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.
12.24.2011
Dear Magical Half-Korean Baby Jesus
In about 10 minutes I am going to go see my nephew play the baby Jesus in a live nativity scene. He is not really my nephew. He is my best friend's infant son, and we are basically sisters, so I count it. It counts. It counts to me.
This magical 3 month old son is the most handsome curiosity I have ever laid eyes on. He is a gale force wrapped inside a chubby body of love and infinite possibility. Meeting him has changed my life. More on that later.
The point right now is that this year has been about change and embracing what change means; what change brings. When our friend's mother called and said "Our church is desperate for a baby to come be Jesus in our nativity play" She agreed to let Desmond take part. She and her husband are not church goers or avid Jesus-believers, but they are loving members of the community and certainly not people who could pass up the opportunity to let their son play the messiah. My friend's husband is Korean and therefore Desmond is half-Korean. We are all very excited to see some diversity brought into an age old story. As an actor, I can tell you, playing Jesus looks GREAT on a resume.
Desmond came into my world and it changed. All of our lives are better because of him. I am elated to be able to watch him share his magic energy with a community of loving people on Christmas Eve. I can't believe I am saying this, but he is only three months old and I am already so proud of him.
Desmond, thank you for making Christmas be about something new and exciting. I am BLESSED to be even a camel in the nativity scene of your life.
Desmond's parents have a blog. It is wonderful. I suggest you check it out.
xo
This magical 3 month old son is the most handsome curiosity I have ever laid eyes on. He is a gale force wrapped inside a chubby body of love and infinite possibility. Meeting him has changed my life. More on that later.
The point right now is that this year has been about change and embracing what change means; what change brings. When our friend's mother called and said "Our church is desperate for a baby to come be Jesus in our nativity play" She agreed to let Desmond take part. She and her husband are not church goers or avid Jesus-believers, but they are loving members of the community and certainly not people who could pass up the opportunity to let their son play the messiah. My friend's husband is Korean and therefore Desmond is half-Korean. We are all very excited to see some diversity brought into an age old story. As an actor, I can tell you, playing Jesus looks GREAT on a resume.
Desmond came into my world and it changed. All of our lives are better because of him. I am elated to be able to watch him share his magic energy with a community of loving people on Christmas Eve. I can't believe I am saying this, but he is only three months old and I am already so proud of him.
Desmond, thank you for making Christmas be about something new and exciting. I am BLESSED to be even a camel in the nativity scene of your life.
Desmond's parents have a blog. It is wonderful. I suggest you check it out.
xo
12.16.2011
Dear All I Want for Christmas
I can't tell a lie. I love presents. I love everything about them. I love thinking about them, picking them out, wrapping them, watching someone receive them, getting them, UNwrapping them, hugging someone about them, looking at them, playing with them. Everything. I love the whole goddamn thing. Never have a I been a person who is like "oh, no, no gifts please." Ok yes, I understand sometimes gifts aren't appropriate and I'm cool with that, and I also never EXPECT gifts (sorry, Giraffe, sometimes maybe I expect them from you). But, you know, Christmas is an excellent time to be all about the presents. Among other things.
IF I had my way (I don't and at this point I can't be surprised) I would give everyone a present this time of year. For the last six or seven years I have planned out elaborate schemes for how I am going to make everyone I know something just *so* special, and that it will cost no money and take no time. And then the universe is always like PSYCHE. One year I actually bought the supplies to make all these supposedly amazing gifts, dropped a considerable amount of dough, got two or three deep and was like "Oh no. These are ridiculous. No one wants to get these as gifts!" And then I chickened out and also ran out of time. This year I didn't do that but I still kind of wish I would have just gone for it anyway.
This year, in my family, there has been a moratorium on gift giving. Slowly, over the last few years, we have done less and less and this year it makes sense to do nothing material at all. This news came from my mother and I responded like any adult child would. With understanding and whiny disappointment. Like somehow, if I protest, it will change the state of things. It does not. The state of things is that now more so than ever material gifts mean nothing in comparison to the gift of being together (wah wah!). After collectively losing my Papa in September and undergoing some radical changes in each of our own lives none of us is in a monetary or emotional place to be out at a mall (or on etsy, or in the basement crafting away) procuring objects and stuff to fill our lives. Nobody really needs anything either. (*there is a never ending list of wants, but sometimes wants get set aside*) So this year, my sister (little Boo) and our surrogate brother are coming home, we are going to be with each other and the dogs and call it a day.
The Giraffe and I are going to move into our first home next month. My mother says that the gift of buying our first house is absolutely the biggest gift we could give each other. Mom, you are always right. Ugh. But what I want to say about this is that there are so many ways you can share and give with someone else that doesn't involve a present under the tree. There are so many gifts that don't cost anything. And this Christmas, my wish list is full of those things. So for 2011, the year of radical change, this is what I want for Christmas:
+A rad-ass dance party. My mother is legendary amongst my sister and I for throwing great dance parties. She likes to play the Beach Boys and this year she discovered Death Cab for Cutie ("Don't Stop the Fruity". True story.) I might bring a little Drake to the table and Boo can bring some of the hits the college kids are listening to and we can just spend a couple of hours getting down.
+Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas morning brunch. Cooking for each other is a fun way to share time, and I can pretend to help out by shuffling things around in the fridge since I don't know how to make anything.
+Playing games with our grandmother. She had so much fun watching us at Thanksgiving that she requested to participate on Christmas. It's going to be amazing.
+Taking a scenic walk. My mom lives on a majestic island so there are hella places to move around and enjoy the nature.
+Write a song. Two years ago we made a song at Christmas and I think it's my favorite thing that's ever happened on a Holiday. Our surrogate brother is an incredible song writer, the Giraffe plays drums and the rest of us like to sing. I'd like most of all to make that happen.
+Take photos. Always, all the time, forever.
+Record our New Kids on the Block cover. Boo and I tried to do this over the summer. Now is the time.
+To talk to my dad. He is so far away now (snowbirding) that a phone call will be really special. I can't wait to hear him say how the next lottery ticket is going to be a winner.
+A letter from the Giraffe. When you spend so much time with someone you don't share sentiments the same way you do when you're apart. We used to write a lot and it was one of my favorite things. If he drew a picture of our dog I might poop myself.
+A special night with just my mom and Boo. The trifecta only gets to reunite twice a year so it's pretty bomb when it happens.
+Karaoke with friends. It's overdue, guys. Let's stop talking about it and go sing it out.
There is a lot to do, but you know, it's been a productive year so I feel confidant that we can keep it going. Anybody else doing a no-presents-under-the-tree Christmas? What's on your no-stuff wishlist?
Saying that being together is the greatest gift is so sentimental it makes me want to barf. But goddamnit it's still true. Goddamnit!
Holler at Santa for me, tell him I'll get to him next year.
This year, in my family, there has been a moratorium on gift giving. Slowly, over the last few years, we have done less and less and this year it makes sense to do nothing material at all. This news came from my mother and I responded like any adult child would. With understanding and whiny disappointment. Like somehow, if I protest, it will change the state of things. It does not. The state of things is that now more so than ever material gifts mean nothing in comparison to the gift of being together (wah wah!). After collectively losing my Papa in September and undergoing some radical changes in each of our own lives none of us is in a monetary or emotional place to be out at a mall (or on etsy, or in the basement crafting away) procuring objects and stuff to fill our lives. Nobody really needs anything either. (*there is a never ending list of wants, but sometimes wants get set aside*) So this year, my sister (little Boo) and our surrogate brother are coming home, we are going to be with each other and the dogs and call it a day.
The Giraffe and I are going to move into our first home next month. My mother says that the gift of buying our first house is absolutely the biggest gift we could give each other. Mom, you are always right. Ugh. But what I want to say about this is that there are so many ways you can share and give with someone else that doesn't involve a present under the tree. There are so many gifts that don't cost anything. And this Christmas, my wish list is full of those things. So for 2011, the year of radical change, this is what I want for Christmas:
+A rad-ass dance party. My mother is legendary amongst my sister and I for throwing great dance parties. She likes to play the Beach Boys and this year she discovered Death Cab for Cutie ("Don't Stop the Fruity". True story.) I might bring a little Drake to the table and Boo can bring some of the hits the college kids are listening to and we can just spend a couple of hours getting down.
+Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas morning brunch. Cooking for each other is a fun way to share time, and I can pretend to help out by shuffling things around in the fridge since I don't know how to make anything.
+Playing games with our grandmother. She had so much fun watching us at Thanksgiving that she requested to participate on Christmas. It's going to be amazing.
+Taking a scenic walk. My mom lives on a majestic island so there are hella places to move around and enjoy the nature.
+Write a song. Two years ago we made a song at Christmas and I think it's my favorite thing that's ever happened on a Holiday. Our surrogate brother is an incredible song writer, the Giraffe plays drums and the rest of us like to sing. I'd like most of all to make that happen.
+Take photos. Always, all the time, forever.
+Record our New Kids on the Block cover. Boo and I tried to do this over the summer. Now is the time.
+To talk to my dad. He is so far away now (snowbirding) that a phone call will be really special. I can't wait to hear him say how the next lottery ticket is going to be a winner.
+A letter from the Giraffe. When you spend so much time with someone you don't share sentiments the same way you do when you're apart. We used to write a lot and it was one of my favorite things. If he drew a picture of our dog I might poop myself.
+A special night with just my mom and Boo. The trifecta only gets to reunite twice a year so it's pretty bomb when it happens.
+Karaoke with friends. It's overdue, guys. Let's stop talking about it and go sing it out.
There is a lot to do, but you know, it's been a productive year so I feel confidant that we can keep it going. Anybody else doing a no-presents-under-the-tree Christmas? What's on your no-stuff wishlist?
Holler at Santa for me, tell him I'll get to him next year.
Dear Just Be Grateful
So a while back I had this great idea: Take one month out of the year, and dedicate it to being thankful. Really focus on making it a point to share with the people in my life through a letter, or a phone call, or a nice cup of coffee or WHATEVERITMAYBE what they mean to me and let them know that I am thankful to have them in my life. This sounded like a great idea to me. Because I do feel so thankful. And I believe I should share that. I figured, yeah, it would be like a month of gratitude. Yeah, and November would be great because Thanksgiving is going on and people already have friends, family and togetherness on their minds. Yeah, I thought, it's going to work out great. And then do you know what I learned? IT'S ALREADY A REAL THING. NOVEMBER IS GRATITUDE MONTH. Some group or dude or foundation or greeting card company already made a gratitude month and it's already November, and everyone in America knows that apparently except for me.
UGH.
It was just like the time I thought that I invented facebook. (true and tragic story)
To learn that my amazingly special plan had already been thwarted by it's preexisting popularity, coupled with the totally unattainable scale of my idea led me to do nothing. I thought a lot about my gratitude in November, as I have been doing a lot lately. I put out a lot of vibes about it. Which has to count for something in the grand scope of the universe, but I didn't actually DO anything. Which left me feeling a little bit like I had failed.
But here's the thing. I have been feeling grateful a lot lately (as I literally just said). This year has been a motherfucker in it's proportion of devastating, difficult, triumphant, and beautiful events. The last half of it I have felt constantly awed and humbled by how amazing everything is. And how incredible people are. And how powerful self-love can be (laugh now, that shit is real). And the truth is that even though I didn't make a banner with everyone's name on it and stream it from heaven I truly feel more grateful than I probably ever have before, and living with that and walking with it in my life is, in it's way, doing something. So I guess I just want to say...I mean, I guess what the point of this is (besides that I need to do more research before thinking I've come up with an original idea) that de-elevating my level of expectation for how I express gratitude does not, at it's core, de-value the gratitude itself.
And I would have liked to have given you all handmade cards with the most epic thank you of all time, but this year I've just been too fucking busy living my life. And that's part of what's great here. I am finally much closer to living my life at the mammoth capacity I dream of doing. So I'ma keep putting out the vibes and know that living with gratitude is, well, not an act, but a lifestyle.
Thank you.
UGH.
It was just like the time I thought that I invented facebook. (true and tragic story)
To learn that my amazingly special plan had already been thwarted by it's preexisting popularity, coupled with the totally unattainable scale of my idea led me to do nothing. I thought a lot about my gratitude in November, as I have been doing a lot lately. I put out a lot of vibes about it. Which has to count for something in the grand scope of the universe, but I didn't actually DO anything. Which left me feeling a little bit like I had failed.
But here's the thing. I have been feeling grateful a lot lately (as I literally just said). This year has been a motherfucker in it's proportion of devastating, difficult, triumphant, and beautiful events. The last half of it I have felt constantly awed and humbled by how amazing everything is. And how incredible people are. And how powerful self-love can be (laugh now, that shit is real). And the truth is that even though I didn't make a banner with everyone's name on it and stream it from heaven I truly feel more grateful than I probably ever have before, and living with that and walking with it in my life is, in it's way, doing something. So I guess I just want to say...I mean, I guess what the point of this is (besides that I need to do more research before thinking I've come up with an original idea) that de-elevating my level of expectation for how I express gratitude does not, at it's core, de-value the gratitude itself.
And I would have liked to have given you all handmade cards with the most epic thank you of all time, but this year I've just been too fucking busy living my life. And that's part of what's great here. I am finally much closer to living my life at the mammoth capacity I dream of doing. So I'ma keep putting out the vibes and know that living with gratitude is, well, not an act, but a lifestyle.
Thank you.
10.23.2011
Dear Attack on the Feelings OR Attack of the Feelings
I have a lot of feelings. We know this. Having a lot of feelings makes one a Feeler, and thus, also very sensitive. Being sensitive can prove useful in many situations but can also be, as many can attest from having to endure, extremely annoying, tiresome, confusing, etc. Sometimes I even bother myself with all my feelings and how they make me sensitive. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to be around my feelings and so, I can only imagine being a person on the outside of them. And so for those times, I'm sorry everyone.
Recently an acquaintance who is thoughtful and big hearted, and undeniably less of a Feeler asked me in earnest "Do you think your life would be better if you had less feelings?". We laughed, because it's a hilarious question for being such a serious one, and then I had to think about it for a second. "No," I said, "I don't. Because this is how I am. This is the kind of person I have always been. And I have discovered that if I don't embrace it, that is when it becomes a negative thing.". We talked about this theory of managing one's feelings a little bit all the time and that, in doing so, you are honoring them & acknowledging them, and that they stay healthy that way. Instead of being a Feeler who oppresses and ignores their feelings, which undoubtably produces explosive, toxic, or unhealthy results. Think of a rotting leftover sitting inside Tupperware. I am what I am, you know? A potato is a potato.
So, this conversation, this question, is something that has stuck with me. I consider this when I am getting annoyed at all the feelings I'm having that I wish I wasn't. I have to remember that I am actually annoyed with the fact that I'm not processing a feeling, not the fact that I'm having one. So then I have to do the sometimes laborious work of sitting beside the feeling and figuring it out.
Which brings me to a night like tonight.
Very relaxing day: I showered, cruised the internet for some new karaoke songs (whatever, you know you've done it), had a much needed conversation with the old madre. Very lovely evening: spent time with close friends, went bowling, ate good food. Then I came home, put down my shit, and started to have a terrible feeling. I put on sweatpants and looked at Facebook. Still a terrible feeling. I cuddled various things (the Giraffe, Walter, a cigarette). Still a terrible, gross feeling.
The feeling, you may be familiar, is an impending sense of doom. Everything was awesome today, and I am sitting here with a nagging sense of impending doom. Sometimes that feeling makes me think we are about to have an earthquake, or that maybe I forgot to do something important, or I am being sent to collections, or somebody died--but none of those things are true. Sense of impending doom. Then I think "Maybe I should do something productive" (read: clean, meditate, do something for someone else, pay a bill, start a project). But I know none of that is going to help. Also, meditating for me means sitting on a floor, covered in dog hair, with my eyes closed, wondering when I am going to start feeling like I'm meditating. Then, tonight, I even thought "maybe I should...pray?".
Ok. Alright. Ok. You know what? PRAY? Something is seriously wrong here.
I am feeling a sense of impending doom for SOME reason. And it is either an attack on my feelings or an attack of my feelings. I'm not sure which. But it's an attack, and a person who doesn't pray is clearly having an issue when they consider randomly starting at an anticlimactic time like this. And as a Feeler, I certainly can't go to bed unless this is somehow resolved.
But how do you resolve an issue if you don't know what exactly it is? How do you process a feeling if you can't figure out why the fuck you're having it? No, seriously, I'm asking. I mean, as a Feeler I have gotten very skilled in the ways of discussing, embracing, and managing feelings. But the impending sense of doom is usually a stale mate for me. Tonight, I have no reason to feel this way.
UNLESS you count all the ancient issues that still need to be resolved, which usually involve other people, and cannot just be pulled out of the attic of your cruddy brain and heaped back upon the other person with a "hey, we need to resolve this old shit so I can go to sleep tonight" at 2am at random. That's a selfish, inappropriate, and harmful way to deal with the rusty junk that may create a doom-sense at any moment. If the doom-sense is stemming from old, unresolved issues, then you just have to suck that shit up and make a mental note (promise, vow, whatever the fuck) to approach it and deal with it at a respectful time, like a LADY, and move on with your night.
Ok, so, maybe that's what it is. Maybe I'm thinking about a lot of vintage (sounds cuter when you use that word) events that need conversations and apologies. Could be. If I owe you one (and I probably do) then it's no doubt coming, but don't worry, it won't be tonight. I don't know about you America, but if I've hurt a person, or something has ended badly, or I tell a lie, I carry that shit around with me until it's resolved. It don't go away. So that could be what's happening here. My moral and responsible compass has been lasered in pretty tight lately, so perhaps the old shit is seeming a little more nasty and apparent. Or maybe my highly responsible lifestyle is making me feel confused because I'm not so used to being on top of my shit. Or maybe I'm afraid it won't last. Or maybe, because my responsible lifestyle has found me spending so much time by myself, I'm feeling a little over the "me" time and needing more of the "we" time. Or maybe, these days, when I do something flaky--something I would have done dozens of times a day in the past--it festers inside me because that's not the way I aim to live my life anymore.
All very good guesses. We are making a lot of progress here, America. Let's take a stab and assume that each of the aforementioned possibilities is going on. Ok. So. That would mean there are several issues on the table that need to be dealt with. It's 2:30 in the morning. Here's a prescription:
+ Consider the old issues. Pick one that is within your control to fix. Determine a hypothetical scenario where it would be appropriate to address that issue. Remember the hypothetical and put it to action when the time is right. Also, forgive yourself about it first. Everyone fucks up.
+ Accept the fact that you're maturing as a person, and that it is actually possible for you to become more responsible. Look at your life. That shit is really happening. You are really doing those responsible things. Be proud of who you are right now, and don't condemn that person because the 22 year old you didn't have their shit together this much.
+ Get over the fear that it won't last. Adults fuck up all the time. They are also still pretty responsible. Fucking up doesn't do automatic take-backs on all the responsibility you've fostered. You're just a different kind of dweeb now. You pay you're bills on time, you like to read home repair magazines and watch 48 Hours Mystery. Because, for one thing, you're an adult.
+ Stop spending all your time by yourself. Keep spending time by yourself, just do other stuff too. Remember when you used to spend all your time with other people? That shit wasn't good, either. Balance, man. You gotta find the yin and yang of social life. Man.
+ There's a difference between being flaky and doing something about it, and being flaky and using it as an opportunity to do something about allll the other times you've been flaky in your life. Forgetting to email your boss back or not meeting your friend for coffee is bad, but they don't need apologies detailing each email you never responded to or every cappuccino you let get cold. They don't care! Appologize for the one thing that just happened and move on. You've got to give This Guy (yourself) a break. Also, realize that maybe they don't care as much as you do. Because, maybe, it's not the end of the world. (Maybe, you little Feeler. Huh?)
Alright. Awesome. Great job, America. Maybe you will find this useful in the future if you're a Feeler. And maybe you can orate sections of this at a party when talking about what emotional nutjobs people like me are. Either way, thanks for sticking around.
I'm taking these feelings and going to bed.
Mama
Recently an acquaintance who is thoughtful and big hearted, and undeniably less of a Feeler asked me in earnest "Do you think your life would be better if you had less feelings?". We laughed, because it's a hilarious question for being such a serious one, and then I had to think about it for a second. "No," I said, "I don't. Because this is how I am. This is the kind of person I have always been. And I have discovered that if I don't embrace it, that is when it becomes a negative thing.". We talked about this theory of managing one's feelings a little bit all the time and that, in doing so, you are honoring them & acknowledging them, and that they stay healthy that way. Instead of being a Feeler who oppresses and ignores their feelings, which undoubtably produces explosive, toxic, or unhealthy results. Think of a rotting leftover sitting inside Tupperware. I am what I am, you know? A potato is a potato.
So, this conversation, this question, is something that has stuck with me. I consider this when I am getting annoyed at all the feelings I'm having that I wish I wasn't. I have to remember that I am actually annoyed with the fact that I'm not processing a feeling, not the fact that I'm having one. So then I have to do the sometimes laborious work of sitting beside the feeling and figuring it out.
Which brings me to a night like tonight.
Very relaxing day: I showered, cruised the internet for some new karaoke songs (whatever, you know you've done it), had a much needed conversation with the old madre. Very lovely evening: spent time with close friends, went bowling, ate good food. Then I came home, put down my shit, and started to have a terrible feeling. I put on sweatpants and looked at Facebook. Still a terrible feeling. I cuddled various things (the Giraffe, Walter, a cigarette). Still a terrible, gross feeling.
The feeling, you may be familiar, is an impending sense of doom. Everything was awesome today, and I am sitting here with a nagging sense of impending doom. Sometimes that feeling makes me think we are about to have an earthquake, or that maybe I forgot to do something important, or I am being sent to collections, or somebody died--but none of those things are true. Sense of impending doom. Then I think "Maybe I should do something productive" (read: clean, meditate, do something for someone else, pay a bill, start a project). But I know none of that is going to help. Also, meditating for me means sitting on a floor, covered in dog hair, with my eyes closed, wondering when I am going to start feeling like I'm meditating. Then, tonight, I even thought "maybe I should...pray?".
Ok. Alright. Ok. You know what? PRAY? Something is seriously wrong here.
I am feeling a sense of impending doom for SOME reason. And it is either an attack on my feelings or an attack of my feelings. I'm not sure which. But it's an attack, and a person who doesn't pray is clearly having an issue when they consider randomly starting at an anticlimactic time like this. And as a Feeler, I certainly can't go to bed unless this is somehow resolved.
But how do you resolve an issue if you don't know what exactly it is? How do you process a feeling if you can't figure out why the fuck you're having it? No, seriously, I'm asking. I mean, as a Feeler I have gotten very skilled in the ways of discussing, embracing, and managing feelings. But the impending sense of doom is usually a stale mate for me. Tonight, I have no reason to feel this way.
UNLESS you count all the ancient issues that still need to be resolved, which usually involve other people, and cannot just be pulled out of the attic of your cruddy brain and heaped back upon the other person with a "hey, we need to resolve this old shit so I can go to sleep tonight" at 2am at random. That's a selfish, inappropriate, and harmful way to deal with the rusty junk that may create a doom-sense at any moment. If the doom-sense is stemming from old, unresolved issues, then you just have to suck that shit up and make a mental note (promise, vow, whatever the fuck) to approach it and deal with it at a respectful time, like a LADY, and move on with your night.
Ok, so, maybe that's what it is. Maybe I'm thinking about a lot of vintage (sounds cuter when you use that word) events that need conversations and apologies. Could be. If I owe you one (and I probably do) then it's no doubt coming, but don't worry, it won't be tonight. I don't know about you America, but if I've hurt a person, or something has ended badly, or I tell a lie, I carry that shit around with me until it's resolved. It don't go away. So that could be what's happening here. My moral and responsible compass has been lasered in pretty tight lately, so perhaps the old shit is seeming a little more nasty and apparent. Or maybe my highly responsible lifestyle is making me feel confused because I'm not so used to being on top of my shit. Or maybe I'm afraid it won't last. Or maybe, because my responsible lifestyle has found me spending so much time by myself, I'm feeling a little over the "me" time and needing more of the "we" time. Or maybe, these days, when I do something flaky--something I would have done dozens of times a day in the past--it festers inside me because that's not the way I aim to live my life anymore.
All very good guesses. We are making a lot of progress here, America. Let's take a stab and assume that each of the aforementioned possibilities is going on. Ok. So. That would mean there are several issues on the table that need to be dealt with. It's 2:30 in the morning. Here's a prescription:
+ Consider the old issues. Pick one that is within your control to fix. Determine a hypothetical scenario where it would be appropriate to address that issue. Remember the hypothetical and put it to action when the time is right. Also, forgive yourself about it first. Everyone fucks up.
+ Accept the fact that you're maturing as a person, and that it is actually possible for you to become more responsible. Look at your life. That shit is really happening. You are really doing those responsible things. Be proud of who you are right now, and don't condemn that person because the 22 year old you didn't have their shit together this much.
+ Get over the fear that it won't last. Adults fuck up all the time. They are also still pretty responsible. Fucking up doesn't do automatic take-backs on all the responsibility you've fostered. You're just a different kind of dweeb now. You pay you're bills on time, you like to read home repair magazines and watch 48 Hours Mystery. Because, for one thing, you're an adult.
+ Stop spending all your time by yourself. Keep spending time by yourself, just do other stuff too. Remember when you used to spend all your time with other people? That shit wasn't good, either. Balance, man. You gotta find the yin and yang of social life. Man.
+ There's a difference between being flaky and doing something about it, and being flaky and using it as an opportunity to do something about allll the other times you've been flaky in your life. Forgetting to email your boss back or not meeting your friend for coffee is bad, but they don't need apologies detailing each email you never responded to or every cappuccino you let get cold. They don't care! Appologize for the one thing that just happened and move on. You've got to give This Guy (yourself) a break. Also, realize that maybe they don't care as much as you do. Because, maybe, it's not the end of the world. (Maybe, you little Feeler. Huh?)
Alright. Awesome. Great job, America. Maybe you will find this useful in the future if you're a Feeler. And maybe you can orate sections of this at a party when talking about what emotional nutjobs people like me are. Either way, thanks for sticking around.
I'm taking these feelings and going to bed.
Mama
9.21.2011
Dear Watching Someone Die Part 3
The act of honoring someone's life means also having to acknowledge your relationship with that person: who you were to each other, what your relationship truly consisted of, and what made it unique. This can be difficult if acknowledging your relationship also means embracing the magnitude of it for the first time posthumously. This is true for me in the case of my grandfather.
My grandfather, "Papa", passed away September 1st at his home in Tacoma WA under the care of my grandmother. They would have celebrated their 62nd anniversary next month, but, as my grandmother put it "we didn't make it so it doesn't count". He outlived the expectations of the doctors who quoted us a timeline of "a couple of days to a couple of months" in June. It is still uncertain what he ultimately died of, though if "being tired" is a COD then perhaps that was it. He was waiting out three possible fatalities: the cancer that had spread from his bladder, kidney failure, or heart failure. At the time he died we hope (though we don't know) that he was ready to go. The state of his living life was so terrible that my mother says she can't imagine he even wanted to hang on much longer. He could not longer get out of bed, couldn't sit up, was on a steady supply of morphine which distorted his reality, had stopped eating, and stopped drinking water. He was smaller than a young boy. In a rare moment of conceding defeat my grandmother offered him beer and wine, to which he replied (perhaps for the first time ever) "I don't even want that".
I saw my grandfather two weeks before his death when my sister and I had the disturbing task of going to say goodbye. For real. Not with a "see you soon" attached at the end. We had to say the goodbye where you look someone in the eye and mutually acknowledge you will never see each other again because one of you will be dead. It was painful and actually very beautiful and touching, and it is something I will write about later. This time is meant for something a little different.
I have been deeply affected by my grandfather's passing. In his passing I have discovered that while all children love their grandfathers, not all of them have had relationships as intimate and unique as the one I shared with Papa. I have learned that he was the Patriarch of our family, not just because he was the head of it by generation but because of who he was as a person; we individually lost someone with whom we had a special relationship, but we collectively lost the silent captain of our ship. I have realized the love I have for my family and my want to be around them is wider, deeper, and more full than my 23 year old self gave me credit for. And I have been emotionally overturned to find that what he meant in my life was a more powerful symbol and force than I had ever known while he was alive.
To say goodbye to Papa has been to understand that in many ways he was the strongest male figure in my life. The most constant. The most forgiving. The most unwavering and unquestioning. I have been blessed by walking a weird road full of strong father figures and male role models. My own father, my step father, uncles, educators, mentors, patient friends. On this road Papa met me at my birth, and stayed with me until the end. As a child Nanny and Papa moved when we moved, always to be near my sister and I. In the wake of my parent's divorce they took over transportation and caregiving responsibilities. When I was 12 they became my co-guardians. I lived with them half the week and Papa walked me to and from school everyday. When I was in college and my hair was cotton candy pink or electric blue he would laugh each time, confused and delighted by the new color choice. When I graduated from college he may not have understood why I decided to go so far into debt for an education in art, but he was so proud that he flew across the country (despite his illness) to watch me, the first woman in my family, graduate. After my family was rocked by the early death of my cousin in 2005, he confided in me "One thing, Carlee, that I would like" he said "before I die, is to watch you get married." That desire may have left his memory the moment it left his mouth, but it has stuck with me all this time. And I did cry for the fact that I was never able to give that to him.
He never asked me to explain myself. He never needed to know why I was who I was; he just really loved that person. He never told me that I needed to win or to be the best because, he told me, I already was the best. He held me up in respect and admiration from infancy into young adulthood, while I was preoccupied with doubt and self loathing. He is a person with whom I am fortunate and gifted to say I have no issues. No issues that were resolved and none that went unresolved. This is a rarity even with those we share the deepest, most loving connections. The revelation of this truth has been a palpable and moving discovery. It has freed me and enriched me. It has informed my ability to strengthen the relationships I have and to honor in truth the one which we shared.
I cary many gifts from him with me today: the gift of his love, the gift of love for others, the gift of family, the gift of respect and community and the ability to enjoy small moments. How you can reflect on someone without sounding dweeby I may never know, so please excuse the wrote sentiments like "carrying gifts, blah blah blah".
For the journey I am on in my life this has happened at a fortuitous time. The last six months I have been building, defining and strengthening the relationship I have with myself. To understand the relationship between us and the love he had for me does a great deal in helping me continue to understand myself. I am grateful for his memory for many reasons, but today that is the one I am giving thanks for.
Thank you.
8.04.2011
Dear "Eventual I Told You So's" pt 3
It's time to announce / call "dibbs" / preemptively complain about things that are going to get cool again. Or for the first time. Or for the second time but everyone will pretend like it's for the first time.
+Belly button rings (thanks Glasses)
+Sunflowers and Daisies. And people are going to wear that shit on clothing and jewelry. Hella jewelry.
NOTE: Apparently it's SO already happening. the cuties at xojane totally beat me to this one. I got 'em on the sunflowers, though!
+Celestial patterns. Specifically moons and suns. This was really popular for dweebs like me when I was in the 6th grade. They all had chubby faces, too.
+"Bad" Looney Tunes. Gangsta Sylvesters, Naughty Tweeties, Tazmanian Devils in sideways baseball caps and muscle tees. And Slutty Betty Boops! I googled this Betty Boop situation only to discover that there are still quite a plethora of topical (and slutty) Betty Boop shirts being made right now, so maybe I'm actually not in the loop about that already being a thing. Again. Or maybe it's more of an "underground phenom", in which case you should probably stock up on some oversized tees with slogans like "mean girls rule the world" and "License to thrill" so you can be one of the people to cry "I was doing it first!" when Urban Outfitters starts re-issuing them. Again. For the first time.
+Beading! You can take your rehashed obsession with sunflowers and moons with chubby faces and put them on things to wear! Or mob on down to the bead shop, buy a loom and some seed beads, and spend the afternoon making "intricate" bracelets to share with your friends! Beading looms are great for making accessories to show off at your next outdoor concert or trip to the Bite of Seattle. It's the perfect marriage of Native American Obsession and Eternal Cat Lady. It's only a matter of time.
+Silverchair and Desree. Both of these artists deserve a comeback and you know it.
+HEMP! If beading and sunflowers are going to get popular then right around the corner MUST BE the always-in-style, always appropriate hemp necklace. Trade with your friends! Put your ancient Summer Camp craft skills to use! EVERYONE LOVES SOME WOVEN FUCKING HEMP AROUND THEIR NECK!
While you think that over for a minute I'm going to go put on my still-cool babydoll dress, drink some iced tea from a can, practice my slam-poetry, listen to Third Eye Blind and hunt down one of those super feminist "SLUT" rings for my bellybutton.
xo
Mama
+Belly button rings (thanks Glasses)
+Sunflowers and Daisies. And people are going to wear that shit on clothing and jewelry. Hella jewelry.
NOTE: Apparently it's SO already happening. the cuties at xojane totally beat me to this one. I got 'em on the sunflowers, though!
+Celestial patterns. Specifically moons and suns. This was really popular for dweebs like me when I was in the 6th grade. They all had chubby faces, too.
+"Bad" Looney Tunes. Gangsta Sylvesters, Naughty Tweeties, Tazmanian Devils in sideways baseball caps and muscle tees. And Slutty Betty Boops! I googled this Betty Boop situation only to discover that there are still quite a plethora of topical (and slutty) Betty Boop shirts being made right now, so maybe I'm actually not in the loop about that already being a thing. Again. Or maybe it's more of an "underground phenom", in which case you should probably stock up on some oversized tees with slogans like "mean girls rule the world" and "License to thrill" so you can be one of the people to cry "I was doing it first!" when Urban Outfitters starts re-issuing them. Again. For the first time.
+Beading! You can take your rehashed obsession with sunflowers and moons with chubby faces and put them on things to wear! Or mob on down to the bead shop, buy a loom and some seed beads, and spend the afternoon making "intricate" bracelets to share with your friends! Beading looms are great for making accessories to show off at your next outdoor concert or trip to the Bite of Seattle. It's the perfect marriage of Native American Obsession and Eternal Cat Lady. It's only a matter of time.
+Silverchair and Desree. Both of these artists deserve a comeback and you know it.
+HEMP! If beading and sunflowers are going to get popular then right around the corner MUST BE the always-in-style, always appropriate hemp necklace. Trade with your friends! Put your ancient Summer Camp craft skills to use! EVERYONE LOVES SOME WOVEN FUCKING HEMP AROUND THEIR NECK!
While you think that over for a minute I'm going to go put on my still-cool babydoll dress, drink some iced tea from a can, practice my slam-poetry, listen to Third Eye Blind and hunt down one of those super feminist "SLUT" rings for my bellybutton.
xo
Mama
7.22.2011
Dear Watching Someone Die Part 2
"He's fading pretty fast," My mother says on the other end of the line. This feels very practical. We are having a practical conversation about the end of my grandfather's life.
"I think you need to come down and see him. And you can stay with him while I take Nanny to buy some new shoes." Yep. Yep, ok. Practical. My grandmother really needs new shoes. This will be a nice thing for her. And I can sit and talk with him or watch him sleep or listen to the television. In my brain I think "Yes, ok, I'll go say my goodbyes. On the only free afternoon I have. This will work out nicely." But what my body does is fall down onto my bed, what my face does is deform itself into the world famous ugly-crying-position, and what my voice does is whimper out "What if he dies while I'm alone with him?"
This, all of a sudden, is the worst thing I can think of. We know he's dying, and now he's dying at an acellerated rate. It could happen any day, any minute. What if it happens while my mother and my grandmother are out at the shopping mall buying sneakers and I'm all alone with him? Am I in charge of trying to save him? What if he falls over? What if I have to pick him up and I break him? What if he's choking? Do I let him choke? I am terrible at CPR.
This man who has helped raise me and care for me my entire life is fading fast. A euphamism I roll my eyes at though is still one of the only accurate ways to describe what is happening. He has been a strong and handsome tree trunk, with a full cinematically sculpted head of silver hair. Now he is collapsing in on himself. He weighs less than I do, and his hair is wild and crazy. He looks like a holocaust victim trying to be a Gene Wilder impersonator. This is my grandfather. This is not my grandfather.
I cannot come to terms with this paradigm.
I cannot be the one in charge of him in what could be the last moments of his strong handsome tree trunk life.
I have had a lifetime of sudden deaths and painful blinsiding necessitations of saying goodbye. My relationship with grief has been built on the foundation that you say goodbye and then spend years coming to terms with the tragedy and dealing with the grief. Putting the pieces back together, painstakingly, over reflection and memory. I have never been given the morbid experience of knowing. I do not know how to deal with this kind of death. If he got hit by a bus? I am all over that. I have training for how to be sad and carry that with me. But he's just sort of slowly (or, more rapidly now) losing his life? No tools. I am not equipped to process this. I'm feeling it and I don't even know what it feels like. I don't even know how to label these feelings.
An old man comes into work. He orders a muffin and a cup of coffee. He wants a large paper cup but he only wants to fill it half way. "I couldn't possibly drink all that!" This man and I talk sometimes. He has a full head of cinematically sculpted hair which looks like he dies it brown. He has wrinkles and smiles. On this day, he orders his half full cup of coffee and his muffin ("that looks like the best one in the case!") and he shuffles over to his seat, and I am slapped in the face. By something. I don't know what it is. I turn my back to the room and pretend I am making coffee and I begin to weep. Just uncontrollably weep. "Get it together," I say. "I can't," I say. Truly, I can't. I just have to hide my face and weep. Eventually I stumble upon the grand discovery that this man makes me think of my grandfather. And I am crying because my grandfather is dying.
I am crying because my grandfather walked me to school in the morning when I was in 7th grade. I am crying because as a child I loved to be naked, and would run around his house parading my nudity, and he would throw his arms up exclaiming to my grandmother "Jeeesus Christ, Vianna! Get some clothes on that girl!". I am crying because that was his way of delighting in my freedom. I am crying because he never disapproved of anything I have done. I am crying because after my cousin died he told me privately the one thing he wanted before he died was to watch me get married. I am crying because I am not married, and I am crying because he probably doesn't even remember he said that. I am crying because on father's day after I had gotten my first tattoo, which was his tattoo, my mother made me show it to the family and amidst the squaks of disapproval and my grandmother scolding me, he smiled and slapped me on the back, right on the fresh tattoo, because that was the only way he could express how proud and honored he was. I am crying because in all the years I lived with him and close to him we spent a lot of time not talking. Because our relationship didn't necessitate words. I am crying because growing up with a revolving door of male figures to look up to he was the one constant. I am crying because when my father needed a stiff shake back into responsible parenting my grandfather gave it to him. I am crying because there have been nearly 20 times that doctors have told us he would die, and they've always been wrong. Except for now. I am crying because I've been breaking out in hives and I'm pretty sure this is why. I am crying because nothing in this world can replace who he is or what he has been to me. And nothing should. And I am crying because the weight of that absence is being felt while he is simultaneously still on the planet and that makes me feel sad confused and guilty. I am crying because I cannot stop my life to be with him. I cannot ask for free time or not go to work or tell all the obligations that have me way too busy "Sorry. I can't right now". I am crying because it's happening no matter what. It's happening. He is dying.
Today I go to say goodbye. Maybe I'll get another chance. I am not sure though how many times I can handle believing I have seen him for the last time. Today I am saying goodbye. With hives and body odor and malnutrition I am going to sit with him and his crumpled little body and Gene Wilder hair. And I probably won't even find it in me to tell him how much I care. We will probably just sit. Because this is the way this happens. The anti-climactic, burdensome, sorrowful, regret-filled, totally uneventful act of watching someone die.
"I think you need to come down and see him. And you can stay with him while I take Nanny to buy some new shoes." Yep. Yep, ok. Practical. My grandmother really needs new shoes. This will be a nice thing for her. And I can sit and talk with him or watch him sleep or listen to the television. In my brain I think "Yes, ok, I'll go say my goodbyes. On the only free afternoon I have. This will work out nicely." But what my body does is fall down onto my bed, what my face does is deform itself into the world famous ugly-crying-position, and what my voice does is whimper out "What if he dies while I'm alone with him?"
This, all of a sudden, is the worst thing I can think of. We know he's dying, and now he's dying at an acellerated rate. It could happen any day, any minute. What if it happens while my mother and my grandmother are out at the shopping mall buying sneakers and I'm all alone with him? Am I in charge of trying to save him? What if he falls over? What if I have to pick him up and I break him? What if he's choking? Do I let him choke? I am terrible at CPR.
This man who has helped raise me and care for me my entire life is fading fast. A euphamism I roll my eyes at though is still one of the only accurate ways to describe what is happening. He has been a strong and handsome tree trunk, with a full cinematically sculpted head of silver hair. Now he is collapsing in on himself. He weighs less than I do, and his hair is wild and crazy. He looks like a holocaust victim trying to be a Gene Wilder impersonator. This is my grandfather. This is not my grandfather.
I cannot come to terms with this paradigm.
I cannot be the one in charge of him in what could be the last moments of his strong handsome tree trunk life.
I have had a lifetime of sudden deaths and painful blinsiding necessitations of saying goodbye. My relationship with grief has been built on the foundation that you say goodbye and then spend years coming to terms with the tragedy and dealing with the grief. Putting the pieces back together, painstakingly, over reflection and memory. I have never been given the morbid experience of knowing. I do not know how to deal with this kind of death. If he got hit by a bus? I am all over that. I have training for how to be sad and carry that with me. But he's just sort of slowly (or, more rapidly now) losing his life? No tools. I am not equipped to process this. I'm feeling it and I don't even know what it feels like. I don't even know how to label these feelings.
An old man comes into work. He orders a muffin and a cup of coffee. He wants a large paper cup but he only wants to fill it half way. "I couldn't possibly drink all that!" This man and I talk sometimes. He has a full head of cinematically sculpted hair which looks like he dies it brown. He has wrinkles and smiles. On this day, he orders his half full cup of coffee and his muffin ("that looks like the best one in the case!") and he shuffles over to his seat, and I am slapped in the face. By something. I don't know what it is. I turn my back to the room and pretend I am making coffee and I begin to weep. Just uncontrollably weep. "Get it together," I say. "I can't," I say. Truly, I can't. I just have to hide my face and weep. Eventually I stumble upon the grand discovery that this man makes me think of my grandfather. And I am crying because my grandfather is dying.
I am crying because my grandfather walked me to school in the morning when I was in 7th grade. I am crying because as a child I loved to be naked, and would run around his house parading my nudity, and he would throw his arms up exclaiming to my grandmother "Jeeesus Christ, Vianna! Get some clothes on that girl!". I am crying because that was his way of delighting in my freedom. I am crying because he never disapproved of anything I have done. I am crying because after my cousin died he told me privately the one thing he wanted before he died was to watch me get married. I am crying because I am not married, and I am crying because he probably doesn't even remember he said that. I am crying because on father's day after I had gotten my first tattoo, which was his tattoo, my mother made me show it to the family and amidst the squaks of disapproval and my grandmother scolding me, he smiled and slapped me on the back, right on the fresh tattoo, because that was the only way he could express how proud and honored he was. I am crying because in all the years I lived with him and close to him we spent a lot of time not talking. Because our relationship didn't necessitate words. I am crying because growing up with a revolving door of male figures to look up to he was the one constant. I am crying because when my father needed a stiff shake back into responsible parenting my grandfather gave it to him. I am crying because there have been nearly 20 times that doctors have told us he would die, and they've always been wrong. Except for now. I am crying because I've been breaking out in hives and I'm pretty sure this is why. I am crying because nothing in this world can replace who he is or what he has been to me. And nothing should. And I am crying because the weight of that absence is being felt while he is simultaneously still on the planet and that makes me feel sad confused and guilty. I am crying because I cannot stop my life to be with him. I cannot ask for free time or not go to work or tell all the obligations that have me way too busy "Sorry. I can't right now". I am crying because it's happening no matter what. It's happening. He is dying.
Today I go to say goodbye. Maybe I'll get another chance. I am not sure though how many times I can handle believing I have seen him for the last time. Today I am saying goodbye. With hives and body odor and malnutrition I am going to sit with him and his crumpled little body and Gene Wilder hair. And I probably won't even find it in me to tell him how much I care. We will probably just sit. Because this is the way this happens. The anti-climactic, burdensome, sorrowful, regret-filled, totally uneventful act of watching someone die.
Dear: Watching Someone Die Part 1
A list of things you think when you find out someone you love is dieing:
+I am going to cry in this parking lot and I might not ever leave.
+People walking by probably think my boyfriend (the Giraffe) just beat me. I should stop crying long enough to smile and wave at them so they know it's ok. "Hey guys, everything's cool over here! Just casually chilling in this dirty parking lot!"
+I wonder if I will look back on this as one of those profound moments and say "I was starving and standing in a Blockbuster parking lot when I learned my grandfather is dieing".
+I'm so hungry but now I can't imagine eating. What if I never eat? What if I do eat? Is it inappropriate to eat while I am so upset? I want a Big Mac. Is it right or wrong to treat myself with shitty food product right now?
+I should start writing my speech for the service. I want to make a speech. Who in the family would I notify about calling dibbs on speech time? Oh god, I am trying to call dibbs on my beloved Papa's posthumous time and he's not even dead yet. Fuck me. Don't say anything. Maybe just start writing the speech in your head.
+I have so much acne. I never imagined I would have such rampant acne at almost 30. These are going to scar.
+What if Papa dies on my birthday? Will I ever be able to enjoy it again?
+Friday's my birthday. Did the Giraffe get me anything? I shouldn't act upset if he didn't. Even though I will be really upset.
+OK, well, we know he's dying. People always say this is good because then you get to have closure, you know, say your goodbyes. You get to, like, have those talks about how important your relationship has been and how much they, you know, impacted your life, and then they can tell you they're so proud of you and, you know, death isn't so scary, and they feel ready to go etc etc etc. And then you can have, you know, like total blissful closure. NO. That is not going to happen here. My grandfather is not that type of man. There will be no emotional purging followed by a calm sense of peace. There will be awkward bedside comments about the weather and how work is going and how still you're an actor and a writer who doesn't make any money. But you'll make it sound really good. Yeah, you'll just have to make it sound really good. Like, lie and stuff. That'll be nice for him. Give him something pleasant to think about.
+Big Mac. I want to eat that Big Mac. Eating a Big Mac and crying is one of the most pathetic things I can think of right now. Maybe I shouldn't do that.
...And then I collapsed against a lamp post in a going-out-of-buisness Blockbuster parking lot littered with junkie garbage and sobbed. My grandfather is dying.
+I am going to cry in this parking lot and I might not ever leave.
+People walking by probably think my boyfriend (the Giraffe) just beat me. I should stop crying long enough to smile and wave at them so they know it's ok. "Hey guys, everything's cool over here! Just casually chilling in this dirty parking lot!"
+I wonder if I will look back on this as one of those profound moments and say "I was starving and standing in a Blockbuster parking lot when I learned my grandfather is dieing".
+I'm so hungry but now I can't imagine eating. What if I never eat? What if I do eat? Is it inappropriate to eat while I am so upset? I want a Big Mac. Is it right or wrong to treat myself with shitty food product right now?
+I should start writing my speech for the service. I want to make a speech. Who in the family would I notify about calling dibbs on speech time? Oh god, I am trying to call dibbs on my beloved Papa's posthumous time and he's not even dead yet. Fuck me. Don't say anything. Maybe just start writing the speech in your head.
+I have so much acne. I never imagined I would have such rampant acne at almost 30. These are going to scar.
+What if Papa dies on my birthday? Will I ever be able to enjoy it again?
+Friday's my birthday. Did the Giraffe get me anything? I shouldn't act upset if he didn't. Even though I will be really upset.
+OK, well, we know he's dying. People always say this is good because then you get to have closure, you know, say your goodbyes. You get to, like, have those talks about how important your relationship has been and how much they, you know, impacted your life, and then they can tell you they're so proud of you and, you know, death isn't so scary, and they feel ready to go etc etc etc. And then you can have, you know, like total blissful closure. NO. That is not going to happen here. My grandfather is not that type of man. There will be no emotional purging followed by a calm sense of peace. There will be awkward bedside comments about the weather and how work is going and how still you're an actor and a writer who doesn't make any money. But you'll make it sound really good. Yeah, you'll just have to make it sound really good. Like, lie and stuff. That'll be nice for him. Give him something pleasant to think about.
+Big Mac. I want to eat that Big Mac. Eating a Big Mac and crying is one of the most pathetic things I can think of right now. Maybe I shouldn't do that.
...And then I collapsed against a lamp post in a going-out-of-buisness Blockbuster parking lot littered with junkie garbage and sobbed. My grandfather is dying.
7.20.2011
Dear Material Obsession: So Many Shoes
My mom used to call me "Imelda Marcos". I thought that was only someone an old person knew about. She owned a lot of shoes, you guys. I don't spend a lot of money on shoes but I acquire them frequently. It's kind of a thing. When I left Brooklyn I had to get rid of almost 50 pairs. It's been a few years now. The reserves are slowly being filled again. Can't stop don't stop won't stop.
I am too cheap to buy real mukluks. So I found these spirit boots for hellllla cheap on ye olde interweb. Gets the job done.
I debated for days about which pair of these Jeffrey Campbell 99's to buy. They're all so bomb (dotcom). Even though wounded foot prevents me from wearing heels very often, these special homies make a nice treat for times with lots of sitting involved.
After cleaning out our foyer I discovered how many shoes were being harbored there. All but 2 pairs were mine. There are, I think, 27 pairs here. This is only half, maybe, of my shoe collection.
Clogs?! Well, kind of clogs. Cool clogs. Pretty real.
I waited years for these boots. They came to me in a free pile when I graduated. I am bad to shoes, so these are almost RIP. I'll wear these trusty steeds until they disintegrate. Try as I might (and I do) no replacement can be found.
7.19.2011
Dear Sleep
We've been around and around about this. I don't see why we can't just get along.
When we force ourselves to get along you just give me shitty dreams. You used to make me late for things by staying too long, and you'd make me mad all day by showing up late.
Look. It's been almost 30 years. I want us to have a normal relationship. Tell your partner Tired to start coming around more when it's supposed to and maybe we can start working this thing out.
Mama
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