Who gives a care, you guys? I barely have any cares to give. Not a one care to give at all sometimes.
This, coming from a person who generally has an abundance of cares to give about a great many things. One thing I can usually count on is that I am always giving a care about at least one thing or another.
This post is really about balance, you guys. Because what is happening here is that I am coming out of functioning for a prolonged period of time with a deficit of physical and emotional reserves. I was, for a prolonged period of time, tired and still having to function at an exhaustive pace. This type of thing has happened before, sure, but it happened in a new way. A new, tired way.
Here's what it was, as succinctly as I can possibly put it:
My father moved in with us for the "summer". My summer lasted a loooong time. In September he moved "out" but was still frequently around for two more months, showing up to drive me around, do yard work, and procure fast food. My father is many things, and deserves about a million of his own blog posts, but how he pertains to this particular subject of my being tired is that he is is a person who needs constant communication and interaction. Constant. From the moment he appears until he's texting me a to-do list from bed, it is an incessant stream of conversation, questions, planning, and a running commentary of every single thing he sees. ("Hey! Look at that guy! He's a guy in a hat! Did you remember to take your vitamin? Am I turning left here? Look! A dog! Fido McDoggerstein! Hoooooowwwwlll!") It is one of his most endearing qualities but it is also exhausting. As he is my father and I love him greatly, our summer partnership was something I experienced with patience (mostly) and joy, but it was also demanding of my time and energy.
The Giraffe took a job working on the campaign. You know, THE campaign. Necessary career move. Totally understandable. He had to do it. It started when my father moved in. Good timing, bro! He went from working 10 hour days 6 days a week, to 12 hour days 7 days a week, and finally 15 hours a day every single day. Non negotiable. What I'm saying is he was UNAVAILABLE. Physically. Emotionally. We literally only saw each other a couple of hours a night on Saturdays and Sundays during which times we talked about the stress of his job and the bills dogs etc. And we texted. Not only did I have to take charge of our previously shared responsibilities, I also had to be available to him as he truly needed support. All of my needs had to either be met by me or get quietly tucked aside until some time in November. A learning experience, a time for growth, a pretty raw deal. Who knew I could come home from work at 3 in the morning and pack a lunch for someone I love? Not me! But I did it.
I work full time. That means an average of 40 hours a week, occasionally more, rarely less. I work at night. I do love my job. Also, conveniently, working at night opens up the days in my schedule to do my career. Career. Job. Two different things. I do my career approximately 20 hours a week. The point is for it to be more. On good weeks it IS more, but that also means I am working and not doing something else like sleeping. My career is non negotiable. All the things in my life are structured to support my career. So I do not say "no" to the career. Also, in my industry, if you say "no" nobody waits for you to become available, they simply move on to the next person. It behooves you, in my industry, to be available at all times. Which I try my best to do, but which also means I often never have a free day or any time for myself. So. To recap. I am working 60+ hours a week with a constantly changing schedule.
I don't drive. It's a thing I'm working on, but I currently don't do it. Taking the bus to anywhere I want to go is a half hour minimum, usually an hour plus. Which really eats up time in the day.
On top of that I am attempting to have a creative life and seriously trying to gather the courage to make a little hip hop music. It's important to me. It's a thing that keeps me up at night. It's a thing I have to do. (I know it will be hilarious but let's have a laugh about it later).
With what time is left over I invest in friend and family relationships, "me" time, eat, sleep, and pay bills.
SO. TO RECAP. My "summer" (June - November two weeks ago) was a confetti whirlwind hellstorm sleepless excited electric hectic exhaustive marathon. And. Dare I say it. There was nothing I could do about it. Yep. Not in my power to change it. BUT. And here's the grand wizardry of convenient timing in the whole thing--most of it was going to change at the same damn time. November, month of relaxing changes.
November. My father goes back to Arizona. The election happens and the Giraffe's job is over and he comes back to real life. My job situation changes and I get two weeks off before gearing up to open a new restaurant. November was the ultimate turning point and the future-space wherein I could imagine lots of sleep, good food, emotionally rebuilding, watching tons of shitty tv; "regaining my strength" if you will.
So here I am, and all of the things I have just told you about have changed, and I am living in the middle of the free-time-vacation-zone, and do I feel rested and rejuvenated and relaxed? FUCK NO. I feel not good. I feel stressed. I still feel hollowed out. I have almost zero cares to give about anything. It's been a week and a half and I have been sick the entire time. Also my acid reflux has been off the charts. Also I've had bizarre health issues I've never had before, presumably "brought on by stress and exhaustion". I have not been having a vacation. I've been having a stressed out time.
So the last few days I've been like "what the what?". How am I so shitty feeling when I am supposed to be relaxing and feeling better? (then I do the thing where I stress out about being stressed out which solves nothing.) What I thought would happen is that I would sleep for a couple of days and then bounce back and have a great fucking vacation. Major disappointment delivered by real life.
Because I now know what's happening. I get it now, and I'm finally starting to feel better. Because here's the trick. Here's where that word "balance" comes drifting into the dialogue. I was speeding down the highway with bald tires for so long, with no pit stops, that my car is broken. It's not "out of gas", it's fucking broken. I hit my limit a couple months back and kept barreling onward and completely tapped out my physical and emotional reserves. And then I kept going a little more. Which is awesome, great, I did a thing that was very hard to do. But, see, a human is not supposed to do that. That way of functioning is not a long term strategy for success or survival. What I thought was that since I'm pretty decent at practicing self-care and I know I must be resilient to achieve my shit I might as well keep going and it would probably work out. Nope. Did not work out. Ask my stomach. My stomach is pissed right now. I fed that thing french fries and soda for so long it is in a huge fight with me now. I didn't die or have a breakdown or collapse or any of that shit but what did happen was that I wore myself out so badly it is literally taking me weeks to get back to normal. What the hell kind of way is that to thrive? It's not, is the point.
So, balance, you guys. I am sincerely considering it's importance. If I want to survive I have to practice self care and sleep and drink water. But if I want to thrive I have to practice balance, too. Balance breeds endurance. And if I'm going to do this thing I need endurance.
This thing is a marathon.
I know I have to train for the marathon.
And eat well and go on vacations and say no and have at least one day off a week and watch crappy shows and schedule appropriately and stretch and check in and make sure I'm supporting myself as much as I'm supporting others and not ever work more than 50 hours a week. It's a start.
It may take a little time, but with patience for balance I am hoping to be giving many cares about tons of things in no time.
Growing up is a lifestyle.
9.08.2012
Dear Derek. Stop it. I love you.
I've written you a lot of letters since you died. I've written a lot about you since you died. I keep feeling like I have to do something with all of it, but I know that's not the point of the whole thing. The whole writing to you, about you, for you. It's not about sharing. It's about grieving. And I am grieving.
And grief is not a linear thing. There's parts of it, right, that we all know about. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. People say those things happen in that order and that's the grieving "process", implying somehow that it's progressive. That you feel one thing, move on to the next, eventually reach acceptance and then *poof* you feel ok about everything. But that's simply not true. At least it's not true for me. I have felt every stage of this grieving "process" since you died, and I continue to feel each one, sometimes more than one at a time. I have been angry, I have been depressed, I have accepted that it happened, I have denied it could be true, and I have bargained about it. Everyday is like playing some shitty magic trick with myself where I draw another card from the grief deck and carry it around for the day. My years of unfortunate experience and education in grief have taught me that it is likely going to be this way for a long time. And I have to be ok with that because that's how I am. I am still grieving the loss of my cousin and we lost him six years ago. I just feel things for a long long time. And I can tell you one thing I will feel forever. It is that I love you. I can't even talk about it because it makes me cry so bad, and I get a seriously ugly face when I cry and it makes others uncomfortable. Is there a phase of the grief cycle for that? Hysterical weeping? That's what happens when I think about how I love you and how you are not here; I leak out of my eyes. Eventually the crying will stop but I will never stop loving you. That is just a fact. It was a fact when you were alive and it is a fact now.
For a time I considered the likelihood you were playing a joke on everyone and weren't actually dead. And that, at some point, you would pop out from around a corner and shout "got you good, fuckers!". And everyone would be mad at you but also it would be the happiest day. I mean, I'm telling you, I considered this. I tried to scheme on how it could be possible. I tried to convince myself it could. Denial.
Once, when a moth followed me around all night after I got home from work, I believed it was you. It was the biggest, coolest moth I had ever seen (and I'm not especially into bugs). Since late nights were always the times we had our longest, best talks I thought this must be you, here to say goodnight to me again. And I believed it. That you were that bug! What a crazy, unpredictable universe, I thought. If you can find a way to come back and this is it, and you're telling me it's ok, then it really is ok. And then I said goodnight to that moth and felt very peaceful. Acceptance.
When I order something online and it never comes in the mail, I obsess about it and create a furious scenario wherein I must seek justice. When my dad tries to hassle me about the detailed plans for the day before I've had any coffee, I storm around huffing. When I can't attach a file in an email I slam the computer closed and say screw it to the whole thing. When I have to take the trash out I curse the trash for having to be taken out. Anger.
I have actually spoken out loud to the god-universe-whatever-it-is and made promises about what I would do differently to make you stay. "I will watch him 24 hours a day" "I will buy him a dog" "I will remind him how amazing he is over and over until it makes him sick" "I will make music with him" "I will tie him down and wait for him to get over the terrible things he is feeling". Bargaining.
I cry in the back of cabs and on city busses and while I'm doing my job and when I talk to strangers and as I brush my teeth. I am always hungry and eating makes me nauseous. I am exhausted and I never sleep. I am achieving great things and I could care less. I feel like I am living outside myself. Depression.
And all these sorts of things happen in one tragic kaleidoscope all the time. It's the undercurrent of my days. But I'm not upset about it. I know that it is happening because I love you. And I will never stop feeling grateful for being given the opportunity to love you.
But it's been incredibly lonely to miss you. You had friends (so, so many friends) and I have friends, and we kind of had friends together, but our friendship was a completely isolated relationship. We talked everyday, but it was just us. You told me things about you and I never knew who else shared those parts of you. I never thought it would matter, except now, you're gone, and I carry around the ghost of this incredibly important friendship and no one knows. And it is not the point for anyone to know, but it would be so much nicer if there was just another person there to comfort me and say "I know how much you meant to each other". And I have the Giraffe, and he says it all the time, but even though he is my partner and best friend not even he was a part of our friendship. I just feel isolated in this grief. You weren't just a person I knew. You were one of my dearest friends.
So it's five in the morning and I have been having this thought for the last couple days about what I want to say to you and it's this:
Stop it. I love you.
Stop killing yourself. So many people love you.
Stop it. I love you.
And that's an insane idea because you are already gone! But I keep thinking it. I wish you could stop it. I would do anything to make that possible. But in recognition of this never being possible, I will continue to cry and wipe the mascara off my face and get angry and reaffirm my need to succeed at my life and talk to you and think of you and look over my shoulder for you and tell the people that are still here that I love them. Because that's all I can do. And wherever you are I hope it gets to you that I love you, too.
I just have to keep thinking it and writing things like this that don't make sense and listening to the same songs over and over and over because sometimes it's all I can do. And I will probably be writing about you or to you or for you for the rest of my life. Because I am a sentimental motherfucker. Because I feel things for a long long time. Because you were a smart funny caring loving thoughtful talented person. Because understanding those things about you and then understanding why you needed to leave this world is nearly impossible. Because I love you.
I've said it many different ways, at many different times. But tonight I am saying it this way. On the internet. To no one in particular. Except you, if you can hear me.
Goodnight. I love you.
C
*Before he passed, Derek's band was finishing their upcoming album. Please consider donating to help this album get made. In honor of Derek, and for his talented bandmates. This incredible music deserves to be heard. Donate here: Sick Secrets
And grief is not a linear thing. There's parts of it, right, that we all know about. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. People say those things happen in that order and that's the grieving "process", implying somehow that it's progressive. That you feel one thing, move on to the next, eventually reach acceptance and then *poof* you feel ok about everything. But that's simply not true. At least it's not true for me. I have felt every stage of this grieving "process" since you died, and I continue to feel each one, sometimes more than one at a time. I have been angry, I have been depressed, I have accepted that it happened, I have denied it could be true, and I have bargained about it. Everyday is like playing some shitty magic trick with myself where I draw another card from the grief deck and carry it around for the day. My years of unfortunate experience and education in grief have taught me that it is likely going to be this way for a long time. And I have to be ok with that because that's how I am. I am still grieving the loss of my cousin and we lost him six years ago. I just feel things for a long long time. And I can tell you one thing I will feel forever. It is that I love you. I can't even talk about it because it makes me cry so bad, and I get a seriously ugly face when I cry and it makes others uncomfortable. Is there a phase of the grief cycle for that? Hysterical weeping? That's what happens when I think about how I love you and how you are not here; I leak out of my eyes. Eventually the crying will stop but I will never stop loving you. That is just a fact. It was a fact when you were alive and it is a fact now.
For a time I considered the likelihood you were playing a joke on everyone and weren't actually dead. And that, at some point, you would pop out from around a corner and shout "got you good, fuckers!". And everyone would be mad at you but also it would be the happiest day. I mean, I'm telling you, I considered this. I tried to scheme on how it could be possible. I tried to convince myself it could. Denial.
Once, when a moth followed me around all night after I got home from work, I believed it was you. It was the biggest, coolest moth I had ever seen (and I'm not especially into bugs). Since late nights were always the times we had our longest, best talks I thought this must be you, here to say goodnight to me again. And I believed it. That you were that bug! What a crazy, unpredictable universe, I thought. If you can find a way to come back and this is it, and you're telling me it's ok, then it really is ok. And then I said goodnight to that moth and felt very peaceful. Acceptance.
When I order something online and it never comes in the mail, I obsess about it and create a furious scenario wherein I must seek justice. When my dad tries to hassle me about the detailed plans for the day before I've had any coffee, I storm around huffing. When I can't attach a file in an email I slam the computer closed and say screw it to the whole thing. When I have to take the trash out I curse the trash for having to be taken out. Anger.
I have actually spoken out loud to the god-universe-whatever-it-is and made promises about what I would do differently to make you stay. "I will watch him 24 hours a day" "I will buy him a dog" "I will remind him how amazing he is over and over until it makes him sick" "I will make music with him" "I will tie him down and wait for him to get over the terrible things he is feeling". Bargaining.
I cry in the back of cabs and on city busses and while I'm doing my job and when I talk to strangers and as I brush my teeth. I am always hungry and eating makes me nauseous. I am exhausted and I never sleep. I am achieving great things and I could care less. I feel like I am living outside myself. Depression.
And all these sorts of things happen in one tragic kaleidoscope all the time. It's the undercurrent of my days. But I'm not upset about it. I know that it is happening because I love you. And I will never stop feeling grateful for being given the opportunity to love you.
But it's been incredibly lonely to miss you. You had friends (so, so many friends) and I have friends, and we kind of had friends together, but our friendship was a completely isolated relationship. We talked everyday, but it was just us. You told me things about you and I never knew who else shared those parts of you. I never thought it would matter, except now, you're gone, and I carry around the ghost of this incredibly important friendship and no one knows. And it is not the point for anyone to know, but it would be so much nicer if there was just another person there to comfort me and say "I know how much you meant to each other". And I have the Giraffe, and he says it all the time, but even though he is my partner and best friend not even he was a part of our friendship. I just feel isolated in this grief. You weren't just a person I knew. You were one of my dearest friends.
So it's five in the morning and I have been having this thought for the last couple days about what I want to say to you and it's this:
Stop it. I love you.
Stop killing yourself. So many people love you.
Stop it. I love you.
And that's an insane idea because you are already gone! But I keep thinking it. I wish you could stop it. I would do anything to make that possible. But in recognition of this never being possible, I will continue to cry and wipe the mascara off my face and get angry and reaffirm my need to succeed at my life and talk to you and think of you and look over my shoulder for you and tell the people that are still here that I love them. Because that's all I can do. And wherever you are I hope it gets to you that I love you, too.
I just have to keep thinking it and writing things like this that don't make sense and listening to the same songs over and over and over because sometimes it's all I can do. And I will probably be writing about you or to you or for you for the rest of my life. Because I am a sentimental motherfucker. Because I feel things for a long long time. Because you were a smart funny caring loving thoughtful talented person. Because understanding those things about you and then understanding why you needed to leave this world is nearly impossible. Because I love you.
I've said it many different ways, at many different times. But tonight I am saying it this way. On the internet. To no one in particular. Except you, if you can hear me.
Goodnight. I love you.
C
*Before he passed, Derek's band was finishing their upcoming album. Please consider donating to help this album get made. In honor of Derek, and for his talented bandmates. This incredible music deserves to be heard. Donate here: Sick Secrets
5.30.2012
Dear Challenges: A Novel Experience.
 |
| All writers have briefcases. That is mine. |
In two days I am going to start writing a book. By the 30th of June I will have finished writing that book. The first draft of an entire novel. You probably have so many questions. Why? What? How? WHO CARES? Well, I care. And I'm attempting to actually start and finish this project, which is why I have to tell everyone I know about it. Accountability is one of the most useful motivating factors there is. The guy who came up with this idea suggests you use it to ensure you finish.
As many of you know, November is National Novel Writing Month. For those 31 days people all over the world take on the challenge of writing a novel, approximately 100 pages, without sharing, without editing. Without stopping. Many people see this as an opportunity to try something new, to have fun, to share in an experience being had by thousands of other people. Some people use it as a catalyst to create a project they will later go on to edit and carry (hopefully) to publication. Many people use it as a tool to begin creating again, and often, having had the fulfilling experience of completing an entire book, can go on to immerse themselves in a project they truly care about. It's just people, you know, accomplishing something.
My dear friend Julie is also a writer. Since we were teenagers we have somewhat quietly toiled away at projects we share with no one. In college (we went together) we each had writing in our majors--hers in fiction and mine in "dramatic writing"(stage/screen). Since then we have both gone back to (mostly) quietly toiling away on projects we share (mostly) with no one. The thing neither of us spends very much time sharing is that we are writers, and that it is a hugely important part of our lives. I don't really tell anyone I do it. I think I put it in my bio on the edge of this blog as an attempt to "put it out there", and casually mention it when referring to my education, but that's about it. Julie has gone on to become a teacher, and is also a very gifted painter (and now a very loving mother) and so those things often take the forefront of conversations one might have with her about what she "does". For myself, it is one of the last things I'll tell someone I do. Mostly because I have little to show for it, but also because I fear it sounds pretentious, and am even more afraid of the questions one might have about it. [What do you write? Can I read it? What magazines are you in? What awards have you won? What's your favorite thing you've ever written? What books are you reading? Tell me an interesting story!] Regardless, we are both writers who don't write very much and talk to each other about it a lot. Julie decided she wanted to take on the challenge of Novel Writing Month, and didn't feel like waiting for November. So she asked a couple of our friends (two of the most intelligent, creative people I know) and myself to take part in our own challenge for the moth of June. Obviously we are doing it. How could we not do it? How many novels am I writing on my own? Answer: ZERO.
The rules are simple. You write every day, for an entire month. You can never go back and change something. No edits. You can ask questions and share ideas with others doing the challenge, but you cannot share any of your actual material. No passing notes. If you don't write one day, you have to write more the next. By the last day of the month you have to finish your novel and it must be at least 50,000 words, or, 100 pages in length. About the size of "Of mice and Men". After that, you can do whatever you want with it. Read it, not read it, share it, eat it, use it as toilet paper, edit it, burn it, put it on a very large refrigerator, use it to sop up all your tears, whatever the fuck you want. It doesn't matter. Because you already did the hardest part. You wrote an entire book.
Now, I've written things before. I've written short things and longer things but I have never attempted to tell a story on such a large scale. I've written feature length films, but that's an entirely different thing all together. I have no idea how this is going to go. The one thing I might wind up taking away from this experience is that I should never ever try to write a novel. But if all my boxes of notebooks and years of not being able to sleep have proven anything it's that I want to write, that I feel I have stories to tell. Even if they are not going to change the world. So I have to at least try. So I am going to try.
 |
| A thinking face. |
Marathon writing is about the only thing that works for me. A project without a deadline is an unfinished project. A project without a sense of urgency is pages of notes I take for years before I actually begin said project (Literally. Years.). Despite the amount of time I am given I only use the time at the end to actually start doing anything good, so I think this challenge is pretty well suited for me. Sweat and white knuckles the entire way. I used to think that was called procrastinating, but as an increasingly responsible adult I'm learning to call it "my style". Whatever that means.
So I have a loose idea. But I can't share what it is. I know what kind of story I am hoping to tell, the main characters, what happens first, how it might end, some small moments in the middle, and that's about it. I really have no idea what I am going to fill 100 pages with. I know I'm good at rambling, so hopefully that helps me out. I'm anticipating a lot of deadlocked moments where there is nothing left to say and I chug cold coffee shouting about how my education was a waste because I am the most useless writer there has ever been. I'm anticipating it's going to be a really delightful experience. But, like I said, hopefully at then end I'll have managed to write an entire book and that will have been the whole point. Mission accomplished. For once I will not be allowed to obsess over weather something is good or not, I will just have to keep going. And I'm excited to see what that feels like.
So the four of us start this process on June first, which is Friday. Which is tomorrow. Hopefully amidst careers, work, family, home renovations, and vacations (3 of us are going on a trip right in the middle and I am out of town for work right before) we all manage to stick with it. I will probably be glued to my phone, sending emails to them 50 times a day. So please, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, when you see me, ask me how it is going. Remind me that I have to finish it. Lie to me and tell me you're so proud or whatever. Text me. Call me. Send me pictures of your butts with "write, you Asshole" written on them. Whatever you want to do. Whatever you have to do. Just do it. I just know I need this accountability or I might wind up letting my quiet toiling taper off until I have another mediocre start to a project on a USB drive sitting in my boyfriend's sock drawer. Help me not let this go to the sock drawer.
One of my biggest goals in life is to legitimize my father's proudest statement about me: My daughter's a writer.
This one's for you, dad.
 |
| My dad loves sweat shorts and telling everyone I'm a writer. |
Dear Growing Pains and Some Kind of Destiny
*Edit: I wrote this about six weeks ago. The moment has passed, but it's still important.*
following my destiny all the way to portland
My horoscope rocked me the way something does when it tells you exactly what you are thinking. It said things are changing. And I knew that. And I know that.
Things are changing. And a lot of those changes I can see and they are healthy and small and tangible. And some things are changing and I don't know what they are or how deep inside me they are or if they are about me at all. I feel like I am stuck in the middle of a stoned moment, where I am super high and I am slumped, slack-jawed in awe of the whole mystery and beauty and tragedy of life. But I'm not stoned. I don't do that. That isn't what's happening. What's happening is that I am totally sober, standing, slouched, slack-jawed in awe of some sort of bigger mystery that I can't understand or put a name to except that it's just life and that I am simultaneously being blown away and swallowed up by LIFE. This is a weird trip.
Tonight, while wandering through my job, I surmised it thus: It's like life is a jigsaw puzzle, and we are each just a tiny piece in this giant thing. And sometimes you have to think about what kind of piece you want to be.
That is not the best simile of my career, I can say for certain, but it is truly the only way I can explain to someone what the hell is happening right now. I feel like a minuscule puzzle piece and I am thinking about what kind of piece to be. Or what kind of piece I am, and weather or not I like that. Maybe I should do a fucking puzzle right now. Maybe that would level me out.
I find myself saying a lot lately "I wish that what I wanted in life was to be a mother. Because then it would feel so much easier to reach my goals and feel happy with my success." Being a parent is something that I understand the path to get to. It's a perceptible job that takes certain requirements and produces really concrete results. The same could be said for many other jobs in the world. Police officer, teacher (why couldn't I have just wanted to be a teacher?!?!!), plumber. You go through the process of obtaining credentials and licenses for your position, then you get the position, then you spend your life working hard at being really good at it. It's a thing that has safety and predictability and a universal point where you can breathe a sigh of relief and assure yourself "yes. I do this now.". So lately I find myself longing for a career in life that has that concrete sigh of relief in it somewhere. Because lately I am really feeling how high the chances are I may never get to do that. My career comes with no universal benchmarks, points of plateau, safety zones, or tangible mile markers. My career is a sloppy, desperate, compromising, always about to change, one-million K race.
And it is tiring and terrifying. Most people in my career have "jobs" to supplement their careers FOREVER. Until they die or are too old to work. Are you kidding me? Forever? I like being a bartender and I love my job, but having a job and a career 7 days a week exhausts me. I feel like I can never take a break. Like I've never earned one. And truthfully, I haven't in a way. Until my career IS my job there is a lot of work to be done. I can't stop. And while I am very proud of my accomplishments to date I cannot say that the things I have achieved in my "career" warrent, for me, any sort of pee-break or reprieve from the work. I just haven't done very much. And I know, if we want to get really honest, that what I actually accomplish day-to-day does not at all measure up to the amount of pressure I put on myself. I haven't done very much in general, and I don't do as much as I could moment to moment. And I don't know why. That has me very confused. I feel like I am wasting my own time and giving myself ulcers for no reason. That's stupid.
Here's the thing: my entire life I have known what I wanted to do. My entire life. Since I was too young to know what a career was. I have never once in the almost 30 years I have been alive changed my mind about what I had to do with my life. And that's a lot of pressure to put on a person.
Right now I really don't know the difference between following my destiny, and being an adult idiot who is rigidly chasing the daydreams of a 3 year old. What's the difference? Is this my destiny or have I been too stubborn to allow myself to come up with new dreams? What the fuck is destiny anyway? Are you there God, it's me, the plot to a 90's coming of age Rosie O'Donell movie.
I have always wanted to do the same things in my life. Be a performer, a writer, and to help people. I always thought that meant that I wanted to be an actor and a writer and that I would help people with the power of my art. (Intermission for laughter) But what I am, right now, today, is a person who does radio commercials, writes a blog no one reads, and gives advice to drunk people sitting at my bar. My dad thinks I am a huge success but he's the only one! Shhh! No one tell him!
So, this all begs the question: what's my perception of success? Well, this is the part where things get really messy for me, because in weaving my intricate life dreams I felt that to be successful and, thereby, happy, I had to be famous. Success equaled fame, and fame meant reaching as many people as possible. Yes, reaching them with the healing power of my art. Thousands, maybe millions of people. Why? I don't know. It just always felt like the right thing. Success, fame and happiness are all pretty much the same thing and achieving them was the only way to fulfill my life's purpose. No problem. Totally doable. PSYCHE. What a boner. I really set myself up there. Even as a more adjusted adult I can look at the goal of being a popular performer/writer as a nice thing to dream for but not the "thing" to work toward and yet I can't change my mind about it. It's what I want. Plenty of people in my field build manageable relationships with their crafts that don't pit them against ultimate success on a daily basis. But not me. No. I have to find myself weeping while I stuff a bag of tea into a pot on Thursday night to realize my dreams are wearing me the fuck out. If I'm not Philip Seymour Hoffman, I'm a failure. That's a healthy way to live.
Everyday that I'm not doing something important and helpful and amazing I feel like I'm failing. And so I can never congratulate myself for being a good friend, a hard worker, or a talented person and just relax about if for a minute. I can never sit back and trust that by the end of the year maybe my commercial will lead to a bit part in a movie somewhere (barfing while laughing) because I know I'm working really hard. Or that I'll try to publish something I've written and maybe it will work. Or that therapists will ask me to come speak at their conventions because I love talking to people about their feelings SO much. It just isn't like that for me. It's hard to trust in something that is so uncertain. But if it's my destiny and I really believe that then it shouldn't be hard to keep blithely plugging away at it. And if it's not my destiny, and I don't like the kind of puzzle piece I'm being right now, then I should decide to be a different kind of puzzle piece. Wait. What are we even talking about anymore?
And that's about where I'm at. I don't even know how to think about what I'm thinking about.
I am not where I want to be in my life. That will either change if I keep working at what I have started, or I decide to do something else. But something has to change. I feel that things are changing. I just don't know what or how. I only hope one day I can look back to my 3 year old self and tell her everything turned out just fine.
came back, time for a nap
My horoscope rocked me the way something does when it tells you exactly what you are thinking. It said things are changing. And I knew that. And I know that.
Things are changing. And a lot of those changes I can see and they are healthy and small and tangible. And some things are changing and I don't know what they are or how deep inside me they are or if they are about me at all. I feel like I am stuck in the middle of a stoned moment, where I am super high and I am slumped, slack-jawed in awe of the whole mystery and beauty and tragedy of life. But I'm not stoned. I don't do that. That isn't what's happening. What's happening is that I am totally sober, standing, slouched, slack-jawed in awe of some sort of bigger mystery that I can't understand or put a name to except that it's just life and that I am simultaneously being blown away and swallowed up by LIFE. This is a weird trip.
Tonight, while wandering through my job, I surmised it thus: It's like life is a jigsaw puzzle, and we are each just a tiny piece in this giant thing. And sometimes you have to think about what kind of piece you want to be.
That is not the best simile of my career, I can say for certain, but it is truly the only way I can explain to someone what the hell is happening right now. I feel like a minuscule puzzle piece and I am thinking about what kind of piece to be. Or what kind of piece I am, and weather or not I like that. Maybe I should do a fucking puzzle right now. Maybe that would level me out.
I find myself saying a lot lately "I wish that what I wanted in life was to be a mother. Because then it would feel so much easier to reach my goals and feel happy with my success." Being a parent is something that I understand the path to get to. It's a perceptible job that takes certain requirements and produces really concrete results. The same could be said for many other jobs in the world. Police officer, teacher (why couldn't I have just wanted to be a teacher?!?!!), plumber. You go through the process of obtaining credentials and licenses for your position, then you get the position, then you spend your life working hard at being really good at it. It's a thing that has safety and predictability and a universal point where you can breathe a sigh of relief and assure yourself "yes. I do this now.". So lately I find myself longing for a career in life that has that concrete sigh of relief in it somewhere. Because lately I am really feeling how high the chances are I may never get to do that. My career comes with no universal benchmarks, points of plateau, safety zones, or tangible mile markers. My career is a sloppy, desperate, compromising, always about to change, one-million K race.
And it is tiring and terrifying. Most people in my career have "jobs" to supplement their careers FOREVER. Until they die or are too old to work. Are you kidding me? Forever? I like being a bartender and I love my job, but having a job and a career 7 days a week exhausts me. I feel like I can never take a break. Like I've never earned one. And truthfully, I haven't in a way. Until my career IS my job there is a lot of work to be done. I can't stop. And while I am very proud of my accomplishments to date I cannot say that the things I have achieved in my "career" warrent, for me, any sort of pee-break or reprieve from the work. I just haven't done very much. And I know, if we want to get really honest, that what I actually accomplish day-to-day does not at all measure up to the amount of pressure I put on myself. I haven't done very much in general, and I don't do as much as I could moment to moment. And I don't know why. That has me very confused. I feel like I am wasting my own time and giving myself ulcers for no reason. That's stupid.
Here's the thing: my entire life I have known what I wanted to do. My entire life. Since I was too young to know what a career was. I have never once in the almost 30 years I have been alive changed my mind about what I had to do with my life. And that's a lot of pressure to put on a person.
Right now I really don't know the difference between following my destiny, and being an adult idiot who is rigidly chasing the daydreams of a 3 year old. What's the difference? Is this my destiny or have I been too stubborn to allow myself to come up with new dreams? What the fuck is destiny anyway? Are you there God, it's me, the plot to a 90's coming of age Rosie O'Donell movie.
I have always wanted to do the same things in my life. Be a performer, a writer, and to help people. I always thought that meant that I wanted to be an actor and a writer and that I would help people with the power of my art. (Intermission for laughter) But what I am, right now, today, is a person who does radio commercials, writes a blog no one reads, and gives advice to drunk people sitting at my bar. My dad thinks I am a huge success but he's the only one! Shhh! No one tell him!
So, this all begs the question: what's my perception of success? Well, this is the part where things get really messy for me, because in weaving my intricate life dreams I felt that to be successful and, thereby, happy, I had to be famous. Success equaled fame, and fame meant reaching as many people as possible. Yes, reaching them with the healing power of my art. Thousands, maybe millions of people. Why? I don't know. It just always felt like the right thing. Success, fame and happiness are all pretty much the same thing and achieving them was the only way to fulfill my life's purpose. No problem. Totally doable. PSYCHE. What a boner. I really set myself up there. Even as a more adjusted adult I can look at the goal of being a popular performer/writer as a nice thing to dream for but not the "thing" to work toward and yet I can't change my mind about it. It's what I want. Plenty of people in my field build manageable relationships with their crafts that don't pit them against ultimate success on a daily basis. But not me. No. I have to find myself weeping while I stuff a bag of tea into a pot on Thursday night to realize my dreams are wearing me the fuck out. If I'm not Philip Seymour Hoffman, I'm a failure. That's a healthy way to live.
Everyday that I'm not doing something important and helpful and amazing I feel like I'm failing. And so I can never congratulate myself for being a good friend, a hard worker, or a talented person and just relax about if for a minute. I can never sit back and trust that by the end of the year maybe my commercial will lead to a bit part in a movie somewhere (barfing while laughing) because I know I'm working really hard. Or that I'll try to publish something I've written and maybe it will work. Or that therapists will ask me to come speak at their conventions because I love talking to people about their feelings SO much. It just isn't like that for me. It's hard to trust in something that is so uncertain. But if it's my destiny and I really believe that then it shouldn't be hard to keep blithely plugging away at it. And if it's not my destiny, and I don't like the kind of puzzle piece I'm being right now, then I should decide to be a different kind of puzzle piece. Wait. What are we even talking about anymore?
And that's about where I'm at. I don't even know how to think about what I'm thinking about.
I am not where I want to be in my life. That will either change if I keep working at what I have started, or I decide to do something else. But something has to change. I feel that things are changing. I just don't know what or how. I only hope one day I can look back to my 3 year old self and tell her everything turned out just fine.
4.30.2012
4.13.2012
Dear: Calling My Blog Back+ Our House
So this is a lot like the times when I haven't spoken to someone in a while and all these things are happening and they call me to catch up and I keep being like "I should call So n So back and catch up", and then I don't and then MORE stuff happens and I keep not calling them back and then finally SO MUCH stuff has happened, half of which sounds really boring once I stop to think about it, and the idea of finally calling them back is SO DAUNTING I just can't bring myself to do it. Pretty much everyone I've been in a long distance friendship with has been on the other end of this with me (amiright?). It's really hard for me to break the stupid pattern. For whatever reason it's like, really fucking hard. Well, writing on this blog has been exactly like that. Catching up is so daunting I won't do it. But then I started to think about it, and I kind of realized "who even cares?". Probably no one. Probably no one is sitting around lamenting the lack of my interweb diatribes about events and ideas. Yup. Welp. That realization made it a lot easier to just "pick up the phone and call my blog back".
The last thing I said was that shit was crazy with our new house. That I was so stressed I was crawling out of my skin. And yes, that was true. That was totally happening. Now I find it hard to engage in a level of stress that even comes close to what I was experiencing at that time. It was ridiculous. And also it was, on an intellectual level, sort of unwarranted. I say "unwarranted" because the terribleness of the situation did not change the fact that we had already bought a house (yeah you guys, bought a house) and that that accomplishment was amazing no matter what, and no matter what happened it would eventually be fine. But here's the deal about that level of stress: it does not come from an intellectual place. It is completely emotional and spawned out of sheer panic and not knowing what to do as a result of being in a totally new situation. A lot of why that situation sucked so badly was that we had a lot of things to learn, very quickly, and absolutely no experience in our lives was relevant enough to be a helpful tool. 100% gigantic new experience.
At any rate, the good news is that the massive hole that was dug around our foundation--exposing a retaining wall that was then cracking and caving in, compromising the safety of our house and the foundation of the neighbor's house--has been filled in. The bad news is that our basement--the original issue which was quickly made less important by the massive hole--still leaks. And ultimately we didn't know that we were buying a house with a leaky basement, so that's a pretty raw deal. And for anyone wondering, our basement is not a dingy hole. It is half of our house. You might as well think of it as a "downstairs". And we live in Seattle. Where it rains 75% of the time. So, not very ideal situation there. Fixing this leak is a six-figure problem and we are a long way from having a six-figure answer, so it's something we are going to have to live with for a while. Weather I like it or not (I don't). Moving forward has been, and will continue to be, an exercise in changing the way I feel about problems I can't fix. I detest when there is a problem I can't fix. Basically all I like to do is solve problems. So this ever-leaky basement is a gentle reminder that some problems take time and a little surrender. Ugh. Was that glass-half-full enough for you?
Who wants to hear about our leaky basement anymore? NOT ME! At any rate, that's what that was. And I'm back.
Xo
The last thing I said was that shit was crazy with our new house. That I was so stressed I was crawling out of my skin. And yes, that was true. That was totally happening. Now I find it hard to engage in a level of stress that even comes close to what I was experiencing at that time. It was ridiculous. And also it was, on an intellectual level, sort of unwarranted. I say "unwarranted" because the terribleness of the situation did not change the fact that we had already bought a house (yeah you guys, bought a house) and that that accomplishment was amazing no matter what, and no matter what happened it would eventually be fine. But here's the deal about that level of stress: it does not come from an intellectual place. It is completely emotional and spawned out of sheer panic and not knowing what to do as a result of being in a totally new situation. A lot of why that situation sucked so badly was that we had a lot of things to learn, very quickly, and absolutely no experience in our lives was relevant enough to be a helpful tool. 100% gigantic new experience.
At any rate, the good news is that the massive hole that was dug around our foundation--exposing a retaining wall that was then cracking and caving in, compromising the safety of our house and the foundation of the neighbor's house--has been filled in. The bad news is that our basement--the original issue which was quickly made less important by the massive hole--still leaks. And ultimately we didn't know that we were buying a house with a leaky basement, so that's a pretty raw deal. And for anyone wondering, our basement is not a dingy hole. It is half of our house. You might as well think of it as a "downstairs". And we live in Seattle. Where it rains 75% of the time. So, not very ideal situation there. Fixing this leak is a six-figure problem and we are a long way from having a six-figure answer, so it's something we are going to have to live with for a while. Weather I like it or not (I don't). Moving forward has been, and will continue to be, an exercise in changing the way I feel about problems I can't fix. I detest when there is a problem I can't fix. Basically all I like to do is solve problems. So this ever-leaky basement is a gentle reminder that some problems take time and a little surrender. Ugh. Was that glass-half-full enough for you?
Who wants to hear about our leaky basement anymore? NOT ME! At any rate, that's what that was. And I'm back.
Xo
2.13.2012
Dear Homeownership: The Monster Outside
Last month we got the keys to our new house. The house we bought. Together. We felt ready to make a financial and emotional commitment of such large proportions not only because we felt we could handle it, but also because we wanted to make that commitment to each other and our relationship. The last post I made on this blog was on the day we got the keys to our house. It was supposed to be a joyous day. It was not. I have not made any posts since then because I have been too entrenched in a stressful situation which has, at all moments this past month, left me exhausted, drained, angry, confused, scared, and anxious. The limits to what I am capable of withstanding have consistently been pushed. In spare moments we have felt the small joys of finally owning a home together which is bindingly ours, but those moments are fleeting and always replaced by reminders of the monster outside.
Due to my passion for court TV and all it has taught me I have hesitated to post anything about the specifics of what is going on as I do not believe it would be legally wise for me to go around venting and complaining on the internet. At this juncture attorneys have already become involved and the level to which this thing is going to go is still unclear. I do, however, feel it is necessary to make some sort of explanation as to why I have been the absent, emotional, scattered, nervous, crybaby freak that is inhabiting this body for the last five weeks.
One thing I have learned since becoming a homeowner in this absurdly stressful way is that large-scale issues that come up in homeownership are, at their core, really boring. They are not like, super exciting to talk about and are hard to sensationalize to make them gossip-worthy. They are just technical and beaurocratic webs of time consumption and loss of sleep. I have tried several times to think if you could make a film about the epic situation we are in right now, and you can't. It's just way. Too. Boring. And yet, despite something being this boring it still manages to be totally life altering, even if it is only temporary. There should be some sort of "Boring Issue Stress Support Group" where people like us can go and talk about the things that really no one else cares about. I actually bore myself when I tell other people about it.
There is a monster that lives outside our house. It was here when we got here, and it wasn't supposed to be. In the last five weeks we have focused all our efforts on resolving the unsavory situation and making the monster go away. But despite all intentions and best efforts the monster has only gotten bigger. At the start the monster involved several parties and today it involves several more. It's not just a matter of dealing with something you don't like or finding money you don't have to pay for something; it is about satisfying all the many parties involved before any one of us can move on. And all anyone wants is to move on. And yet somehow no one can agree on how to make that happen. And here I sit, with the Giraffe, at the epicenter of this mess, feeling like we hold all the responsibility for this monster because it's on our property, and also feeling like we have the least amount of control over what happens and how. Or when. All the responsibility and none of the control makes for a hyper-stressful situation. What are you supposed to do when you can't do anything?
The monster outside represents the struggle of embracing helplessness. I have surrendered in this process many times and still have to do it again every couple of days. The monster outside represents the two sides to every story and what happens when each side stays steadfast in their belief that their story is the right one. The monster outside represents what happens when the two sides go back and forth for so long: they leave an opening for a third party to enter. The monster outside represents the mammoth misfortune of wanting to do something the right way, which is that the right way is arduous, complex, and spares no expense of people's feelings. The monster outside represents what happens when people don't communicate and sincerely drives home how tiring communicating can be. The monster outside represents my own fear of the unknown: never knowing the extent of how bad things can get and fearing the worst. The monster outside is what it is and it is also more than what it is. It is a leaky basement and a giant hole and 4 tons of dirt and cracks in the cement and insurance companies and lawyers and cop cars and terse emails and trails of mud. It is also testing my resolve and the strength of my relationship and my fortitude and my focus and my ability to stop crying and put on a professional voice and questioning my trust in my own brain and ability to juggle and problem solving skills and sleep habits and nutrition habits and anxiety management habits and the little pessimistic voice in the back of my mind sneering at the optimistic voice "I told you, motherfucker. I told you this would be hard." .
Someday this will all be fine. Hopefully that day will be soon. There are a lot of people involved in this process and all I really want is for everyone to be ok. I'm not angry at anyone. I do know and trust that it's going to be ok. Eventually this will be ok and we will sit around our totally glorious house laughing at how crazy all this was. I know that. I DO know that. We just aren't there yet.
We are still putting in 18 hour days of emails, phone calls, and relay races of information to find some proper resolve to this totally boring situation and make the monster outside go away.
There is a monster that lives outside our house. It was here when we got here, and it wasn't supposed to be. In the last five weeks we have focused all our efforts on resolving the unsavory situation and making the monster go away. But despite all intentions and best efforts the monster has only gotten bigger. At the start the monster involved several parties and today it involves several more. It's not just a matter of dealing with something you don't like or finding money you don't have to pay for something; it is about satisfying all the many parties involved before any one of us can move on. And all anyone wants is to move on. And yet somehow no one can agree on how to make that happen. And here I sit, with the Giraffe, at the epicenter of this mess, feeling like we hold all the responsibility for this monster because it's on our property, and also feeling like we have the least amount of control over what happens and how. Or when. All the responsibility and none of the control makes for a hyper-stressful situation. What are you supposed to do when you can't do anything?
The monster outside represents the struggle of embracing helplessness. I have surrendered in this process many times and still have to do it again every couple of days. The monster outside represents the two sides to every story and what happens when each side stays steadfast in their belief that their story is the right one. The monster outside represents what happens when the two sides go back and forth for so long: they leave an opening for a third party to enter. The monster outside represents the mammoth misfortune of wanting to do something the right way, which is that the right way is arduous, complex, and spares no expense of people's feelings. The monster outside represents what happens when people don't communicate and sincerely drives home how tiring communicating can be. The monster outside represents my own fear of the unknown: never knowing the extent of how bad things can get and fearing the worst. The monster outside is what it is and it is also more than what it is. It is a leaky basement and a giant hole and 4 tons of dirt and cracks in the cement and insurance companies and lawyers and cop cars and terse emails and trails of mud. It is also testing my resolve and the strength of my relationship and my fortitude and my focus and my ability to stop crying and put on a professional voice and questioning my trust in my own brain and ability to juggle and problem solving skills and sleep habits and nutrition habits and anxiety management habits and the little pessimistic voice in the back of my mind sneering at the optimistic voice "I told you, motherfucker. I told you this would be hard." .
Someday this will all be fine. Hopefully that day will be soon. There are a lot of people involved in this process and all I really want is for everyone to be ok. I'm not angry at anyone. I do know and trust that it's going to be ok. Eventually this will be ok and we will sit around our totally glorious house laughing at how crazy all this was. I know that. I DO know that. We just aren't there yet.
We are still putting in 18 hour days of emails, phone calls, and relay races of information to find some proper resolve to this totally boring situation and make the monster outside go away.
I've barfed, I've cried, I've hidden in the folds of my bed and shivered like a hairless dog. I've reasoned with myself why I've got to stop feeling so stressed and it's momentarily worked. The only permanent solution is yet to be discovered.
This probably raises more questions to anyone reading than it provides answers. Sorry, America. A totally boring explanation of something I didn't even explain. But I've been feeling like I can't do anything. Except this. This is something I can do. Ramble vaguely.
This probably raises more questions to anyone reading than it provides answers. Sorry, America. A totally boring explanation of something I didn't even explain. But I've been feeling like I can't do anything. Except this. This is something I can do. Ramble vaguely.
1.07.2012
Dear Soldier, Soldier On
Soldier On.
If you were to look at me you would probably see a person with small legs and a jiggly belly. you would probably see a human cartoon, who’s smile swallows their whole face and who’s gestures are larger than life when explaining something. You probably would not look at me and see a person who is full of serious-fucking-business. You would not see a person who marches when they walk, like they are coming from a slow motion montage in an action movie. I’ve been told I literally bounce when I walk. You would not see me squinting and imagine that I am thinking razor-sharp-tough-ass thoughts. You might think “that girl has really tiny eyes”. I am not, by all measures, someone you would consider to be tough. Goofy. Plucky. Quirky. Those are all labels I’ve been given. Not tough. Not serious-fucking-business. That’s for sure.
But the problem is that sometimes I feel so serious. I feel like the hard ass rap songs I’m listening to are personifications of me. I see myself and I see a soldier, I don’t see a dweeb in a Looney Tunes sweatshirt. What I am is an unfit white female from somewhere in the middle class, but what I feel like is a tough ass bitch in boots and black leather who is on a fucking mission. I am getting real all over this world and the world moves to get out of my way. I am a soldier. Yes. I said it. Sometimes I am a soldier.
When I’m a soldier I am in battle. Sometimes that battle is against myself. Sometimes it’s against other people. Sometimes it’s against events, ideas, obstacles. Sometimes I watch that goddamned Sarah-McLaughlan-Saving-The-Animals commercial and the battle is against the abuse of puppies and kitties. Sometimes I want to write a song and the battle is with the words I haven’t even thought of yet. Are you with me? Is this making sense? Looney Tunes sweater. Sarah McLaughlan. Try and keep up.
The point is that being a soldier is something you can experience even if you’re not serious-fucking-business to the core. Sometimes you have to be a soldier. Sometimes the world comes at you and sometimes you have to come back at it. It’s a really powerful state of being because it forces you to build up your emotional arsenal, ground yourself in what you believe is right, and do something about it. Being a soldier is being in a state of motion. It is acting and reacting (and slow-motion marching). It’s making a very productive use of your time. We all do it. Jay-Z made millions doing it.
Today we went to get the keys to our new house and discovered a 4 foot trench had been dug along an entire side of our house. Wires, roots, dirt, shovels everywhere. A fucking mess. A giant, unexplainable mess. Will it be fixed? Sure. Will it eventually be no big deal? Absolutely. The point is that the world was already testing me today (a one-star day as my astrology friends would put it) and now it just pushed a little too hard. This day was explosively stupid and rough. Time to get serious now. Time to turn on my rap tunes and get to work on this life.
If you see me in the street and I’m bobbing down the block, trust that I’m marching. If you see my tiny eyes darting all over, trust that I’m tough-squinting. Trust.
Time to get serious-fucking-business. Time to soldier on.
1.03.2012
Dear 2011: the 11 Biggest Events of my 2011
So the old year is already over. And top whatever lists are so last year. (womp womp. Get it, guys?! See what I did there?) Well I was planning to do this several days ago but, big surprise, I didn't get to it. It's the third day of the new year. Nothing wrong with a little reflection.
I kept saying all year how eventful and crazy the year was. Kept referencing all the "stuff" and "things" that were going on. If you didn't know but you care, or if you have known and care, or if you didn't know but think you might care, here's a nice little encapsulation of what was most important about the past year in my life.
In no order of importance (because let's be real, everything is the most important in its own way):
11. The Death of Charles Keith Vietenhans AKA Carl AKA Papa
I've written a lot about my grandfather's passing. Here, here, and here for example. If you've been around me, you've probably heard a lot about it as well. Papa was one of the most important men in my life. As a biological female who strongly identifies with men, my grandfather was a major influence and source of inspiration in my life. Through saying goodbye and living past his death I have learned so much more about how I loved him and what we meant to each other. I am not thankful that he passed, but what I am grateful for is what he has taught me, the gifts he has given to me (all of which live in me, with me, and beside me each day), and the chance to love and be loved this deeply. Today, I live for myself, but wanting to live as the person he loved motivates me to be better to myself and others.
10. The birth of Desmond Wolfie Kim
Stay tuned for how much I have to say about this. It cannot fit in the space of this blog post. In August, as my grandfather was reaching the end of his life, one of my very best friends gave birth to her first child, Desmond Wolfie. She and her husband were living in Korea at the time so I was connected to the event via facebook, their blog, and good vibes. Julie and I have been close since we were 15. We have lived together many times, went to college side by side, and I sort of imagined if we had babies we'd do that together, too. I could never have imagined it would happen this way, and that this way would be perfect. Several weeks after Desmond's birth, they moved back to Seattle. I am so happy they are close by, and feel so lucky to be a part of this young person's life. Every time I look at him I feel emotional: excited, happy, touched, curious. I love him more than I knew I could love a baby. He is a gift to the entire world.
9. The Wedding of Curran Mor and Jordan Lock
Two of my very dear friends got hitched at the end of July, in their perfect ceremony on Orcas Island. It was a weekend long labor of love full of a lot of celebrating. Curran is such a beautiful person, I was overjoyed to be a bridesmaid at her side, and to be able to support them both in their union. It was a gorgeous ceremony, on a gorgeous day and certainly any opportunity to share love with those you have it for is truly a special thing. Curran and Jordan taught me a lot through their union, especially about how none of the details are half as important as just being together. I was in complete awe of how relaxed they were the entire time and how much it freed them to just enjoy being married.
8. The Wedding of Tessa and Jeremy Johnson
Tessa and Jeremy have been two of my closest friends since we were in high school, so I was thrilled to see them get married in July. They came to me earlier in the year and asked if I would officiate their ceremony. I can't even tell you how this felt. Well, let me try. It has been one of the biggest responsibilities and honors of my entire life. It is one of the things I am most proud to say I have done. To be able to help two people I love so much, in such an important way was just the greatest gift. The wedding was all about them, but they gave something to me too by asking me to take part in their union. The wedding, for the record, was amazing. They looked truly beautiful, everyone had so much fun, and we all cried. If I could marry Tessa and Jeremy every day, I would.
7. I Took My Career to the Next Level
Maybe you know. Maybe you don't. I'm an actor. I don't say that a lot because it feels silly. I don't talk about the work I do very often because I'm afraid of sounding like a braggart. As the Giraffe points out, how is anyone supposed to know what's going on in my life unless I tell them. Good point. This year I did a lot of necessary work like booking jobs with my agent in Portland (finally), taking some baller new head shots (finally), and finishing some old projects. Some important things I did this year include: recording my first video game, finishing the project as the voice for the Sound Lab at the EMP, and "starring" in a Ford Commercial (keep your tv's tuned). I bought a new microphone for my recording booth. I bought a new computer. I realized that if I want to do voices for cartoons I am more than capable of doing so. I just have to keep working. And if I want anything in my career, I need only keep working. Being an actor means living with a constant uncertainty of what is going to happen next with your career. This year I learned that I don't need to be afraid of that. I just need to know who I am, what I can bring, and rep it hard. Fame is an occasional bi-product of success, not a measure of it. We are definitely on our way.
6. I Stopped Being Fearful of Getting Older
Ever since I turned maybe 19, I have been terrified of getting older. Each birthday felt like an omen, with a shitty voice whispering to me "one step closer to death, now" and "you're too old". It sounds crazy, I know, since I'm not even that old yet. But it's how I felt. I have felt like 1--I am already too late for my life and 2--being an adult is going to happen any second and I have no idea how to prepare for it. I always thought there was some sort of secret to being a grown up and that until I knew what it was I was incapable of doing it right. This year I learned the secret: it's already happening. I am already being an adult. And there is no road map for it. No secret to doing it "right". Being an adult is going on for me weather I am ready for it or not. AND, not only that, but the older I get the more I know and the more confidence I gain and any modicum of success I am able to achieve is only really going to happen as I mature and become more sure of myself. It started to happen without my knowing it, and then one day, shortly before my 28th birthday, I looked around and realized "I'm not afraid anymore". Getting older is now a celebration of past achievements and of future possibilities. Certainly if I know anything by now it is that the end of your life doesn't necessarily come when you have accomplished everything you want to and you're ready to go. It can happen any time. So it's best to make valuable use of the time you have and be grateful for the chance to become an adult and eventual old codger.
5. I Quit Drinking
So maybe you know. And maybe you don't know. I quit drinking in April. Drinking had become a habitual part of my life, certainly wrapped up in clinging to the fleeting moments of youth, fearing a future I had too meticulously planned out, and being swallowed by anxieties I was incapable of facing alone. I was presented with an opportunity to start a time of radical self-healing, and the only way to do that was as a clear headed, present person. Will I ever drink again? I can't say that. I really can't say. What I can tell you is that the last 9 months have been the hardest and most rewarding of my entire life. And the work, the repair, and the discovery I am doing could not take place if I was drinking. I just don't believe I could make these strides with myself if I was hungover all the time. Also, as a result of not drinking, I was able to loose the extra weight I had been carrying around for the last couple of years (shout it from the mountain tops), I am learning to manage my anxieties (I didn't think I was a very anxious person, but guess what, I am), and I have been making everyday a productive day. Sometimes you need to build a better relationship with something, and the only way to do that is to push the reset button; cut the roadblocks out completely. If alcohol and I are never friends again, or if we are just casual acquaintances I know that I am leading a full and happy life, and that's what really matters. The fucking party is over. And the truth is, I'm glad about it.
4. We Bought a House!
The Giraffe and I started tossing around the idea of buying a home over a year ago. In October we got serious about the hunt, and in November we found our little dream house and moved on it. With the help of family, the guidance of our real estate agent (AKA house dad), and the support of our friends we made it happen. We just signed the final paperwork this afternoon. Some facts: it's in South Seward Park (look it up), three blocks from the lake, has plenty of space, a brand new roof, a carriage-style garage, and is a 1947 Cape Cod style bungalow. Our new neighborhood is so diverse and full of community. We are excited about the responsibility. I am ready for space to build a studio for my career. We are so eager to live a beautiful life together, with nice things and furniture that goes together and broken things we can fix if we want to and walls we can paint and rooms that can welcome friends and family. Hey, America. You can finally come hang out with us at our house. This event has seriously bogarted most of my physical and emotional time for several months, so really it's like two or three things on this list.
3. I Started a Time of "Radical-Self Healing"
See also: processing the past, forgiving myself, letting go, getting honest, learning self-love, expressing gratitude, owning up to feelings (all the feelings!), and a general sense of understanding. There is NO WAY I can talk about this without sounding like a woo-woo asshole, so whatever. I'm not doing any culty-bullshit, or reading self-help books, or creating mantras or any of that shit. It's really pretty simple. I was living with a lot of trauma and anxiety and fears, and it was toxic but I did not believe it could get better. I wanted to make things better and learn to live as a healthier person, but I did not know how. I also thought, for example, that if I set boundaries to honor and protect myself emotionally I would loose relationships with the people I love. Obviously the opposite is true. I did start going to therapy. I did start talking to other people about how I feel. I did start living with my feelings, beside them, all fucking over them, and learning what it feels like to come out the other side. I really started to build a relationship with myself. And I discovered that I like this person. And that it's actually ok to like yourself. I started addressing my own needs and learning about how good that feels. I started extending myself to others in a way that did not compromise my own needs. I started finally believing I deserve the happiness and success I have always wanted to believe I deserve. Have a little laugh about it if you must. It's kind of funny. Claiming "radical-self healing" as an event in your life is, actually, a little funny. But it's also true. It's a lot of work. For me, it is a lot of work. My life is happening and I am living inside of it and that is infinitely rewarding but it did not start happening because one day I woke up and decided to be a really balanced, healthy person. It took work. It takes work. I know now how worth it that work can be.
2. I Worked Like a Motherfucker Until I Didn't Anymore
For a lot of this year I worked and worked and worked. Saying "no" is something I have been able to start practicing but only started in my work life at the end of the summer. The first half of the year I was teaching children and bartending and making coffee and managing a little at the restaurant at the same time. I was also house sitting and auditioning and recording and shooting and helping friends get married. I had a four month stretch where I did not have a single day off. Slowly as I started to get burnt out I also started to let go of the pressure I put on myself to be the best-employee-of-all-time (which was never possible anyway let's face it). I started trying to express a need for free time and set boundaries and I discovered the world responded positively. Today, I just bartend. Which I love. I have weekends off, for the first time in five years. Which I love. I have my days free to audition and do jobs. Which I love. I said "I need time to myself" and everyone said sure. Which I love. And I don't feel stressed that it's not good enough. Which I love.
1. The Great Purge of 2011
In 2011 I got rid of over 11 garbage bags of clothing. I hauled over four truckloads of belongings to the Goodwill. And you know what? I'm not done. I'm a pack rat verging on hoarder-status. I place emotional importance on material things. I hate seeing things wasted so I take them in. Moving was not the impetus for getting rid of things, but it has proved to be a helpful tool in continuing to examine what I really love, what I really need, and what I can really--at the end of the day--do without. How am I gonna throw dance parties and have hip-hop recording sessions in my house if it's covered in shit? I'm not! The Giraffe has been so patient (bless you, sir) about my journey into a minimalistic lifestyle. I made a pretty decent start in 2011, but I'm not done yet. Still got a lot of shit to send back into the world. Because after all, like Nas, all I need is one mic...and Walter, and a Barcelona chair, and about 50 pairs of shoes.
2011: high highs and worth-it lows. I feel more love for the people in my life than ever before. And I feel more love from them than I ever knew was possible. Together we are about to make 2012 the greatest year of all time. The greatest year yet. The greatest.
I kept saying all year how eventful and crazy the year was. Kept referencing all the "stuff" and "things" that were going on. If you didn't know but you care, or if you have known and care, or if you didn't know but think you might care, here's a nice little encapsulation of what was most important about the past year in my life.
In no order of importance (because let's be real, everything is the most important in its own way):
11. The Death of Charles Keith Vietenhans AKA Carl AKA Papa
I've written a lot about my grandfather's passing. Here, here, and here for example. If you've been around me, you've probably heard a lot about it as well. Papa was one of the most important men in my life. As a biological female who strongly identifies with men, my grandfather was a major influence and source of inspiration in my life. Through saying goodbye and living past his death I have learned so much more about how I loved him and what we meant to each other. I am not thankful that he passed, but what I am grateful for is what he has taught me, the gifts he has given to me (all of which live in me, with me, and beside me each day), and the chance to love and be loved this deeply. Today, I live for myself, but wanting to live as the person he loved motivates me to be better to myself and others.
10. The birth of Desmond Wolfie Kim
The video that made me weep over Desmond for the first time
9. The Wedding of Curran Mor and Jordan Lock
The beautiful bride and her maids
Two of my very dear friends got hitched at the end of July, in their perfect ceremony on Orcas Island. It was a weekend long labor of love full of a lot of celebrating. Curran is such a beautiful person, I was overjoyed to be a bridesmaid at her side, and to be able to support them both in their union. It was a gorgeous ceremony, on a gorgeous day and certainly any opportunity to share love with those you have it for is truly a special thing. Curran and Jordan taught me a lot through their union, especially about how none of the details are half as important as just being together. I was in complete awe of how relaxed they were the entire time and how much it freed them to just enjoy being married.
8. The Wedding of Tessa and Jeremy Johnson
Photos by the amazing Garret Grove
7. I Took My Career to the Next Level
Photo by the talented Elizabeth Rudge
Maybe you know. Maybe you don't. I'm an actor. I don't say that a lot because it feels silly. I don't talk about the work I do very often because I'm afraid of sounding like a braggart. As the Giraffe points out, how is anyone supposed to know what's going on in my life unless I tell them. Good point. This year I did a lot of necessary work like booking jobs with my agent in Portland (finally), taking some baller new head shots (finally), and finishing some old projects. Some important things I did this year include: recording my first video game, finishing the project as the voice for the Sound Lab at the EMP, and "starring" in a Ford Commercial (keep your tv's tuned). I bought a new microphone for my recording booth. I bought a new computer. I realized that if I want to do voices for cartoons I am more than capable of doing so. I just have to keep working. And if I want anything in my career, I need only keep working. Being an actor means living with a constant uncertainty of what is going to happen next with your career. This year I learned that I don't need to be afraid of that. I just need to know who I am, what I can bring, and rep it hard. Fame is an occasional bi-product of success, not a measure of it. We are definitely on our way.
6. I Stopped Being Fearful of Getting Older
My 28th Birthday at Chuckie Cheese
Forgot to mention that I got to see New Kids on the Block as a birthday present from my mom & Boo. From the 4th row. One of the best days of my whole life.
Ever since I turned maybe 19, I have been terrified of getting older. Each birthday felt like an omen, with a shitty voice whispering to me "one step closer to death, now" and "you're too old". It sounds crazy, I know, since I'm not even that old yet. But it's how I felt. I have felt like 1--I am already too late for my life and 2--being an adult is going to happen any second and I have no idea how to prepare for it. I always thought there was some sort of secret to being a grown up and that until I knew what it was I was incapable of doing it right. This year I learned the secret: it's already happening. I am already being an adult. And there is no road map for it. No secret to doing it "right". Being an adult is going on for me weather I am ready for it or not. AND, not only that, but the older I get the more I know and the more confidence I gain and any modicum of success I am able to achieve is only really going to happen as I mature and become more sure of myself. It started to happen without my knowing it, and then one day, shortly before my 28th birthday, I looked around and realized "I'm not afraid anymore". Getting older is now a celebration of past achievements and of future possibilities. Certainly if I know anything by now it is that the end of your life doesn't necessarily come when you have accomplished everything you want to and you're ready to go. It can happen any time. So it's best to make valuable use of the time you have and be grateful for the chance to become an adult and eventual old codger.
5. I Quit Drinking
Life is a journey, man
So maybe you know. And maybe you don't know. I quit drinking in April. Drinking had become a habitual part of my life, certainly wrapped up in clinging to the fleeting moments of youth, fearing a future I had too meticulously planned out, and being swallowed by anxieties I was incapable of facing alone. I was presented with an opportunity to start a time of radical self-healing, and the only way to do that was as a clear headed, present person. Will I ever drink again? I can't say that. I really can't say. What I can tell you is that the last 9 months have been the hardest and most rewarding of my entire life. And the work, the repair, and the discovery I am doing could not take place if I was drinking. I just don't believe I could make these strides with myself if I was hungover all the time. Also, as a result of not drinking, I was able to loose the extra weight I had been carrying around for the last couple of years (shout it from the mountain tops), I am learning to manage my anxieties (I didn't think I was a very anxious person, but guess what, I am), and I have been making everyday a productive day. Sometimes you need to build a better relationship with something, and the only way to do that is to push the reset button; cut the roadblocks out completely. If alcohol and I are never friends again, or if we are just casual acquaintances I know that I am leading a full and happy life, and that's what really matters. The fucking party is over. And the truth is, I'm glad about it.
4. We Bought a House!
Closing on our house!
The Giraffe and I started tossing around the idea of buying a home over a year ago. In October we got serious about the hunt, and in November we found our little dream house and moved on it. With the help of family, the guidance of our real estate agent (AKA house dad), and the support of our friends we made it happen. We just signed the final paperwork this afternoon. Some facts: it's in South Seward Park (look it up), three blocks from the lake, has plenty of space, a brand new roof, a carriage-style garage, and is a 1947 Cape Cod style bungalow. Our new neighborhood is so diverse and full of community. We are excited about the responsibility. I am ready for space to build a studio for my career. We are so eager to live a beautiful life together, with nice things and furniture that goes together and broken things we can fix if we want to and walls we can paint and rooms that can welcome friends and family. Hey, America. You can finally come hang out with us at our house. This event has seriously bogarted most of my physical and emotional time for several months, so really it's like two or three things on this list.
3. I Started a Time of "Radical-Self Healing"
Right? I mean, right?
See also: processing the past, forgiving myself, letting go, getting honest, learning self-love, expressing gratitude, owning up to feelings (all the feelings!), and a general sense of understanding. There is NO WAY I can talk about this without sounding like a woo-woo asshole, so whatever. I'm not doing any culty-bullshit, or reading self-help books, or creating mantras or any of that shit. It's really pretty simple. I was living with a lot of trauma and anxiety and fears, and it was toxic but I did not believe it could get better. I wanted to make things better and learn to live as a healthier person, but I did not know how. I also thought, for example, that if I set boundaries to honor and protect myself emotionally I would loose relationships with the people I love. Obviously the opposite is true. I did start going to therapy. I did start talking to other people about how I feel. I did start living with my feelings, beside them, all fucking over them, and learning what it feels like to come out the other side. I really started to build a relationship with myself. And I discovered that I like this person. And that it's actually ok to like yourself. I started addressing my own needs and learning about how good that feels. I started extending myself to others in a way that did not compromise my own needs. I started finally believing I deserve the happiness and success I have always wanted to believe I deserve. Have a little laugh about it if you must. It's kind of funny. Claiming "radical-self healing" as an event in your life is, actually, a little funny. But it's also true. It's a lot of work. For me, it is a lot of work. My life is happening and I am living inside of it and that is infinitely rewarding but it did not start happening because one day I woke up and decided to be a really balanced, healthy person. It took work. It takes work. I know now how worth it that work can be.
2. I Worked Like a Motherfucker Until I Didn't Anymore
Hard at work...sort of
For a lot of this year I worked and worked and worked. Saying "no" is something I have been able to start practicing but only started in my work life at the end of the summer. The first half of the year I was teaching children and bartending and making coffee and managing a little at the restaurant at the same time. I was also house sitting and auditioning and recording and shooting and helping friends get married. I had a four month stretch where I did not have a single day off. Slowly as I started to get burnt out I also started to let go of the pressure I put on myself to be the best-employee-of-all-time (which was never possible anyway let's face it). I started trying to express a need for free time and set boundaries and I discovered the world responded positively. Today, I just bartend. Which I love. I have weekends off, for the first time in five years. Which I love. I have my days free to audition and do jobs. Which I love. I said "I need time to myself" and everyone said sure. Which I love. And I don't feel stressed that it's not good enough. Which I love.
1. The Great Purge of 2011
Just a taste of some of the action
In 2011 I got rid of over 11 garbage bags of clothing. I hauled over four truckloads of belongings to the Goodwill. And you know what? I'm not done. I'm a pack rat verging on hoarder-status. I place emotional importance on material things. I hate seeing things wasted so I take them in. Moving was not the impetus for getting rid of things, but it has proved to be a helpful tool in continuing to examine what I really love, what I really need, and what I can really--at the end of the day--do without. How am I gonna throw dance parties and have hip-hop recording sessions in my house if it's covered in shit? I'm not! The Giraffe has been so patient (bless you, sir) about my journey into a minimalistic lifestyle. I made a pretty decent start in 2011, but I'm not done yet. Still got a lot of shit to send back into the world. Because after all, like Nas, all I need is one mic...and Walter, and a Barcelona chair, and about 50 pairs of shoes.
2011: high highs and worth-it lows. I feel more love for the people in my life than ever before. And I feel more love from them than I ever knew was possible. Together we are about to make 2012 the greatest year of all time. The greatest year yet. The greatest.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)