i rescued all of my books from my storage unit today. 10 boxes. i have not yet unpacked them. i need to by a bookcase. i open each one and peer in. a time-capsule, each and every one. i open the cardboard flaps and read the titles: my loves! here is "A Lover's Discourse", here is "Ariel", here is "With Deer". i paw through and find the black ceramic cups i made 2 years ago in Santa Rosa. odd to hold them... an artifact. in some ways, it is like holding a different person's objects... or how one feels when one picks up a relic from one's childhood. Childhood!!! i have the entire collection of The Munch Bunch books! here! now! they are currently in my kitchen! does anyone else have these???? these books and my white teddy bear are the only relics of my childhood i have left. it is strange to see them.. strange to hold them... to hold them and wonder what might have been. what might have been if our parents were ready to be parents... what might have been if we'd ever really been considered...
but i am not sad and don't mean to usher in a somber tone. not at all. i am more in a state of Wonder than anything else. days come and go. i look at the sky. i write. i take pictures. i look at my hands. and now, i can turn books over in my hands, smell their spines and leaf through them as if each second were an hour, as if each second were a lifetime. bibles, all of them.
looking at these boxes i know that i can't cart all of this into my future. i'll have to make the hard decision (soon) to sell most of these volumes. there's simply to way to transport such a mass in to my next phase of life. it's a LIBRARY! and i have no clue where to begin.
i left picture frames on the side of the road today and they were gone within the hour.
and then dinner with my beautiful friend Trish this evening. when she dropped me back off at my house i told her that not a single member of my mother's family called me over the holidays. not one. this may or may not have something to do with the fact that i swear. rumour has it that my dropping of an F-Bomb on my sister's Facebook page caused quite an upset. and so: silence. me. my mother's eldest and without any other parent. orphan. and despite all that, a grown ass woman.
well now...
guess whose religion is glaring? not mine.
Trish hugged me and reminded me that we can make new families. everywhere we go. it comforted me to know that maybe the disappointment i've known is not the entire story. maybe there are people in the world who are capable of a deeper love than what i've experienced. maybe there are people who mean what they say.
in 2 1/2 weeks i'll be back in my beloved New York. i'll bring a backpack and nothing else. a change of jeans, two t shirts, socks. i'll have 5 days to explore the museums and galleries i've yet to enter. i'll have 5 days to eat at good restaurants and drink in wild bars. i'll have 5 days reprieve from giving a fuck if anyone understands me or loves me. i'll write and walk the High Line and meander through the beautiful Bowery. and until then, i have my wealth of books to keep me company, the greatest of which being 4 years of volumes of my diary. geez. what a world made entirely of ink and commitment.
Showing posts with label self acceptance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self acceptance. Show all posts
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 3, 2013
MORE MORE MORE
.
a new day, a new notebook. it's always a fantastic feeling. but for the passed three days i've been locked inside a NyQuil stupor, stoned as hell on over-the-counter cold medicine, trying to shake whatever bad bug this is that bit me. yesterday and the day before all i did was sleep. today, i was at least able to sit and write for awhile before needing to head back to bed. i won't be making in to class tonight.
and so i lay down in my warm bed and medication and twist black yarn around my hook. stitch by stitch, i go. how soothing it is. how familiar, how comforting. it is a balm and a deep, good therapy. maybe it is how i mother myself? making all these blankets and sweaters? i fashion sites of warmth and emblems of safety for myself. i wrap myself up in my tiny poems emblazoned in wool. i leave them on street in the hope that those who need a bit of comfort may stumble across my little offerings. i begin to dream of the future again... a future self and who that might be.
it occurred to me in the wee hours of the morning that i have occupied my white room for almost a year. may 1st is the anniversary. look at all these important markers of time all lined up in a row! it catches my attention in such a serious way. it's been an entire year now that i have been completely on my own, no hand to hold, paying all my bills myself, buying plane tickets and red lipstick as often as i felt need to, and never for one second letting the reigns slip from my fist. every time i've maintained control over my own life, day, and destiny the results have always been good. i've been happier, not to mention more successful. and likewise, every time i handed over control of my life to someone else the results have been atrocious. unhappiness followed quickly on the heels of such a horrible decision. i can't ever imagine making such a decision again. i can't ever see a day when i will sacrifice my financial Independence. being able to choose the terms and conditions of my own life is the greatest gift i've ever given myself and i will never give it up. my daily existence is so free, so respectful of my being and loves. now, more than anything, i simply want to be more and more my Self.
i've been crocheting a new round of yarn bombs the passed week. they read "cry harder". that's what i aspire to. that's what i want for all of us. to cry harder, cry louder. to be ourselves without reservation or apology. i hope to drop a few in san francisco and oakland in a few days once this sickness has passed through me and left me stronger as a result. in so many ways, street art is the pinnacle of artistic production because it doesn't seek permission or reassurance. it simply IS, and it is up to US to reckon with IT. i love it. i'm not very good at it yet but i'm thankful to take part to the small extent i do. it makes my life feel poetic. it makes me feel alive inside my own body, inside my spirit, inside the night and this world and all my unnameable desires.
relocation is Prime.
and in the art realm of things, i've got some work online at Darger HQ and more coming soon. i also updated my White Columns account. take a peek!
Feb 24, 2013
WORDS WORDS WORDS
my Talent of the Room finds me and every morning i spend a solid 2 hours writing in my diary at the kitchen table as i sip my coffee. i look out the window onto my busy street. i listen to the cars and people rambling by. i feel the sun on my legs and the pen in my hand. soft pleasures. necessities. i can't imagine ever being without this little waking ritual of mine. i can't imagine ever giving this up. these hours behind the pen, inside language, inside the inexplicable twists of dreams and memories. there's nothing "little" about it.
i've fallen back in to a phase of self-investigation and exploration. i doubt one's need for such things ever really goes away and that's probably a good thing. as i gain insight and information, i recalibrate. as i pick up moments of confusion and wonder - or even doubt and fear - i use them to look a bit closer at my own motives and desires. everyday i seem to be learning more about myself. i feel like i'm growing up in a totally new way.
i finished reading the second volume of my 2012 diary yesterday on my train to work. going through these pages is an integral part of my current round of investigation. i feel so lucky to have such a tool at my disposal. i can't explain how amazingly valuable it is to be able to read exactly what i was thinking about and wrestling with on THIS DAY one year ago. it's a fantastic was to measure change. but also, i return to the idea that to keep a diary is more than simply recording one's thoughts and activities. it is a life's work. i've said so many times here that words make the world and i truly believe that. language is a living, nebulous thing and our use of it impacts how we see ourselves and the world we inhabit. it determines the world we create. my attractions all have a root in Language. from the look of a person's handwriting to the particularities and lilt of speech to the a person's command over poetics or even just the maintenance of a deep, strong vocabulary, my interest is ensnared. i have deep attraction to people who have big vocabularies and can use them effortlessly, who don't sound pompous and puffed-up. even the sound of someone's sigh is attractive to me and a good laugh is a very strong aphrodisiac.
all this to say- language, in all its forms, the very act of and desire to communicate with another human being is something i've always been attracted to and is a basic building block of my own personality. as i look back and re-live certain experiences through the lens of my diary, i see how necessary certain types of connection are to me. i need conversation, intellectual engagement, philosophic enterprise, and poetic experience. simply put, i need passion. i am not a simple person who can be satisfied by simple relationships. i'm not difficult either but "difficult" is not the only opposite of "simple". complexity is also an antonym. i like complex people. i like the mysteries they contain. i like not knowing the next thing that might shoot out of a person's mouth and i appreciate people who know how to hold up their end of a conversation.
sounds simple enough until i look deeper at the statements that i just put forth. it is romantic to say that i want a passionate life. but in accepting a passionate life, one also accepts the necessity of pain. one must accept certain risks and that sometimes the gamble will be lost. i won't always come out on top but, thankfully, i'm the type of person that can turn almost any negative in to a positive. i'm not thankful that other people have mistreated me and i would probably never thank someone for their atrocious behavior regardless of the good that may have ended up flowing from it later on. but i am thankful to be the kind of person that can take that hurt and allow it to polish me rather than become embittered against others. it's not so much a point of forgiving others as it is a matter of forgiving myself. i'm not exactly sure what that means or how to accomplish such a thing other than learning from my own mistakes and not allowing myself to slide back in to familiar, yet harmful, patterns.
it's difficult to know, though, when i'm being smart or when i'm running scared. certain emotions make me feel foolish now and i've noticed lately that i run from them. i play it cool and not a single ripple of embarrassment or heartache will show on my surface if i can help it. i have no problem showcasing pain in art or writing or even here on the blog but i do not put that shit on display in front of many other people. there is a very small handful of people that i am close enough with to really lay my emotions out in front of and, within that group, still fewer that i would actually allow to see or hear me cry. but i suppose that feeling foolish (or even actually being foolish from time to time) is going to be part of the ride. necessarily so. but i don't know how to uproot this idea that seems to have grown in me that others will find my emotions to be repulsive. i don't know how to counteract my experience that people run away from the darkness a human being contains. i don't know how to stop believing that most people are fair-weather friends. somehow i must unlearn these things and manage to become brave enough to risk feeling foolish. it's the next step in becoming a better friend and a better artist. risk is mandatory. especially for someone like me who wants to know about the world and establish meaning in life. especially for someone who doesn't think before she writes and puts all this shit out on to the internet for anyone to read. ;)
i've fallen back in to a phase of self-investigation and exploration. i doubt one's need for such things ever really goes away and that's probably a good thing. as i gain insight and information, i recalibrate. as i pick up moments of confusion and wonder - or even doubt and fear - i use them to look a bit closer at my own motives and desires. everyday i seem to be learning more about myself. i feel like i'm growing up in a totally new way.
i finished reading the second volume of my 2012 diary yesterday on my train to work. going through these pages is an integral part of my current round of investigation. i feel so lucky to have such a tool at my disposal. i can't explain how amazingly valuable it is to be able to read exactly what i was thinking about and wrestling with on THIS DAY one year ago. it's a fantastic was to measure change. but also, i return to the idea that to keep a diary is more than simply recording one's thoughts and activities. it is a life's work. i've said so many times here that words make the world and i truly believe that. language is a living, nebulous thing and our use of it impacts how we see ourselves and the world we inhabit. it determines the world we create. my attractions all have a root in Language. from the look of a person's handwriting to the particularities and lilt of speech to the a person's command over poetics or even just the maintenance of a deep, strong vocabulary, my interest is ensnared. i have deep attraction to people who have big vocabularies and can use them effortlessly, who don't sound pompous and puffed-up. even the sound of someone's sigh is attractive to me and a good laugh is a very strong aphrodisiac.
all this to say- language, in all its forms, the very act of and desire to communicate with another human being is something i've always been attracted to and is a basic building block of my own personality. as i look back and re-live certain experiences through the lens of my diary, i see how necessary certain types of connection are to me. i need conversation, intellectual engagement, philosophic enterprise, and poetic experience. simply put, i need passion. i am not a simple person who can be satisfied by simple relationships. i'm not difficult either but "difficult" is not the only opposite of "simple". complexity is also an antonym. i like complex people. i like the mysteries they contain. i like not knowing the next thing that might shoot out of a person's mouth and i appreciate people who know how to hold up their end of a conversation.
sounds simple enough until i look deeper at the statements that i just put forth. it is romantic to say that i want a passionate life. but in accepting a passionate life, one also accepts the necessity of pain. one must accept certain risks and that sometimes the gamble will be lost. i won't always come out on top but, thankfully, i'm the type of person that can turn almost any negative in to a positive. i'm not thankful that other people have mistreated me and i would probably never thank someone for their atrocious behavior regardless of the good that may have ended up flowing from it later on. but i am thankful to be the kind of person that can take that hurt and allow it to polish me rather than become embittered against others. it's not so much a point of forgiving others as it is a matter of forgiving myself. i'm not exactly sure what that means or how to accomplish such a thing other than learning from my own mistakes and not allowing myself to slide back in to familiar, yet harmful, patterns.
it's difficult to know, though, when i'm being smart or when i'm running scared. certain emotions make me feel foolish now and i've noticed lately that i run from them. i play it cool and not a single ripple of embarrassment or heartache will show on my surface if i can help it. i have no problem showcasing pain in art or writing or even here on the blog but i do not put that shit on display in front of many other people. there is a very small handful of people that i am close enough with to really lay my emotions out in front of and, within that group, still fewer that i would actually allow to see or hear me cry. but i suppose that feeling foolish (or even actually being foolish from time to time) is going to be part of the ride. necessarily so. but i don't know how to uproot this idea that seems to have grown in me that others will find my emotions to be repulsive. i don't know how to counteract my experience that people run away from the darkness a human being contains. i don't know how to stop believing that most people are fair-weather friends. somehow i must unlearn these things and manage to become brave enough to risk feeling foolish. it's the next step in becoming a better friend and a better artist. risk is mandatory. especially for someone like me who wants to know about the world and establish meaning in life. especially for someone who doesn't think before she writes and puts all this shit out on to the internet for anyone to read. ;)
Nov 20, 2012
exposure
i spent this grey day at home in my pajamas studying german vocabulary and listening to german music. i am a bit under the weather today. my throat is sore and so are my eyes. the perils of airline travel. trapped in that recirculated air for 6 hours isn't exactly the best shit to breath. but it's worth it to have seen the atlantic again. it's worth it to have seen that distant sky. my flight in was diverted to Buffalo due to dense fog at JFK. a gorgeous sunrise met us there. me and so many strangers walked to the large window with our cups of airport coffee and stood there gazing together at that luscious, unexpected orange.
and then to come home to 70 degree weather and bright skies.
and then to come home to such ease and warmth.
and then to come home.
in spite of this little chest cold, i feel lucky and light. i've been to New York twice in 2 1/2 months.
i spent the first 2 hours of my day scribbling leisurely in my notebook, recounting kisses and attempting to identify my newest desires and latest dreams. life has changed so much this year. life has changed so much in the last 2 months. and something has clicked in to place as a result of returning to the scene of certain crimes. something has healed. i no longer feel quite so dire as i did before. i no longer feel like time is quickly running out. i no longer feel that i need to be wild in order to feel that i have lived. i enjoy wildness, it's true, but the past few days i've enjoyed a deep, warm sense of calm. a stillness. a readiness for something a bit more serious.
after ending a long term relationship at the beginning of this year, i think i needed to take advantage of a very high level of freedom. i needed to stay out late and dance and drink and have fun. i needed to be stupid and i needed to be dangerous. i needed to stop caring about the clock for awhile; expectations and responsibilities and all the things i had allowed to take root in me that choked my ability to blossom and change. i needed to cut away so many things. i needed to turn my back on so many things i was taught. those horrible falsities and all the beautiful lies we are sometimes so eager to believe. for years i listened to my instincts screaming at me to leave but i was just so fucking afraid of so many things to know how to do it. i had come to believe that being myself was a selfish thing. i had been made to believe that every desire of mine was self-serving and, therefore, shameful. i am finally taking a clean, deep breath. all these months and years later am i finally able to look at what i tolerated and ask myself why?
when you've been taught from childhood to believe that everything you are is bad and wrong, you become unable to trust your own instincts. you become unable to act in your own best interest. you put other people's happiness well before your own because "that's what a good person does". you tuck your tail and you smile. you save your tears for the shower. you become a master of silent crying. you become a master of self-denial and self-deception. you stay put because you've been taught so thoroughly to believe that you are somehow deficient.
deficient.
inadequate.
silly.
dirty.
dumb.
ridiculous.
selfish.
childish.
ugly.
and it is only when you are doing what you're told that maybe a bit of affection is thrown your way. a crumb. a scrap. a pat on the head.
as my mother crept ever closer to her death, i began to see so glaringly that i had been chasing scraps of approval my entire life. so had she. she was strong in so many beautiful ways but also suffered from such tremendous guilt. she too believed that everything about her was bad and wrong: the legacy that is handed down.
shortly after she died i was able to say fuck it. if i'm bad, i'm bad. so be it. if i'm selfish, so be it. shit can't get any goddamn worse. i feel like dying too. if this is what being Good gets me, let me test drive Bad. my life depends on it.
i used to cry almost every day. in the last 9 months maybe i've cried 9 times. and i'm being generous in my estimate. deciding to stop caring about whether or not other people will label me as selfish is the best decision i could have ever made. my worst fear is hurting other people and that has led quickly to my own undoing, my own site of deep, atrocious pain. i am so afraid of being a disappointment that i silence myself, i tie myself in knots, i wake up in a panic in the middle of the night afraid that i am the worst person alive and wondering how i can gain forgiveness for the fact of my horrible birth. i have let other people do horrible things to me. friends, family members, lovers. i have tolerated extreme neglect. i have tolerated viciousness and cruelty. i have allowed myself to be convinced that i deserved these things. this is the self-hatred that was instilled in me at the very beginning of my life.
a friend of mine recently passed on a saying to me: we recieve the love we think we deserve.
i've been turning it over and over inside my head. i've aimed it right at my heart like a gun and i've rolled around in it like a child in tall grass. i obviously thought i deserved very little; that love was something i could only aspire to give but not necessarily receive. during the last few months of my life, i've loved myself in a way i lacked for a very long time. i decided to attend to my own needs and not leave it up to chance or benevolence. i've had more fun that i can describe and i've written some of the best prose of my life as a result. i've met so many interesting people and have had my faith in humanity restored by such seemingly simple things as dancing with strangers in dark clubs and watching the sunrise in a different time-zone.
i walked down market street in san francisco last night to meet a friend for drinks and as i crossed the street, i thought i stand entirely on my own... god, this feels fantastic.
and then to come home to 70 degree weather and bright skies.
and then to come home to such ease and warmth.
and then to come home.
in spite of this little chest cold, i feel lucky and light. i've been to New York twice in 2 1/2 months.
i spent the first 2 hours of my day scribbling leisurely in my notebook, recounting kisses and attempting to identify my newest desires and latest dreams. life has changed so much this year. life has changed so much in the last 2 months. and something has clicked in to place as a result of returning to the scene of certain crimes. something has healed. i no longer feel quite so dire as i did before. i no longer feel like time is quickly running out. i no longer feel that i need to be wild in order to feel that i have lived. i enjoy wildness, it's true, but the past few days i've enjoyed a deep, warm sense of calm. a stillness. a readiness for something a bit more serious.
after ending a long term relationship at the beginning of this year, i think i needed to take advantage of a very high level of freedom. i needed to stay out late and dance and drink and have fun. i needed to be stupid and i needed to be dangerous. i needed to stop caring about the clock for awhile; expectations and responsibilities and all the things i had allowed to take root in me that choked my ability to blossom and change. i needed to cut away so many things. i needed to turn my back on so many things i was taught. those horrible falsities and all the beautiful lies we are sometimes so eager to believe. for years i listened to my instincts screaming at me to leave but i was just so fucking afraid of so many things to know how to do it. i had come to believe that being myself was a selfish thing. i had been made to believe that every desire of mine was self-serving and, therefore, shameful. i am finally taking a clean, deep breath. all these months and years later am i finally able to look at what i tolerated and ask myself why?
when you've been taught from childhood to believe that everything you are is bad and wrong, you become unable to trust your own instincts. you become unable to act in your own best interest. you put other people's happiness well before your own because "that's what a good person does". you tuck your tail and you smile. you save your tears for the shower. you become a master of silent crying. you become a master of self-denial and self-deception. you stay put because you've been taught so thoroughly to believe that you are somehow deficient.
deficient.
inadequate.
silly.
dirty.
dumb.
ridiculous.
selfish.
childish.
ugly.
and it is only when you are doing what you're told that maybe a bit of affection is thrown your way. a crumb. a scrap. a pat on the head.
as my mother crept ever closer to her death, i began to see so glaringly that i had been chasing scraps of approval my entire life. so had she. she was strong in so many beautiful ways but also suffered from such tremendous guilt. she too believed that everything about her was bad and wrong: the legacy that is handed down.
shortly after she died i was able to say fuck it. if i'm bad, i'm bad. so be it. if i'm selfish, so be it. shit can't get any goddamn worse. i feel like dying too. if this is what being Good gets me, let me test drive Bad. my life depends on it.
i used to cry almost every day. in the last 9 months maybe i've cried 9 times. and i'm being generous in my estimate. deciding to stop caring about whether or not other people will label me as selfish is the best decision i could have ever made. my worst fear is hurting other people and that has led quickly to my own undoing, my own site of deep, atrocious pain. i am so afraid of being a disappointment that i silence myself, i tie myself in knots, i wake up in a panic in the middle of the night afraid that i am the worst person alive and wondering how i can gain forgiveness for the fact of my horrible birth. i have let other people do horrible things to me. friends, family members, lovers. i have tolerated extreme neglect. i have tolerated viciousness and cruelty. i have allowed myself to be convinced that i deserved these things. this is the self-hatred that was instilled in me at the very beginning of my life.
a friend of mine recently passed on a saying to me: we recieve the love we think we deserve.
i've been turning it over and over inside my head. i've aimed it right at my heart like a gun and i've rolled around in it like a child in tall grass. i obviously thought i deserved very little; that love was something i could only aspire to give but not necessarily receive. during the last few months of my life, i've loved myself in a way i lacked for a very long time. i decided to attend to my own needs and not leave it up to chance or benevolence. i've had more fun that i can describe and i've written some of the best prose of my life as a result. i've met so many interesting people and have had my faith in humanity restored by such seemingly simple things as dancing with strangers in dark clubs and watching the sunrise in a different time-zone.
i walked down market street in san francisco last night to meet a friend for drinks and as i crossed the street, i thought i stand entirely on my own... god, this feels fantastic.
Oct 22, 2012
to be alive...
the streets are wet and black. a slow rain is coming down. i am wearing one of the first sweaters i ever made. how strange to think of where i was then, and how i spent my nights and days. even my body is a different size. george michael sings in my ear (again and again) and a faithful Greyhound rests at my side. i think this might be the first time its rained since i moved in to my white room.
what can i give you tonight? or any other night that might make up for my arrogant absences? what can i give you that might mend the tear that i can't help but deal with my sad silences? sometimes i need such a grand depth of space around me, such a deep, abiding stillness. i slink low in to my warm bath of solitude and i do not surface until i have to. i languish in it. i luxuriate. and then i go to work. i look at the calendar and think of friends i haven't called and the skin i haven't touched in so long, the hair i haven't brushed and the glasses i haven't raised to the honor of such wonderful people in so long. i hole up with my own projects and beverages. and i suppose we all do it. we all get lost in out own present tenses.
over dinner tonight with new friends i admitted that, now, a little more than 7 years after relocating to the Bay Area certain home-town friendships are finally starting to deteriorate. it is sad because we've managed to hold on for so long. we've managed to call each other on a regular enough basis and still say i love you but so much changed when i became single at the beginning of the year. a renewal of sorts. and so much changed after going to New York: a birth that i knew would occur. so many people have commented on how "alive" i seem since having gone. so many people have commented on how much happier and stronger i seem. and what they see is real. i deal out a lot of my vulnerabilities here in this electric square and i willingly supply evidence of the existence of my own excitable, quavering heart; nevertheless, i have become quite brave this year. it's an event that surprises the shit out of me. i've wanted to be brave my entire life. i've wanted to know the definition of courage for so long. it is totally different from what i assumed it would be.
i am finally myself. i am finally allowing for change and experience. i am finally allowing for pleasure, finally able to accept the pleasure of risk. for the first time in years, i am enjoying my daily life. i don't feel like crying as i walk closer and closer to my front door. i don't feel like, with each step, i am telling lie after lie. i look at the sky and think of my mother and wish she could see me now. she would be so happy for me. she would tell me how well i'm doing and how proud she is of me. she would be envious of my trip to new york and we would talk for hours about it. she would want to hear all about testing perfume at Lord & Taylor and how delicious the hotdogs are at the food carts all over manhattan. she would want to hear all about walking through the lower east side at 4 am and the dead pigeon i accidentally kicked. she would commend me for having found the courage to stake claim to my own life. she would ask me to speak to her in german just so she could hear the language of her favorite land in the entire world, a place she always wanted to return to. she had been stationed there when she was 19 years old and always longed to return. "there's such magic there", she said, and in so many ways, that is where my family begins- our strange, careening story. we've all become so different. we share such similar stories but walk such distinct roads.
november is coming and, with it, an election, a concert, and another trip to beautiful New York. i am on pins and needles waiting for the first of the month to arrive. a new adventure is breathing down my neck and i cannot wait to turn and collect its kiss.
what can i give you tonight? or any other night that might make up for my arrogant absences? what can i give you that might mend the tear that i can't help but deal with my sad silences? sometimes i need such a grand depth of space around me, such a deep, abiding stillness. i slink low in to my warm bath of solitude and i do not surface until i have to. i languish in it. i luxuriate. and then i go to work. i look at the calendar and think of friends i haven't called and the skin i haven't touched in so long, the hair i haven't brushed and the glasses i haven't raised to the honor of such wonderful people in so long. i hole up with my own projects and beverages. and i suppose we all do it. we all get lost in out own present tenses.
over dinner tonight with new friends i admitted that, now, a little more than 7 years after relocating to the Bay Area certain home-town friendships are finally starting to deteriorate. it is sad because we've managed to hold on for so long. we've managed to call each other on a regular enough basis and still say i love you but so much changed when i became single at the beginning of the year. a renewal of sorts. and so much changed after going to New York: a birth that i knew would occur. so many people have commented on how "alive" i seem since having gone. so many people have commented on how much happier and stronger i seem. and what they see is real. i deal out a lot of my vulnerabilities here in this electric square and i willingly supply evidence of the existence of my own excitable, quavering heart; nevertheless, i have become quite brave this year. it's an event that surprises the shit out of me. i've wanted to be brave my entire life. i've wanted to know the definition of courage for so long. it is totally different from what i assumed it would be.
i am finally myself. i am finally allowing for change and experience. i am finally allowing for pleasure, finally able to accept the pleasure of risk. for the first time in years, i am enjoying my daily life. i don't feel like crying as i walk closer and closer to my front door. i don't feel like, with each step, i am telling lie after lie. i look at the sky and think of my mother and wish she could see me now. she would be so happy for me. she would tell me how well i'm doing and how proud she is of me. she would be envious of my trip to new york and we would talk for hours about it. she would want to hear all about testing perfume at Lord & Taylor and how delicious the hotdogs are at the food carts all over manhattan. she would want to hear all about walking through the lower east side at 4 am and the dead pigeon i accidentally kicked. she would commend me for having found the courage to stake claim to my own life. she would ask me to speak to her in german just so she could hear the language of her favorite land in the entire world, a place she always wanted to return to. she had been stationed there when she was 19 years old and always longed to return. "there's such magic there", she said, and in so many ways, that is where my family begins- our strange, careening story. we've all become so different. we share such similar stories but walk such distinct roads.
november is coming and, with it, an election, a concert, and another trip to beautiful New York. i am on pins and needles waiting for the first of the month to arrive. a new adventure is breathing down my neck and i cannot wait to turn and collect its kiss.
Aug 28, 2012
LOVE.
can i tell you how good it feels to choose the thing we are discouraged from choosing? can i tell you how good it feels to choose exactly that, which as females, we are told is selfish and bad and wrong? god, are there even words? is there a way to highlight this sweep of ecstasy, this central pleasure? is there something i can compare it to? the divinity of the first prime number? the excellence of music? the wholesome quality of that innocent moment when, as a child, you would lay yourself down across your mother's lap and she would lovingly scratch your back? can i tell you, now, how good it feels to have chosen my Self? to have spent these last 6 months looking only into my own eyes? can i tell you how absolutely unlonely i am?
there is no loneliness within me. i long for nothing except to be an artist. if i crave anything it is to be left alone with my work. if i crave anything it is to wake, alone in my own bed, with my diary well within reach and a pen in my eager hand. the voices i wait for are the voices of my best friends. i lean in to their love and back away from the other expectations and exploitations of my faith, of my natural willingness to help and please.
6 months.
and in a day and a half i will be on a plane to new york.
when i was 7 or 8 years old i had a poster of the NY city skyline all in silhouette. it was pinned next to where i slept. i would lay in the top bunk and gaze at the image and dream of a place i had never seen. i will be 32 years old on september 3rd and i will see our great american city for the very first time a few days before that. a life long dream is actually coming true.
can i tell you how good it feels to live life exclusively on my own terms, making apologies to no one, and void of the need to fashion excuses for a goddamn thing?
lovely.
there is no loneliness within me. i long for nothing except to be an artist. if i crave anything it is to be left alone with my work. if i crave anything it is to wake, alone in my own bed, with my diary well within reach and a pen in my eager hand. the voices i wait for are the voices of my best friends. i lean in to their love and back away from the other expectations and exploitations of my faith, of my natural willingness to help and please.
6 months.
and in a day and a half i will be on a plane to new york.
when i was 7 or 8 years old i had a poster of the NY city skyline all in silhouette. it was pinned next to where i slept. i would lay in the top bunk and gaze at the image and dream of a place i had never seen. i will be 32 years old on september 3rd and i will see our great american city for the very first time a few days before that. a life long dream is actually coming true.
can i tell you how good it feels to live life exclusively on my own terms, making apologies to no one, and void of the need to fashion excuses for a goddamn thing?
lovely.
Sep 1, 2010
here we go!
September! eeeeeeek! the big 3.0. is right around the corner! 2 days away and i am totally looking forward to collecting it.
i am (weirdly?) one of those people who hate their own birthday. i didn't think i was in that crowd but, about 5 years or so ago, i noticed the pattern of letting the day roll by without any sort of real celebration or acknowledgement. it was more than enough to get the obligatory 'happy birthday' phone call from friends and family. i'd take the day off from work (i am a firm believer that no one should work on their birthday unless you've got a jobby-job you absolutely adore) and usually stay home and paint or write. and get sad. it is the horrible cycle of The People-Pleaser to feel like you haven't "accomplished enough" in your life... especially on traditional markers of time like birthdays, anniversaries, and New Years. this is a habit that needs breaking. because, to put it plainly, it sucks. ha!
and last year on my birthday, the stars aligned in such a way as to show me that there were some pretty deep changes i needed to make in my life... that for all the wishing and crying i'd done, the only way to move forward was to go inside, clear the bullshit out of the way so i could actually see the path i was standing on. and i had to be able to see it in order to know which direction to head in. i made the decision on my 29th birthday to get re-acquainted with myself and to stop worrying about Time so much. not an easy thing. and i realized that my path is specific to me and that i make a mistake when i compare my life to other people's. i decided to do the clean up that was so clearly necessary.
the first thing to go was drinking. i had a glass of champagne last year on the night of my birthday. i was at an art reception for a show i had some work in. and i haven't had any alcohol since. it isn't that i thought i had a drinking problem, i though i had a thinking problem and i've wrestled my entire life with Sadness. for me, drinking compounded those issues in a way that was pretty much dangerous. and insofar as my practice was concerned, it stalled me in my tracks. and that made the level of depression i was living under all the more heavy. a depression i had been living under for 2 years straight and was only getting worse by the day. in fact, September 2nd (tomorrow) is the anniversary of a total Collapse.
my birthday seemed like a pretty opportune moment to start digging myself back out of that pit and that's exactly what the last year of my life has been all about.
The Almighty Jog, re-learning how to trust my instincts again, trust my own internal rhythms, focus on my own loves, my own values, my own beliefs. and to let my wrestling take place there. and i found a ton of out-dated maps and notions and ideas that i desperately needed to abandon.
i made the decision to approach my practice with love and gratitude, to take it day by day, and to locate images and words and the work of other artists and writers that resonated with me and what my life had been. i began to see what my true values were and how long i had been shelving them in order to "help" other people. i had had it drummed in to me that that's what you do when you really love someone. after making the decision to confront myself, i saw what a load of horseshit that actually is. and i spent a long time feeling alternately mad and sad about having been taught such an extremely damaging lesson. very mad. very sad. and rather than hide my sadness (which is what i typically did) and put on a Happy Face, i allowed my sadness to sit on the surface of my being. you can see it even here on this blog. i'm not ashamed of that. i don't think struggle is something a person should ever be made to feel ashamed of. ever. and so i don't allow myself to be ashamed or be shamed by others anymore. and that's probably the biggest step i've taken this year. shame had become quite a nasty habit. the only thing i've found that conquers Shame is Honesty. hard Honesty. Honesty about myself.
the passed year has gone by so unbelievably quickly. and here i am- a runner, an artist, a writer, a lover. from the outside, my life probably doesn't look very different today than it did a year ago, but it is. it is deeply different. i still get sad a lot... but life, at the moment, within my family, is pretty effing sad. and so it's normal. and i won't say i've figured everything out or that i have all the answers. i don't. what i do have is the knowledge that no one has all the answers and that that's actually a really great thing. i was thinking about that when i woke up today- answers and questions. and that maybe that's what art is? a practice of nailing down our questions rather than answers. and i like that. i like that a lot. :)
i'm excited to see where the next year goes. the only plan i have is to keep doing what i've been doing. keep running, keep writing, keep drawing, painting, making, exploring, excavating. keep trying. truly trying. and to not measure myself against other people's rulers. to live by my own standards and to practice a very brave, compassionate Honesty. i am removing the gag that i've lived with for soooo long. and though it is a very scary thing, i choose to be myself and to not writhe in silence anymore. i choose to be an artist and to let the expressions of my humanity be complete. i choose bravery.
anyway... GOOD MORNING! and HAPPY SEPTEMBER!!!!!! <3
i am (weirdly?) one of those people who hate their own birthday. i didn't think i was in that crowd but, about 5 years or so ago, i noticed the pattern of letting the day roll by without any sort of real celebration or acknowledgement. it was more than enough to get the obligatory 'happy birthday' phone call from friends and family. i'd take the day off from work (i am a firm believer that no one should work on their birthday unless you've got a jobby-job you absolutely adore) and usually stay home and paint or write. and get sad. it is the horrible cycle of The People-Pleaser to feel like you haven't "accomplished enough" in your life... especially on traditional markers of time like birthdays, anniversaries, and New Years. this is a habit that needs breaking. because, to put it plainly, it sucks. ha!
and last year on my birthday, the stars aligned in such a way as to show me that there were some pretty deep changes i needed to make in my life... that for all the wishing and crying i'd done, the only way to move forward was to go inside, clear the bullshit out of the way so i could actually see the path i was standing on. and i had to be able to see it in order to know which direction to head in. i made the decision on my 29th birthday to get re-acquainted with myself and to stop worrying about Time so much. not an easy thing. and i realized that my path is specific to me and that i make a mistake when i compare my life to other people's. i decided to do the clean up that was so clearly necessary.
the first thing to go was drinking. i had a glass of champagne last year on the night of my birthday. i was at an art reception for a show i had some work in. and i haven't had any alcohol since. it isn't that i thought i had a drinking problem, i though i had a thinking problem and i've wrestled my entire life with Sadness. for me, drinking compounded those issues in a way that was pretty much dangerous. and insofar as my practice was concerned, it stalled me in my tracks. and that made the level of depression i was living under all the more heavy. a depression i had been living under for 2 years straight and was only getting worse by the day. in fact, September 2nd (tomorrow) is the anniversary of a total Collapse.
my birthday seemed like a pretty opportune moment to start digging myself back out of that pit and that's exactly what the last year of my life has been all about.
The Almighty Jog, re-learning how to trust my instincts again, trust my own internal rhythms, focus on my own loves, my own values, my own beliefs. and to let my wrestling take place there. and i found a ton of out-dated maps and notions and ideas that i desperately needed to abandon.
i made the decision to approach my practice with love and gratitude, to take it day by day, and to locate images and words and the work of other artists and writers that resonated with me and what my life had been. i began to see what my true values were and how long i had been shelving them in order to "help" other people. i had had it drummed in to me that that's what you do when you really love someone. after making the decision to confront myself, i saw what a load of horseshit that actually is. and i spent a long time feeling alternately mad and sad about having been taught such an extremely damaging lesson. very mad. very sad. and rather than hide my sadness (which is what i typically did) and put on a Happy Face, i allowed my sadness to sit on the surface of my being. you can see it even here on this blog. i'm not ashamed of that. i don't think struggle is something a person should ever be made to feel ashamed of. ever. and so i don't allow myself to be ashamed or be shamed by others anymore. and that's probably the biggest step i've taken this year. shame had become quite a nasty habit. the only thing i've found that conquers Shame is Honesty. hard Honesty. Honesty about myself.
the passed year has gone by so unbelievably quickly. and here i am- a runner, an artist, a writer, a lover. from the outside, my life probably doesn't look very different today than it did a year ago, but it is. it is deeply different. i still get sad a lot... but life, at the moment, within my family, is pretty effing sad. and so it's normal. and i won't say i've figured everything out or that i have all the answers. i don't. what i do have is the knowledge that no one has all the answers and that that's actually a really great thing. i was thinking about that when i woke up today- answers and questions. and that maybe that's what art is? a practice of nailing down our questions rather than answers. and i like that. i like that a lot. :)
i'm excited to see where the next year goes. the only plan i have is to keep doing what i've been doing. keep running, keep writing, keep drawing, painting, making, exploring, excavating. keep trying. truly trying. and to not measure myself against other people's rulers. to live by my own standards and to practice a very brave, compassionate Honesty. i am removing the gag that i've lived with for soooo long. and though it is a very scary thing, i choose to be myself and to not writhe in silence anymore. i choose to be an artist and to let the expressions of my humanity be complete. i choose bravery.
anyway... GOOD MORNING! and HAPPY SEPTEMBER!!!!!! <3
Jul 23, 2010
the investigation continues
oh me, oh my... i'm such a fucking nutcase sometimes. ha!
(i have to laugh at myself.)
i woke up feeling remarkably lost and somewhat defeated today. it's wearing off now that i've ranted and raved inside my notebook and discovered that the root of the issue is that i am simply afraid. simultaneous fear of failure and success. they are probably actually the same thing. and not knowing what to do with myself, which direction to go in. i'm talking about the business end of things. career concerns and all that. which, honestly, i'm sick of thinking about because that's something artists have little control over anyway. all anyone can do is know what they value. that's it. and then work hard based on that set of ethics. nothing more, nothing less. the world spins and things come as they may. the conciliation there is that Quality attracts attention. as does devotion, staying power, refusing to give up. and that is, across the board, true for everyone. and that's something i've only recently learned to how to actively trust.
this season of self-discovery has been hard and strange. and it remains hard and strange. it isn't a process that ever really "ends". like art, it is a life's work. and as i proceed, i see how completely necessary it is to being/becoming an artist that one undertake self-investigation. and pairing that with going through the portfolios and taking pictures and really looking at what i've got, seeing the progression that has taken place over the passed two years, seeing how much growth has been had during that short amount of time, and realizing how naive i can definitely be, is exhausting. but it's also pretty encouraging too.
but it's also fairly daunting. anxiety producing. we live in a culture that demands we KNOW what we want. in the 6th grade you're expected to have a career chosen already. that's ridiculous. and almost everyone i know is on Plan D at this point. i'm one of the lucky few that figured out what i truly wanted to do with my life pretty early. but that doesn't make things any easier necessarily.
certain questions have been put in my head recently. questions that i'm simultaneous thankful for and a bit pissed off about. but that's just fear talking. fear of taking risks, fear of the unknown, all that stuff everyone deals with to one degree or another. i'm still too green to KNOW what kind of career i'm going to have. that seems like something you can only see when you look back over the course of a life. there's no way to know that at the beginning. and i am still very much at the beginning.
and so i am wrestling with wants and needs and dreams. and i look at my drawings and paintings and poems and see a definite lineage emerging- the influence of particular artists and writers whose work has hit me so hard, left such a deep impact on my heart and mind that their whispers stand strong in my ear. i'm attempting to listen to them... draw courage and poise from them. persistence is a necessity.
i got some really good advice from an artist friend of mine who told me to not only look at The Work of artists i admire, but also their resumes so i can see how they got from point A to point B. it's helpful and overwhelming at the same time. so many residencies and programs and grants. this is the Competition end of things and i feel anxious about leaping in to that pool. i want to leap in... i guess i just don't know how to. and there's no other way to learn how than by doing it and to accept the fact that there are no promises and no safety-net.
the drawing in the post below and the work pinned over on the side-bar to the right is work that i feel very connected to. committed to. love.
and so that's the road i must go, the road i must trust, the road i must protect. it is the work in this grand array of modes and styles that needs a wall other than my own.
and so the question becomes one of place. and how to catch those eyes.
or if i even want to catch them right now...
.
the thing i like most about this blog is that i can throw all the work out in to the world in the form of a JPEG, show my process and meanderings, talk about my concerns and fears and attractions. it's a notebook. but the actual items are still here with me. not everything is "show worthy". and this morning i realized that that's a great thing: i have them. at least some of them. and i can look at them, hold them in my hands, spend time looking at the real thing. they function as maps. documents of the questions i ask. they help me define my values as an artist and as a human being.
i also went back to the beginning of this blog and looked at the work i was making at that time. the change is glaring. the work has undergone a huge metamorphosis- a deepening. this is something i can be proud of. i can look at these images and see progress, see the struggle, see the moments of "failure", and then see that i didn't give up as a result. proof of life. proof of love. proof of seriousness even if/when the work wasn't "serious".
i've been thinking a lot about that e.e. cummings quote: it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
(side note and digression: i don't write in all lower case as a nod to him or bell hooks. it started in high school when i wanted to be a writer and wanted capital letters to emphasize importance rather than the beginning of a sentence. i didn't even know who those two people were at the time and then felt very smart when i finally stumbled across them. ha!)
and that quote has become extremely important to me this year. extremely.
i think it's important to have good manners and be friendly (to me personally as a mode of interacting with others) but i don't want to make polite or friendly art. i don't want to make Shock Art either but i want to be able to do it if the work requires that of me. i want to be a person who is courageous and passionate and brave enough to make mistakes and risk failure. i want to be dedicated to art. and diligent. and faithful. i want to make smart art, concerned art, passionate art... art that has a function and can offer a site for discussion and hope. even if it is angry hope. that site is what makes Art a necessity.
check out Claes Oldenburg's lovely manifesto on this.
ahhhhhhh. fucking bootstraps. sigh.
but this stage is important.
i know it.
i won't deprive myself of it.
onward. upward. trembling... but moving moving moving.
(i have to laugh at myself.)
i woke up feeling remarkably lost and somewhat defeated today. it's wearing off now that i've ranted and raved inside my notebook and discovered that the root of the issue is that i am simply afraid. simultaneous fear of failure and success. they are probably actually the same thing. and not knowing what to do with myself, which direction to go in. i'm talking about the business end of things. career concerns and all that. which, honestly, i'm sick of thinking about because that's something artists have little control over anyway. all anyone can do is know what they value. that's it. and then work hard based on that set of ethics. nothing more, nothing less. the world spins and things come as they may. the conciliation there is that Quality attracts attention. as does devotion, staying power, refusing to give up. and that is, across the board, true for everyone. and that's something i've only recently learned to how to actively trust.
this season of self-discovery has been hard and strange. and it remains hard and strange. it isn't a process that ever really "ends". like art, it is a life's work. and as i proceed, i see how completely necessary it is to being/becoming an artist that one undertake self-investigation. and pairing that with going through the portfolios and taking pictures and really looking at what i've got, seeing the progression that has taken place over the passed two years, seeing how much growth has been had during that short amount of time, and realizing how naive i can definitely be, is exhausting. but it's also pretty encouraging too.
but it's also fairly daunting. anxiety producing. we live in a culture that demands we KNOW what we want. in the 6th grade you're expected to have a career chosen already. that's ridiculous. and almost everyone i know is on Plan D at this point. i'm one of the lucky few that figured out what i truly wanted to do with my life pretty early. but that doesn't make things any easier necessarily.
certain questions have been put in my head recently. questions that i'm simultaneous thankful for and a bit pissed off about. but that's just fear talking. fear of taking risks, fear of the unknown, all that stuff everyone deals with to one degree or another. i'm still too green to KNOW what kind of career i'm going to have. that seems like something you can only see when you look back over the course of a life. there's no way to know that at the beginning. and i am still very much at the beginning.
and so i am wrestling with wants and needs and dreams. and i look at my drawings and paintings and poems and see a definite lineage emerging- the influence of particular artists and writers whose work has hit me so hard, left such a deep impact on my heart and mind that their whispers stand strong in my ear. i'm attempting to listen to them... draw courage and poise from them. persistence is a necessity.
i got some really good advice from an artist friend of mine who told me to not only look at The Work of artists i admire, but also their resumes so i can see how they got from point A to point B. it's helpful and overwhelming at the same time. so many residencies and programs and grants. this is the Competition end of things and i feel anxious about leaping in to that pool. i want to leap in... i guess i just don't know how to. and there's no other way to learn how than by doing it and to accept the fact that there are no promises and no safety-net.
the drawing in the post below and the work pinned over on the side-bar to the right is work that i feel very connected to. committed to. love.
and so that's the road i must go, the road i must trust, the road i must protect. it is the work in this grand array of modes and styles that needs a wall other than my own.
and so the question becomes one of place. and how to catch those eyes.
or if i even want to catch them right now...
.
the thing i like most about this blog is that i can throw all the work out in to the world in the form of a JPEG, show my process and meanderings, talk about my concerns and fears and attractions. it's a notebook. but the actual items are still here with me. not everything is "show worthy". and this morning i realized that that's a great thing: i have them. at least some of them. and i can look at them, hold them in my hands, spend time looking at the real thing. they function as maps. documents of the questions i ask. they help me define my values as an artist and as a human being.
i also went back to the beginning of this blog and looked at the work i was making at that time. the change is glaring. the work has undergone a huge metamorphosis- a deepening. this is something i can be proud of. i can look at these images and see progress, see the struggle, see the moments of "failure", and then see that i didn't give up as a result. proof of life. proof of love. proof of seriousness even if/when the work wasn't "serious".
i've been thinking a lot about that e.e. cummings quote: it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
(side note and digression: i don't write in all lower case as a nod to him or bell hooks. it started in high school when i wanted to be a writer and wanted capital letters to emphasize importance rather than the beginning of a sentence. i didn't even know who those two people were at the time and then felt very smart when i finally stumbled across them. ha!)
and that quote has become extremely important to me this year. extremely.
i think it's important to have good manners and be friendly (to me personally as a mode of interacting with others) but i don't want to make polite or friendly art. i don't want to make Shock Art either but i want to be able to do it if the work requires that of me. i want to be a person who is courageous and passionate and brave enough to make mistakes and risk failure. i want to be dedicated to art. and diligent. and faithful. i want to make smart art, concerned art, passionate art... art that has a function and can offer a site for discussion and hope. even if it is angry hope. that site is what makes Art a necessity.
check out Claes Oldenburg's lovely manifesto on this.
ahhhhhhh. fucking bootstraps. sigh.
but this stage is important.
i know it.
i won't deprive myself of it.
onward. upward. trembling... but moving moving moving.
May 20, 2010
hard look
all these things lately- The Catcher in the Rye, The Land of Green Plums, The Triggering Town, A Clockwork Orange, the letter of intent, my practice itself, writing, writing, writing, the list of deadlines for art opportunities sitting to my right, memories, overcoming past hurts, relationships with family members, the big snarling dog painting on my wall...
all these things begin to point, as glaring as a neon sign, toward one thing: figuring out who i am and how i want to live.
i'm sure i must sound like a broken record on this blog sometimes but self-knowledge is a big issue for me at this point in my life. i need to free myself from a wealth of very large and strange expectations of myself that, when i really sit down and look at them, i have no clue where they came from and yet i nevertheless allow them to exact a very hurtful influence on my opinion of myself, my work, my life, my everything.
for the past several weeks, the last sentence i write in my journal each morning before i get rolling on my day is Believe in yourself. every morning for weeks and weeks and weeks, i have written this sentence. it's finally beginning to make sense in a particular way that lets me know i've misunderstood what believing in one's self really is. today, i realized that the big reason i struggle with believing in myself is because i get focused on whether or not other people believe in me too. when i've allowed this to happen i trade my instincts for their preferences and this has only ever been detrimental to my life in a very sweeping, all-encompassing way. and the nuttiest part about it is that it's basically seeking approval from people who traditionally aren't really even capable of giving it to me anyway. never have been. it's a fucked-up brass ring. an accomplishment spurred by masochism. it's stupid. and in addition to being stupid, it's super destructive.
as i read all these books and write all these winding blog posts and come to the end of another page in my slang-filled journal, i come in to confrontation with myself... how fear of being displeasing has sabotaged a great many things in my life and within myself. in short, i've been holding back... and holding back some very good things.
the latest collection of paintings and drawings have given me a taste of what it is to be fearless again and to practice integrity. it has given me a warmth and hope that i had been living without for a long time it seems like... and that it doesn't really matter if other people approve of what i'm doing and who i am, if i'm happy with what i've done. why this has been such a hard understanding to maintain, i don't know. but it's high time to pretty much say fuck it to other people's definitions of success and their expectations for me. i need to begin the self-assured mantra of i don't care.
i think artists wrestle with this issue a lot. not just professionally, but privately as well. feeling misunderstood and unsupported was the state of affairs for most artists i went to school with. i can't tell you how many people i know whose families scoff at their pursuits, find art and poetry to be laughable, think that it's merely some display of ego. sad. and very hard to overcome. it hurts.
The Storialist left this link in the comments stream of one of the posts below and i keep going back to it. it deals with being present and not worrying about whether or not anyone likes you. it helps me and it got me on track with really thinking about the role i play in feeling minimized in certain relationships, professional or otherwise. it comes down to something as big and bad and basic as the ills of approval-seeking behavior. no good, friends. no good. and it takes a lot of acceptance and guts to get beyond that shit, for sure.
all these things begin to point, as glaring as a neon sign, toward one thing: figuring out who i am and how i want to live.
i'm sure i must sound like a broken record on this blog sometimes but self-knowledge is a big issue for me at this point in my life. i need to free myself from a wealth of very large and strange expectations of myself that, when i really sit down and look at them, i have no clue where they came from and yet i nevertheless allow them to exact a very hurtful influence on my opinion of myself, my work, my life, my everything.
for the past several weeks, the last sentence i write in my journal each morning before i get rolling on my day is Believe in yourself. every morning for weeks and weeks and weeks, i have written this sentence. it's finally beginning to make sense in a particular way that lets me know i've misunderstood what believing in one's self really is. today, i realized that the big reason i struggle with believing in myself is because i get focused on whether or not other people believe in me too. when i've allowed this to happen i trade my instincts for their preferences and this has only ever been detrimental to my life in a very sweeping, all-encompassing way. and the nuttiest part about it is that it's basically seeking approval from people who traditionally aren't really even capable of giving it to me anyway. never have been. it's a fucked-up brass ring. an accomplishment spurred by masochism. it's stupid. and in addition to being stupid, it's super destructive.
as i read all these books and write all these winding blog posts and come to the end of another page in my slang-filled journal, i come in to confrontation with myself... how fear of being displeasing has sabotaged a great many things in my life and within myself. in short, i've been holding back... and holding back some very good things.
the latest collection of paintings and drawings have given me a taste of what it is to be fearless again and to practice integrity. it has given me a warmth and hope that i had been living without for a long time it seems like... and that it doesn't really matter if other people approve of what i'm doing and who i am, if i'm happy with what i've done. why this has been such a hard understanding to maintain, i don't know. but it's high time to pretty much say fuck it to other people's definitions of success and their expectations for me. i need to begin the self-assured mantra of i don't care.
i think artists wrestle with this issue a lot. not just professionally, but privately as well. feeling misunderstood and unsupported was the state of affairs for most artists i went to school with. i can't tell you how many people i know whose families scoff at their pursuits, find art and poetry to be laughable, think that it's merely some display of ego. sad. and very hard to overcome. it hurts.
The Storialist left this link in the comments stream of one of the posts below and i keep going back to it. it deals with being present and not worrying about whether or not anyone likes you. it helps me and it got me on track with really thinking about the role i play in feeling minimized in certain relationships, professional or otherwise. it comes down to something as big and bad and basic as the ills of approval-seeking behavior. no good, friends. no good. and it takes a lot of acceptance and guts to get beyond that shit, for sure.
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