i am

I am looking at everything with a different perspective.

I come from a temporary mind set of black and white absolutes.

I see that I'd convinced myself, that gray doesn't exist, (see above.)

I love that I know that this too shall pass, because it always does. And while I know I say this phrase far too often, it really became our mantra, solidified after she gifted us these shirts.

I trust the recent truths I've learned about myself, good and bad.

I believe in the power of a solo road trip. 

I find inspiration everywhere! I'm continually fascinated by Los Angeles and its surrounding areas. 

I wonder far too much about too many things, (read mind fuck), and have been making a focused effort to get outside of my head with physical exercise. Alas, I'm not a yoga girl, (and will never be), because a good, hard, sweat is the only way I settle down. Even though I have to talk myself into exercising every time. (I'm not kidding.)

I call in the forces of concentration and focus as I hunker down.

I found out that I enjoy road tripping so much more with a girlfriend than by myself, even though I also know that the truths I carry now came about because I journeyed alone.

fair weather

I am incredibly loyal, almost to a fault. I try to see the best in most situations, even when I hear myself justifying. 

I walk a tenuous line, solitude my necessary companion. But at its core is my incessant desire, probably my ego, to be noticed and seen, all without any risk to myself. Not really having to put myself out there because making an effort allows vulnerability to step forth and ego to step aside.

It's a theme these days that extends well beyond my creativity and into every aspect of my life. A reminder of my word for the year, which I've been reflecting on of late. The juxtaposition of the word I chose last year, blossom, and this year grow, nestled into all that has unfolded this year, bursts forth into an untried, pristine garden.

In order for me to be present, I first have to show up for myself. That includes blind faith and trust; knowing that the foggy feelings that persist are my way of knowing what I need. 

see me, feel me, touch me, heal me

I'm hitting the road early this morning. I have a lot of miles to cover and I want to be out of Los Angeles County well before rush hour begins. Five days up the coast of California, nestled in and around the Bay Area, to finish a photo project, see friends and family, and take a much anticipated photography workshop with a photographer whose work I've long admired. 

Admittedly I'm a little anxious about the drive. I tend to go for the long haul and I don't like to make pit stops, but a run of panic attacks recently has me noting that hydratrion is key, (at helping to keep them at arm's length), so the journey might be longer, but it's not an option to not drink a lot of water throughout the day. 

Packing is always a thing for me. I hate to have too much and trying to streamline had me ruminating most of Monday away and procrastinating as I always do when I'm trying to pack, which is why my toes are now a pretty, glittery russet red.

The long car ride will do me good despite my slight apprehension. Because overriding any of my perceived or otherwise worries is an almost primal need for alone time as I try shed more of the heaviness I've carried this year, allowing more space for light.

That's what I crave: light.

Lightness in my thoughts and heart.

A lighter being. 

the wanting

Buried within the grief is a constant longing for something I can not name. 

This wanting is all encompassing and yet, most days, I give scant notice to its existence.

Except it's always there taunting me. 

I think this wanting is my potential and all the things that I've wanted to do, (and be), since we arrived. All of the things that I've had to put on hold, a really clever tool of procrastination, although my reasons have been solid and no one, myself included, would hold it against me.

Except I do.

I realize that now. I get it that the guilt and shame and all the other fucked up names I've called myself during these past eighteen months have been my procrastinating safety net to keep myself small, to never reach any potential that I'd seen of myself because everything can and does change. By not acknowledging that everything does change, by holding fast to old and antiquated ideal scenarios of me and my life here, that will never be, I remain inert. 

This wanting is my drive to continue living. To not be sucked into the vortex of my grief and depression; understanding that I'm exactly where I should be and that I will one day be ok. I will get used to my sister not walking this life with me; that her tattoo on my left hip is my reminder that she is always with me, while I do the living for both of us.

sometimes

Sometimes I feel like the biggest fraud, moving though my life with a smile on my face that masks this crushing depression. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm fucking nuts because I can go through my life with a smile on my face, laughing and enjoying myself, all the while knowing that there's this heavy, gray, sadness that surrounds and permeates. 

Sometimes I don't understand how it can be worse than it already has been, knowing that since her last memorial, this heavy depression, preening as the blues, as camouflage to the mean reds.

I know that eventually it will get better, because after this many years I know I can expect the continuity of forward momentum.

But sometimes, I wish for right now.

a way towards mending my heart

I purposely didn't wash my hair this morning. Last night's campfire and a day spent in the salty, briny air left my hair dready and curly; the sharp fragrance my way to bring my camping trip home. A tangible reminder that I was there.

Our original reservation was for these safari tents. Don't they look cool? When we arrived we found we'd been upgraded to mini cabins, no extra charge. It seems the camp site next to our reserved tents was occupied by noisy, twenty-something young men who were rowdy and hard to contain, (read: they couldn't seem to honour the 10pm quiet curfew). Lucky for us, their misbehavior was our gain. Two, sweet little cabins next door to one another, complete with a tiny bathroom, (no scary, middle of the night I'm holding my pee til morning) and a little kitchenette. Not really camping any longer, but we didn't care. 

Each campsite, (safari tents or cabins), comes with an amazing rustic picnic table and outdoor fire pit. My cabin's table was nestled underneath an old Oak tree, her branches dripping down to the ground, creating the pefect dining area for us. We ate our meals here each evening, battery-operated lanterns creating an intimate setting, a place where we could talk or just be. 

I snapped this polaroid this morning, after my breakfast and morning pages, as the sun rose high into the crystal blue sky. I wanted a visual reminder, (like my smoky hair), of the day my heart beat a little more regularly, of the day that for the first time in a very long time, I felt happy and whole.  

under construction

The grieving process allows you an opportunity to take a good hard look at yourself. At the way you're living your life and how you want to proceed. There's a definitive marker when someone you loves dies; the before and after. It's the reliving of the moments leading up to her passing, that I'd like to release. It's the before that is holding me captive, literally unable to untangle my minds' eye so I cease to see the sad, slow frame by frame that stops only when I have a camera in front of me. 

A dear friend said to me that the real processing begins once she passes...and truer words have never been heard. With this processing, I'm peeling away layers of myself. And right now, I'm dealing with the unsavory bits; the shit that I've masked as other things, my patterns of self-destruct. Oh how worn are my tales of woe. Rendering myself defenseless in the face of tools that no longer, (and never did), work; my way of protection, my hard candy coated shell.

I'm a product of what I know, (aren't we all), and some habits are decades in the making. In some ways, I'm seeing myself for the first time and trust me when I say, that the parts I'm seeing mixed in with the good, aren't. I need to work on some of my protection devices and learn a better way to communicate. I don't need to examine the scarred and scorched patch where the last incommunicado went down. I don't need to feel sad and confused, or confuse and sadden those around me that I love. 

I am, like all of us, a work in progress, working towards progressing forward to a better and happier me.