Now in Session

Well hello.

It has been quite some time since I have written.

I started this blog at 22, aiming to “live a life worth writing about.”

I am now 28, and don’t exactly know both what that would entail and what wouldn’t.  I don’t see myself as being “special” in the way maybe that I did then.  I have my unique circumstances that I could share, but everyone does too.  Fundamentally, I don’t know what sets my life apart from someone else’s, what elevates my struggles without simply being naive.  

I can share my own story, of course, and have always wanted to do so.  I just have lost, or transitioned, my drive behind it.  The nature of this is changing, the same way that the world has drastically since I started in 2014.  Youth has the marks of ignorance, and age those of bias.

Maybe the goal now is to live a life I am proud of, and to share those tales of betterment.  Or the struggles of learning to be better.  Or maybe there still is purpose in sharing my own stories; but it feels vapid without it aiding someone else.  

Writing my perspective feels selfish.

It’s a crossroads that I have been quietly battling.

First, in questioning whether my life was holding up to the initial goal of “worth writing about,” then pondering how any life isn’t.

Ultimately, I do want to continue to share.  Writing has been part of my identity for over a decade, and I have been lost without it.  Every life is significant, and this is just tales from mine.

Perhaps by posting my stories, others can feel inclined to share their own.

I am still finding my “purpose,” but hopefully am on the right path.

A New York Morning

I headed back home while the way to work because I forgot to fill my portable pillcase and needed medicine. Medicine that absorbs my independence and spits out life in exchange. 

It's a thoughtless "choice" but one that is still belaboring, exhausting, and difficult to afford. But off I went on my tedious trek; or so I thought.

First, I met a pup on the way to the train. An enthusiastic boy named Aussie, who was a big fan of jumping, and whose human was not. A toddler behind us giggled at the concept of a dog, and Aussie jumped to the occasion. The toddler backed away into him mom, still giggling, scared a tad, but very enthused. Aussie's human coaxed him into sitting, and the toddler was presented with golden opportunity: the ability to give him pets. 

Retaining his brand, the tot giggled the whole time, and the majestic beast Aussie received the pure love of a toddler.

Next, a coffee shop gave me a replacement coffee cake for the one I'd forgotten a few days before, just on my word and my "honest face.". In exchange, I made them laugh; a currency I've found far more valuable in the midst of a long shift.

Finally at the train, I saw a man with a face dripping with agony and dread. I accidentally made eye contact, and in turn broke his trance. He smiled genuinely, and laughed, freed from his waking nightmare. 

It was the perfect gentle morning. A pep talk on the way to a tedious task. A smile that stuck, and spread to those around.

A soothing New York moment, a raincoat before the storm hits.  A reminder that the daily choice is one that's worth it. That going out of my way for something I didn't choose can amount to a worthwhile adventure. 

Enjoy the day, my loves. 

My Independence Day

Nine years ago today I left.  I had to wait until I was eighteen so I prepared as much as one could without being caught.  I'd spent a month smuggling clothing in my backpack to leave in friends' lockers at school.  I would live out of mine.  Head to school early and change into what I had available.  I remember the irony when someone complimented an outfit I was wearing. 

I got my ears pierced the day after I left, and called it my first act of rebellion; not realizing that, of course, leaving was, and also it wasn't rebellion: it was my first act of independence.

I don't have many memories of my life before then.  I remember the first time someone told me I was abused.  I remember mouthing the words "help me" while in tears to a vice principal, who then did nothing. I remember asking a social worker for help and her saying if I can figure out what she can do, to let her know.

I remember turning to writing.  Hiding notebooks under my pillow; my only escape when the outside world was cutoff.  I was very lucky.  To have art, to find my voice, to pretend to be someone else, to "keep the channel open."  To know that physically, I would've died if I had stayed.  I had surgery two months later that even made the doctors feel lucky; surgery she never thought I needed.

It's been nine years since I've been on my own, and I haven't regretted it once, let alone tried to go back.  I still want to stay as far away as I can.  I am my own person, my own lineage, my own legacy.

These nine years have been a gift.  I'm excited for what comes next.

Update in Metaphor

The last third of 2018 was a bit of a waking nightmare. Suddly I was in the deep end, gasping for air, turning my leap of faith terrifying once my raft no longer had room for me. So I spent the following months paddling from buoy to buoy hoping to find newest way of staying afloat. 

For now, I've caught my breath, but we'll see how permanent and supportive this makeshift raft is. 

It's been rough. I'm working six days a week, and have had to put a lot on hold. Auditioning, travel, health even have all taken a backseat. I've felt insecure, worried about moving backwards, of falling farther from where I know I can be. I've always known what I want to do, the problem has always been the how. And I've finally come to terms with being on a new path to get there. 

Of course, I'll maintain updates on how the journey shapes up, but in the meantime I can confidently say I feel more connected to people than I have in awhile. My day to day is centered on making others feel confident and happy, and I am loving being the liason between them and such a noble goal.

I'm hoping there's more empowerment up the road. I thought I was ready to swim, but at least it's a comfort to be can on stable ground. 

The Journal Deck: Entry One

"The rise of the Feminine is about all of us rising together to form a new paradigm.  How can you be more active in your community or globally to be a part of this movement."

Luck brought me a new deck, one, that like tarot or blackjack, has you choose your card and then deals your fate.  This deck, rather than being full of fortunes, instead gives a prompt.   A writing prompt.  One that asks you as a goddess, (the rebranded word for someone who's felt powerless and now knows their worth,) to reflect on your life and the society we live in.

This first prompt of mine was embarrassingly difficult.  I fight the patriarchy in my sleep and enjoy complaining about those who want us to teach them to be better, rather than doing their own research, and yet here I am not having done enough myself: I didn't know this phrase "the rise of the Feminine," so I turned to Google.

The first listing was this HuffPo article, explaining that the feminine energy lives in the second chakra, and is the source of emotions.  It details that living in this society, men and women are made to feel ashamed of feelings, resulting in suppression and even acting out.  It cites the #MeToo movement as part of the uproar bringing The Feminine to the forefront.  "Where vulnerability and honesty were once feared," the article says, "these feminine qualities are now seen as raw, honest, relatable, respected, and they give permission for people to be real with themselves about what’s actually there."  The rest of the article encourages the reader to share their truth without fear or shame, and to love themselves as they are.

This to me sounds like a pep-talk based on an uprising, but not the uprising itself.  So I did more digging.

Next, I found this passage on a goddess-y website called Purse for the People.  This article describes the phenomenon in question as "the Divine Feminine," something that I recognized turned me off just a little.  I've chosen to surround myself with skeptics of all kinds, enjoying their intellect, but struggling then to hold onto the spirituality I've discovered for the things that can be felt but not seen.  I have a scientific retort for everything I do, and reading the word "divine" made me uneasy.  How will I explain this? I thought to myself, delighted to find the answer within the article itself.

It bases this feminine movement as being rooted in ecology, utilizing Mother Earth as an archetype to create "a world view based in ecology, deep justice for all and an expanded global identity beyond national boundaries."  It cites technology as bringing society within a click of a button, making it easier than ever for us to choose between two oppositions: to conquer or to collaborate.  The author recalls instances where history conquered, quoting Eckhart Tolle in A New Earth.  He outlines the witch hunt by the Roman Catholic Church as "a dark chapter in human history," where the feminine was declared demonic, reducing women to child bearers and men's property.  He describes the impact as leaving our society imbalanced.

Now this I know.  I've discussed with friends recently that the best way to describe being looked at by strange man is to feel like prey.  We've connected over moments where we didn't know that saying "no" was an option.  Of course looking back, we knew it could result in further aggression, but in that moment it hadn't even occurred to us as a word that we could say.

I do hate being a woman in this society, which all things considered is a freer culture for women than many, many others.  And yet each day, I take into consideration what make up to wear when I am "unescorted," what sweater to bring to cover up my cleavage, which color hair makes me gain more respect or be met with more unwanted attention.  As a woman I am afraid, I am afraid always.  I can't sleep in anything but complete silence, because each nightly sound makes me wake up gasping for shelter.

So going back to the prompt, knowing now that the "the rise of the Feminine" is about bringing back power to women and "feminine" emotions after centuries of being seen as lesser, I ask myself how can I harness this fear into something powerful.  Like fearing an arrow, so crafting a bow to wield it.

Words, I know.  Words I can craft, maneuver, chisel, and slice.  I looked up how to make a sword, hoping to further the metaphor, but stopped when I read "first you have to figure out what you want your sword to look like."

That, I do not know yet.  So to answer the original prompt: I'm working on it.  I want to change this world, I want to make the lives of those I love and those I do not know easier, safer, more appealing.  I protect "the Feminine" by embracing it and sharing how it impacts my life, and soon I'll know how to I know how to make my sword, my stance; first, I just need to figure out what I want it to look like.

Here's the card from The Journal Deck by the wonderful Alyssa Kuzins.