Goal # 9 The Man In The Wheel Chair

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