?”
I love my honest sister. Most of the time.
This statement rooted its way into my mind, and heart for a while, and I really began to wonder: Do I take advantage of what I have right in front of me? Do I love people enough? I think I'm pretty good at being honest, but then again... maybe not.
My sister set a challenge for me. One that dared me to relax, love, and live care free. Sounds easy enough for me, right? Well as it turns out ... not so much.
The late, great artist currently known as P!nk once wrote in one of her songs; “Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air? Have you ever looked fear in the face and said 'I just don't care'?” This question obviously has a deeper meaning than “have you ever acted like a child?” Although I could spend a few hours diving into that one too... But I’ll move on to the point that’s in my head while it’s still there.
If you listen to the song (Glitter in the Air) I believe what P!nk is referring to is a close metaphor to what my sister was talking about, which is about letting go, letting oneself feel without reserve, love without compromise, “Look fear in the face and say ‘I just don’t care today’”. Not caring in a healthy sense. In the sense of basically saying “In the end, does it really matter?” No matter what “It” is, it could be that thing that is really stressing you out, that bill that can’t get paid, that friend that is currently getting on your nerves, that grade that just won’t go up, that STUPID boy that won’t pay attention to you no matter how frantically you bat your eyes, or (for the guys) that STUBBORN girl that won’t surrender her phone number (sorry dudley). Because, in the end which is the life God prefers for us?
Throw the "glitter", the "problems" in the air, and watch where it falls. It may take you by surprise. Watch all of the minute little pieces of shiny silver flutter all over the place until they all hit the ground, and don’t care how it’s going to get cleaned up, or out of your hair by next year. Essentially; stop thinking about how this is effecting YOU. Just appreciate the failing moment for what it is, the people there to witness the mess with you, the moment while you have it. The moment BECAUSE you have it.
So, now that I’ve gone off on that little tangent here’s my point; I couldn’t really set any high goals this month because, well, I’m a little behind on my bills. But let me tell you; those pole dancing classes are worth it. Now, that’s not to say I’m not completely without a goal. I am constantly finding myself discovering goals I never even meant to set.
What my sister really got me thinking most about was, basically, being happy even though life sometimes feels like crap. Being content.
Content.
That’s a nice thought. But, content means financially stable, happily married or in a relationship, successfully climbing the corporate ladder, and completely one and centered with your inner being.... right?
What if none of that ever happens?
Does that permit us to being discontent forever? So, after spending the past twenty-four years striving for all of this only to next have my sister part several dark clouds in my life; I decided to toss it all in the air, and start from scratch. I figured the best time to dive into figuring out what it means to be content, what it really really means and not just vomiting off words I really don’t mean, was to do it while I was completely discontent. Funny how that sucks, I mean works.
Without any gas money last week I drove off to the beach by myself.
I went to dance class on Sunday, and let myself twirl around like a ballerina as though no one were watching me.
I went to see the Book Of Eli by myself a little while ago, and pretended Denzel Washington was my big brother. Actually don’t tell anyone, but it’s kind of a secret dream I have.
I decided to smile, and talk to strangers when the opportunity presented itself just because...
There’s always something about getting out of town, even if it’s just an hour away, that makes me feel completely detached from everything that ales me.
There’s something about sitting in my dance class that is too much for me to afford that makes me forget for two hours that there is a world outside those big purple doors that I hate sometimes.
It is amazing to discover who can bring a little extra sunshine to your day when allowing people the chance, or vise versa, and
there is something about going to the movies by myself that allows to me become apart of another world, and story that is not my own. Seeing what imagination looks like through someone else's eyes and appreciating their view. Book Of Eli. Do it.
What I’m getting at; There are things in this world I've discovered that remind me that I don’t have to hate it. In fact, it is completely the opposite when I find myself focusing on what matters. There are things in this world that remind me that I love it when I choose to take a longer look at it. Things I want to take advantage of now - before it’s too late, people that make me smile that I do not want to ever get too busy to remember.
Here’s the thing I often forget; Bills will go away; eventually - and so will debt collectors (all it takes is a good shotgun). Jobs will turn up (thank God for granville). Boys will turn into men and notice me one day (at least that’s what my mom keeps telling me). People will always have bitchy days, but that doesn't mean we have to give up on them. One day I’ll go back to school. Education isn’t going anywhere last time I checked. But, when all is said, and done, and I’m eighty years old - I just want to be able to look back and say “I did that. I made sure I told that person I loved them. I was happy, and people knew who I really was. And I am damn proud of myself”. I don’t want to live with the fact that I procrastinated because I didn’t have enough money, or didn't go for something because it wasn’t the right time, or I didn’t feel pretty so I chose to be jealous, and bitter, or I lost good friends because I wasn't a happy person. Because, when I’m eighty - I don’t think I’ll remember how much money was in my bank account when I was twenty-four, and I don’t think my eighty-five year old (or dead) husband will remember the shade of my lip gloss when we met. All that will matter is that I did it. And I was happy. I said “Screw it”.
So, I tossed the glitter in the air and watched it make a mess.
You know what I discovered? It is easier to love people, and be honest when nothing else matters anymore.
I decided to smile and mean it without looking for someone to pat me on the back and tell me how strong I am for smiling. I smile because I am happy, and I want to.
I decided to love people because I want to, and not just because Jesus told me to, and, well, it turns out they’re not all that bad.
I decided I would rather swallow my pride, and be honest, and apologize for my mistakes (I’m sorry I almost keyed your car anonymous victim) than carry around hatred that slowly eats away everything in my heart that makes me human.
I decided not to be bitter, but better. I found that being content is not something one finds or fights for, but chooses.
A few nights ago I caught myself in the kitchen dancing to country music, and baking cupcakes. I know, it scared me too. But, then I realized ..... I wasn’t caring about anything.
I caught myself happy without trying to be. I found out country music actually makes me smile - who knew!! It’s crazy what one can discover about oneself when not worrying about everything.
Have I found the true meaning of contentment? God, no. But, I think I found I can toss everything in the air like a fist full of glitter, and even let it sit on the floor for a while without obsessively looking for a dust buster. It'll get cleaned up when it gets cleaned up.... until then I can dance around it, I can still be happy, and not live my life completely stressed out until it’s over.
I’m content with that.
“It’s only half past the point of oblivion, the hourglass on the table, the walk before the run, the breath before the kiss, and the fear before the flames. Have you ever felt this way?” - P!nk, Glitter in the Air.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Spark: Goal #3
Readers, I did something I told myself I would never do.. and I’m very ashamed to have to admit this to you.
I signed up on Match.com.
I know, pathetic right?
So, in celebration of singles awareness.... I mean Valentines month, I decided to write a tribute to my most awkward love experiences.
Let me preface with this; as women, and I think I can speak for most women, when I say that when we meet a guy for the first time ... whether this is a friend, a co worker, that guy who jogs by your house every morning, we choose one of the following options on this mental list that is instinct to our being.... guys I’m dolling out vital information so pay attention....
1) No way
2) Wear that shorter skirt next time I see him
3) It wouldn’t be ideal, but it could work
4) Our first daughter will be named Charlotte.
Or, if you're me...
5) I'm going to get into trouble.
So, with this idea rolling around in my head that it would be possible to sift through some pictures of cute guys, all at my selection, weeding out the “no ways”, and cutting straight to the short skirt, I figured “who’s to say this internet thing doesn’t work?” We’re women, and we believe in the theory of the “Spark”. The instant feeling of connection or no connection upon first sight.
But, is this true? Is finding love that simple, and can we do it on the internet? We’re young, and we’re all on this quest of either finding ourselves or finding love, and usually we just end up flat on our ass either way. So, since I’ve obviously spent a lot of time falling on my ass trying to find the “meaning of love”, I’ve decided to consult the professionals.... this is love according to the rest of the world.
According to Frank Sinatra (The author of love, obviously): “Love is a many splendored thing”
According to Harry, from “When Harry met Sally” : “When you know you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible”
According to Mandy Moore in “A Walk To Remember “Love is like the wind, you can’t see it, but you can feel it”
According to Drew Barrymore in Ever After “A life without love is no life at all”
According to Mouline Rouge “Love is like oxygen”
According to Disney’s Bambi “Love is a song that never ends” (thank you Disney for clearing that up for us)
According to Les Miserables “To love another person is to see the face of God” .... mmmm strong words
According to “Angels in the Outfield “Love is that can’t eat, can’t sleep, reach for the stars, outta the park world series kinda stuff”
According to the bible: “Love is patient, and love is kind...” we all know the rest
According to Pat Benatar “Love is a battlefield”
According to Wesley of The Princess Bride even “Death cannot stop true love, it can only delay it a little while” (why can’t we all have a Wesley?)
According to the Beatles “All you need is love”
and according Jay Geils of the J.Geils band ..... “Love stinks”.
What I’m feeling through all of these differing opinions is that basically: love can make or break you, and once you’re broken there ain’t no fixing you.
To be completely honest, despite the fact that I thought it could be a fun, personal bachelorette game; I didn’t really want to go through the painful process of meeting new people, forcing conversation, and risking awkward moments, and being potentially broken..... again. But, here’s my problem; I seldom date, when I do fall for someone it’s usually my best friend, and it usually ends in tears, a tub of chocolate ice cream, depressing music playlists, and a razor blade. So, since I am on this new mission to face myself with new challenges I figured this would be an interesting challenge to force myself into. That, or a new hate-playlist. My goal was to date.
So I set out on this quest of “The Spark”.
What I learned quickly about match.com is that A) it is mostly populated by desperate nerds with no social skills,
B) the greek god looking guys don’t respond, or are a false profile,
C) the greek god looking guys that do respond come with a catch,
D) on match.com you “wink” instead of facebook “poke” and this is how 90% of communication happens.
Within the first week I was unfortunately disappointed with my selection of forty-five year old men winking at me, and emails with pick up lines such as “You’re hot, I have long fingers” or “Hey baby I wanna c u wit ur shirt off”
*pause* First of all... guys... if you can’t spell out the full word in texts or emails because either A) you are lazy, or B) you really don’t know how to spell ..... Do not approach a woman. Thank you.
Never the less, there were the few troopers who pulled through successfully on communication, age, and looks. Here’s how the winners pulled through...
Contestant number one: We’ll call him Stan
The text communication went as following:
Stan: “Hey want to hang out tonight”
Bachelorette (that’s me): “Sure, I’m getting dinner with a girl friend, then I’ll text you”
Stan: “Sounds great”
*two hours later*
Bachelorette: “Hey, I just finished dinner, what did you have in mind tonight”
Stan: “I don’t care”
.........
Bachelorette: “Well, did you want to hang out somewhere?”
Stan: “Whatevverrrrrrr”
-_- <---- this was the look on my face.
......
Bachelorette does not respond. *four hours later*
Stan: “Hey what are you doing?”.
You get the point. After that, Stan did decide to get together, but could not figure out the directions I had given him to the location I had finally taken the initiative to map out, and decided to rendezvous at. Life is too short.
Contestant number two. We’ll call him Dudley.
Long story short, Dudley is quite young, dudley is barely twenty one. Dudley is from Northern California, and does not quite have an understanding of living in Southern California. Dudley is very sweet.... a little too sweet for the dark princess of the underworld if you catch my breeze. To this day Dudley still sends the Bachelorette text messages that she does not respond to. This has been going on for several months. Oh Dudley.
What is love? Is the spark really real? Does it really happen like it does in the movies? Are there happy endings? Universal questions we can all relate to. As we’ve learned there are many, many different ideas on what love is, and to quote one of my very favorite movies “He’s just not that into you”: “The spark is a myth! It’s this thing that guys make up and you women! You just eat it up!” ... I think I have to agree, on some level. Are we really going to meet mr. right (or miss right) in this instant moment of locking eyes and realizing happily ever after is right around the corner? Sometimes, but do we base love on that alone? Are we going to find true love through years of waiting, and searching, and suddenly understanding one day that your best friend right by your side is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with? Sometimes. Is love slow to learn, through a process of spending time with each other, dating the “it wouldn’t be ideals” and thinking “eh you’re alright”, and then one day realizing you can’t live without that person? Sometimes.
I say 'sometimes' not because I have experienced all of this. Like I said, I’m the girl that only falls for the best friend, and I limit myself to that, but I have seen all of this happen.
I think love is what we make it.
Love is our story. It can’t happen to anyone else... because it’s OUR story.
I began this journey on match.com also thinking “I’ll meet the man of my dreams, and this will be a great blog entry” The title was going to be “Finding true love ...goal # ...”. Well, obviously this is not how it played out. To be quite honest.... I’m glad it didn’t.
Who am I to force my love story to unfold when it’s not ready yet? I’ve discovered several things about myself.... first, I’m not ready to date.
Second, I don’t think I am a casual dater...this is going to be apart of my story.
Third, I might be unapproachable.
It was a good experience, I did something I didn’t ever expect myself to do, *props*, but I won’t be doing it again. Until my love story unfolds I think I will continue to believe that somewhere amidst the sea of toads there is a prince crafted just for me. Maybe I will in fact lock eyes with him one day and, despite my disbelief, find love at first sight. Maybe I will actually end up with my best friend, or maybe I will settle with dating someone only to find out I actually can’t live without them... or maybe it will be nothing like any of that. I don’t know. But, I am excited to find out, to keep living, and learning, and exploring possibilities of my future love story. It’s all I can do, because if I’ve learned anything from other couples I know who have actually survived love... Love takes patience.
Love,
Pepper
"You know that place between sleep and awake? the place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you, Peter Pan. That's where I'll be waiting.” -Tinkerbell
I signed up on Match.com.
I know, pathetic right?
So, in celebration of singles awareness.... I mean Valentines month, I decided to write a tribute to my most awkward love experiences.
Let me preface with this; as women, and I think I can speak for most women, when I say that when we meet a guy for the first time ... whether this is a friend, a co worker, that guy who jogs by your house every morning, we choose one of the following options on this mental list that is instinct to our being.... guys I’m dolling out vital information so pay attention....
1) No way
2) Wear that shorter skirt next time I see him
3) It wouldn’t be ideal, but it could work
4) Our first daughter will be named Charlotte.
Or, if you're me...
5) I'm going to get into trouble.
So, with this idea rolling around in my head that it would be possible to sift through some pictures of cute guys, all at my selection, weeding out the “no ways”, and cutting straight to the short skirt, I figured “who’s to say this internet thing doesn’t work?” We’re women, and we believe in the theory of the “Spark”. The instant feeling of connection or no connection upon first sight.
But, is this true? Is finding love that simple, and can we do it on the internet? We’re young, and we’re all on this quest of either finding ourselves or finding love, and usually we just end up flat on our ass either way. So, since I’ve obviously spent a lot of time falling on my ass trying to find the “meaning of love”, I’ve decided to consult the professionals.... this is love according to the rest of the world.
According to Frank Sinatra (The author of love, obviously): “Love is a many splendored thing”
According to Harry, from “When Harry met Sally” : “When you know you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible”
According to Mandy Moore in “A Walk To Remember “Love is like the wind, you can’t see it, but you can feel it”
According to Drew Barrymore in Ever After “A life without love is no life at all”
According to Mouline Rouge “Love is like oxygen”
According to Disney’s Bambi “Love is a song that never ends” (thank you Disney for clearing that up for us)
According to Les Miserables “To love another person is to see the face of God” .... mmmm strong words
According to “Angels in the Outfield “Love is that can’t eat, can’t sleep, reach for the stars, outta the park world series kinda stuff”
According to the bible: “Love is patient, and love is kind...” we all know the rest
According to Pat Benatar “Love is a battlefield”
According to Wesley of The Princess Bride even “Death cannot stop true love, it can only delay it a little while” (why can’t we all have a Wesley?)
According to the Beatles “All you need is love”
and according Jay Geils of the J.Geils band ..... “Love stinks”.
What I’m feeling through all of these differing opinions is that basically: love can make or break you, and once you’re broken there ain’t no fixing you.
To be completely honest, despite the fact that I thought it could be a fun, personal bachelorette game; I didn’t really want to go through the painful process of meeting new people, forcing conversation, and risking awkward moments, and being potentially broken..... again. But, here’s my problem; I seldom date, when I do fall for someone it’s usually my best friend, and it usually ends in tears, a tub of chocolate ice cream, depressing music playlists, and a razor blade. So, since I am on this new mission to face myself with new challenges I figured this would be an interesting challenge to force myself into. That, or a new hate-playlist. My goal was to date.
So I set out on this quest of “The Spark”.
What I learned quickly about match.com is that A) it is mostly populated by desperate nerds with no social skills,
B) the greek god looking guys don’t respond, or are a false profile,
C) the greek god looking guys that do respond come with a catch,
D) on match.com you “wink” instead of facebook “poke” and this is how 90% of communication happens.
Within the first week I was unfortunately disappointed with my selection of forty-five year old men winking at me, and emails with pick up lines such as “You’re hot, I have long fingers” or “Hey baby I wanna c u wit ur shirt off”
*pause* First of all... guys... if you can’t spell out the full word in texts or emails because either A) you are lazy, or B) you really don’t know how to spell ..... Do not approach a woman. Thank you.
Never the less, there were the few troopers who pulled through successfully on communication, age, and looks. Here’s how the winners pulled through...
Contestant number one: We’ll call him Stan
The text communication went as following:
Stan: “Hey want to hang out tonight”
Bachelorette (that’s me): “Sure, I’m getting dinner with a girl friend, then I’ll text you”
Stan: “Sounds great”
*two hours later*
Bachelorette: “Hey, I just finished dinner, what did you have in mind tonight”
Stan: “I don’t care”
.........
Bachelorette: “Well, did you want to hang out somewhere?”
Stan: “Whatevverrrrrrr”
-_- <---- this was the look on my face.
......
Bachelorette does not respond. *four hours later*
Stan: “Hey what are you doing?”.
You get the point. After that, Stan did decide to get together, but could not figure out the directions I had given him to the location I had finally taken the initiative to map out, and decided to rendezvous at. Life is too short.
Contestant number two. We’ll call him Dudley.
Long story short, Dudley is quite young, dudley is barely twenty one. Dudley is from Northern California, and does not quite have an understanding of living in Southern California. Dudley is very sweet.... a little too sweet for the dark princess of the underworld if you catch my breeze. To this day Dudley still sends the Bachelorette text messages that she does not respond to. This has been going on for several months. Oh Dudley.
What is love? Is the spark really real? Does it really happen like it does in the movies? Are there happy endings? Universal questions we can all relate to. As we’ve learned there are many, many different ideas on what love is, and to quote one of my very favorite movies “He’s just not that into you”: “The spark is a myth! It’s this thing that guys make up and you women! You just eat it up!” ... I think I have to agree, on some level. Are we really going to meet mr. right (or miss right) in this instant moment of locking eyes and realizing happily ever after is right around the corner? Sometimes, but do we base love on that alone? Are we going to find true love through years of waiting, and searching, and suddenly understanding one day that your best friend right by your side is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with? Sometimes. Is love slow to learn, through a process of spending time with each other, dating the “it wouldn’t be ideals” and thinking “eh you’re alright”, and then one day realizing you can’t live without that person? Sometimes.
I say 'sometimes' not because I have experienced all of this. Like I said, I’m the girl that only falls for the best friend, and I limit myself to that, but I have seen all of this happen.
I think love is what we make it.
Love is our story. It can’t happen to anyone else... because it’s OUR story.
I began this journey on match.com also thinking “I’ll meet the man of my dreams, and this will be a great blog entry” The title was going to be “Finding true love ...goal # ...”. Well, obviously this is not how it played out. To be quite honest.... I’m glad it didn’t.
Who am I to force my love story to unfold when it’s not ready yet? I’ve discovered several things about myself.... first, I’m not ready to date.
Second, I don’t think I am a casual dater...this is going to be apart of my story.
Third, I might be unapproachable.
It was a good experience, I did something I didn’t ever expect myself to do, *props*, but I won’t be doing it again. Until my love story unfolds I think I will continue to believe that somewhere amidst the sea of toads there is a prince crafted just for me. Maybe I will in fact lock eyes with him one day and, despite my disbelief, find love at first sight. Maybe I will actually end up with my best friend, or maybe I will settle with dating someone only to find out I actually can’t live without them... or maybe it will be nothing like any of that. I don’t know. But, I am excited to find out, to keep living, and learning, and exploring possibilities of my future love story. It’s all I can do, because if I’ve learned anything from other couples I know who have actually survived love... Love takes patience.
Love,
Pepper
"You know that place between sleep and awake? the place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you, Peter Pan. That's where I'll be waiting.” -Tinkerbell
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Black Scarf: Goal #2
For Christmas, my Nona (Italian for "Grandma") knitted me a black scarf.
The scarf holds much more meaning to me, of course, than just some black yarn tied together, or weaved - however that's done.
I never did stop to wonder how she became such a wonderful seamstress. My grandma had to learn to knit from somewhere didn't she? In fact, she has been an exceptional seamstress since before I can remember. I have picture of my sisters and I in Easter dresses she sewed for us.
It was a cold day in December, my Twenty Fourth birthday actually, a day I planned to sulk away at the thought of my youth slipping away from me, that I instead sat down with my grandmother, and slipped into hours of conversation that I will remember for the rest of my life.
There are moments in life when everything around you seems to fall apart, as I previously demonstrated in my first blog, and there are moments when everything stands still and you are absorbed completely in the beauty of the moment. The only thing I felt absorbed in at this moment was myself.
I sat in a quiet, still room listening to my Nona lose herself in memories of her brother, and best friend. Two people who had tragically passed away nearly a year ago. Tears glazed her aged, and wrinkling eyes as I found myself in tears of my own shame. I give myself panic attacks when my double cappuccino with one pump of vanilla isn't made right while the woman in front of me was still suffering the loss of not only a brother - but over seventy years of shared memories. A sadness I am no where near able to understand.
It was then that I realized; life is too short to worry about the petty things. The grades, the right school, the cute guy, the best job. Hell, I'm the black sheep right? So, I started asking her questions....
Her thick, spanish accent began to speed up with excitement, even slipping into full spanish to which I had to kindly remind her: I did not speak a word of.
"You are a disgrace" she sweetly informed me,
Thanks Nona, my next goal will now be to learn Spanish.
After a longer conversation with my Nona, I realized; this woman has a lot to say. So, I began my second, more spontaneous, goal. And yes, this was at the suggestion of George the wise...
I turned on my computer, turned it into a recording device, and said "tell me everything".
Welcome to story time with Nona, get ready for a history lesson.
"Tell me about your mother" I began with.
Through hours of conversation, giggles, and several photo albums I never even knew existed.... this is what I came to discover.
Now, I knew my Nona came from Peru, and was raised there... but our family in fact began in Spain.
Once upon a time there lived a man name Manuel Aguirre. He left spain on a ship .... not just any ship .... a Pirate Ship.
"Wait..... what?" I believe was my response as my Nona burst into fits of giggles and laughter.
Turns out, to my dismay, he was not in fact a pirate, there is no pirate blood in my family, he was beaten by the pirates, and cleaned the decks. Hence his decision to jump ship and run away in Peru.
In Peru he met a beautiful woman named Clara Mena, and they had four children; Alfonzo, Clara, Anna Luvinda - her mother, and Juan.
We continued to flip through photos when she suddenly ran like an excited little girl to pull a few framed pictures off of the wall. Upon returning she pointed out a rather finely dressed woman with her hair elegantly slung back.
"This is Barbara, my father Francisco's mother" she leaned closer to me with a mischievous smile "She was a Madame" she whispered.
"Uhm... What's a Madame" I replied feeling left out of an inside joke
"She ran a whore house"
"............oh..... right"
After the more scandalous, and adventurous stories we moved on through the photo album until we reached a photo of her mother, Anna Luvinda. She was absolutely beautiful. The picture was in sepia tones, her dark hair fell in waves just above her shoulders as she stared serenely out into the distance.
Anna Luvinda was a mother she would never know, she died six months pregnant with her fourth child, when my Nona was only two years old. It was several years later after her death that her father Francisco Altuna married Anna Luvinda's sister, my Nona's Aunt Clara who raised her as a mother. It was Clara who taught my Nona how to sew...
My Nona, her two sibling, and three step sibling grew up on a farm in PIta Peru while their father Francisco worked at a cotton factory in Sullana.
My Nona was nineteen when she met a studly, young Italian man doing construction work on the roadside who liked to call himself "Joe Hawk". (This was going to be his movie star name when Hollywood discovered him).
They were married in 1954, a while later my father was born, several months after that they moved to New York. Which is where they stayed for Nine and a half years until their move to the great city of Glendale.
Now, this is, of course, a long story short. I could probably write a book containing the rest of the history of all of my family, and the beautiful insanity of Vitello. I'm sure it would be the next hit series on HBO, and win numerous Golden Globes.
But, This is not a book, it is a blog.
In all seriousness though; my goal in this journey back in time with my Nona turned into a journey of self discovery. Now, I had toyed with the idea of blogging about some great discovery I was going to make about myself, something of course deep and philosophical that would get me recognition with, say, Barbara Walters. ... I did not expect that discovery to be self centeredness.
Life is too short to not know where you come from. It is written into our souls, our family, our ancestors have passed along traits we are stuck with whether we like it or not. It is only meant to be appreciated.
I looked through the aged, and wilting old photos of my ancestors and even saw traces of my aunts, and of my sisters, and wondered which of their traits each of us may posses. I looked at the beautiful picture of Anna Luvinda, my great, great grandmother, who sat serenely in this picture staring off into the distance, and wondered; what was going through her mind at this moment?
I could have never known any of this. I could have stomped off angrily that my cappuccino did not taste right, and never known the depth of my background, and only a very small part of my background. Which makes me wonder; How much can we learn from our elders, and our elders elders if we just slow down a minute, and not focus on ourselves ....
for just a minute?
For Christmas, my Nona knitted me a black scarf. I love this black scarf, it holds history to me. It holds memories of story times I never really got before with my Nona. I look at this scarf and I feel more confident in the path life put me on right now. It seems I need to be constantly reminded of this, but this is my new reminder that; it is ok to slow down and breathe life in sometimes. It is ok to take life one step at a time, and I am not a failure because I cannot pass a math class to get into a University.
If I am seventy years old and all I have are stories similar to: "my grandfather escaped a pirate ship", or "my father's mother-in-law was a scandalous, Madame" to tell my grandchildren .... if I grow old to be just like my grandmother .... I will be more than alright with that.
Until next month,
- Pepper
"Time makes you bolder, children get older, and I'm getting older too" - Stevie Nicks.
The scarf holds much more meaning to me, of course, than just some black yarn tied together, or weaved - however that's done.
I never did stop to wonder how she became such a wonderful seamstress. My grandma had to learn to knit from somewhere didn't she? In fact, she has been an exceptional seamstress since before I can remember. I have picture of my sisters and I in Easter dresses she sewed for us.
It was a cold day in December, my Twenty Fourth birthday actually, a day I planned to sulk away at the thought of my youth slipping away from me, that I instead sat down with my grandmother, and slipped into hours of conversation that I will remember for the rest of my life.
There are moments in life when everything around you seems to fall apart, as I previously demonstrated in my first blog, and there are moments when everything stands still and you are absorbed completely in the beauty of the moment. The only thing I felt absorbed in at this moment was myself.
I sat in a quiet, still room listening to my Nona lose herself in memories of her brother, and best friend. Two people who had tragically passed away nearly a year ago. Tears glazed her aged, and wrinkling eyes as I found myself in tears of my own shame. I give myself panic attacks when my double cappuccino with one pump of vanilla isn't made right while the woman in front of me was still suffering the loss of not only a brother - but over seventy years of shared memories. A sadness I am no where near able to understand.
It was then that I realized; life is too short to worry about the petty things. The grades, the right school, the cute guy, the best job. Hell, I'm the black sheep right? So, I started asking her questions....
Her thick, spanish accent began to speed up with excitement, even slipping into full spanish to which I had to kindly remind her: I did not speak a word of.
"You are a disgrace" she sweetly informed me,
Thanks Nona, my next goal will now be to learn Spanish.
After a longer conversation with my Nona, I realized; this woman has a lot to say. So, I began my second, more spontaneous, goal. And yes, this was at the suggestion of George the wise...
I turned on my computer, turned it into a recording device, and said "tell me everything".
Welcome to story time with Nona, get ready for a history lesson.
"Tell me about your mother" I began with.
Through hours of conversation, giggles, and several photo albums I never even knew existed.... this is what I came to discover.
Now, I knew my Nona came from Peru, and was raised there... but our family in fact began in Spain.
Once upon a time there lived a man name Manuel Aguirre. He left spain on a ship .... not just any ship .... a Pirate Ship.
"Wait..... what?" I believe was my response as my Nona burst into fits of giggles and laughter.
Turns out, to my dismay, he was not in fact a pirate, there is no pirate blood in my family, he was beaten by the pirates, and cleaned the decks. Hence his decision to jump ship and run away in Peru.
In Peru he met a beautiful woman named Clara Mena, and they had four children; Alfonzo, Clara, Anna Luvinda - her mother, and Juan.
We continued to flip through photos when she suddenly ran like an excited little girl to pull a few framed pictures off of the wall. Upon returning she pointed out a rather finely dressed woman with her hair elegantly slung back.
"This is Barbara, my father Francisco's mother" she leaned closer to me with a mischievous smile "She was a Madame" she whispered.
"Uhm... What's a Madame" I replied feeling left out of an inside joke
"She ran a whore house"
"............oh..... right"
After the more scandalous, and adventurous stories we moved on through the photo album until we reached a photo of her mother, Anna Luvinda. She was absolutely beautiful. The picture was in sepia tones, her dark hair fell in waves just above her shoulders as she stared serenely out into the distance.
Anna Luvinda was a mother she would never know, she died six months pregnant with her fourth child, when my Nona was only two years old. It was several years later after her death that her father Francisco Altuna married Anna Luvinda's sister, my Nona's Aunt Clara who raised her as a mother. It was Clara who taught my Nona how to sew...
My Nona, her two sibling, and three step sibling grew up on a farm in PIta Peru while their father Francisco worked at a cotton factory in Sullana.
My Nona was nineteen when she met a studly, young Italian man doing construction work on the roadside who liked to call himself "Joe Hawk". (This was going to be his movie star name when Hollywood discovered him).
They were married in 1954, a while later my father was born, several months after that they moved to New York. Which is where they stayed for Nine and a half years until their move to the great city of Glendale.
Now, this is, of course, a long story short. I could probably write a book containing the rest of the history of all of my family, and the beautiful insanity of Vitello. I'm sure it would be the next hit series on HBO, and win numerous Golden Globes.
But, This is not a book, it is a blog.
In all seriousness though; my goal in this journey back in time with my Nona turned into a journey of self discovery. Now, I had toyed with the idea of blogging about some great discovery I was going to make about myself, something of course deep and philosophical that would get me recognition with, say, Barbara Walters. ... I did not expect that discovery to be self centeredness.
Life is too short to not know where you come from. It is written into our souls, our family, our ancestors have passed along traits we are stuck with whether we like it or not. It is only meant to be appreciated.
I looked through the aged, and wilting old photos of my ancestors and even saw traces of my aunts, and of my sisters, and wondered which of their traits each of us may posses. I looked at the beautiful picture of Anna Luvinda, my great, great grandmother, who sat serenely in this picture staring off into the distance, and wondered; what was going through her mind at this moment?
I could have never known any of this. I could have stomped off angrily that my cappuccino did not taste right, and never known the depth of my background, and only a very small part of my background. Which makes me wonder; How much can we learn from our elders, and our elders elders if we just slow down a minute, and not focus on ourselves ....
for just a minute?
For Christmas, my Nona knitted me a black scarf. I love this black scarf, it holds history to me. It holds memories of story times I never really got before with my Nona. I look at this scarf and I feel more confident in the path life put me on right now. It seems I need to be constantly reminded of this, but this is my new reminder that; it is ok to slow down and breathe life in sometimes. It is ok to take life one step at a time, and I am not a failure because I cannot pass a math class to get into a University.
If I am seventy years old and all I have are stories similar to: "my grandfather escaped a pirate ship", or "my father's mother-in-law was a scandalous, Madame" to tell my grandchildren .... if I grow old to be just like my grandmother .... I will be more than alright with that.
Until next month,
- Pepper
"Time makes you bolder, children get older, and I'm getting older too" - Stevie Nicks.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Goal #1 "Pepper"
Dear friends,
it has been a long, cold winter season, and I have been through a whirlwind of emotions. I apologize for the slight delay of blogage. Yes I just made that word up.
But! Here I am back in full swing, and ready to conquer the blogging world once again!
And I present to you now.... goal number one
A dear friend of mine once said “There is a stripper inside of every girl”.
Yes, I’m back, and with a vengeance.
Now, I know what you must be thinking at this point; "she's given up on life and become a stripper - great".
Well, no, stop. Let me explain.
To begin with a little back ground information; A long time ago one of my friends and I decided it would be a great adventure to try pole dancing. We also thought it would be a great adventure to hunt haunted graveyards and just ended up scared shitless, but that's neither here nor there. So, we looked into classes, and did a lot of procrastinating. It was, of course, through the webs of life, and school, and work, and everything I am now escaping that this never happened when we planned it.
My friend eventually moved away, and I regret having never been able to have this great experience with her, but yes, I signed up finally for pole dancing classes with a company called S-Factor on my own, like a big girl.
Here is what I learned about S-Factor within the first couple of weeks I began researching, and diving into this company; Long story short this company was founded by a woman named Shiela Kelley. Now, Shiela was not always into pole dancing, she was actually a ballet dancer, actress, film maker - there's basically nothing the woman doesn't do, but as an actress taking on the role (ironically) of a stripper she found herself in love with the dance, but not with the label it was given.
After taking it up independently in her home, and getting into incredible shape, she slowly began teaching independently in her home as well. Well, one of her students/friends happened to be Desperate Housewives Terry Hatcher (Lois Lane to those troopers who remember). Terry eventually ratted Shiela out while being interviewed on an episode of Oprah, which inevitably led to this, now growing, pole dancing franchise.
What caught my attention for the most part was Shiela's mission; "Helping women become comfortable with, able to express, and own their wholesome sexuality. Seeing the world through the eyes of women, and making sure that our woman’s gaze defines everything we do and say and live"
A place I could be free to be a woman. To indulge in my beauty, and body, and sexuality, free of the judgement of what society tells me I should look like. Free to be me. How liberating as a woman....
So, why pole dancing you ask? Or better yet, as my mother asked "why couldn't you just try belly dancing?" Well, let's go back to high school. Back in the ice age, when I was in high school, I was not one to have very high self esteem. I was not the pretty cheerleader with scores of boys after me, I was never the confident, sexy, cool girl everyone wanted to be around to earn popularity.
In fact, the only identity I really had was "that home schooled girl". So, really, I hadn’t a clue who I was or where I fit in. As I got older, and began college I got even more confused about what life was really about, and I caught wind of this lie I fell for (like a moth to a flame) about how girls were suppose to be pretty, and skinny if they ever wanted a boyfriend, or confidence for that matter... well I just gave up, and developed an eating disorder.
Long, sad story, yes, and maybe someday I will write a book about it, but this is not the time nor place. This is about achieving not losing. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
So, through many years of never feeling beautiful, or skinny enough, long conversations with dear, dear friends who, tried (and some really did) their best to cure me, over a year of therapy with a wonderful lady, I really did gain quite a bit of my confidence back.
But, through all of the fighting, and falling I went through with this particular struggle- I learned something that comes very strongly to my attention now.... when a woman is told by society, friends, boyfriends, children, etc... that she is not beautiful, or just not enough... something inside of her dies. As women we have this very strong voice, and sense inside of us that tells us our beauty is apart of what makes us feminine. Our beauty is what knits us together as a woman (men pay attention). When that piece of us dies it’s like that voice we are inevitably born with that whispers “not pretty enough” from birth suddenly starts screaming “Life’s not worth living anymore!!!”. So, we try.... and god bless us.... we try so damn hard to revive that dead, or missing part of us again. In fact, we try so hard that we go to the extremes sometimes of nearing death completely, of starving ourselves, of trying diets that make us eat raw chicken or vegan beef, of going absolutely insane....to be pretty.
Well, let me tell you something ladies; it is, I believe, incredibly healthy, and important for us to feel confident in our beauty, in our curves, our bodies, and our sexuality, and guess what? That does not mean starving ourselves to fit into those size two’s. Some of us *cough*me*cough* will not ever fit into a size two. But, that does not mean, by any way shape or form that we do not have beautifully crafted, GORGEOUS, and sexy bodies!! The beauty is in how different each one of us is uniquely crafted, and not only realizing that - but embracing it.
After learning Shiela's story I realized it was everything I stand for, and I was obviously called by higher powers to be apart of the S journey. I justified it as an "extension of therapy" as I walked down an L.A. alley behind Jack in the Box, through the giant, cast iron, purple doors of an abandoned warehouse where the classes were located. I had to hack it. I was called.
*note to men; don’t worry, this blog will not be all about women things, I will add plenty of gore later, and honestly - you will probably thank me later for writing this.
I ran into my first intro class twenty minutes late, because, you see, I have this problem with directions. So, of course my blood was racing through my veins, I was nervous, and I sort of wanted to kill myself since I am little OCD about being on time. The bouncy, little dance instructor with bright eyes, and a huge smile plastered to her face turned around and greeted me like an old friend
"Hi! What's your name?"
"Uhm... I'm.... late" I stuttered, and stumbled into the small class room similar to a ballet studio minus the mirrors and plus long, steel poles.
"That's ok! grab a mat and sit down"
I instantly felt my soul begin to adapt to the new environment, and my breath begin to steadily slow down as we began warm ups with some incredibly relaxing yoga, and pilates stretches.
I was sold by the end of class.
So, ladies. Any of you out there wanting to search out a unique way to find not a little, but a HUGE confidence boost in your beauty, wanting to get a healthy work out (let me tell you, I felt like a goddess leaving class, even though my thighs and abs were on fire the next day), or just wanting to have a little..... no let me rephrase that, A LOT of fun, with crazy wonderful instructors, and just being a girl then it is all about being an S factor girl.
With that said, feeling sexy, healthy, on top of the world, and B.E.A.utiful I would like to introduce you to “Pepper”.
Pepper is my inner stripper, and she stands for supporting women in feeling comfortable, and beautiful in their God-given bodies just the way He made them - despite what the Taylor Swift billboard you drive by everyday on your way to work tells you.
In all seriousness, I have never felt so confident in my beauty. I know I am repeating myself, deal with it, but I cannot praise this company enough. Confidence was a thing I never, ever thought I could achieve. I owe it to wonderful friends, therapists, and groups like S Factor who make a point to embrace beauty in its rawness and honesty.
Then again, maybe sometimes it just takes a pole dancing instructor screaming “That’s HOT ladies!!!” in your face for you to believe it.
You are all beautiful, now go feel sexy.
Pepper is happy.
Goal number one accomplished, and still kicking!!!
Pepper will be back at the end of the month!
- Pepper
"I want to be beautiful, make you stand in awe, look inside my heart and be amazed. I want to hear you say; who I am is quite enough, just want to be worthy of love, and beautiful...." Bethany Dillon
it has been a long, cold winter season, and I have been through a whirlwind of emotions. I apologize for the slight delay of blogage. Yes I just made that word up.
But! Here I am back in full swing, and ready to conquer the blogging world once again!
And I present to you now.... goal number one
A dear friend of mine once said “There is a stripper inside of every girl”.
Yes, I’m back, and with a vengeance.
Now, I know what you must be thinking at this point; "she's given up on life and become a stripper - great".
Well, no, stop. Let me explain.
To begin with a little back ground information; A long time ago one of my friends and I decided it would be a great adventure to try pole dancing. We also thought it would be a great adventure to hunt haunted graveyards and just ended up scared shitless, but that's neither here nor there. So, we looked into classes, and did a lot of procrastinating. It was, of course, through the webs of life, and school, and work, and everything I am now escaping that this never happened when we planned it.
My friend eventually moved away, and I regret having never been able to have this great experience with her, but yes, I signed up finally for pole dancing classes with a company called S-Factor on my own, like a big girl.
Here is what I learned about S-Factor within the first couple of weeks I began researching, and diving into this company; Long story short this company was founded by a woman named Shiela Kelley. Now, Shiela was not always into pole dancing, she was actually a ballet dancer, actress, film maker - there's basically nothing the woman doesn't do, but as an actress taking on the role (ironically) of a stripper she found herself in love with the dance, but not with the label it was given.
After taking it up independently in her home, and getting into incredible shape, she slowly began teaching independently in her home as well. Well, one of her students/friends happened to be Desperate Housewives Terry Hatcher (Lois Lane to those troopers who remember). Terry eventually ratted Shiela out while being interviewed on an episode of Oprah, which inevitably led to this, now growing, pole dancing franchise.
What caught my attention for the most part was Shiela's mission; "Helping women become comfortable with, able to express, and own their wholesome sexuality. Seeing the world through the eyes of women, and making sure that our woman’s gaze defines everything we do and say and live"
A place I could be free to be a woman. To indulge in my beauty, and body, and sexuality, free of the judgement of what society tells me I should look like. Free to be me. How liberating as a woman....
So, why pole dancing you ask? Or better yet, as my mother asked "why couldn't you just try belly dancing?" Well, let's go back to high school. Back in the ice age, when I was in high school, I was not one to have very high self esteem. I was not the pretty cheerleader with scores of boys after me, I was never the confident, sexy, cool girl everyone wanted to be around to earn popularity.
In fact, the only identity I really had was "that home schooled girl". So, really, I hadn’t a clue who I was or where I fit in. As I got older, and began college I got even more confused about what life was really about, and I caught wind of this lie I fell for (like a moth to a flame) about how girls were suppose to be pretty, and skinny if they ever wanted a boyfriend, or confidence for that matter... well I just gave up, and developed an eating disorder.
Long, sad story, yes, and maybe someday I will write a book about it, but this is not the time nor place. This is about achieving not losing. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
So, through many years of never feeling beautiful, or skinny enough, long conversations with dear, dear friends who, tried (and some really did) their best to cure me, over a year of therapy with a wonderful lady, I really did gain quite a bit of my confidence back.
But, through all of the fighting, and falling I went through with this particular struggle- I learned something that comes very strongly to my attention now.... when a woman is told by society, friends, boyfriends, children, etc... that she is not beautiful, or just not enough... something inside of her dies. As women we have this very strong voice, and sense inside of us that tells us our beauty is apart of what makes us feminine. Our beauty is what knits us together as a woman (men pay attention). When that piece of us dies it’s like that voice we are inevitably born with that whispers “not pretty enough” from birth suddenly starts screaming “Life’s not worth living anymore!!!”. So, we try.... and god bless us.... we try so damn hard to revive that dead, or missing part of us again. In fact, we try so hard that we go to the extremes sometimes of nearing death completely, of starving ourselves, of trying diets that make us eat raw chicken or vegan beef, of going absolutely insane....to be pretty.
Well, let me tell you something ladies; it is, I believe, incredibly healthy, and important for us to feel confident in our beauty, in our curves, our bodies, and our sexuality, and guess what? That does not mean starving ourselves to fit into those size two’s. Some of us *cough*me*cough* will not ever fit into a size two. But, that does not mean, by any way shape or form that we do not have beautifully crafted, GORGEOUS, and sexy bodies!! The beauty is in how different each one of us is uniquely crafted, and not only realizing that - but embracing it.
After learning Shiela's story I realized it was everything I stand for, and I was obviously called by higher powers to be apart of the S journey. I justified it as an "extension of therapy" as I walked down an L.A. alley behind Jack in the Box, through the giant, cast iron, purple doors of an abandoned warehouse where the classes were located. I had to hack it. I was called.
*note to men; don’t worry, this blog will not be all about women things, I will add plenty of gore later, and honestly - you will probably thank me later for writing this.
I ran into my first intro class twenty minutes late, because, you see, I have this problem with directions. So, of course my blood was racing through my veins, I was nervous, and I sort of wanted to kill myself since I am little OCD about being on time. The bouncy, little dance instructor with bright eyes, and a huge smile plastered to her face turned around and greeted me like an old friend
"Hi! What's your name?"
"Uhm... I'm.... late" I stuttered, and stumbled into the small class room similar to a ballet studio minus the mirrors and plus long, steel poles.
"That's ok! grab a mat and sit down"
I instantly felt my soul begin to adapt to the new environment, and my breath begin to steadily slow down as we began warm ups with some incredibly relaxing yoga, and pilates stretches.
I was sold by the end of class.
So, ladies. Any of you out there wanting to search out a unique way to find not a little, but a HUGE confidence boost in your beauty, wanting to get a healthy work out (let me tell you, I felt like a goddess leaving class, even though my thighs and abs were on fire the next day), or just wanting to have a little..... no let me rephrase that, A LOT of fun, with crazy wonderful instructors, and just being a girl then it is all about being an S factor girl.
With that said, feeling sexy, healthy, on top of the world, and B.E.A.utiful I would like to introduce you to “Pepper”.
Pepper is my inner stripper, and she stands for supporting women in feeling comfortable, and beautiful in their God-given bodies just the way He made them - despite what the Taylor Swift billboard you drive by everyday on your way to work tells you.
In all seriousness, I have never felt so confident in my beauty. I know I am repeating myself, deal with it, but I cannot praise this company enough. Confidence was a thing I never, ever thought I could achieve. I owe it to wonderful friends, therapists, and groups like S Factor who make a point to embrace beauty in its rawness and honesty.
Then again, maybe sometimes it just takes a pole dancing instructor screaming “That’s HOT ladies!!!” in your face for you to believe it.
You are all beautiful, now go feel sexy.
Pepper is happy.
Goal number one accomplished, and still kicking!!!
Pepper will be back at the end of the month!
- Pepper
"I want to be beautiful, make you stand in awe, look inside my heart and be amazed. I want to hear you say; who I am is quite enough, just want to be worthy of love, and beautiful...." Bethany Dillon
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