maybe all before this was fallacy

I think it happened somewhere amidst standing over the kitchen counter in the dark, eating cold spaghetti from a glad-ware container at 1 o'clock in the morning. Maybe that was the moment. The moment being the precise collection of seconds in which I realized the all together precarious and ridiculous state of my life. Somewhere in between the rapture of tomato and basil came this flash of images- pictures of me and my life and the people so colorfully populating it. And we were swimming, or rather floating. These tiny caricatures in my head attempting simply to stay afloat and failing to grasp at anything concrete.
Void of all stability.
Tempting fate and a drowning demise.

Here I stood, in my parent's kitchen, in a house that no longer felt like my own, eating cold spaghetti in the dark. It was all I could do to take this sharply close look at my life... at the very real and bizarre circumstance in which I now found myself. All I could see was a young woman, seemingly accomplished and of various interest and skill, yet completely and utterly lost in the immensity. The immensity of life and the universe and all its divine, cosmic and fate driven notions was holding me hostage. And for the first recognizable time in my life I couldn't uncover the strength to fight the immensity back. All I could see was this reflection of someone I didn't even know.

And I feel like I should have cried. As a highly emotional individual- one who sobs at Hallmark commercials and hot dog advertisements- all signs point to my inevitable tear shed. And yet, nothing. I felt as though I should have cried like a young girl learning the fictional reality of her beloved Santa Claus, or a 15 year old experiencing heartbreak for the first time. Nothing. I would have even settled for an outburst of obscenity or a rush of inappropriate laughter. I was in fact, so remarkably unprepared for what occurred next. I simply stood staring at a tiny crack in the hardwood floor. Perhaps a tomato and basil induced coma had set in leaving little to no room for an intensely emotional reaction. So I simply stood there for another good 30 seconds before putting the blue plastic lid back on my mother's spaghetti and went to my room.

...A man once told me that you can bloom where you're planted. We stood in front of a wall of cheese I was so expertly mongering at Trader Joe's when he said to me, "You can bloom where you're planted." I suppose this is a fact perhaps one comes to terms with later in life, once you've moved away from a place or seen the edge of something new. And upon returning to that place where you began you find that you could have stayed there all along. You could have grown into something or someone of just as much substance and interest. You can bloom where you're planted.

But then I think that I could just spend a lifetime floating... through space and time, between oceans and continents and cups of coffee, hiking paths and perfectly delicious kisses, old pairs of sweatpants and borrowed boyfriend t-shirts, dance studios, yoga studios, black and white photographs, endless Sunday mornings and farmer's markets, fresh peaches, hand holding, long distant phone calls and laughter, art, cardboard boxes, audrey hepburn films, and moments that pull you back into your body while simultaneously tossing you out into other dimensions and worlds and colors... I want to believe that I can bloom where I've been planted. But not yet. I am far too close to the drowning demise of an over watered houseplant or the perfect sunflower caught in an April monsoon. Perhaps this man forgot to also mention that one too can bloom where you're uprooted and re-planted. Or maybe said plant may live in a beautifully crafted pot allowing it to move and live in all kinds of homes and landscapes before being settled back into solid earth. Perhaps we can master this simultaneous planting and floating to offer room for adventure and discovery while still being at home in the world?

They don't teach you that in college. They don't teach you that anywhere really... how to be at home in the world. It's like one day you wake up and realize that you're living a life you never thought you would ever possibly be living. Leaving all judgement out of the equation, it's just that you never imagined your life would look as it does. And no one ever told you how to make the transition from perpetual student and academic artist to real life person. And not to say that anyone was supposed to. But, how can you make this transition into figuring out who you really are and what you really want when essentially, nothing in your life up until this point has actually prepared you for making such decisions. Maybe all before this was fallacy. Maybe we were all just playing at pretend hoping that when reality set in we just wouldn't notice?

At least I may take tiny comfort in knowing that for as long as I've been alive, my mother's spaghetti has always been delicious. This is a fact in which I hold complete faith and know will forever be truth. Especially cold... at 1 o'clock in the morning.

Currently seeking out other small comforts to make it through another week.
I promise it won't be so long between posts next time.

-L

Lately I've been giving a bit of thought to the secret lives we keep. More like, if our lives were to be considered a soundtrack- a composition of melodic stories and cover art, they too would contain hidden tracks. What elements of our lives do we keep hidden, perhaps protected? What, if anything, do we keep purely for ourselves and no one else?

Surely we must all have those ritual practices... those exercises that make us feel a little more like ourselves, a little more alive or at peace. And maybe it's the child like play: singing into hairbrushes and practicing our air guitar, acting out scenes from the make believe film that we see as our life. Maybe we're all just living Pinocchios and Peter Pans, challenging a world requiring us to grow up and become certain things. And perhaps we're all playing at something in these secret little lives we keep- these hidden tracks intended for our ears only. Because at the end of the day, we can only fully know ourselves. And regardless of how complicated or confused or essentially screwed up we are, there's a kind of comfort in these hidden moments. In these hidden moments we are the most authentic versions of ourselves, and most of the time, it's easier to share that truest form in the private delicacy of our make believe realms.

Someone once told me that not everything is meant to be shared with others. Some things are meant to be saved and kept for ourselves. And just ourselves. But then I wonder, in finding love or a life's companion, how much of that sacred space do we give up, or rather share with another? Do we in fact end up melding these two lives into a twisting web of its own making? Or can we actually hold onto those hidden tracks while still giving fully and vulnerably to another? At what point are we with holding from someone else in attempts to keep things so intimately our own?

We write in journals, day dream and create fictional stories whether in our minds or on paper... we have revelations and thoughts of significance... and perhaps the difference is recognizing the moments in which something has greater value only when shared with another versus being complete on its own... with only me having come to know of it.

I guess it just feels like a struggle- to hold onto things that are so completely and uniquely yours. Especially in a world where we're so set on making connections and fostering relationships. I'm not sure how you negotiate the two.

Anyway, more to come...

I and Love and You

It's kind of funny. The way life works out. The way people surprise you in even the simplest of ways. How a letter or a phone call can seemingly change the course of your very existence. I think it's something about the power of words. Or maybe it's more the people saying them. For a time I've attached myself to this theory that words are not enough. That words actually carry very little weight. They're empty. Because no words can fully encompass all that someone is or what they mean to us. No words can truly encapsulate the depths of emotion. Only we can comprehend our feelings- their immensity and shape.

Yet we grasp at alike words: happy, sad, love, fear... and think that we each mean to express similar sentiments when in actuality, that's impossible. In actuality, we have no way of knowing the capacity of another to feel happy or sad, to fear, to love. Yet in clinging to these words one has to believe that we at least move in like minded directions. That my 'love' could not be so off course from that of another. That your 'happiness' sits close to mine if not so neatly beside it.

But, I suppose aside from action, from the physical depictions of emotion, words are sort of all we've got. So it's no wonder that relationships become so complicated. You'd think they could be simple. You'd think that at our very core, human beings are actually quite simple. We all want and need the same basic things. We're just struggling to understand one another's words... how we express our needs or desires for those common necessities. We dance around ideas, bull shit, lie, pretend... we use and abuse a language so expertly devised to simply tell the truth. And find ourselves wondering why these things are all so complicated.

Well then maybe it's not the words themselves, but really the people saying them. It's how one's emotions and thought and intent manifest themselves inside the framework of words. How one can shape or manipulate or color those common words to mean what he or she needs them to mean...

The Avett Brother's have a song called "I and Love and You." It's my latest obsession. Maybe it's their struggle with words that rings home. Check it out, friends. And until next time...

Load the car and write the note
Grab your bag and grab your coat
Tell ones that need to know
We are headed north

All one foot in and one foot back
But it don't pay, to live like that
So I cut the ties and I jumped the tracks
For never to return

Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Are you aware the shape I'm in
My hands they shake my head it spins
Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in

When at first I learned to speak
I used all my words to fight
With him and her and you and me
Oh it's just a waste of time
It's such a waste of time

That women shes got eyes that shine
Like a pair of stolen polished dimes
She asked to dance I said it's fine
I'll see you in the morning time

Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Are you aware the shape I'm in
My hands they shake my head it spins
Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in

Three words that became hard to say
I and love and you
What you were then I am today
Look at the things I do

Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in
Are you aware the shape I'm in
My hands they shake my head it spins
Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age
You dreams to catch this world the cage
The highway sets the travelers stage
All exits look the same
Three words that became hard to say
I and love and you
I and love and you
I and love and you

every morning the maple leaves

I love Sunday walks in the park with Noel. Noel is my soon to be 8 year old pup- a sheltie mix of sorts we happily rescued from a shelter on the Eastern Shore those many Christmases ago. And I suppose I just love walks in the park in early Autumn, as colors begin changing: the mix of red, orange, yellow, and greens taking over a tree infused landscape. I stop when Noel stops- pausing to take in the smells of grass, trees, and the crispness of Fall. I think there's a sort of vitality in the air of Autumn. We are awakened and brought into a deeper, more heightened sense of experience. The senses illuminate in a way that can only happen in these months of October and November, with a sweet dog by your side, reminding you to slow down and take moments to pause every now and then. And I get to thinking about Elizabeth Bennet- the pensive and stubborn character Austen so expertly created... a lover of walking, much like myself. And I begin wondering if perhaps Austen imagined Bennet's experience of walking to be something like this- a meditation of sorts, taking in the colors, smells, and sounds of this outward place, dreaming of chance encounters while allowing a moment for reflection and self introspection. One can find a sense of peace while walking, and ideally when walking in a physically beautiful place.

So I got to thinking about walking in a city like New York- something which I at one time found to be a different kind of meditation but now deem a sport of sorts. Competitive, fast paced, each individual so tightly wound up in his or own world of thought and focus, merely aiming to get from point A to point B seemingly as quickly as possible. One does not walk in a city like that for the sense of calm or inner peace it brings. One does not see this practice as a means of restoration but rather a means of transportation. It's like a million atoms in space attempting not to collide- dodging one another and hot dog carts and yellow cabs, trying not to be distracted by bright city lights, angered Yankees fans, or posh downtown hipsters donning far too few accessories. I don't think Noel would enjoy those kinds of walks, and more and more I'm thinking I wouldn't either. Because who really wants to live in world overflowing with zombies donning headphones apparently cut off from that outward experience? I think I'd rather an openness to that space, allowing all that a park or a path or landscape can wash over me as I move through it.

So there's that.

I'm no longer one of those Starbucks dwelling people... but more so my need for employment and some fund saving as transformed me into a Trader Joe's dweller. And not just for the free samples. I now get to spend mornings, afternoons, and some very late evenings unloading trucks,stocking shelves, bagging groceries and making attempts to interact with those other specialty food loving people. I work at Trader Joe's. I live at home with my parents. In a good number of ways, I'm lost. And each day is a struggle to allow myself to be okay with all of that. To be okay with where I am, what I'm doing, and what I have. Because really, I'm not lost. I'm just trying to figure out who I am and what I want without the regulations or labels of some larger institution or structure deciding for me.

And it's kind of amazing... finding yourself in the vast openness of possibility existing in the universe. But it's simultaneously terrifying- thinking that you have to choose a path, a passion, an occupation. What if you're just too overwhelmed by option? By interest? What if you're just in a transition... because transitions DO exist. And as of this moment, I am in one. The ultimate one. And I have to believe that this is going to lead to another moment... or maybe just another transition. Maybe there are no certain things or final destinations in life. Maybe it's all moving through one transition after the other- like riding the waves of an infinite sea... loving the thrilling rush of the crash, all the while terrified of drowning. I guess I'm just having a hard time. I'm having a hard time figuring out how to be living life... when the reality is, I can do or be anything. Really. So why a sense of fear or guilt or judgment? Why not just rid yourself of all of that and allow life to be what it is, where it is, in this very moment... in this transition?
Easier said than done I guess, right?

Well for now, there is some sort of satisfaction that comes from making someone smile, from seeing the world through the eyes of an affectionate, loving, animal, and so perfectly stacking jars of salsa and beans and tomato paste. There is a sense of peace one feels after reading a good book purely for pleasure, of having the time to write and write and write, and taking endless moments to pause and think, to meditate. And all I can hope is that I'll figure this thing out. This thing being life. So perhaps that will take a life time. Perhaps that's kind of the point. We spend our lives trying to figure this thing out... so we make connections with other people and places, we develop skills and interests and passions, we feel and think and dream, and we hope that at the end of the day we're left with something or someone to hold onto. We're all just trying to figure this thing out. I'm not sure that any of us really know what we're doing. And maybe there should be some sort of comfort in that.

On a lighter note, the following items are assisting me in welcoming my favorite season of Autumn... check them out:

Poetry of Richard Siken: Crush
the musical stylings of Ingrid Michaelson, Ryan Adams (from Easy Tiger), Courtney Jones and Ben Folds
new books including: The Kids are All Right and The Stranger (Camus)
Baking and eating pumpkin bread
abundant walks in the park
actually dressing up for Halloween this year and enjoying it

Until next time,

L

I've become one of those lap top typing, latte sipping, starbucks dwelling people

The thing I've realized is that none of us really, actually know what we're doing. We're all just fumbling around in the dark, making messes and complicating situations. And I don't know if it's a gamble, each of us painting on poker faces making attempts to win the game at hand, or perhaps we've succomb to the notions of make believe. We find ourselves caught in moonlit dreams, playing at life the way we imagine it, rather than allowing ourselves to exist within the consuming depths of reality. Maybe we're all Alices, falling through the rabbit hole, scared beyond all recognition, grasping at twisted felines and mad hatters for some spec of truth. Maybe none of us really, actually know what we're doing.

My life these past 22 years has primarily consisted of some sort of formal structure, educational systems, carefully controlled environments, a family tree demarcating my life. These have been 22 years transitioning between tiny squares and boxes, compartments, bubbles, a brick house with square windows, a red door, and a chimney for Santa Claus. I'm starting to wonder if all the things I thought were assisting in this path toward self discovery and growth have actually inhibited my individuality. What if all of this so-called knowledge and and room for experimentation has been nothing more than the inevitable result of a structure or institution? What if all that I am is nothing more than a reflection of the spaces having contained this body...this vessel, this soul, the somewhat random structure of muscle and sinew and bone? What if all this has just been some ridiculous test?

College provides one with boxes. Boxes within boxes to organize, categorize, and compartmentalize life. And we all know it's happening as we conform to routine or plans and a certain path marked by specialty or specialties chosen. This can only offer so much room for growth and exploration...maturation. And then you graduate from that world only to find a life void of such containment. Welcome to the vast expanse. Welcome to the "what the hell do I do now?" phase of your life.

I sat in Starbucks watching a little boy shoot blue sugar packets into the trash can- his arms darting upward with certain victory, a smile so pure and simple, the direct reflection of innocent joy. I envied him. Me: 22 years old. 2 college degrees. and unemployment set on by "challenging economic times." I envied that little boy and the profound thrill found in sinking sugar packets into the trash.

I once said that we're all fumbling. Falling through reality. Through space and time, and broken hearts. Broken clocks. Repaired frames and reframed pairings of ourselves and others. Through fiction. Through the moment when you wake up in the morning and still wish you were sleeping. Because it's within the solace of sleep you tread the purest stream of conscience. And maybe this has all just been a test. Maybe this life is nothing more than stories unraveling between our bodies. Between our fallible, complicated, tragically beautiful little lives. This is what happens in the vast expanse. This is what happens in the thick of reality, when you've hit the bottom of the rabbit hole and simply allow yourself to exist within it.

The truth is I'm lost. And even as I say that I'm not sure if it's me that's lost in the vast expanse of possibility and harshness of reality. Or did I somewhere along the way just lose myself? In the moments and experiences I thought I was so clearly coming into my own, honing my individuality and artistic identity...was I really just consumed by this overwhelming force of structure? Was the outside shaping me rather than me having some profound impact on the outside...because of who I am, and what I make, and what I believe in?

Sometimes I think there should be a handbook to life. A book of instructions like Angella Chase said, telling you where to go and what to do. And the macho men of our time would cast it aside, attempting to build the foundations of a life by themselves, whether through intuition or a natural, keen sense of 'how to.' While the careful few would take things step by step, only to ensure a lire constructed carefully, safely, in search of the most perfect product possible. Yet life doesn't work that way. I suppose because none of us know what it's supposed to look like. And we can pretend that we do, we can make plans and develop skills to try and realize the promise of a specific color and shape and classification of life. But in the end I suspect we'd only find ourselves disappointed. Because life doesn't work that way. None of us actually know what we're doing. We're all just little kids shooting sugar packets into the trash. Hoping to make shot after shot, but more often than not, failing, at a seemingly simple task.

anacortes

So I suppose this post is long overdue. I returned from Europe over a week ago. And I feel like I'm supposed to be all amped and looking to write about every adventure and story and evocations of emotion and thought... And I have all of that... stories and memories and moments reflecting back as these glorious images and sounds and phrases in my mind, but I just feel... deflated. I feel deflated.

Don't get me wrong, I had the time of my life. Truly, I saw and felt and experienced and tried and ate and drank and sang and wrote and... and... and. It was phenomenal. But I guess it's like any major event in one's life, that when asked to talk about it or explain it to someone else, it seems nearly impossible. And it all feels like it was yesterday that I was night swimming in Cinque Terre watching shooting stars, or eating pesto and drinking wine while watching the sunset, walking along the Champs D'Elysee, Eiffel Tower in clear sight, or finding myself in awe of The David, strolling the streets of Venice, eating pancakes with Australian friends in an adorable flat in Lyon... And yet, it all seems like a million years ago. Like I was someone different then. Or rather, the time warp and transition back to the US stripped me of this person I had become while travelling, this person I was excited to be and try on... but now due to timing and circumstance and lack of decent pain au chocolat, she's gone. And I want her back.

I feel deflated.

I'm back here, in Maryland. I'm sitting at this little white desk, in my room, in my parent's house, surrounded by yellow walls, feeling small. This room feels too small. This desk, this bed, these ridiculous buttercup walls making all attempts to confine and smother. And I know it's this transitional period. This 'post college- what the hell am I doing with my life' phase. And part of me says that I should just recognize where I am and how I feel and just embrace it... accept it... allow. Allow, allow, allow. Well, as always, easier said than done, right?

I hate the transitions. I believe in them. I understand their purpose. But I hate them. I hate this constant feeling of being in between, of limbo, of uncertainty. I hate the perpetual trap of applying for jobs and searching for new homes and coming up with nothing, all the while wondering if want you think you want is actually want you want... or even, need. And second guessing every decision of every thought and action or hypothetical notion about your future... about the course or direction of your life.

I get that we're supposed to be "growing up" now. That we've entered the "real world" and all its responsibility. But I just don't see what it has to be so hard... why we should have to struggle so much, and get stuck in this place of essentially losing who we are. Losing the strong, confident, independent people we became through college- a challenging transition itself. Yet here we are. Grasping at straws and making grand attempts to simply get our feet underneath us, failing to understand why, after 4 years of formal education and degrees later, we can't seem to get our feet underneath us.

I'm leaving tomorrow for Seattle to attend my grandmother's funeral. My grandmother passed away on Tuesday and that in itself has sent this household into an unexpected frenzy. And while I wish it was certainly under different circumstances, I have to admit I'm looking forward to being in Washington, seeing family, surrounding myself with water and mountains and my aunt's delicious cobbler. There's something about the Pacific Northwest that's restorative in its peaceful calm and radiance of positive energies. Maybe this simultaneous grieving will find itself accompanied by a release... of all the frustrations and sadness and anger and fear... and I'll return here a week from now, ready to really get my feet in place.

Wish me luck.

Red Cloud and Blue Coyote greet the Old World

Well it's getting late and I need to head to bed, not to mention repack this backpack of mine for the umpteenth time. It's always a challenge when I pack, and even more so when all I'm carrying for a month will be on my back the entire way.

So, it's here. Eurotrip 2009. We leave tomorrow afternoon making our way to first stop: Athens, Greece for the beginnings of what I have no doubt will be the trip and experience and adventure of my life to date. I don't know what else to say except that I finally feel ready. I just want to get on that plane tomorrow and let the universe take it from there.

I'm hoping to maybe put up a few brief updates from time to time. Let you all know where I am, what I'm up to... that sort of thing.

So for now I'll say goodnight. See you in September.

that single fleeting moment

Merce Cunningham passed away Sunday. Seems like this summer has been one of many losses, particularly in the world of dance- first with Pina Bausch and now Merce. It's strange to imagine existing and creating within this form during a time when more visionary artists like these will be gone. Come Paul Taylor, David Rousseve, Doug Varone... I suppose it's like anything else, while history seems to be made and marked by death and loss, it too sees its creation in the present as new work and choreographers present themselves today. I can only wonder what kind of dance history we'll be teaching decades from now, and what the worlds of dance and other art forms will look like. Whose work will withstand the test of time? What we will we come to value or appreciate about the arts- or will certain elements of the forms sustain themselves over time?

I guess it's just hard to think of an art form where revolutionaries like him are no longer, when I've grown up recognizing him, his work, and feeling inspired by them. It's one thing to read histories and biographies, to watch films and footage, but to see work of that caliber live, that's a whole other experience. It's visceral and intimate and alive. It's strange feeling a part of something so transitory and lacking permanence- which I suppose shouldn't feel so strange when our work is the same way. But it almost feels like certain voices and faces are meant to last forever- when you've only ever known them as deceased or existing in the past- their work being this piece of history, that's one thing. But making the transition from recognition of alive to deceased is something different.
...............

"You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive. It is not for unsteady souls."

-Merce Cunningham

one true sentence

Ernest Hemingway once said that you should never write about a place until you're away from it, because that gives you perspective. I think that's maybe part of the reason why I want to go to Europe so badly. Perspective. I feel like I'm just crawling out of my skin here. I've been at my parent's house for the past few days. It's strange how this house feels less and less like my home. Maybe because I know this isn't permanent. Because hopefully in a short while, once I return from Europe I'll be moving to New York and living in whatever new space I'll be calling and creating to be my home.

And despite all of these thoughts dancing around, despite no shortage of sleepless nights and late night reading and recollecting, I find myself at a loss for things to say or write about. I feel like I just keep tossing the same thoughts back and forth- about growing up, and finding a job, and saying hellos and goodbyes, and trying to move forward with my life. More and more it just feels like I'm running in place, and this treadmill of a life feels tired and worn and dull.

There's that quote that says, "life isn't about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself." I love that concept, though I feel like I don't fully understand it. I feel like despite all of my best efforts and intentions, I'm kind of failing at creating myself. All I really want to be is a good person. I'm trying really hard to be a good person. What does that even mean? Should we really have to try that hard? I think that's kind of a lie. Yes, I want to be a good person. But more than that, I can't help this overwhelming feeling that we're all here for a reason. And it doesn't have to be connected to a religion or a God or some almighty sense of divinity or destiny.

But, there's got to be some reason I'm here otherwise this is all just random? Otherwise, we are all just atoms colliding in space, through time, and we only offer meaning and names to things to justify our existence and our connectivity. That's a whole other dialogue for sure. But still, there's got to be more to it than that. I can't help this overwhelming feeling that I'm meant to love. I just have this ridiculous capacity to love. And it gets me in trouble. It leaves me heartbroken and alone perpetually and repeatedly... but it's there. And I have to believe that some day I'm going to get it right, and this incredible capacity for love won't feel like it's being wasted or misused- but it will be met by another with an equally ridiculous capacity for loving and I'll have found my match and live happily ever after.

Okay, maybe not happily ever after. I know that's a silly school girl fantasy. But maybe all the day dreaming and belief in that kind of love could actually become a reality. And I could stop feeling like I was born in the wrong era, or that I was actually meant to be a fictional character in a Jane Austen novel... and I could just have this life that I want... the love life I want. Hmm, how did we get there?

Or maybe I'm just lonely. And I'm a 22 year old recent college graduate, moving back into my parents' house with no prospective employment opportunities and I'm in this hyper emotional state all the time. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe I've just really hit the lull of this ultra limbo phase of my young adulthood and I'm out of interesting things to write about or contemplate.

Man, I need to get out of here. I need some fresh perspective. I need some excitement, some charging energies.

Either that, or a really good kiss.

Come on, I am a girl after all.

I'm recently read A Moveable Feast again. Maybe that's why that Hemingway quote came to mind. And after all, in his work Hemingway does say, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know." I suppose all I've written here tonight is true. So, that should be more than enough.

More than enough.

the Hello-Goodbye

Hello-goodbye.

It's an exchange we encounter daily. We welcome individuals into our lives, our homes, our places of work, and then extend a farewell upon their departure. A cultural ritual, perhaps. A mere exchange of pleasantries, okay. The hello-goodbye. It's this little dance we do to create a sense of beginning and end, or maybe in attempts of placing a parenthesis around the encounters of our lives. The thing I keep realizing is that this little dance is actually a really big deal. And at the risk of sounding all Angela Chase, it's like the biggest deal there is.

I used to think that it wasn't until you were without someone- until they left, that you realized just how much you loved them or needed them. A sort of 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' situation. But more and more I realize that it's not until those people come back into your life that you understand just how much you truly missed them, and how much you really love or need them. That it's not the goodbye, but rather, a return to the hello that welcomes the purest understanding of a relationship.

Most recently I find myself standing in between Hello and Goodbye. Not such a big surprise that I should find myself in between... oh how I love the gray. A dear friend just returned from Japan- where she's been living for over a year. And yet, while I've just gotten to return to hello, I'm saying goodbye almost immediately as she's returning to Japan come Wednesday. Another dear friend is headed back home for the summer. Her home... is Ecuador. And when she returns to Maryland and to this apartment, I'll have moved out, and things will inevitably look different. And then the question becomes, when will we be saying hello again? I'm not sure.

And it gets me wondering if the Hello-Goodbye is one of those polarities that only exists in this duet. For each hello must come a goodbye? Or are there those hellos that simply stay- and we never really have to say goodbye... or in turn, maybe there are those people to whom we say goodbye and never say hello again? I'm not sure. And maybe there are those who are destined to be in our lives- perpetually in the hello, and so the goodbyes we say to them in our lifetime are merely fake goodbyes- they're pretend- we say them as part of this cultural ritual, but knowing that we're destined to come back to the sweet comfort of hello.

Hello.

I'm headed to Europe in less than three weeks. And I think that's the ultimate Hello-goodbye... saying goodbye to the familiar and welcoming the embrace of all things new-cultures, landscapes, people, food, rituals... That's the kind of dance that feels sweet and comforting while simultaneously intimidating and a little scary. And spontaneous. And exhilarating. And completely worth it.

Or maybe we just shouldn't say goodbye at all. We should just always say hello- at the beginnings and ends of things... to just leave things open. To not close the parenthesis or put an end to things. We could just perpetually leave things open and ongoing and never have to feel the heavy sadness of saying goodbye- we could just live in this place of seeing the threads of the relationships in our lives extend on and on almost into a sort of infinity where the lines marking where this begins and that ends are blurred... hmm, I think I've said that before. Anyway, we could create this new dance. The Hello-Hello. That could be good.

So, hello.
More to come.
As always.

dwarfed inside its smallness

It's funny how small a room can feel. And in turn, how you can feel dwarfed inside its smallness. You empty drawers, uncover walls, and strip sheets to suddenly find yourself left with this skeleton of a room. A room you once decorated and organized to feel like yours, like home... it's funny how in seemingly no time at all a room can no longer feel like a room but an empty shell- a vacuum void of color and memory and life. And a month from now it will belong to someone else- perhaps even someone you know and love, but it will no longer be yours. It will be theirs. And kind of like the spaces and people who leave imprints on us, this room will leave an imprint on them- the imprints you've left and all others before you... so that someone else can make their own memories here. And maybe that's comforting to an extent, but somewhat sad in a way, that nothing feels like it truly lasts. Like we keep moving and fumbling through this reality, making and calling things our own until we eventually have to let them go and take on new things.

People keep telling me that change is a part of life. That we have to face it head on and move forward with our lives. I just keep wondering how that's going to happen. It took four years for me to feel like I had a home at school. That home- that little apartment and that perfect corner bedroom became my home. And I can open the door from my bedroom and walk mere feet to find comfort and hilarity and beauty in the people occupying the rooms near mine- the people who have not only become my best friends, but my family, my life lines. How can we move forward when we're leaving something... someone so precious behind?

It takes time to make something feel like it belongs to you. We're so complex and complicated that negotiating how a relationship or a space will fit us and work within our lives takes calculated time and effort. You start with this empty space and then you fill it. And there in it becomes home, a sanctuary- a place of solace and comfort. And then you leave it, you tear out the insides and leave the empty space for the next future occupants- may this be your living space... or even your heart.

And so I just don't understand how we're supposed to just move on. How we're just supposed to keep going forward with our lives like everything is fine when it's seemingly falling apart in our hands. How do we negotiate that? How are we supposed to 'grow up' when it feels like we're losing the things that help us define who we are?

to scales we can tolerate

It's funny how when you're little life is broken down into polarities. Right and wrong. Good and bad. Mean and nice. It's so black and white... and I guess it has to be that way to some extent- when you're young, when you're learning and growing up and figuring out how you're supposed to be. Life has to be comprised of these 'this or that' choices when you're young partly to make your parents' lives easier, and partly to help you get a sense of the world as quickly as possible. So we set up these boundaries- a sense of beginning and end comes first and then we fill in the gray betweens.

And then when you're older life feels more saturated in the gray areas. So much of this life feels ambiguous and complicated these days. And I think it's because we're still so focused on those end points- of the goals, the final product, or the actual somewhere, that all of the process of getting to somewhere seems to be more confusing. So then it becomes a question of whether it's our focus that alters our perception of how complicated or gray life truly is, or whether clarity just seems to lie in the definitive moments and less so in the in between. Or, do we just arbitrarily assign said qualities to certain points and passages through life and forever expect them to be that way? And essentially perpetuate the notion through our own behavior and preconceived ideas?

I guess I'm not really sure. I don't know if life ever stops feeling like this time line or tracking of benchmarks from one accomplishment or significant change to the next. And we all want things. We want to have relationships and careers, families, adventures... the list goes on. But how do we negotiate attaining the larger things we want out of life without compromising our ability to enjoy the ride of life itself? Isn't there a difference between the life propelled by making plans and achieving goals and making specific decisions and the life propelled by impulse, emotion, spontaneity and the beauty of the moment? How can we have both? Or are these two lives already combined- we're just more focused on one than the other?

I don't really know what all that means. It just feels like we're always playing it safe. Things are so calculated and colored within the lines that they begin feeling plain, boring, complacent... And that's no way to be living at all. Not to say that everything has to be outrageous or ridiculous or so spur of the moment... but maybe if we could punctuate these focused and goal driven lives with more of that... maybe we'd be more content or just more interesting people. And maybe it's because things are changing for me. And I don't do well with change most of the time. I'm starting to pack up my apartment. And I'm starting to realize that I only have a little time left with certain people who have become my best friends, my life lines... and I don't know. It's enough to make you feel like you're crawling out of your skin because you don't want to move forward and face the inevitable, but if you don't, then you're left standing completely still... which is far worse.

Not to mention I turn 22 on Saturday. How did that happen? I don't really know how I feel about that.

Well, enough for now.

Until next time... I'll leave you with a piece of The Way by Albert Goldbarth:

"The way our language scissors the enormity to scales we can tolerate. The way we gild and rubricate in memory, or edit out selectively..."

I don't know... something about that just resonates.

Later Gators,

L

nothing gold can stay

An old friend of mine turns 23 today. 23 on the 23rd. I think they consider that the golden birthday. I had mine when I was 4. But nonetheless. I say old friend when really this is someone who's no longer a part of my life. This is someone who was once my friend, then more- he was the love of my life- and now he's less- he's not even in my life. It's strange to think about how relationships evolve over time. How we can transition from deep, intense, passionate love to hatred- or worse, ambivalence.

And people change, I know. We grow up, grow apart- and it seems to be in the rarest instances we grow closer and closer as the years pass- which I suppose is what makes those lasting friendships and relationships so special and truly invaluable. And I guess the truth is, I miss him- even though I know we're not in a place of being able to be friends, well, he's not. And maybe he'll never be. But I miss him sometimes and I miss what I used to be to him- special, beautiful, and lovable.

I guess it's a lesson we keep learning as we grow up. People fall away, fall apart, and sometimes they find their way back to each other, and other times maybe we're better off having loved and lost. Relationships worth having take work. They're not supposed to be easy all the time or why would they be worth having at all? And so people leave- they fall away and we remain with empty spaces, vacuums of where those people used to fit- used to fulfill us. But somewhere along the way, someone else comes and fills those spaces, maybe in ways we never could have expected or anticipated.

I think it all comes back to my renewed view of living in the moment. Loving and giving as who we are now to whomever these other people in our lives are, now...not who we want or dream them to be- not who they aim to be in the future, but for who they are right now. If we can do that, we have the opportunity to find relationships that are truly honest and authentic. And maybe they won't last a lifetime, but we can be content with what it was, in the moment, while it ran its course. I mean, isn't life supposed to be like this? We fall in love and get heart broken. We laugh and cry and get really down and lonely. And then we have adventures and take risks and just try. We feel the depths of whatever we feel, allow it to happen and then move on. We try to experience life from the deepest insides to the crux of the outer edges. I mean this is all we've got. And we're all we've got, so why wouldn't we?

So Mr. 23 and aren't in one another's lives, but I have hope that one day life will bring us back together. And maybe then we'll be able to love each other for who we are now, in the present moment- and I don't know, maybe we could be friends. The world's a lot smaller than we think, and hey, it could happen. Until then, I'll just keep loving and giving and sending positive energy out into the universe. And maybe I'll get a little bit back myself.

So happy birthday, friend- if you're reading this, where ever you are. May you be healthy, happy, and get all of your birthday wishes.

And to everyone else. Have faith...believe in the power of the universe and its ability to bring us all together in a positive way, no matter how long it takes or what path. Good things really do happen, even late in the game.

Goodnight, kids.

-L

and it will all shift and become something different

So it's been a while. And a lot has happened. But I'm starting to think that maybe that's all relative. That maybe, actually, very little has happened. The effects or surrounding reflections of the events of the past few weeks have just seemed grandiose or overwhelming in a way making my life feel like a lot's happened. I know, I'm confused too.

I've spent the past week in California- a few lovely days in San Francisco where I met up with friends, walked and hiked, took in art museums, drank wine, and just stood by the water watching... And then there was Berkeley, California, which I jokingly say can be summed up in 3 "ocks:" dreadlocks, Mohawks, and Birkenstocks...and then there's the endless number of used book stores, vintage thrift clothing shops, cafes, and of course, marijuana. I swear some nights you can get high just walking down the street. I spent the last week there studying with Joe Goode Performance Group. There's something about his work, his philosophy...this idea of the deeply felt experience in art. Something humanistic. Authentic. And to be in a space for an extended period of time, feeling safe and supported... amongst overwhelmingly generous people, artists... it's so incredibly beautiful. How the residue of people's care and generosity gets left on you, in you- their imprints, the imprint of the space, and the moment of creating... and you're renewed, re-opened, awake.

There are moments in our lives that cannot be recreated. Partnerships and experiences that may only ever exist once. And we can be generous, open, and honest, we allow ourselves to deeply indulge in the moment, the process, the unique rhythm of another individual in conjunction or cross-hatched with our own. And that's of significant value. That's what reminds us of our humanity, the beauty of intimacy and the complexity of relationships- with others, with spaces, in time, out of context, in support or contrast of other mediums and ideas and concepts... it's unending. And when we move on into the next partnership or creative process we remain informed by that residue- the imprints of others are lasting... we carry them with us and over time the layers build onto this skeleton we come into the world with. And with the help and influence of other people, environments, and spaces we will continue shifting and becoming new to ourselves.

So there's that.

Then I got to thinking that it's funny how much of our lives we spend waiting. Waiting in lines. Waiting for planes, trains, buses. Waiting for a phone call, a message...the right moment. Waiting for a miracle or an intervention- for our lives to get good... like in that second. Waiting for 'the one'... to fall in love, to feel like we fit in, or just plain fit, or have found our place in this world. And sometimes it's this hurry up and wait syndrome. And sometimes it's like you've been waiting your whole life or something- which then leads to the implication that the thing you're waiting for it meant to happen- or, you just really want it, need it to. And then you have this moment when you wonder why we're all so busy waiting. And if we all are, in fact waiting, then we leave room for the possibility that certain things will never happen. Because we're essentially waiting on someone or something else to make the effort or take action... but, if they too are waiting, then we're all just stuck- sucked into the vortex- the in between where we're all doing the same thing, wanting the same thing, and all not getting the same things.

So that means what? It means someone eventually has to stop waiting and take action to make these things happen to them, rather than expecting life or the universe or fate to just miraculously allow things to fall into place. And perhaps that will set off the spark- someone does something that someone else was waiting for, and in turn, they, getting the thing they wanted, will allow for something else to happen to/for another... and so begins the chain of events. A simple concept I know. But, hard to imagine that we're all just standing still- there must be those who don't wait- can't wait- like the perpetual waiters there are the perpetual doers- taking action, always in motion and refusing to stand still. There has to be, right?

So, there's also that.

And then I got to thinking...
I'm like this person who's too sensitive.

We step into the outside world and find ourselves in need of protection. Because we don't seem to live in a world that nurtures or really supports sensitivity. And what about those hyper sensitive individuals who struggle to exist in the world? I think I'm one of those people. I struggle to exist in the world though I don't think I like to admit that. But I suppose that's why I'm an artist, why I dance... because even when confronted with challenge or difficulty, within the art form, I'm in a safe space. And I guess those are hard to find.

So, now there's that too.

I'm headed to New York tomorrow for a few days. I keep saying it's part of my 'becoming a real person.' Meetings and appointments and interviews- those words just sound like 'real people' or 'grown up' words. I don't even know what that means. And then I'll come back here, head back to school for a while to reconnect with friends... and continue making plans for our trip to Europe- which some people see as this escape from reality. I see it as the ultimate exploration into real life- into my life, my individuality... who I am, what I want out of life.

Well, more for another day. Another post.

Until then.

For us, there is only the trying...

I have this new philosophy. For my life. That all we do and experience and attempt should exist purely in the moment. That our own inner voices, our consciences, our guts are, and should be, the purest, most honest points of reference... barometers, or maybe thermometers for all decision making and plans. I just have this thought that the moment can so clearly dictate our actions... that it can be this intrinsic feeling or emotion... this reminder of how our bodies, our minds, and spirits are so purely connected to the universe or the environment... to the push and pull of energies swirling around in this crazy, complicated, gorgeous atmosphere. Always seems like these thoughts materialize in run- on sentences- not sure what that's about. But that's a whole other tangent anyway.

And speaking of tangents... I have this new found love for them. An interest there, always, yes, but now, a true love. Because the thing is, you can't be so tunnel visioned all the time. Have goals and make plans, yes... but you can't get so caught up or stuck on one track that you miss out on all of the other possibilities of life. There will be opportunities that arise, and moments that change the course of thinking or action... and if my gut pulls me in a new direction, well, that should be positive. That should be valued and trusted. Because it's what we don't and can' t plan for in life that often ends up being the most rewarding and fulfilling. This life is meant to be lived. We're supposed to enjoy it... otherwise, what the hell are we doing here?

I'm not completely sure I know what I'm doing with my life. All I know is that I have to follow my gut, my instinct... not that I even really know what that means, or where that will put me. But that's the only thing I know I can trust or believe in. In a life so filled with less than concrete, ambiguous things, we have to hold on to what we know to be certain and secure... ourselves. So that we may move forward and out into the world, into the thick and depth of our lives with at least one thing- the knowledge that we are incredible creatures capable of extraordinary things. And the point of this life is not in achieving successes or making mistakes, but it's about the attempts. It's about this middle place where we try- we try to achieve and make contact. We try to fall in love and follow our hearts... our dreams. We try to be good people, and take trips, and create a life that is full and complex and amazing.

We try. We try to listen to those inner voices and live a life that makes us happy. And along the way, things happen... people change, and they change us. Things grow or they fall apart. Moments become defining and we get to outline the terms of those definitions. This is all I really know. And even as I say that we are the most concrete elements of our own lives, even we are constantly changing. So maybe nothing in life is certain. And maybe we just have to take comfort or solace in knowing that we're all here just trying to figure things out. We're all just trying... sometimes it's enough, sometimes it's not... if we can even quantify things that way. All we can do is try. And hope that years down the road we'll be content with the lives we've created for ourselves.

the world will see you

More and more it feels like my life is comprised of nothing but decision making. From the seemingly insignificant breakfast battle of cereal versus granola, to the morning debate of how much longer I can hit the snooze button. We agonize over details from what to wear, to what to say, to what track most appropriately begins a Wednesday morning...currently I like to greet Hump Day with "That's not my Name" by the Ting Tings. And the minutes and days and soon enough months of our lives press on as we make decision after decision. Some are more simple than others. In apartment 66606 the answer to the following is always 'Yes':

Chipotle?
Red wine?
Trashy reality television after a long, rough day?
Mature young men who know how to communicate?
Spending time with friends who understand you?

Yes.

And other decisions are far more complicated... like how to create your life post-college... particularly when it seems like all of the grand decisions you've made in your life have been the result of opinions and voices of seemingly greater importance than your own. My whole life I've made decisions and truly, with every one I stop to think about someone else's idea of it before my own... namely, my parents. Because I love them? I respect them? I do. I certainly do. And it's been nearly 22 years of desperately seeking their approval... of wanting to make them proud. And don't get me wrong, I think that's a fine way of choosing my life's course in the sense that it's offered a sound moral compass... But this life is all we really have. This life belongs to me and me alone, essentially. And now that I've graduated and am essentially being forced to 'grow up' I feel like it's time to start making some decisions for myself.

My friend and room mate Danielle says that life is supposed to be about one's vision, not about plans. It's about this greater scope- this larger sense of who we are, or want or aspire to be. Your vision is this full representation of your internal desires and passions. Plans are simply what we make, like decisions, every day... in attempts to keep moving forward, achieving, or seemingly living this life. I'm tired of making plans. I feel like my whole life has been this huge rehearsal... this institution of learning and creating and taking steps to prepare me for something else- for whatever plan comes after this one. And it's like I've said before, I feel like we're always so focused on what's ahead or what's to come next that we forget that we're actually in the midst of a life... right now. And this is all we have. This complicated, beautiful, frustrating, terrifying thing is all we have and none of us survive it. So isn't the point of all of this, simply, to live?

I made plans today. I've been making plans. And I've made decisions for myself and no one else. And all I can do is hope that the people who love and support me will continue to do so... even if they disagree or don't approve. Because hopefully they'll know that my motives are thoughtful and sound... and that all I want is to experience this life...even more richly, and fully than I have been these past 22 years. I'm going to Europe for a month. I'm going with one of my best friends, a back pack, camera, and an open mind... The tickets have been bought. My mind is made up.

In a letter to their son Benjamin and Julia Rush wrote:

"Be sober and vigilant. Remember at all times that while you are seeing the world, the world will see you."

I'm ready to see the world, but more so, ready for the world to see me.

Let's just hope my parents don't kill me.