the grandiose late night thoughts

this is a journey of finding who i want to be, not WHAT i want to be.

when i can find the WHO, everything else will fall into place.

i want to take three months and i want to learn me. no stress about work. stop worrying what the teenager thinks. he's taken care of. he's loved. this journey is not putting him at any risk.

i've never consciously set on a path. i've reacted or grabbed out of desperation, but i've never had the head-space, the insight. i've never taken the luxury of contemplation.

intellectual vs. emotional: my nature is emotional but my environment had forced intellectual/logical. cold. basic. defend-able. i've learned to depend on those.

take religion: religion just was my childhood. i memorized the bible verses. i studied. i learned the details. i attended, regularly, unquestioned. it was just what i did. i know the details. i know the history. i know the information. but i lack the spirit of it. i went to camp. i remember the group experience feel of it. i remember vividly telling myself that i didn't need to cave to the pressure of everyone else having a big spiritual moment. i remember being one of the last ones left in the bleachers during a particularly dramatic altar call. i was there. i did it. but i didn't FEEL it.

i've always searched for the FEEL part of things but been able to logically explain it away when i didn't find it. the few times i did find it, or thought i did, the fizzle was fast and the reasons or excuses plenty.

now i'm starting to actually find it, but i'm not sure how to let myself trust the emotion over the logic for once.

meditation, writing, music. those are the FEELING. i need to allow them. trust them. believe they are real and not try to explain them away or discount them out of existence.

i want to learn to be at peace with myself. allow my intellectual and emotional to share a space. allow them to exist together. not have one shaming the other. intellectual is so cold and mean. emotional is too hippie and out of control. one is rigid. one is flaky. we need rules and structure. you need responsibility and order. you can allow yourself to be free for once. you don't need to be on the set path.

it will be ok.

it will be ok. it will be ok.

even if bad things happen.

i mean fuck, bad things have already happened. there's already been hurt. there's already been chaos and mayhem and restarting and WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED.

and i'm still here.

i can do this. i can do whatever this thing is. this allowing myself to be. this allowing myself to try.

purpose. voice. the print i want to leave outside myself. my contribution. my way to make it a little better for the next person.

i'm so lucky to get this opportunity. this experience. to not have to plod along. to get that chance to stick my head above the crowd and get a glimpse of all that's out there. i don't have to do the job i hate to get by. i get a chance to be a maker of things. the thing so many scramble and are so passionate about. THE DREAM. i get to try for the dream, not just survive and talk about it late at night after too much whiskey and remember when.

the dancer working all day just to dance and practice at night. working to pay the bills but not giving up on the dream. pushing to get the break, the chance. getting distracted or worn out or derailed along the way. flashdance. coyote ugly. august rush. all the movies of someone fighting to make it and not give up.

I GET THAT CHANCE. but...like...the easy version of that chance. and i'd better not fucking waste it.

all the stars are aligned. in this one moment so there's literally no distractions or excuses for me. this is my moment. i can't blame work for making me tired. i can't blame needed money for work. i can't blame life/teenager for needing things that take the money that require the work that makes me tired.

there's literally nothing standing in my way besides me. 

i don't know what's going to be on the other side of 3 months. i don't know if it's a book or the ability to say i tried. maybe it's all for the process of learning who i am when i trust myself. maybe it's just for the learning to trust myself. maybe just the learning to push through the fear and not giving up.

maybe it's in the awareness of the process. maybe it's learning i don't have to explain or defend, i can just do.

i owe no one a justification of why.

and how many people get this chance? how many want to? how many would give eye teeth for this window?

i'm surrounded by people who are all on their own path to enlightenment. i'm so incredibly lucky to have people all around that know this path or at least recognize it. they are aware and accepting and encouraging. there's no shame or judgement. just encouragement. they  get it.

so who do i constantly feel the need to defend it to? there's a question for another time.

i feel like i'm always playing catch up actually. like i missed some elemental part of growing up. going straight from teenager to parent i missed the bit of searching for enlightenment until now. i missed the learning curve of unencumbered young adult. when the consequences are only your own. i couldn't take the risks when there were people fully dependent on me. just not my style. the logical won over the emotional for so many years.

and now i'm 37 and just looking for and just beginning to find the enlightenment. and i judge myself quite harshly for that. for not learning to like myself sooner. smarter, more together people have already had these revelations. i'm late to the game. it makes me not as good. if i were better i would already know this. i'm judging myself for not already being better. i'm judging myself on feeling that i'm missing something instead of appreciating that i'm aware enough to know what that feeling is and work on correcting it. i need to celebrate the desire to go looking at all. i want to appreciate that i'm finding it now. at all. not compare to others speed. i want to celebrate that we've all found this piece, regardless of when we each arrived at the existential party. at least we're all here.

i feel mad at teacher for already knowing what they're teaching. i'm jealous of the original people that had the genesis thought all on their own. i'm in awe of songwriters and musicians. i'm jealous of their ability to create instead of enjoying the music. how do they do it? how do they create out of thin air? i shame myself for their extraordinary ability not being mine.

i get mad at Buddha for his ability to discover and articulate and develop all these mind shifting concepts on his own instead of buying all the books or having to learn from a teacher. i envy him.

i want to have the original thought. the transformative  idea. the first to scribe the verse. the first to create the shift. i want to create the splash instead of riding the ripple. i want that indelible unique thumbprint. i want that shakespeare, dillon, jobs flash of lightning in a bottle.

i want to be the idea being discussed instead of the one discussing the ideas.

i want to resonate and connect.

i want to be the fucking quote on the plaque in walmart instead of the one buying the damn thing.

i want to be the oracle. i want to be the one people come to. i want to be the crazy old shaman in the village. i want to be used and useful in helping people. i want to be the fixer. i want the insight and the intuition.

i need to recognize that the crazy old lady in the village wasn't born that way. it was a process. she was born with the desire and she took the opportunity to observe and learn. she was aware and gained her wisdom from years of watching and experiencing and being willing to learn. she searched and watched and asked questions. she had an open mind and the ability to see the difference in things. she learned to articulate the minutia that makes the difference. she learned, most importantly, to listen. to listen to herself, her own voice. she learned to be still and quiet and trust. she learned to not only hear other people but listen to what they are saying. she learned to go beyond their words to their catalysts, their spurs, their intentions. she's able to see several perspective, how all the pieces fit together or could fit together. it takes a lifetime of learning to become the old person.

there's a big difference between experiencing and doing. the awareness and attention in the moment. the ability to plug in the emotional instead of functioning in the intellectual and logical.

i've done things for years. the physical experience of things. i've attended funerals. i've done the proper standing up part, did the motions as needed. held it together, checked things off the list, accomplished the task. but did i experience the funeral? i accepted the flag. i went to the graveside. i spread the asked. but did i stop to fully consider lives that had ended? did i think about holidays never being the same again? did i think about wedding plans permanently altered? did i think about all the future birthday calls and dinners that wouldn't happen? did i consider all the coworkers that would have a shift in their daily life? did i experience the shift? the change in the shape and picture of the puzzle? i did it. i made it through. but do i even know what it was i made it through?

i've always focused on mechanics over emotions. but i want to learn.

i want to experience so i can pass it on.

i want to take my lessons, my hurts, my experiences and find a way to put them into words that other people can understand and learn from.

how many times have i stood quietly to the side gobsmacked by something that i just couldn't wrap my brain around? the words just didn't make sense. i couldn't grasp or retain the concept. i coudn't learn in that moment. i lost the lesson.

like the damn graphs in geometry. i've had it explained over and over but i still can't tell you how to figure out the rise over run. i can't tell you what quadrant of the graph the line needs to be in, which direction it points or at what slope.

like accounting. debits and credits seems so simple but fuck if i can keep them straight. profit and loss statements make my brain hurt at their mere mention.

chemistry however...it eluded me for so long until i found that magic key. the certain arrangement of words, explanation, that certain translation that just HIT and stuck and made sense. i went from staring blankly at my chem 101 book hating all that i could find to hate in a small community college classroom to not just understanding but being able to explain it to others and finding an impromptu study group smashed into my tiny apartment because i wan't the only one that couldn't understand but i was suddenly the one that could help it make sense.

and i want to do that for life. divorce, death, domestic violence, parenting, parents, family, work, life.

i want to be the wise old woman that survived and learned and taught. i want to leave a print. i want my experiences to be worth something. i want to function and talk and teach.

i want to use my words, my writing to do that.

just type already

i've gone over the way to start this a million times in my head. all of them a million times better than this.

i've been writing. physically writing. pages and pages in my journal. beautiful, powerful, insightful things. grandiose belief statements, insightful goals and desires.

i want to believe them. i really do.

but when i go back to actually type the words, to say them again to myself in my head, they just...they're too grandiose. i'd have to be an absolute lunatic to honestly believe what i've written just a few days ago.

and there in is the struggle. i really WANT to believe it. it's my own words after all. it's my own thoughts.

but after the ink has had time to dry on the page, it just...

it's been a bit of a brutal few weeks. i've been to several job interviews only to never hear from them again (positive or negative, just let me know). i've been bullshitted on reasons for being passed over for jobs (don't tell me you're short staffed, down managers, can't cover shifts but then decided to promote within. that doesn't stick). unemployment was denied because office culture wasn't a good enough reason to quit (so go ahead with your prejudice and harassment).
 
it's been a bit of a blow to the ego. you know? it just reinforces so many of the terrible things i already think of myself.

being passed over to work in a book store was a particularly tough hit.

then i made the mistake of calling my brother. i had a message to give to him and i intended to to ask him if, in light of all the news media covering harassment, if *MAYBE* he at least believe me enough now to protect his daughter. i relayed the message, but really chickened out on the second half. instead i just got a lecture on how if nothing has changed i really shouldn't bother calling him.

oh, and that writing thing...do i actually think anyone is going to read it?

ouch.

and i know. listening to the two cents of someone who didn't even have a clue i was a writer until i was LATE in my 20's...probably not the person to put stock in. but he is family. there's something...an approval. some bullshit that i just...need. it makes absolutely zero sense. it's holds none of the markers of someone that i would normally listen to. not someone who understands or knows a single thing about me. not someone who i aspire to be. not someone who has ever put any stock or merit into any of my interests or abilities or choices. as far back as i can remember all i've been is an embarrassment.

but still.

logically i know i'm well beyond being the awkward, strange little sister.

but that sort of stick with you, you know?

and so i'm struggling. i'm questioning. i'm overthinking. i'm stuck in my head in this place between really wanting to believe in myself and take a massive risk and just going back to what's always been safe and worked before.

i can't tell really which direction to go.

i feel like maybe the universe is kicking my ass a little bit with all the job stuff falling through and really forcing my hand at giving myself a shot. i HAVE to make something happen with my writing since every time i try to turn back to what i've always done it just sucker punches me harder and harder (really, i get it, if even a book store won't hire me...).

but fuck that jump is terrifying. so much doubt and question and unknown. so what if i finish something. there's a MASSIVE difference between finishing a project and being able to finish a project that provides a living, which, really can't be avoided forever.

and back and forth i go. and closer and closer insanity inches. and the sleepless nights stack on top of each other. which makes my days less productive. which makes me feel like more of a loser. which stresses me more. which makes me question and overthink even more...and around the fucking circle goes.

the super great news though is that at least my skin in handling all the stress just wonderfully.

keep movies out of my books

strong opinion loosely held: turning books into movies is destroying the imagination of children.

and probably adults.

but our imagination is usually already destroyed...so....mostly children.

there's many an argument about turning books into movies. people hate it because so much gets cut out. because they change some of the plot to make it read better on screen. because they change the emphasis or the lesson. because the directors interpretation isn't the same as the authors intention.

and my biggest complaint: it's never what i saw in my head.

getting kids to really engage in reading is challenging. getting them to SEE the story vs. just the words on the page is hard to do.

how many books did i read as a kid? hundreds. thousands. each one was a movie in my head. the characters built from the parts of the description that were most important to me: anne of green gables and her RED hair. polly pepper and her second hand clothes (the five little peppers and how they grew). claudia kishi and her funky artsy jewelry and decorated room (the babysitters club).

some of my favorite books eventually turned into movies and they were NOTHING like i saw in my head and it made me feel like i was imagining wrong. 

HOW CAN A CHILD IMAGINE WRONG?

how many children read the harry potter books and created this beautiful world of magic in their heads? new, made up words, new fantastical destinations, shops, creatures. then the movies came out and, while they're spectacular feats of cinematography, how many kids were like oh, that's not how i pictured it.

how many kids stopped reading and just waited for the movies? or, worse, could only see the movie setting as they read the later books published after the first movie?

how many lost their imagination? lost their creativity after that?

diving deeper, it made me think about why some books stand out for me and why i loathe others. i think, for me, the breaking point is in the author trusting the reader to extrapolate their own vision. i have a strong preference for books with intentionally ambiguous descriptions. give me enough of a jump off point and let me take it from there. if you spend 3 pages describing the exact texture and color of a leaf, i will spend exactly zero minutes reading your book.

i like to fill in the details myself, make the story MINE.

think of it this way: if an author describes a farm what do you see? is it a big farm? almost a ranch? is it a small farm? is it one barn and a house? is it expansive land with crops? is it animals and gardens? is it an urban farm in someone's backyard? is it a rural farm with neighbors nearby? is it a texan farm where you can drive for hours on your own land and not see anyone? 

unless it is a crucial part of the plot, a character in itself, let me fill in the blanks.

i love descriptions that give you a soft focus: the home, a small country home looked blue at first glance but not if you looked too closely. perhaps someone ran out of blue paint covering up the last color, perhaps the blue is the last color showing through the cheap new layer. maybe it only appears blue on one side reflecting the distinct color of the garage, painted in the bold colors of [the characters] favorite sports team.

what do you see? i can promise you it's different than what i see, and to me, that's the beauty of literature.

"...he heard an animal bark in the woods. bark, is that the right word for the sound? did the neighbors dog get out again? are the coyotes scavenging nearby, encroaching into new territory and scoping out the local scene? someone told him once that foxes make a sound like barking. what would a fox be doing in this area? the bark, yelp, be it what it may, oddly complimented the melody filling the room from the vinyl playing on the modern vintage record player."

how many different pictures pop into your head from that one paragraph? are any one of them wrong?

i LOVE that each person will focus on a different part, see a different setting, different detail.

movies take that away. they lock in one persons vision; the director, the set dresser, the script writer...they take what one person deems important. it could be considered a cruel form of censorship. forcing ONE perspective, disallowing any alternative interpretation.

have you ever read the book, watched the movie and then read the book again? can you see your initial vision? or has it been replaced by the hollywood version?

as much as i love movies, and i do LOVE movies, i can't help but feel sad that even at their most creative, they're limiting creativity.

keep your movies out of my books.

i mean, keep making movies. and books do make great movies. but, you know, don't make MY books into movies. just the other ones.

no, not those ones either...


**no, YOU'RE the devil's advocate: but what about all the kids who have a hard time picturing the story and the movie finally helps it make sense to them and puts a picture to a word they couldn't figure out or puts a picture to a place they've never been and may never get the chance to see in person. what about kids reading about Christopher robin in the woods that live in the city in an apartment? they can't imagine a 100 acre wood when there's not a tree on any of the nearby city blocks? what about kids who have never been to a foreign country and can't imagine what they dress like, how different their houses may look? movies give a vision to things that may otherwise be summarily dismissed for lack of understanding or ability to put a picture to the words....**