catching air

*****

no control. taking chances. not knowing what's coming. all this enters my mind as I begin to fully realize that the people, places and things in my life will roll forward without my being able to control them one way or another. Of course, I realize it's up to me how I face these moments, how I take them in and what I do with them. That's my choice.

I used to spend a lot of time hyper-aware of tailoring the image of how others saw me. making sure i always did the right (or, more specifically, what i thought was the right) thing to do for the occasion. Tried hard not to disappoint, then would wonder why it was that i was exhausted and always felt like taking a nap. I remember learning a very valuable lesson regarding the real versus the manufactured after i left my job at Spin and started working at a record company. In retrospect, this lesson resonates now more than it did then.

When i was a journalist sort, it was contingent on the artists to be nice (or naughty, depending on their reputation) so that I (the writer) would put together a piece reflecting the message that they wanted telegraphed to the world. I was quite sure that Nirvana, the humans, wanted nothing more than to have me infiltrating the nooks and crannies of their personal lives stumbling upon potentially embarrassing details, the members of Pearl Jam were just thrilled that I was lurking around their stage with a polaroid camera occasionally tripping over a mike stand or some such (oops), the Metallica boys couldn't be happier seeing me prowl through their home recording studio asking questions of the gardener and so on. It was my job to uncover these bits and pieces, but what I didn't always get was the degree to which these scenarios were tailored and lived out. I was seeing and finding mostly what they wanted me to see and find. And usually I was met with nothing but acquiescence, yet what was going on inside their heads I really couldn't know—even if I pretended that I did.

Then the veil was pulled back. I defected to the business side, joined the camp of the suits—and actually started getting a decent paycheck. But here was some truth-telling, the artists got to be more honest—at least the ones whose careers were fairly established. No longer was there any subterfuge about what they liked and didn't like. And that was a wake-up call for me. The first time a singer who'd heretofore been nothing but smiles actually snarled at me when I ask him to be a part of a well-known cable channel's music-promotion charade, I was stopped in my tracks. Whaaaat? He used to be so, how you say, nice...what happened? That I don't think he even remembered that he'd met me before really rocked my world.

But even more telling (and valuable) was that I was invited to stop being so agreeable. The fact that I didn't actually know how to do that was a big reason that my career at said record company ended pretty soon after it began. I couldn't come to grips with that concept. To say what I wanted when I felt it. To not be afraid to disappoint someone when I said No. To call it like I saw it. All very foreign concepts for me. But now I'm actually getting what a useful way of living that is. I realize there need to be filters, otherwise we could all end up like four year olds, just saying out loud what we want and see (which actually might be refreshing, but could also make for some really uncomfortable subway experiences and business meetings). Mostly though, as it really dawns on me that I have no control over what people think of me, and I acknowledge once I get out of my own self and realize it's not usually about me, but instead that there are myriad of other things going on in people's heads and hearts that could direct the conversation, I find that there's more air to breathe. It's kind of a relief if I can remember it. Remember to let it all go. Let it all fall where it may.

In an intimate setting, during a smaller than usual class, I found myself moving inside the notes of a song with no words. A tune with a lot of space inside it, but also some sharp edges that I let myself fall into. Into a place where I didn't want to control anything. And apparently that included the sounds coming out of my mouth, which took on a Venus-Williams-down-to-her-final-set-at-Wimbledon kind of noise, but afterward I felt completely emptied out in a really good way. I realized that for those moments, I didn't seem to give a fCK-all about how I was being seen (keeping in mind that I'm among a group of women where I feel really safe). And I looked at the places in my life where I let myself go honestly with no desire to control. There aren't as many as there could be—especially branching out into the places where I don't have the support of friends/lover, but I intend to find more bravery in order to let myself and others catch a bit more air. Let them be masters of their own thoughts and I of mine. It's inevitable that I'm going to disappoint people, and they me. Where I'm going to please people, and they me. And that's rather thrilling!

*****(about the photo) and again I find the Ballerina Project speaking to my aesthetic sense. this brave (not least for the reason that she's laying her body on the ground of a subway platform....eeek) photo was taken at the station across from my apartment. Clearly not shot during rush hour. see (&buy if you're inclined) their work here.

bound

held. hostage. resistance. those themes are running like a thread through my thoughts and my life right now. i wonder sometimes about the way seemingly disparate moments connect; how world's collide even when each mental continent seems to be sitting alone in its own time zone.

I'm working on a book proposal right now that has to do with corsets: the way they held/hold a woman's life in ways beyond just the physical. As I'm researching and reading (a process i enjoy so much that i could disappear down the rabbit hole and do that only...oops, time to take what I've found and write), I'm fascinated by the emotional binding that goes hand in hand with the physical lacing. The impression that, while often uncomfortable, the feel of being held tightly (even if it was just in the way of a silk, whaleboned encasement) was desired, sought after. How woman after woman talks about her sense of safety inside the constriction, the feeling of control even with diminished ability for movement.

I've been thinking about how it is that what is perceived one way is really experienced in a whole other manner. What is assumed to be a hindrance or hardship can be[is?] an actual lifeline. it's got me investigating the ways in which i bind myself to certain thoughts and patterns that are oftentimes too tightly laced for me to have free movement. But i still feel safe there and pause around loosening the stays and breathing deeper. i notice things from this perspective and realize that it's a gradual easing of those binds. sometimes i take myself hostage, metaphorically speaking, keep myself in a small area though i hear voices coming from the other room; and this then has me eye-spying a crawl space large enough to escape. but there are times i just want to know the way out is there, i don't actually want to use it...yet. I understand the psychological hold that feeling bound can have and for the longest time in class i wanted (and did to some degree) explore that. The space is as large (or small) as i want to make it, and somehow knowing that allows me to take my time unlacing my fears and joys, even with real and self-imposed deadlines.

so of course i had an opportunity with a recent assignment in class to play with the physical and emotional places hostage taking and resistance take me. i wore my corset (the real one that lives in my drawer) and explored the give and take of how it let me move. I gave in to it sometimes and other times railed against it. i forgot it was there for a minute, got tangled up in the laces (while trying to take it off, which was unsuccessful) and finally gave myself completely away to the feeling of its encasement, learned how to breathe in it and resisted it taking me over. and in the end i embraced it, realizing that no matter how i constrict myself, i still know how to untie the knot, pull the end of the string and take in air a little deeper. I can play with the resistance so as to be both challenged and held. the possibilities abound.

suspension

something interesting I'm discovering: you don't need to know where your feet are going to land in order to make a leap. In fact, it seems near-on impossible to know where one will end up after launching into the mid-air of life. While I enjoy a nice intention just like the next person, and do sense that they keep me on track (in fact deadlines, as discussed in previous posts, are almost like lifelines to me; hence my choice of professions), I'm certainly finding that no matter the situation I'm going toward, it seems to work better if i can suspend fear and just go. This comes front and center for me right now on the instance of an emotional opening (my heart, which has grown shiny in the love department), a cosmetic alteration (my hair, which has freed me up in the how-I-move-in-the-world space), and now a creative opportunity rises up in front of me (a writing project about something near and dear to me). Out of those three situations, only one does not strike a particular terror of expectation in my heart. (Hint: it's the one that has only to do with me-myself&the hairdresser.)

In the heart department, the rhythm is being found nicely in all kinds of ways—even when I can't quite find words for the feelings—and that's good, humbling and exhilarating all at once. It's the creative space where doing something I adore and having it well received (or even just received at all) is causing me to hatch all kinds of escape plans. It's interesting to watch while I attempt to run from something that promises to be fun, challenging and, ultimately, incredibly important for my growth. Although I'm not certain I was that much more fearless when I was younger, I do feel as if I had a kind of blind faith that wherever I landed would be interesting, whatever I said yes to I could handle. There's a majority of me that still feels that way, yet an extra layer's been scooped on top regarding the not doing it at all...would it really matter? Of course not in the very much larger picture, but absolutely yes in the sense-of-self arena.

When I got the job at Spin, I knew, the person who recommended me knew, even the guy hiring me had an inkling that this position was a bit above my head. I remember standing in the executive editor's office as it was offered thinking, Really? Can I do this? while out of my mouth came the words, Absolutely I can do this! I'll take it. It was a great day and a fabulously frightening moment. There was no backing down. And I did do it, even when I felt like i was drowning I did it and not altogether badly, either. That the end of that particular adventure came because I didn't stick up for myself enough, hadn't quite gotten over the sense that I never really deserved to be there, is a situation I continue to try and learn from.

Lately, dancing in the studio, I've been told to stay in my power. I'm succeeding in that much more and with incredibly satisfying results. I leave feeling as if I could wrap myself around anything and it wouldn't matter whether it went the way I thought it would or not, I'd still be standing. This is the sense of power that I want (in fact need) to bring to my writing life. No good living in the space of Oh well, why try? Instead: Hell yes, I can step into this. And of course I can. Much like a marathon, it's one mile at a time. Then the line is crossed, whether it's the finish line or a line of our own making. No predicting what the ground will look like underneath. I'm going to attempt to heed the words of tightrope walkers and action heroes the world over: Don't look down. Keep your eyes forward. You'll be just fine.

This radio lab is amazing and on topic. How we ask for help and bring the muse!
also, the photos I use of dancers (not me) are part of the amazing Ballerina Project, which uses NYC as a backdrop for beautiful juxtaposed moments of dance and city. click on to find out more!

the big reveal

I just finished the biography of Gypsy Rose Lee and what really struck me (next to her incredibly—for lack of a better word—complicated upbringing) was the concept of the reveal. Taking time to be seen and peeling back the layers with absolute confidence and power while staying with the moment. (“If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing slowly . . .very slowly,” says she.) This strikes me as apt right now because I'm in the process of a few reveals myself. One being, my face. Well, sure, I've most-of-the-time had my face out there for all to see, but for a lot of my life I've had a veil of long hair somewhat obscuring it. I'd always been a girl with bangs (see below for earliest example of that look), and then, except for a brief flirtation with an unfortunate flock-of-seagulls look (so, so very unfortunate, but it was the 80's, it's what the kids were doing), I became a rock chick (long hair with which to, er, whip around!?!*). I was also a bit of a hippie and had thoughts that I'd someday become one of those old ladies with the long gray braid down her back, which could still happen.

Anyway, this week I came out from behind the veil. I cut my hair so all I feel is it brushing the tops of my shoulders, instead of it rolling down my back. And my face is right out there with no bangs obscuring my eyes. It feels amazing! But I realize I had to be ready for it. This reveal comes along with my realization that I'd always equated the length of my hair with my ability to Peter-Pan myself into not growing up. well, guess what? i grew up anyway. And although I still often feel like i'm 15 years old, the amount of experiences I can call upon are varied and (mostly) excellent and all necessary (whether I remember them accurately or have embellished).

I've been working on letting myself be seen for quite awhile now. Not in the quick-fire, flash way I used to (see: hair-whipping, rock chick reference), but rather in the slow and brave reveal of emotions. Naturally I attribute the studio to this territorial shift, but really that's just the space I've created to try it out and express it through movement. Truth be told, I've been ready on the inside to see what would happen when I felt confident enough to give what I can, hold on to what I need and ask for what I want. It's a work in progress. But slowly, slowly, and well worth doing, I'm opening my eyes to the possibilities. And boy was I surprised when last week, upon opening them during class, I could actually see (amazingly, the first time in 3+ years in the studio that that's happened). There was nothing in the way. No sheet of hair falling between myself and the people watching me. No hiding what emotions were moving across my face, which I think varied from shock (there are people out there looking at me), to fear (there are people out there looking at me), to total happiness (geeky smile for the people out there looking at me while i stay with whatever moment i'm in). It also marks a sea-change in my relationship not only to self, but others. While i cared very much what my honey might think (in fact, happily he had a lot to do with me making the change, which was a polar opposite from relationships where i think the guy was mainly dating my hair), I also found that I didn't use reactions from others as a meter regarding how they felt about me. In fact, a lot of the time people I see every day have looked a little longer and then said things like "Are you wearing makeup?" The fact that about a foot of hair was removed from my head doesn't seem to really register. And this reminds me that I am often incredibly oblivious to what's around me as well. So, slowly slowly I realize that the view's so much better now. All I need to do is keep my eyes open.

(tho i appear to be smirking in this photo, it's only because i'm not actually sure how to take a picture of myself and smile at the same time)

(the beginning: bangs)

*Quick digression about that: when I was in the music biz, I was at a metal (the musical stylings of) convention in LA. The hotel posted signs in the lobby appealing the guests attending to please try not to clog the drains with hair...because there was so much of it in attendance. This, to me, seemed both comical and embarrassing.

space

First of all, it's hard to imagine a time when the city of NewYork is ever as empty as the picture above portrays (and certainly outside of the realm to see a ballerina in tutu and toe shoes commanding an empty intersection—though that's something I'd love to see). Instead the rhythm of this city is dictated by ebb&flow and a kind of precise choreography that keeps pedestrians and all things with wheels in a constant motion, and with a lot less bangs, bumps and bruises than i would ever think possible. What I've learned from all this is how necessary it is to give in to the movement. Fighting it—whether physically or mentally—does no good whatsoever. This acceptance has been put to the test for me this week as every single subway ride i've taken to and from work and other locales has been slowed, stopped or stymied in some way or another (and it's only wednesday). So i've been faced with the question: what do I do when I'm stopped? There are many sayings&quotes from wise people observing in one way or another how it's the journey not the destination/that the grace by which you get there says everything, etc. etc. And while I most of the time believe that's true, my challenge comes with what goes on in the space of actual stoppage...not the movement itself, but the stock-stillness.

Back in the early-nineties, at a time when a musical form called grunge was about to rule the soundscape, I was in London to interview a band named Pearl Jam (old stories abound this week as my go-to place while staring at the back of a fellow commuter's head on a stalled A train is to put my iPod on shuffle, and, who-knew? the needle seems to be landing on many of my early musical interview subjects, which naturally brings stories to the surface). The group's publicist thought it would be an interesting juxtaposition to have me sit down and talk to them over tea at Harrods department store, an impossibly haughty place that served high tea every afternoon at two, complete with crustless cucumber sandwiches and freshly baked scones. Flannel meet frippery. As we rolled through the revolving door on our way into this rarefied atmosphere, we were stopped on the other side by a man wearing a red cape, a black top hat and a beautifully cut black suit who informed us less-ostentatiously dressed (well, at the very least we didn't have a top hat among us) that we'd need to leave the store for lack of acceptable attire. Turns out this caped crusader was the doorman...because that's a necessary human to have at a department store. The offer by the singer to buy a suit did not gain us admission. we were stopped, our (actually the publicist's) plan thwarted. What to do? we stood on the sidewalk motionless for a minute, then went down the street to a local pub, played a game of darts, had a few pints, and the stoppage became a great story told, the lead of my article and, eventually, a lyric written into one of their songs.

stasis. stucked-ness. sometimes imposed from without, sometimes imposed from within. the question: How can it make me stronger? I've stopped myself in all kinds of random ways in my head&heart. stopped believing i was strong enough. didn't think i was experienced enough. convinced i hadn't what it takes. And, rather than just standing still and noticing, i'd find myself tucking into a little tight ball and rolling into the corner, which affected my bed, my bank account, my book-writing. I aim to overcome this. As to the first mention on that list (somewhat metaphorically speaking, since that piece of furniture is a stand-in for the larger sense of my heart), I'm finally believing in my strength to receive and give to someone who I can be absolutely myself with. As to the second and third items, I'm putting extra attention toward taking myself seriously enough that they are satisfied as well.

I realized this week, after taking a class that pushed me hard to recover some strength I'd thought i'd lost, when i stop thinking i can't and just do, even knowing that i'll retain some bruises in the doing, that the pride that comes propels me forward. And naturally, because it never looks like I think it will, I'm surprised by the space that opens up inside of me to allow for more movement. to stop the traffic in my head, breathe the rarified air of my own opportunities, maybe even get the trains moving again...those would be the ones in my imagination.