and the living is easy...

The perfect theme over on Words to Shoot By today, with a lot of variations on the theme. Check it. 

list no. 31 :: check it

The irony isn't lost on me that I love food and I don't love to cook. I have a theory why I don't enjoy preparing meals, but that's a story to share over a margarita, or sangria at the very least.* 

Los Angeles is a foodie town. As such, I'm constantly bookmarking new places that I stumble across and need to try. And since we've decided that our long defunct, weekly date night needs to be reinstated stat, I'm looking forward to many good meals in our future. 

Here is my current list of places to go:

1. Flore Vegan
2. Cliff's Edge
3. Lazy Ox Canteen
4. Cerveteca
5. Farmshop

*and in the end the story probably isn't all that interesting, hence the idea to share with alcohol included. 

i am [again and again]

 (photo above of me on the left, by my talented priend.)

It has been awhile since I've done one, so here we go...

I am peeling away the layers of my bullshit.

I come from a place of shame and blame, (mostly myself), with a healthy dose of finger pointing along the way that has at times, resembled self-pity.

I see that pity parties are a very good way to stall the process when the shit-shifting gets hard. It has become tediously monotonous, although I have yet to discover a way to completely eliminate a good, rousing pity-filled moment from my bag of tricks. But then we all know old habits die hard.

I love myself. Especially the bits that have caused a lot of shame and blame. 

I  try really hard to trust that I am worthy.

I believe that like a magpie, I am easily drawn to the shiny and sparkly, and that includes people. Momentarily blinded, (and often for a long time), I choose to stifle my hurt by looking the other way with a mouthful of weak excuses for someone that doesn't and never has deserved such devotion. (Especially when it has always been one-way.)

I find myself blindsided again. Dumbstruck and confused, I am at once embarrassed and sad. I'm also thankful that only a handful of close friends noticed. And if anyone else is aware they haven't said anything, and I'm grateful for that to.

I wonder (and am working hard to figure out), what it is about me that is attracting hurtful and confusing relationships, acquaintances, and encounters to manifest around me. 

I call in and upon my inner strength to maintain the clear boundaries I am learning the hard way to set. 

I found out that the only way that I'm going to heal myself and the enormous baggage of emotional whoozie I've been dragging along behind me for decades is to love myself. Not just the personal attributes, but the shame and blame too. I'm trying to love all of me, and especially my insecurities and downfalls, so I can find ways to turn them from a negative, (shame and blame), to something useful, perhaps even positive. 

insight into a black hole

I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.

-Albert Einstein

I've noticed a lot of discussions on and off line in the past few months about introverts and extroverts. A hot topic, especially when one considers this book that clarifies and labels, (albeit gently), a personality type known as highly sensitive. I think many of us have found characteristics of ourselves in this book, and some of us have felt as though bells were sounding; seeing our true selves and how we operate in the world reflected in between the lines.

Noodling around on a new-to-me blog, I came across her post on the subject and when I read this sentence,


Many highly sensitive people think that we are introverts, which may be true, but often we are just the ones that need to ease into a new situation. 

I felt my eyes well. This describes me. Completely. And as my eyes pricked with tears, I felt validated and vindicated, because it immediately brought to mind a few conversations I had had last fall when I was questioned about being an introvert. At the time, (and on more than one occasion), I felt ambushed by questions that felt laced with innuendo. I know that I'm an introvert, and yet I couldn't explain how it is that I can put myself out there and still be painfully shy. Uncomfortable in almost every new social situation, I'm the girl that skulks along the wall until I'm comfortable, and then you can't shut me up. 


In typical fashion, like a deer in headlights, I cowered and tried, (or maybe I didn't, but I know I felt desperate), to change the subject. All the while beating myself up that I wasn't introverted enough because if I was, than surely I'd have been able to answer those questions in a way that made me feel good about myself.


Months later, I've come to understand that it doesn't matter what I call myself. What matters is that I found a book that helped me feel better about myself, and that I walked away from that book feeling less alone. 


I've come to realize that 2011 was a year of understanding. Within the confines of my grief, I learned and accepted much about myself. I know that my dark and twisty is a glutton for punishment, and as such I chose situations and relationships that confirmed my unloveable unworthiness. Bruised and battered, I continued to bruise and batter myself for much of 2011 and really, the chain of events that surrounded these conversations, were actually the tenuous strings I was holding onto finally snipped. 


The bullshit was out of the bag and I could literally sink or swim.


Since then, I've learned to love myself, including what I deem unloveable. Sinking into the depths of resignation and then acceptance last fall, once I finally let go, I was able to walk away from , instead of clinging to, my pain. 


This path is tender and uncertain and full of a lot of question marks. I'm stronger, more firmly grounded in myself and especially my boundaries, but I've hardly arrived. I think that's the beauty that I'm afforded in all of this change. By really accepting that I have no control over the what if's, I've been able to open my heart and mind to possibility, without me and the whole process feeling, (at all times), like I'm operating out of a black hole. 

list no. 30 :: all-time favorite books

I was watching the movie, (not the series), Sex and the City, and Big was teasing Carrie about being the only NY'er to still have a library card and use it. Carrie confessed that for her, it's about the smell of a book and I'd have to concur. The smell, the touch, the feel, there's nothing I love more than a good book to take me away.


Below, my all-time favorite works of fiction to date. 

1. The Hours
2. The Cider House Rules
3. Let the Great World Spin
4. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

What are your favorite books?

instead of a rant...

I'll share some eye candy. 

Alternate title: how to make a middle aged woman happy. (the last one is my favorite.)

a rant

Finally settled, this week has been unsettling. Restless, certainly a little anxious, I don't know quite what to do with myself, even though there are things to be done. Much like last July, I sit and read or watch something mindless on instant Netflix. Sadness dances and permeates my being despite my religious attention and effort to make myself exercise, and to stay well-hydrated and fed. Clearly, my survival techniques are out-moded; certainly necessary, but I need more than this aimless feeling provides. 

My ever-looming question now that I no longer have the desire to practice acupuncture; literally, at the forefront of everything: what now?

If one more person comments on how lucky I am, I think I might choke myself to pass out before them. Something dramatic, because I'm so tired of the side of the mouth comments sardonically dropped into casual conversations.

I'm tired of the knowing looks that say I somehow don't understand the life of a working mama. There have been many conversations that have clarified and labeled my work as an acupuncturist saying, 'its not a real job', (without really saying it of course), because I worked for myself and not the man.

You know what? I KNOW I'M LUCKY. I know we're blessed and I am grateful every day. Nor do I take any of this for granted. In fact, I worry even more, certain the shoe is going to drop because it always does. 

I feel guilty and ashamed because for the first time in our lives we're doing better than we have, and because of that I have the luxury to figure out what now, at my own pace; without a deadline, without having to work outside of the home and struggle to balance it all while finding myself.

I am a mother and wife, but these roles feel inherent and have never been how I identify myself. Working, what I do, has always been important to me and truthfully, ever since I made the decision to not practice last November, I've felt lost. At the time I was still so consumed with grief that I welcomed the respite.

Now, for the first time in my life, I don't know what next. I don't have any big goals that I'm pursuing in relation to my career; I have nothing to be accountable to myself for and it has been terrifying to accept. Since November, I've been chewing on and trying to figure this shit out and finally, (like this week finally), I gave in. 

I don't have any answers and I'm done feeling ashamed and deflecting because of it. I'm done with excuse-making and talking a good game, and most of all I'm done with feeling guilty.

This is what I know:

I'm lost. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do and I'm still, a year later, trying to figure it out. And I can do that a whole lot better if you, (those that believe I've got the life of Riley), would stop the snarky and offer support. Or shut the fuck up if you have nothing nice to say. 

The end.

list no. 29 :: the past 21 days, or so

Its been a whirlwind of activity for the past three weeks and today, literally, is the first day  that I haven't been operating, (or hoping to), at maximum capacity. Which is why the sadness and depression seeped in, reminding me that I've been pushing all of that to the side so I could get things done. 


On a cheerier note, (because grief is a constant), here's a recap of what's been going on, and conveniently, a few items checked off the other list.

1. As you know, we moved.
2. And because I'm married to a man that "does", we were unpacked in one week. 
3. It was ridiculous, but on this side of it, I'm glad to have it all done. 
4. Well...except for the guest room closet that holds my art + sewing supplies.
5. I've been reading a lot. Finishing a silly summer series, reading her book in one sitting and now, starting on a much anticipated pile that has been beckoning.
6. I pushed through my awkward self-consciousness and finally took advantage of the new client special offered at The Bar Method, no. 53 on my list.
7. I also started taking spin classes again because I needed a change of scenery, (and routine), with how I work out.
8. No. 66 on my list, attend Blogshop happened this weekend and I couldn't be more thrilled. FINALLY, I know my way around Photoshop! 
9. If you know me, you know I had a jerry-rigged, (coughpicnikcough), way of editing my digital photos, which is why my editing skills were rudimentary at best. 
10. It was also the initial appeal to me of Polaroid film because with instant photography, there's no editing necessary. What you see is what you get and that's what I needed.
11. Blogshop was everything I wanted and more. 
12. I finally understand a lot of the basics of Photoshop and have a strong basis to begin to explore.
13. The workshop gave me the tools to be able to noodle around the program fearlessly, and also, the knowledge on how to figure out where things went wrong when mistakes are made.
14. I made a couple of new friends,
15. took a few Polaroid shots I liked,
16. and I got a great polka-dotted Baggu swag bag full of goodies.

Tell me, what's been going on in your neck of the woods? Tell me something good!

patterns

My mind has been playing tricks on me, lulling me into complacent excuses, allowing for the opportunity to put everything on hold. Waiting.

It's this kind of behavior that has always gotten me into trouble. Weeks will have passed and I'll start beating myself up that I'm not any closer to what I want to do with myself and the litany of shit talk begins. 

Because I don't have clear-cut goals, anything but. And while I've been trying to do the  work that needs to be done to get to my goals, (and answers), lately, (and for longer than that), it becomes the recipient of the well-worn excuse, I'm waiting until the right time. 

And I KNOW that the right time is now, because waiting for the woulda, coulda, shoulda, means that time passes. Nothing else. Or someone else implements that good idea that was simmering for months, years, because deferred action keeps me small and small feels safe and feeds into every insecurity, even as I objectively recognize that I'm probably full of shit and that this is just small talking again, trying to take hold. 


Time is passing so quickly these days. I thought I was keeping on top of the few projects I still maintain, and realized yesterday that it had been 3 weeks since I'd posted a weekly self portrait. And then I started to panic, thinking I have to take three self portraits and catch up. But then, why? So my weekly self portrait project extends longer than its original start date. It doesn't matter. This impossible, internal check list of perfection that I can hold myself to is topped with sneaky loaded words like must and have to and I begin to recognize how insidiously tied I am to old ideas about myself, even as I acknowledge that it is no longer my truth. 


My hover status reminds me of the old cartoon The Jetsons. When the kids would be on their way to school, they'd hover by the door with their jet packs saying goodbye, and this is the visual I have had of myself: hovering, waiting.


Instead I choose to think of my holding pattern like my beloved hummingbirds. When they're hovering, they are anything but static and this holds true for me as well. Just because I'm not sitting here pouring my heart and tears out into my journals, or watching TED talks and plotting my next course of action, doesn't mean that work isn't being done. This floating along...I know that something is there. It's foggy, with undefined lines, but so tangible, I can feel its greatness. The words haven't formed around what that is and I'm trying really hard to accept this, to not force myself into hasty decisions and declarations, (as I'm prone to do), just because this operating system hasn't felt comfortable in a long time. 


Change is the only constant. Hanging on is the only sin.
-Denise McCluggage

list no. 28 :: another random list of things

I've been working hard, (and hardly working), to get this house unpacked so I can clean. The level of dirt that resides on the floor, (no matter how much sweeping or vacuuming), is disgusting and necessitates shoes or socks at all times. 


It has been busy and continues into the end of July. Here's what's going on in my neck of the woods:

1. In less than one week I've received two parking tickets, something that hasn't happened since we first moved to Los Angeles two years ago. 
2. In nine days here, we've attended two parties on the dead-end. One impromptu, wine along when we first moved in. And a BBQ on the 4th of July. 
3. We really lucked out on an amazing neighborhood.
4. I went and did a little shooting this weekend, it felt good to shoot with my DSLR. 
5. I'm still feeling uninspired but it helped. 
6. It's one foot in front of the other.
7. We have our first overnight guests coming on Wednesday, the perfect excuse to get this house set up, especially the guest room, (which also has my desk.)
8. Speaking of my desk, I've fallen IN LOVE with it here in our new home. It used to be a polaroid stock pile holder, and while it still seconds as that, it now operates full time as my work place and I love it. 
9. I've pushed myself to put myself into uncomfortable situations this week and it feels good.
10. I started Bar Method classes today, taking advantage of an introductory, one month unlimited classes offer that I'd been eyeing for months but was too intimidated to act upon.
11. I'm also taking a photoshop workshop this weekend by myself, which is so intimidating. If it was one on one that would be fine, what I mean is that I don't have a friend that I'm taking the class with.
12. All I can think about is how awkward lunch time will be. Or I'm anticipating how awkward I'll feel, which is me projecting and exactly why I pushed myself to take this class. 
13. I've been eyeballing it forever and finally, in an act of frustration at my tech-challenged ways, I signed up. 
14. I'm obsessed with the two recent great white shark sightings and have found myself watching too many YouTube videos. Clearly there are better ways to waste time.
15. And I'm definitely scratching learn how to surf off my list. I'm going to focus on learning how to snowboard instead.
16. Iced soy chai lattes, with 2 added shots. 

riding the wave

How much time passes before a creative slump becomes something else? Has my muse passed me by, a one trick pony, prancing off to the next folly?

My mind is jumbled and scattered and within this state there is no ability to slow down long enough to declare a new focus/series/something that excites me when I'm behind my lens.

Our NY vacation in August beckons. Perhaps I'm storing the photo ops for those moments when I spill into Gotham, ready to walk the familiar and ever changing grid that is embedded in my heart.

I love our life here in Los Angeles. We are happier and more relaxed and truly blessed to have landed in this house that feels like home. 

And yet, my soul is Manhattan and always has been. The opening, clarinets of the movie Manhattan, is truly the soundtrack of my heart.

We're planting roots here in this little city by the sea and that means focusing my attention on what is before me. This vast metropolis that is rich and fascinating and perhaps not as accessible as NYC, but with determination and willingness, I will find my rhythm here, (or that's what I keep telling myself.)

the process

It wakes when I wake, walks 

when I walk, turns back when I

turn back, beating me to the door.

It spoils my food and steals

my sleep, and mocks me, saying, 

"Where is your God now?"

And so, like a widow, I lie down

after supper. If I lie down

or sit up it's all the same:

the days and nights bear me along. 

To strangers I must seem

alive. Spring comes, summer;

cool clear weather; heat, rain...

Now Where? 

-Jane Kenyon

in this house

It's been 4 days since we moved and honestly, there hasn't been much excitement, except in the "I'm so excited..." sentence that's uttered when I talk about this house with friends. I feel like I'm talking in the third person; not in a "yes, she's finally rounded the bend" way, but talking about emotions that I'm not experiencing because it feels so much like home here, that it doesn't feel new, it just feels like its always been this.


Which is admittedly, a little awkward. We're still up to our ears in boxes and I'm just tired enough to get nothing done each day. Miss A is my excuse, camp starts next week and the girl needs entertaining, and at the very least fresh air. 


Tomorrow there's a big BBQ block party in the neighborhood and we're invited. As a shy person, I'm a bit anxious about meeting everyone in the neighborhood and look forward to hiding behind my cameras a bit, until it's wine o'clock and I find liquid courage. 


All kidding aside, we've experienced a warm welcome here and our little family is relieved to have landed in a place that nurtures each of us equally.


And I'm looking forward to next week when my girl begins day camp and I can get something done. 

list no. 27 :: five words i dislike*

We moved! In all honesty, it wasn't bad. Maybe because moving across the country was so hard, this in comparison just wasn't a big deal. Thank the heavens, or whomever that be, I'm grateful. And tired. So tired that coffee really isn't working; pissing me off actually, with the jittery, heart-racing side-effects, without any of the illusory, jacked up benefits. 

Because I recently posted a list of favorite words, (and I'm fucking beat), it seems obvious that I'd follow with those words that I dislike. Perhaps a bit boring and predictable, but it's all I've got. 

1. moist
2. pus
3. ooze
4. festering
5. crusty

*clearly, studying pathophysiology in grad school had its impact.