Things Best Said by Others

How I have felt as of late was put to song by Regina Spector:
"Somedays aren't yours at all
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days
They come and leave you
Behind someone else's face
And it's harsher than yours
And colder than yours"
The person I am today in the mirror is not the person in my head. Somewhere between grieving and pretending to live I became a pale faced woman with new lines and speckles wandering about my outermost human layer. I have not been robbed, merely herded by a well trained life into my stall with all of the others. So it goes, but not for much longer.

Uterus Doth Not Protest

I knew a long time ago that marriage and motherhood were not the type of things that would keep the rough edges of my life sewn neatly together.

For me it is the silence, the melancholy, the words, the magnetic glances of a lover, memories replayed to the tune of my laughter or my tears, the soft fur of a friend beneath my fingers, the sun on my back, the dirt beneath my bare feet, the deep breaths, the quick shallow breaths that punctuate an evening or an afternoon of passion and the spaces between it all where I can reflect on the things that I love and the things I can do without.

As a female I have chosen the path, the road less traveled. My uterus, ovaries and vagina have not protested as of yet.

The Road Less Traveled

It has recently reoccurred to me that I have a romantic view of this life I occupy each day. I want there to be singing & dancing. I need for there to be a cosmic sense of why I bother waking up each day.

My reasons for lifting apart my lids each day as of late has been bill paying, job having, diligent planning...frankly, that is not good enough for me anymore.

I suspect I will make what others see as a seemingly random shift in my life again. I, rather, see it as a dedication to "going with the flow" or doing what "feels right". I will likely leave my job. Leave the things that have made me prosperous in a way I thought would provide me long overdue challenge & gratification.

Instead I dream of writing, taking photos, bringing ideas to life. I fear I will starve & cause those around me to feel the pangs of hunger...but each moment of each day reminds me of the Robert Frost poem that I read over & over as a child...the poem that my grandmother loved so much...I must once again take the road less traveled by.

We'll see, now won't we if that makes all the difference.

Full Circle

The projects we tuck away in our minds. The ones we always tell ourselves we'll get to. About 10 years ago I made a film for a visual communications class. Its title was 'Look Up' & its star was my Gram. 

I remember thinking at the time how amazing it was that her image could be forever held on a tiny little piece of celluloid. As the years went on I thought how I should find a way to get a printed picture from one of those frames. I never thought there would be a time without her. After that time came I clung to the things left behind. The things that represented her; the things that served as reminders.

I brought my dated roll of Super 8 film into the photo lab to see if there was a way to at last bring her latent image to life. The lab tech, Dan, was not only enthusiastic to help but willing to keep the lab open, donate his 4x5 negative & show me how to make an internegative since you cannot print to paper directly from positive film. 

Then came the moment. Alone in a darkroom with the smell of developer & the ticking of the metronome. I could not have predicted the rush of emotion that came over me as her eyes began to appear beneath the liquid, then her hair & her beautiful face. Tears welled & my mind raced. I could think only of how when I got the call from my mother that Gram was in the hospital I could not make the car go fast enough. Physics & distance were against me. Too many hundreds of miles, too little time. 

Then I recalled how she looked when we were filming. Her walk, her smile, her patience . 

I walked out of the darkroom & was met by a man who suggested I just scan in the film & make a digital image to increase the quality. What he did not know is that I have hundreds of digital images of her. The grainy, dull image I held in my hand wasn't about resolution, it was about that moment where I had done what I had always said I would do & my grandmother's eyes looked back at me with love & support as they always had.

Even Though We Ain't Got Money, I'm So In Love With You Honey

The stock market sucks ass. I am poor again. Not that I was ever rich in any sort of real way. I was told to just "wait it out", which would have worked really well for a person who could afford such a move. So, I will focus on the things that ACTUALLY make me rich (in no particular order):

1. My mother is in full recovery, getting stronger & smoking less every day.

2. I am able bodied (and sexy bodied to boot).

3. I am surrounded by people who make me laugh, smile, think, snicker, chortle, philosophize, create, explore and relax.

4. I get to snuggle up next to a man each night who has never once wavered in his love for me.

5. I live in a country where I am free to speak my mind, dress as I please & question all I like.

6. I have the freedom to do what I want, when I want to & in whatever fashion I see fit.

So, I suppose, back to being poor is like remembering you were rich all along. It's like a regular Hallmark special here.

Life as Literature

Listening to Terence McKenna today & the topic of 'Life as Literature' got me thinking. He suggests that life is not a story, as most of us consider it, with a sensible beginning & end.
I tend to treat my life as though having a good enough plan will result in the positive progression of my story & will get me even closer to that end where you look back without regret & pass gracefully.
I suppose I know better. The idioms my grandmother spoke & penned for me are the greatest tools I have had to make sense of the nonsensical. Basic rules to live by. A mental net that I could cast out to pull it all together.
I know that life is more fluid than a story, more ambiguous, less permanent. Life is a moment & an eternity....at the same time.
Somehow it is so difficult to not look back over my life & tally tasks left unfinished, words left unsaid & connections broken. I suppose, to a certain extent, that we do learn from the past. Is it possible to ever really let go of the past when it is woven into who we are...each day adding stitches & layers? Is it possible to let go of the future & planning? It brings to mind words from an old Toad the Wet Sprocket song:

"Funny how the days go by invisibly
And faster than I realize the things I think about
Strange to find the calendar my enemy
And scared that when I die so will the things
I think about"

The fear that our story will end, that it won't make any sense in the end or that it won't be a memorable enough story for anyone to jot down or repeat. Letting go of the the idea of life as literature does provide more room for taking experience as it comes...without expecting it, planning for it or even making sense of it. Who knows?

Finding where I am

Jack of all trades, master of none.
Sort of sick of it now. Want to apply myself to one thing for a bit; start writing again; explore my creativity; take photos again; explore my aesthetic...so I did what had to be done: I changed my major from Speech Language Pathology to Graphic Design.
Sick of analytic thinking....or rather thinking all the frickin' time like I have been seemingly cursed with for the passed 3 years...or longer.
I don't want my life to become a series of uncompleted tasks, unfulfilled dreams and well thought out, but poorly executed plans.
I knew you'd understand.
Whoever you are.