Body Loathing and Acceptance

I have a very honest and embarrassing admission to make, you guys. And I felt like it's one that actually requires the rare blog post:

I hate my body.

Now, admitting this is hard for several reasons. Reason #1: I already make a big deal about how pro female empowerment I am and how much I'm against distorted female body images in mainstream media. Reason #2: Two years ago, I was very much on a very healthy path as far as having a strong exercise routine and great food habits and this has completely been thrown away over the course of this past year and it makes me feel like a failure. Reason #3: This has all resulted in igniting my previously dormant body-related depression that I thought I had overcome a decade ago.

This disgust that has grown inside of me and, until recently, has been one I've been able to poke fun at. I see the rolls and flab that have appeared on my body and I've laughed about what a "fat ass" I am and follow it up by eating a plate of nachos. I say things like, "Yep! Still single!" because clearly the reason is because no guy would want someone who looks like how I look in a swimsuit... and so I go to the local pub and get an order of wings. I have a hard day at work and feel like I'm not where I want to be in my life and I change into a pair of sweat pants as soon as I get home and I feel disgusting and decide why not have a pint of gelato for dinner? I post on Facebook about it and make myself a punchline and everyone laughs with me and it seems like it's OK because at least I have a sense of humor about it.

But the truth is I don't find it funny. Over the last couple of months, especially, I've been less willing to poke fun and more prone to laying in bed wondering if I'll always hate myself this much.

Every once in a while I'll tell my friends or family how I feel (though I won't go as far as using the "H" word) and they'll say things like, "Shut up! You look amazing!" or "You have a great figure!" You know, something like that. But then I look at them and all I can see is how great they look and it makes me feel like a charity case somehow. Because the truth is... and this is something I've said recently in regards to something else entirely but it still applies... no one can make you feel worthwhile. You have to be willing to feel that way about yourself and the awful truth is I don't know how to get back to that place again.

Now, part of the problem is I have other things going on in my life right now and one way I've always found comfort is by eating. But that's a dangerous path because while eating ten Oreo cookies may feel amazing while I'm doing it, it only leads to feelings of self-loathing which then.... causes me to eat more and the spiral goes on forever.

I would also like to acknowledge that intellectually I understand that I am not actually "fat" - or what our society generally considers "fat." I'm about 5'2 and I weigh around 130 lbs. That's pretty average. Also, being that I live in a city, I walk quite a bit (not to mention that I go on adventures with my dog fairly often) and I'm a regular member of Washington Sports Club and I take archery classes out in Bethesda... so I'm pretty active. Hating my body isn't about just looking at myself and telling myself I'm fine. I can do that all day everyday but if I can't allow myself to believe it, it doesn't matter.

So recently I decided that maybe if I really take care of my body, everything would turn around. I've been making my own food more often, eating more salads, running in the mornings before work, signing up for more classes at the gym. Granted, I've only started doing this over the last couple of weeks (prompted, I'll admit, by the dreaded bathing suit season) but for the most part this has done little for my self esteem and more for making me see how little progress I'm actually making and giving me more reason to be disappointed in myself whenever I slip up and eat a cookie.

Then last week, I found two things on the internet: an article by Sarah Silverman in Glamour Magazine about women needing to shut the fuck up and love themselves and an amazing Huff Post articles/video about a woman making a documentary on the hate women feel about their bodies because of the pressure society puts on them. Neither of these things are ground breaking but I was in a place where I really really needed to hear these things and I didn't even realize how much so. I was feeling pretty defeated but seeing these things really made me feel less alone at a time where my self-loathing was making me feel kind of isolated and ashamed.

Now I'm not going to say that some miracle has happened and I woke up today and looked in the mirror and suddenly saw a goddess. However, I'm feeling less angry at myself and more focused on other things. This isn't to say that I don't care about eating healthy or exercising anymore.... I'm just feeling a little less desperate about it and that's one step in the right direction. Hopefully, I can look at myself one day and see myself the way I see the people I love (as beautiful and courageous) and I'll care less about how slim I look in whatever new dress I've bought myself because life is too short to be obsessed about how Hollywood and Vogue Magazine is telling you to look. The Powers That Be gave me some curves and some would consider that a gift! And as Sarah Silverman says, "If we were half as nice to ourselves as we are to any fucking stranger on the street, we'd be winning."

Musical Musings: Best of 2013

The biggest advantage to being housebound for many many days over the holiday season is having a lot of time to explore every facet of the internet – and one of my favorite things to do on the internet around this time of year is looking at “best of” music lists. It’s always a catch-22 because while I absolutely love looking at other people/magazine/websites’ top lists, I always get infuriated with them too (like Pitchfork, who gave KANYE WEST the honor of best album of the year because they’re hacks).

Anyway, exploring all these lists always inspires me to create a top 100 playlist of my personal favorite songs of the year (which is hard because it’s difficult to keep it down to ONLY 100) but this year I decided to challenge myself further. Instead of just doing a crazy playlist (which you can check out on Spotify, if you’d like), I am forcing myself to bring it down to just 25! I attempted a top 10 but it was impossible. How do people even do that?

I genuinely love every single song on this list. Yes, Justin Timberlake is on this there, OBVIOUSLY and yes, so is Jay Z and Drake. But there’s also Daft Punk, Janelle Monae and Atoms for Peace. Hopefully you’ll find something on here that you discover and say, “Hey ain’t too shabby” or maybe you had already considered some of these tracks for your own favorite of 2013. I tried to keep it pretty diverse and I don’t think there are toooo many surprised in here for those of you who know me fairly well.

So let’s get on with it, shall we?

1. Atoms for Peace, “Ingenue”: I could go on and on for days about how good this album was. Definitely my favorite for the year (or at least tied with Daft Punk and Foxygen). But this track in particular hooked me, right from the get go. Stays with you and every time I hear it, I’m almost hearing it for the first time.
2. Irene Diaz, “I Love You Madly”: Stripped down and gorgeous. Sometimes the best songs are nothing more than the right voice and a guitar. And this song is so so right.
3. Eleanor Friedberger, “Stare At the Sun”: I am obsessed with this woman’s voice. It’s so unique and strange and beautiful and every once in a while, the perfect song really brings out everything that’s great about it. I want more solo albums from her.
4. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Sacrilege”: Another lady voice I’m obsessed with. Karen O is a BEAST with that wail of hers. But I love when it’s turned ethereal, like in this song, and you feel like you’re transported to a tribal world. Her voice belongs in another era.
5. Foxygen, “San Francisco”: I cannot even tell you how hard it was to pick just one song off of this album. Foxygen is currently my favorite “up and coming” band and I really hope to see them live one of these days. I almost picked “In the Darkness” (which stayed in my head for months, after seeing Drinking Buddies) but “San Francisco” is the most infectiously 60s pop-like single off of this very retro album so I had to pick it.
6. Janelle Monae & Erikah Badu, “Q.U.E.E.N.”: Personally I think Erikah Badu is crazy but man that loony lady can saaaaaang. The combination of her and Janelle (whose latest album is GORGEOUS) is just unstoppable.
7. Daft Punk, “Instant Crush”: I feel bad that I put this all the way down in the 7^th spot. I really do. While I had my doubts about this Daft Punk album at first (mainly because people wouldn’t shut up about it for months), it grew on me over time until suddenly it was on my regular rotation and I’d find myself dancing alone to it in my apartment (or, y’know, my office) all the time. I know I probably should pick “Get Lucky” (and hell, I almost did because I love that song no matter how overplayed it is) but this is actually the first song off of this album to make me go, “Hey wait a minute now, there’s something here!”   
8. James Blake, “Retrograde”: I’m not convinced that James Blake isn’t a ghost. His music is not of this earth, I swear. But none the less, I actually believe that this is his best single yet. Sultry as usual with a somewhat harder edge than his music typically has.
9. Charles Bradley, “Victim of Love”: My old soul flutters when I hear this song. I love me some Charles Bradley. Who knew that a guy who started off as a James Brown impersonator could make his very own awesome imprint on the musical world?
10. CHVRCHES, “Recover”: Let’s all be honest. This band/song was this year’s indie (read: hipster) darling. I admit it. But I don’t care because this song is just so infectious that it deserves the attention.
11. Thundercat, “Oh Sheit It's X": Usually not my type of jam but it’s so funky and retro. It makes me want to put on a pair of platform shoes, get an afro wig, and bust a move. Admit it… you’re listening to this right now and wanting to do the same exact thing.
12. Drake, “Hold On, We’re Going Home”: Even I cannot believe I picked a song by Drake for my top 25 list. But like so many other songs on this list, it’s totally from another era. While “Oh Sheit It’s X” makes me want to bring out the platform shoes, “Hold On, We’re Going Home” makes me want to invade the 1980s club scene. Also this music video takes me back to a time when music videos were elaborate stories and not just big booty dancers or bearded hipsters crying into a camera. I mean the music doesn’t even start until minute 2:35 and I love it.
13. Haim, “The Wire”: I was embarrassingly late in discovering this band. But better late than never! I dare you to listen to this song and not at least bop your head. If you manage to resist, you are a cyborg. Sorry you had to find out this way.
14. Jay Z, “Picasso Baby”: I know I have a double standard. I don’t care for Kanye (though, truth be told, I don’t think he’s untalented; I just hate his verbal diarrhea). I loathe Beyonce. But man, do I love me some Jay Z. I always have and I always will. I can’t even really explain it. A lot of things I hate about Kanye are character traits that Jay Z has. Same with Beyonce. And yet, here we are – with me loving this track to death, right down to the lyrics, “I’m the modern day Pablo Picasso, baby.”
15. Justin Timberlake, “Pusher Love Girl”: Guuuurl. I love this man. I still hate Jessica Biel for crushing my dreams. But honesty time? I wasn’t crazy about this album. It’s grown on me but this is one of the few tracks off the album that I have consistently loved from the first moment I heard it. I keep daydreaming that Justin is singing it to me, hrrrmmmmm…. Ahem. Yes. It’s a good track.
16. Yo La Tengo, “Ohm”: More honesty? I didn’t even know they came out with a new album until like two weeks ago. Pretty sure it came out like 5 months ago. Pretty sure every music magazine made a big deal about it. I felt a little like Donna Noble when one of my nerdy music buddies mentioned it to me – all “Huh? What?” And yes, I just made a Doctor Who reference. Get over it. But back to YLT! Great album (as usual) and this is my favorite track off of it.
17. TV On the Radio, “Mercy”: Oh, TV On the Radio. AKA the Ol’ Reliables. They are just consistently great and this track does not let me down. I’ll say that it’s probably one of their more accessible songs – far more palatable than some of their more static, experimental ventures – but still has the same level of mania their music always has. I just want to crowd surf when I listen to one of their albums.
18. Phosphorescent, “Song for Zula”: What genre is this? Folk soul? Is that a thing? Because it should be, because it’s fantastic. The shout out to Johnny Cash doesn’t hurt either. I originally had this track at the #20 spot but decided to bump it up a few notches.
19. Alice Smith, “Shot”: I read a review of Alice Smith’s album She that sums up everything for me: this is basically what would happen if Fiona Apple decided to put together a string of afro-funk songs. This song in particular has some great hooks and a truly fantastic groove.
20. Disclosure & AlunaGeorge, “White Noise”: A club favorite of mine. I mean, I don’t go to many clubs, but I imagine this song would play at a lot of the types of clubs I’d frequent if I was the type to… y’know, go clubbing. I like Disclosure but I love love love AlunaGeorge. Her voice loans the right amount of emotional depth and power to this already very danceable track. Great stuff.
21. Bonobo, “Cirrus”: Jazzy and fun. A song not afraid to be filled with joy. Fantastic beats. Great arrangement. Only reason why it’s not higher on my list is because it’s not really my breed of music so I have to be in the right mood for it. But man, when I am – blamo! My dancing feet take over.
22. Beck, “Gimme”: My favorite of the three standalone singles he released this year. One of his techier, more experimental sounding tracks of late while still managing to keep a consistent melody and an interesting arrangement. That man proves over and over that he knows what he’s doing in the music department.
23. Kurt Vile, “Wakin on a Pretty Day”: Lovely and languid. A breath of fresh air. Contemplative without overthinking it. Just a simple, beautiful song. Another favorite album of mine, by the way.
24. Thao & The Get Down Stay Down, “We the Common People (For Valerie Bolden)”: Playfully political. Happily bleak. A real toe tapper about the bullshit we surround ourselves in. I heart everything about this song.
25. Ariana Grande, “Honeymoon Avenue”: I adore this song for being such a throwback to 90s pop soul. Like Monica could have sung this, or Brandy – or hey, I’ll be honest, Mariah Carey. And hate all you want, but this song reminds me of listening to the radio on my bedroom floor with my cassette player and attempting to record my favorite hits off of whatever Top 40 station I was obsessed with at the time (probably 93.3 – San Diego’s most Top 40est station there is). This song makes me wants to think about my 8^th grade boyfriend and practicing cheerleading moves with my junior high besties and rolling skating on the pier. Nostalgia is a powerful drug, my friends, and this track is chock full of it.

Any tracks you totally disagree with? Anything you would add? Let’s dish!

Lou Reed: You Just Keep Me Hangin' On

Have you ever had SO many things that you wanted to blog about that you don't even know which one to start with? I considered giving yet another update on my life and how my family is holding up. I considered posting about my recent holiday blues. I considered posting about all the crock pot successes (and failures) I've had in the last month or so. I considered posting about a recent Huffington Post article I read about Russell Brand that I have quite a lot to say about (and will touch on for certain another time). But eventually the topic that won out for me... Lou Reed and his recent death.

Before I go on what will surely be the sickest, most gush-tastic post on how much this man has influenced my extreme love of rock 'n' roll, I want to say that Lou Reed was not only a great artist. In a lot of ways, he has shaped how I look at music and how I connect to it. I know in the grand scheme of things, especially given the crap year that I've had, this probably shouldn't shatter me as much as it has but few artists have truly touched me as much as he has.

Now, onto the really gushy shit. I'd stop reading now if you don't think you can handle it.

To explain why I love Lou Reed so much, I think I should start by saying that White Light/White Heat was the first tape I ever stole from my oldest brother Patrick, whose musical choices were worshiped by me at a very young age. Now like all music nerds and Velvet Underground lovers, I grew to kind of romanticize this album, but if I have to be completely honest, I didn't love it at first. It's fairly experimental and I was eleven years old when I swiped it. I'd like to sit here and say that even at eleven, I was so much of a music snob that I could appreciate a song like "The Gift" (which, if you are unfamiliar with it, is a tale of promiscuity, jealousy, and a tragic death).... but let's be serious. I was still pretty much obsessed with Madonna and The Bangles at that time and WL/WH isn't exactly the best transitional or accessible album to pick up for a young kiddo.

However, that being said, I became hopelessly obsessed with "Here She Comes Now". I would play it over and over again. Years later, when I'd make mixed tapes for prospective boyfriends and best friends and well, any goddamn person who would let me, it was a song I pretty much always included in there (even though its meaning is relatively ambiguous), regardless of the theme of the mix or why I was making it. When I was in college and a member of what was probably the worst chick band to ever exist on this planet, the first song I ever wanted to learn (well, after "Hey Jude") was "Here She Comes Now". To this day, it's still one of my favorite songs. And as the years of me listening to that song went by, I listened to the whole album as well, many times, until one day I realized how much I had grown to love the whole thing. I don't even know when it happened. But one day, when I was like fourteen years old, I was listening to"Sister Ray" when no one else was home. I turned that sucker up as loud as I wanted and bounced on and around my bed like a maniac for fifteen crazed euphoric minutes, knocking over a lamp and banging my knee on my nightstand. That's what Lou Reed did - he made you feel the music in your gut, in your bones, in your toes, in your fucking blood until you have no choice but to fall into it.

This was music that had no interest in being polished or studio perfect, in placating the masses. It was music that was only interested in making you get lost in it – or maybe even find yourself. But beyond that, it is music that made you realize that it can be more than some catchy tunes with a killer hook and a happy finish. Lou Reed said a lot of amazing things during the 71 years he graced us with his presence but one of the best things he ever said was, “I don’t believe in dressing up reality. I don’t believe in using makeup to make things look smoother.” He believed in getting dirty, expressing truth at all costs, and shoving those truths right in your face. He gave voice to people who were angry or sad or damaged and didn't know how to express it. He was one of music’s glam movement pioneers who gave a community of transgenders a place to fit in – not because it’s OK to be different but because it’s OK to be whoever the fuck you want to be, especially if you’re loud and real and throwing your proverbial (or not so proverbial) crotch at authority. He believed that every single goddamn second of life was important and meant something. He understood hopelessness but he didn't accept it as a reality that anyone needed to live. This all comes through in his music, in his voice, in his words, in his poetry. 

Transformer is one of the most perfect albums ever recorded but for me, it was the rawness and pain and flawed beauty of Berlin that made me really see Lou Reed for the first time. I could go on and on about his time with the Velvet Underground – a band so important to the world of music, it practically birthed other legendary artists like the New York Dolls and the Pixies and Siouxsie and the Banshees and the Sex Pistols and the Stooges. However, when all is said and done, Berlin is and always will be Lou Reed’s masterpiece. After receiving some mainstream adoration for his hit single, “Walk on the Wild Side,” everyone expected him to take his new popularity and run with it. But Lou, as always, was never interested in creating music that was comfortable or expected. He wanted to bear his soul because that’s the only way to produce art that’s worth anything and he didn't care if it sounded pretty. And while Berlin was never quite appreciated in its time nor was it any sort of commercial achievement, I like to believe that he was always proud of what he created there – even though it’s widely known that the harsh reviews it received eventually took its toll on him. Yet, despite the years of under appreciation, Lou Reed was finally able to realize a dream and perform his masterpiece - his rock opera - the way he had always wanted: live and with an entire 30 piece band. I always wished I could have seen one of those shows.

In the end, he was a man who lived hard for a lot of years and eventually realized how much he wanted to stay here, living and creating, for as long as possible. He probably lived longer than he ever thought he would or any of us believed – but that doesn't make his death any less heart wrenching. People get so lost in what they think they should do with their lives and then sometimes you run into a person who just opts to go out there and fucking do it. Really, it’s easy to convince ourselves that we’re not capable of doing this or smart enough to do that. It’s so easy to just get comfortable and put our dreams and desires on a shelf “for another day” even if that day never comes. But a person like Lou Reed can teach us all a lot of lessons about daring to be different, to be brave, and to be expressive. He understood the importance of literature and words but as a means to live, not as a means to escape – and I’m the sort of person who has always been far too comfortable with the concept of escaping from life. Listening to his music, even for a moment, challenges me to… challenge myself. And isn't that the testament of true art? I’ll always be grateful that he brought such diverse and emotionally complex music into my life and opened me up to a whole world of artists who would give me a swift kick in the ass, which is something I truly believe everyone needs from time to time.

And on that note, I’d like to close this post with my favorite song from Berlin, the closing song, which to me is also the quintessential Lou Reed creation – sad, tragic, pain stricken, challenging… the sort of song that gives you a sense of disquiet but somehow also provides a sense of therapeutic relief. It’s also appropriately named and expresses my current heart ache perfectly.

We love you, Lou. You better keep making waves where ever you are right now.

Love and Survival

Sometimes the best inspiration for writing a new blog post is reading another blog which hits you in all the right spots. This happened to me recently when a dear friend of mine wrote this and it really connected with me. The power of the written word is something else. I’ve been writing a lot lately, short stories and letters and journal entries. It’s been really therapeutic and while a lot of these things will probably never be shared with the general public (sorry, readers), they have really helped me to grasp some perspective about my life right now.

The fact is this: I’ve been feeling fairly self-pitying lately but I’ve been trying to cover it up with a thin layer of bravado and comic relief. That’s kind of my MO – don’t feel things completely. Put on a happy face and shimmy around the house to some big band tunes and forget your woes. Buy things that make you happy (even if you can’t afford them). Watch a lot of TV and read a lot of books and get lost in the fantastical. Go for long walks on the beach with your dog – staying up late enough to see the sunrise and making sure you catch the sunset as well. Find complicated recipes to try out. Hang out with your friends and stay distracted – always stay distracted.

But eventually… eventually you have to stop moving. Eventually you have to look life right in the face and deal with what it’s giving you. Eventually you have to stop the smiling and the laughing and the dancing and the strolling. Eventually you can’t run anymore. I’ve never been good at that bit – the stopping and the dealing. The consequences for this flaw are varied – but whatever the results have been, they’ve rarely been good.

So here I am. Staring into the eye of the storm. Forcing myself to stop and letting it sweep me away. But really, who’s to say that’s a bad thing?

I’m going to be really nerdy for a second but bear with me and I’ll try to make sense of it all.

Recently, as a means to distract myself (please note above section of post), I have been watching a lot of a little show you may have heard of – Doctor Who. I had never watched this show before now. I’d resisted it for a long time for a number of unimportant reasons but then finally decided to give it a chance because there were enough episodes to keep me occupied for a while and because it seemed like a complete farce and I am a huge fan of escapism, especially in times of distress. Now, that being said, I took to this show quickly and completely. At first I thought it was just because, as previously stated, I’m pretty nerdy and this sort of thing tends to appeal to me. I mean, two of my favorite shows in the world are Battlestar Galactica and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Doctor Who, I figured, should be right up my alley.

I breezed through the first four series (and I mean starting when it was brought back in 2005 – none of that crazy quirky overly British stuff from the 70s) and I was utterly captivated. Every episode kept me not only on the edge of my seat, but touched that part of me – the part I know that I get from my dad – with an itch to just…. fly away to somewhere new. (Also, David Tennant is a complete babe, so there’s that.)

However, the more I watched, the more I realized that there had to be something else that I was connecting to. I mean, I tend to get obsessed with shows sometimes for reasons no deeper than pure entertainment value (New Girl, I’m looking at you) but there was something different here. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it for a while but eventually it hit me: somewhere between the third and fourth series, I realized that the recurring theme of humanity’s continued crazy impossible absolutely mad ability to survive despite everything standing against them… there was something beautiful in that. Sometimes the need to survive brings out the worst in us – an ugly side that this show does not shy away from – but the instinct itself isn’t evil. It’s just who we are if you strip everything else away, if you break us down to the most basic part of ourselves. We survive when we shouldn’t. I think of things like the Crusades, the Holocaust, the atrocities in Sierra Leone, the Civil War – and it amazes me how despite everything that human beings are put through (and put themselves through), they just keep going. Isn’t that something? Isn’t that maddening? The resilience of the human spirit is probably the most awesome thing I can think of.

I suppose all this got me thinking about what it means to be human and the legacies that we leave behind. My mom has been emailing me a lot recently about our ancestors and our family’s history and it’s been great learning about my mom’s house (outside of Florence, in Stia) and how it was built by my ancestors in the early 1800s, by three brothers who had lost so much of their family and friends to the Black Death. They had survived but then what? What would be their mark in the world? That house – and after about two hundred years, it’s still standing. It’s still surviving.

And really this all comes down to the one thing that keeps floating in my mind over the last couple of years: how do we continue to survive when our bodies give out on us, when our souls are gone? I guess I’m getting a little existential here; I hope you can forgive me. It’s hard not to get lost in spiritual complexities when death is literally following you everywhere you go. I just can’t help but wonder what it all means and how it all matters and if parts of ourselves really stay behind when we appear to vanish.

I have to be honest here and I hope that people don’t get terribly offended when I say this but I do think there is a good chunk of the population that wants to have kids because they feel like if they have a physical piece of themselves in the world, they’ve left a contribution that will continue through time forever. Something about that has always seemed kind of disturbing to me but I guess it just keeps going back to that natural instinct… to keep surviving in one way or another. But in what other ways can we do this, as a species, as communities, as soul-bearing vessels? I think it’s more than leaving patches of DNA behind. I think it’s the non-physical imprints that we leave behind that truly stand the test of time. That first smell of Autumn – like… woodchips and cinnamon… that smell will always make me think of fall trips to the Cape with my dad and collecting leaves of red and orange and my mom’s fresh baked biscotti with vanilla-laced hot chocolate. Otis Redding is wonderful in so many ways but I love him as much as I do partially because listening to his music takes me back to a time when my parents were happy and danced in the kitchen while my mom was baking ziti and filling the house with warmth. There are a million other examples and I guess my point is… we never really leave, not completely. Parts of us continue to survive, in the way that we love and care for each other and create memories even when we don’t even realize those memories are happening. Our ability to love – that’s what makes us amazing creatures. Love and survival and connecting to one another. Even when we’re gone, our imprints remain forever – it is borderline magical. It’s magnificent. It’s awe inspiring.

And yes, my friends – these are thoughts that have come to me thanks to Doctor Who so I guess I owe the creators of that show a debt of gratitude!

Essentially, it’s nice to know that when our bodies go – as well as the bodies of our loved ones – and it feels like we have nothing left to hold on to… there are pieces that will stick around even if we can’t always feel it. Sometimes in tiny drops. Sometimes it’ll come in waves. But it’s always there, underneath the surface. So today, it’s okay to face the storm and feel the pain and the sorrow and the anger and the indignity of it all because who knows when the next wave of joy and beauty will overtake us? Could be tomorrow so we have to keep on moving until we meet that wave again – and survive another day, and maybe create a few more memories to leave behind.  

Medicinal Cinema

Spending time with someone who isn't able to speak (or easily communicate in any way) can be difficult. Throw into the mix that it's someone you love and you're used to being able to speak to about almost anything for hours on end... then there's a whole new level of melancholy. Partial paralysis takes out the option for playing cards or checkers. There are no karaoke nights in our horizon or drinks & tamales at Ponce's. No late night strolls on the beach or Motown singalongs next to a roaring bonfire. No more surfing lessons or running around the backyard with Lee and a water hose (yes yes, I'm the meanest doggy owner/mom ever).

There's just us and an ocean of silence that cannot be remedied. I come in with homemade pudding, with books to read my father while he rests (I've gotten halfway through the Adventures of Kavalier and Clay), with news about the Red Sox continuing to be awesome, with Miles Davis playing in the background as we take naps together. All of these things, however, on some level... I think they remind him of what he can't do. He can't feed himself. He can't play music anymore. And being read to? He's supposed to be the dad, not the child... Perhaps I was reading too much into it but it's clear that he is pained and I'm trying to find ways to show that he's not weak, he's not an invalid - that we all need help and we all need to lean on someone at one time or another. So I found the one thing my father and I have always shared, have always bonded over, have always loved: film.

We have watched Goldfinger and Carmen Jones and Roman Holiday and His Girl Friday and one of my dad's personal favorites, In the Heat of the Night. Cary Grant was the first thing to make my dad smile since he's woken up - and maybe it was fleeting and maybe if I hadn't glanced at him at the exact right moment, I never would have seen it at all but it was there nonetheless.

I've said it many times and I'll say it again: film has the ability to transform us, to shake us, to move us, to make us feel things that we need to feel. Film has always been one of those things I've turned to in dark times and good. Singing in the Rain? Breakfast at Tiffany's? Pretty much ANYTHING by Julie Andrews? Even The Sound of Music, which I admit became a lot less happy go lucky for me when I got older and realized what that movie was really about. Or - and I cannot stress enough in saying how much joy this movie has brought into my life over the years - The Princess Bride, the only flick in history to make this stone cold cynic honestly believe that maybe true love isn't the most lame sounding thing in the whole world.

How can movies do that? How can they make me feel like life is okay when life itself is telling me something entirely different? How is it possible that after the horrific year - well, the last two years really - that I've had, watching Audrey Hepburn running through the rain, desperately searching for Cat, can make me cry tears of honest joy? How can I be laughing when my world is falling apart just because Dick Van Dyke is singing about chimneys? I am a strong believer in the idea of escapism, that's why. Sometimes it's all I have to keep on standing, to keep on hoping, to keep on breathing.

When I was a kid, before I moved to the east coast and settled into life here and I was growing up in San Diego, I can fully admit that I didn't have a whole lot of friends. It wasn't really until I was twelve or so that I actually started socializing with kids my own age - playing little league baseball, joining the pep squad (yes, that knowledge is a freebie, enjoy it), and eventually trips to Fashion Valley and even to L.A. for late night flicks at the Cinerama on Sunset Blvd or Tijuana for weekend getaways (which were mostly just for the delicious food and inexpensive housing options). Before that time, it was just me and my movies - and my dad. My closet friends were Audrey Hepburn and Howard Hawks and Diane Keaton and Harrison Ford. They were my heroes, my trailblazers, my soul mates, my court jesters. My dad understood - it was the same for him - so I was happy to spend my weekends on the couch with him getting lost in another story, another world, another galaxy and we never needed to blather on and on about how these pictures made us feel because we just both got it. And I feel like only a special kind of person really gets it.

Cinema is magic. That's all there is to it. It made a lonely little nine year old girl feel a little less alone in the world, even for a little while. And it has alleviated current tragic life circumstances enough to make my father smile for even half a second. How can you call that anything else but pure magic?

Life is still turning. Things haven't changed. But at least I know that there will always be a place that my dad and I can go to where the sky isn't always falling and reality fades to black for at least a couple hours.

Our Worth

Mary Oliver once wrote, about approaching death:

"When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world"

How do any of us really know the impact that we have made? How do any of us know how much we really matter? It's all relative any way - our definitions on what makes one matter. I guess we all matter, we all make an impact - no one comes into this world and then leaves it without touching someone, somehow, for better or for worse.

It's all the pressure we put on ourselves to accomplish this or accomplish that. Anyone who read my last blog post probably knows that I've been struggling with this - living a life that matters, living a life that's mine. I've fallen into this weird loop of living for everyone around me and not for myself. But I don't want to get into all that again. The thing is, now that I recognize that in myself, what's next?

I am currently in the middle of watching a person I love fall out of this earth, losing his body to disease, and to say that this is the most painful time in my life would be beyond an understatement. To say that I'm in a bad place right now would be the same. But - I am surrounded by family, constantly receiving words of love and encouragement from friends and colleagues alike, and I have the California sunshine embracing me in its warmth. Pretty soon I will need a lot to heal - I am  trying to prepare myself but really, you can never prepare for anything like this. However, it's good to know that when the darkest days arrive, when I'm in my worst moment, I will have people there ready to try and pull me out of it if I drift too far away.

Is that the way you measure your worth? By the love you have gained and given? If so, I guess in one way, this year has been great - because it's helped me see that I do have a lot of love in my life, even though it doesn't feel that way most days.

So what now? I'm sitting in limbo. I'm on the edge of something I can't speak out loud. I can see its face. I can hear its name. It's so close and I don't know how to make it go away - because there is no making it go away. You can't stop a storm. You can't stop the world from turning. It's what you do with the time you've got left - that's what it all comes down to. Thinking beyond this moment in time is too hard so simply being here and living is all we can do.

The Thirty Spiral

Sometimes it’s weird when I think about the end of my 20s. Nineteen year old me steps outside of my body and looks at 29 year old me and it’s hard to believe I’m not that same kid who lived in a house with seven people, living off of spaghetti, cheap vodka, and Marlboro menthol lights. I journaled regularly, I traveled, I went to a different concert almost every night, and I was open to just about any new experience life threw at me. I was convinced that I was going to save the world. I knew where I was going, and I knew how I was gonna get there. Life was nothing but a series of open doors and it was up to me to decide which ones I wanted to walk through.

It’s ten years later, and if I have to be perfectly honest, I feel like most doors are being closed and locked and I’m just standing here without any keys.

I don’t want to get into all of my sorrows but I’ll say that this has been a troubling few months for me and it’s getting hard for me to stay focused on the things I want to do. I don’t volunteer much these days and I attribute that to a) my exhaustion and b) my lack of motivation for pretty much anything outside of trying to keep my head above water – which I kind of feel like I’m barely doing most days.

And then there’s that 30^th birthday looming over me. I never thought I’d be that person who wrapped up all my hopes and dreams in that stupid number. I never thought I’d care about turning 30 – it’s just a number, right? It doesn’t mean anything, does it?

I have a lot of friends who happen to be older than me and it’s difficult to communicate around them what it feels like for me, turning 30, because I feel like it’s just indulgent whining and it’s always met with, “30 is nothing!” or “You’re still young.” I suppose that’s all probably true, but the fact of the matter is, I wanted to be in a certain place by now. I admit it – I have targeted expectations for my life and I feel like I haven’t met them. Ten years ago, work was such a low priority for me. Not to say that I didn’t care about work – more like my focuses were firmly placed in enriching my everyday life with art and community activism and nature. And I’m so far away from all of that. I always believed that by this point in my life, I’d be living in some flat in a different country – probably Italy – with a not-too-stressful job, having casual dinner parties and regularly visiting vineyards in the countryside. Or at the very least, I thought I’d be on the West Coast, which I’ve always considered my real home, watching the sunset against the Pacific Ocean every night and going on weekend adventures to Mexico because why the hell not.

My life looks very different than how I’d always imagined it but not completely unsatisfying. It’s the people I have in my life that make it worthwhile – work friends who are always down for happy hours & roof top lunches filled with laughter; the Clacker folks who keep things interesting, always; Rachel, Jeff, and Mike, who I don’t get to see often but still my second family; the Club Dumas, who inspire me beyond all reason, even when they are not with me; and even my Virginia guys, who are all living their own separate lives in all different directions but still provide me without some of the best memories from my post-college days.

The problem is… I’ve stopped and looked at my life and I feel like I am living it for all of these people and not for me. My life has become less about what I want to do with it and more about doing what’s best for those I love. There’s nothing wrong with that, theoretically, but I don’t even feel like I have a life of my own anymore. I’m a spectator, watching everyone else move forward, while I’m in the world’s longest rut, trapping myself in a world that I don’t truly want to be in. But what does one do when she need to make a drastic change in her life? I guess the answer would be to summon the bravery to take a risk.

But would changing everything I know about my life really make me happy? What is happiness really? How does a person really achieve that? I don’t know the answers and so I’m stuck, just watching everyone – and I just keep wondering how does everyone have it figured out and I’m still flopping around, confused and scared? I’m not even content. I’m restless. I’m restless and bored and sick of sitting down – I want to jump on a plane and just take off, someplace, somewhere, sometime, without plans or itineraries. I want to wake up every morning knowing that I am doing exactly what I want to be doing and feeling so happy that I’m contributing something that matters to this society. I want to welcome art and music into my life – not to look at it and hear it, but really be immersed in it somehow.

When did I stop being that person that took chances? I know that as an adult, you have to make sacrifices. You have responsibilities, and they are real and you have to reshape your life somewhat to meet them. I see friends with husbands and wives and mortgages and babies and I know that I don’t want those things because while I am so happy for them for having the things that make them feel complete, I honestly just see them as giant anchors taking away even more of my life choices. But then I get caught in a spiral – if I choose to turn my back on these things, what’s going to happen in another 30 years? I am probably about the most independent person there is, but I’m actually starting to wonder… when I’m old, and all of my friends are in their family bubbles, am I going to be sitting here, still alone? I hate myself for even caring about this. I hate myself for letting the fact that I’m turning 30 transform me into this person I’ve never been. But I can’t turn my thoughts off.

The uncertainty in my family right now is also contributing to all of these fears and it’s also making me questions a lot of things in my own belief system. I have two strong feelings that are constantly fighting each other right now: living life to the fullest, because life is short versus what’s the point of it all? It’s playing a lot of crazy games in my head right now and it’s making me feel kind of like I’m going crazy. I wake up one day, thinking that I’m going to make the best of a horrible situation and the next day, it takes everything inside of me just to get out of bed and get through the day without crying every ten minutes.

Naturally, being me, I’ve decided to put all of my “feels” into a playlist because music has always ALWAYS been the one thing that I can count on to pull me out of the darkness. Music is the best therapist I’ve ever had. So, I pulled up my iTunes, and created a group of 30 songs (because I’m nerdy like that) which all represent a lot of what I’m going through right now and I’ve been listening to it a lot. I’ve also been reading some of my old journals and flipping through pictures from college and high school, considering that maybe there are pieces of younger me that I can still incorporate into 30 year old me’s life.

For now, the journey continues, and I’ll try to get through it the best I can without losing the best parts of myself.

And I suppose I’ll close with my “30 Songs for Turning 30” playlist, in no particular order:

·         “Under Pressure” by Queen & David Bowie

·         “Forever Young” by Alphaville

·         “Hang On” by Dr. Dog

·         “Home” (from The Wiz) by Stephanie Mills

·         “We Use to Wait” by Arcade Fire

·         “A House Is Not a Home” by Field Music

·         “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times” by The Beach Boys

·         “God” by John Lennon

·         “There’s Never Enough Time” by The Postal Service

·         “Where Have All the Good Times Gone” by David Bowie

·         “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine

·         “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” by Arcade Fire

·         “Beware of Darkness” by George Harrison

·         “Here Comes a Regular” by The Replacements

·         “Just Do You” by India.Arie

·         “How It Ends” by Devotchka

·         “Light & Day / Reach for the Sun” by The Polyphonic Spree

·         “Stand By Me” by Otis Redding

·         “I’ve Gotta Be Me” by Sammy Davis, Jr.

·         “Some Days Are Diamonds” as sung by Amos Lee

·         “You Only Live Twice” by Nancy Sinatra

·         “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” by Nina Simone

·         “Supply & Demand” by Amos Lee

·         “Inner Revolution” by Adrian Belew

·         “I Shall Be Released” as sung by Nina Simone

·         “Hungry Heart” by Bruce Springsteen

·         “That’s Life” by Frank Sinatra

·         “This Is the Day” by The The

·         “To Build a Home” bye The Cinematic Orchestra ft. Patrick Watson

·         “You Get What You Give” by New Radicals

Much love,

N