time travelin'

back in my music-writing days, i was in a band for approximately two weeks. I was the singer. I shouldn't in any way have been the singer because I couldn't (still can't) actually sing. I know that with many rock bands that isn't really an issue. But in truth, those non-singers probably bring a certain flair (or at least a very good auto-tune machine) to the performance. For me, it was mostly just jumping straight up and down in the air over and over again OR standing completely still clutching the microphone. OK, we only had one performance, and it was in another state where the magazine i worked for was putting together a college issue. And we only did covers. In fact, we only performed two songs (I think). And it was in someone's living room. So maybe I wasn't really in a band at all. I could have just been a part of a drunken party moment...tho, we did have an actual rehearsal, and i think that should qualify for a little bit of credibility, even though the microphone wasn't actually plugged in ... oh, never mind.

My reason for bringing this up is twofold. One: I wanted to use the official band picture featured above (it was taken for our publicity material, of which there was none, and for the tiny, nepostistic write-up in our magazine, of which there was one) as an example of how some things never change. Namely: my hairstyle. It seems I've had pretty much the same cut and color for...let's see...ever? Secondly: I'm finding myself traveling a bit back in time even as I take giant steps forward. One of these things is about to change...

My hair. I'm planning on getting it cut. There, I said it to all(?) of you, out loud, in writing. (eeeeek.) so i'll have an update once that happens.

But what's not changing are these movements in time. And for that I'm happy because there is much learning going on. Last night I found myself transported back to a space in my life when I'd stumbled half-clothed into a darkened room (no this doesn't have to do with that previous band time...this is much healthier. stumbling because it was dark in there, half-clothed because that's what was required to move freely) to find a community of women who, while all from very different parts of the physical and mental stratosphere, offered a support and opportunity for my own growth physically and emotionally such that I'd never found before. I reveled in it, rolled in it, clutched it and claimed as my/our own. Back then this group of women grew to be a tough-ass unit of ladies who swaggered with the promise of our power, dried each others' tears of both sadness and joy, encouraged great leaps of faith in mind and body and, ultimately became so tight that at some point it was hard to see where one began and the other ended. And that is when the light stopped being able to penetrate. when in what seemed to be one instance all it took was a little crack for the whole beautiful shell to come apart and find us all human again inside. It was an absolutely necessary rebirth. Out we stumbled, squinting in the light, moving forward, sideways, sometimes backwards. we found our legs again (and our spins and polecats, too...tho some of my fiercer moves i seem to have misplaced, yet I know i'll find them again. the inner stuff is still intact and getting stronger).

so last night, I walked into that same studio for the first time in over a year to lower myself to the ground and close my eyes. not gonna lie, i had some misgivings about how i'd feel stepping back in there with a teacher who i'd put so far up on a pedestal that even when she tried to jump I'd tied her down. then, of course, she fell and i had avoided any chance of letting her lead me again. Now, as she began the warm-up, time both melted away and came into sharp focus. a crazy slideshow in my heart began to flash images of who&what&when. I sensed how very very far i'd come in spirit and strength. the tears had to come too. I was also there to celebrate a very dear original class-ling friend whose new adventure is taking her across the country. As the images/emotions began to pulse a bit faster it became a bit dizzying, but there was such a peace in this acknowledgment of growth and change that i welcomed all of it. all the mistakes and stubbed toes/feelings; all the bruises (in and out) and uproarious laughter. The times that transported us out of the studio and into the world as a unit of awesomeness. But i also realized that floating in that made me a bit pompous. made my swagger just a bit full of ego. While i'm fairly sure we welcomed in the ladies who were doing makeups in class with generosity, i can't help but think we were also a bit intimidating.

Last night I got a dose of humble, and it didn't come with a side of bitter (the sweet kind only). I really tried to appreciate how much learning I get to do on my own with the help (not the crutch) of the people around me who i love. I watched as this class of ladies interacted with each other with a bit of the jaunty that we had had, and there was a twinge, but it was of recognition rather than desire. I left with my muscles aching and bruises forming thinking about how ready i am to cut my damn hair as i slowly dismantle all my hiding places.

dedicated to saturdayS@4 & Bex's new adventure.

dem bones...

Last night I went gaga (not the Lady kind) with one of my merry dance luvuhs. It's an extraordinary movement class that flows through a solid hour of reaching, stretching, rolling, leaping, angling, twirling and beyond. It (literally and figuratively) brought up to the surface of my skin all kinds of amazing sensations. First off, I realized that my S experience has brought around a certain shamelessness when it comes to my hands on my body. It's an automatic go-to place that when in a setting resembling a movement studio, while wearing things that suggest i'm about to move, my hands suddenly rove all over myself. (And, to be honest, i sometimes catch myself going there even when I'm not in a studio. mi-honey--who's away right now following his passion, which is inspiring--will concur.) So as the class began to unfurl, and the teacher began to loosen us up, i noticed my hands making a beeline to my torso and arms and more. it was an interesting exercise to notice and then not to go there. to instead spread out my arms, take in the space and take up the space, too.

Another thing that happened was around the time he (the teacher) asked us to feel the space between our skin and our bones, to really expand our presence and feel how much room we can create within all the parts of us, i got jolted with some impatience and frustration aimed at myself. I suddenly felt a certainty beyond any i'd felt in awhile that i needed/wanted to fill up this space in me with something that feeds me creatively. that the time is now to stop being on pause and to hit play as I go toward what I want to do. I think it had something to do with the idea of expanding myself, and as i stretched, felt my bones reach and skin lift, I realized how much room is in there. and that made me think i've been assigning myself a very small playground to frolic in when in fact the space is much bigger. A little, I began to lash out in the movement (which was alright since that was the moment he was telling us to jump up and down and let go. BTW, who knew how difficult it is to leap up in the air with both feet leaving the ground over and over and over again. exhausting. in a good&challenging way). so there i was, hopping up and down, flailing my arms and becoming completely agitated about getting on with it. The IT being my desires. pursuing what's within my talents and accomplishments!

All this rises now because i've got a book in me (maybe more, but one for sure), and instead of putting it together and talking to agents, i've been channeling my energy toward other people's projects. Much like my last post about living out through other people's boundary pushing (and discovering how to have a tantrum when i'm told i can't cross a line, tho i like the line just fine), last night brought completely to the surface how i need to get back on my own track creatively and be honest with myself and the people around me regarding other projects. I've discovered (OK, i've always suspected, just didn't want to admit) that playing a secondary role that doesn't require my own pen to paper does not feed me. That I actually work better solo (product of being an only child maybe?), that I can talk myself out of doing my own creative works by way of helping out someone else's with nary a thought. Until of course something pushes me over the line of my own avoidance. In this case some bone and skin separating gaga movement on the heels of a boundary-breaking S assignment (thrown together with a little time-is-tick-tick-ticking away to the half century mark for me) breaks the barrier.

My assignment, before I convince myself that the skin has completely settled back onto my bones and i have no room for expansion: be brave, make that space my own by filling it with a project my heart goes toward. Do not stop. Do keep my eye (whichever one i need) on the shiny object of my creative affection.

PS: the MDL (MerryDanceLuvuh) that I took class with last night has an amazing blog herself, and this posting dovetails perfectly with where I'm going (click on: Buddha Becky )

bound(ary) crossing

When I was a teenager, and even into my twenties, I lived through others people's brazenness and (what I perceived to be) bravery. I had one friend in particular who, I think, repainted her own boundaries all the time and there i would be following a few paces behind receiving all manner of vicarious thrills while pretending I was just as bold. There were memorable moments. Like the time in a bar that I turned to see her dumping a drink on a guy's head because he asked her to dance at which point punches were exchanged and we were escorted from the premises, or when we were chased through Hoboken by two guys whose really-choice, classic-red Camaro was on the receiving end of a rock thrown by her (and then she faced them down by yelling "What are you going to do, hit a girl?" i was pretty sure the answer could easily have been Yes), or the always popular late-night, inebriated stroll through the very-opposite-of-what-is-now-the-land-of-high-priced-real-estate, Lower East Side, to get sassy with the scary locals. All this culminating in me being so, so happy when we'd make it home alive. But at the same time, the endorphins did rush. Until they didn't anymore and I began to wonder why I kept putting myself in situations that were becoming less and less fun. But I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to untangle myself from the friendship. So I slept with her ex-boyfriend, who happened to be my roommate, who then became my boyfriend (not too much more to the story except to say that my decisions at the time were not always very forward-thinking or intelligent). This move guaranteed that from then onward she would despise me.

When I was still in it, I remember feeling as if each incident was beginning to form one long highway to hell that, instead of thrilling me, was making me crave the middle of the road. Or at least to be shown where the on-ramp for that saner stretch of street might be. I know I could have found it without resorting to throwing quite so large a wrench in the works, but at the time I didn't really feel i had the tool belt necessary. To a slight degree, I was paying attention to what drove me: I took up a career with deadlines and assignments because it made me feel safe and confident to know exactly what was required. Although concurrently, I took up relationships with people who had no interest in expressing safe or confident. Out of those two scenarios, the former worked the best by far.

But slowly it dawned on me that my definition of bravery was all askew. I began to realize that bravery has nothing to do with outward acts derring-do (or, rather, dumbass-do) and everything to do with inner moments of development. I'm still discovering that. The other night in the class I was visiting I had one of those revelatory moments where your body tells you something that your mind only suspected was true: that boundaries actually help me become more intimate with someone (and myself) because i can hold a gaze and be curious without the expectation of drawing any closer. all i need to do is look and stay in the gaze. I also discovered that i'm capable of throwing little movement tantrums when i'm instructed not to do something and i decide i want to do it anyway. bursts of five-year-old emotion come out of me and i want to cross that line that i've been told not to cross. but in the end, i respect the boundary and revel in the bravery it takes to face myself inside of it.

This to me, is one brave and trailblazing chick. And talk about a gaze...all mischief and fun. And she's still blazing trails. Her book:
Just Kids. awesome.

let it be...

A couple of reasons I'm using this picture: 1) the sight of a beach towel, even with the illustration of some strange creature wearing a bathing suit and wack-a-doodle glasses, is much needed to remind me that there is a season when sunshine bathes this part of the world in warmth; 2) it also brings home to me the fact that I can buy (into) aggravation (pepper spray) or take a chance and let go of of control (Bingo/Poker Chips).

This week has given me the opportunity to either roll with the moment or perpetuate an ongoing game where there are no winners. But the challenge for me is to stay in the game by listening fully, finding what rings true, accepting it and then being present for whatever follows. I know that for the most part, we all just want to be heard (and, in many cases, seen), yet I'm finding that to just be still and accept, to do nothing but listen without judgment or anger, is truly a challenge. I instead want to yell out "How do you not know me?" or disappear altogether from her life. To stay put with my mouth/mind quiet and my arms/heart open feels incredibly hard. But that idea also tantalizes me as being a relief. Wow, what a concept: to just listen and whatever the other person says or sees is fine, because it's their perception. It doesn't have anything to do with truth. As I begin to understand this concept of giving and receiving, and being present in the experience, i'm reminded of a buddhist idea that mi-honey has mentioned: someone offers you a "gift," you can accept it or decline it. Either way, no right, no wrong, the choice remains my own, as does the choice of what to do with that "gift," if I choose to reach out and take it.

This week in class I had a dance that challenged me to let go of all intentions. Naturally, being me, I'd gone in with all kinds of ideas about how the song I chose would be cathartic, that I'd not compromise on my movement, I'd get it all out, yadayadayada. And naturally, when my dance began, none of that happened. For a minute I just sat still, entertained the thought of not moving at all. didn't move for awhile, then a little something rose up and i felt like i was starting from square one, moving around the room, seeing what was going on in other corners, a little annoyed, yet also completely not giving a damn about how clumsy and (apparently, according to the teacher) primitively I was moving. the song was short, and the realization came: sometimes a dance is just a dance. a mom is just a mom. a daughter just a daughter. a gift given. accepted in love. roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may. And sometimes a little pepper (tho not the spray) can spice things up too.

and here's the thing about that last bit written: I don't want to end this entry glibly. i don't actually know how to end it, because it's ongoing. so again, to not do things as i normally do...

goals and such

My intention with this blog has been to write (at least) one entry per week. Last week no story/observation/tidbit/nuthin' was offered from me because I didn't think I had anything to say. And on thinking about that, I realized that I don't have to have an "event" or some such thing to happen in order to spool out words. There's plenty swirling around to string together moments of observation.

And a good place for some seeing is the subway (not usually as empty, graceful or shiny clean as the picture at left. you rarely/ever want to go barefoot there). Looking into the faces of New Yorkers (what you can see of them considering that 6 degree weather doesn't encourage a lot of face to see), I'm struck with the reflection of stoicism—a little bit of just-get-through-it attitude—mixed with the sense that we all seem to move in our own bubbles despite being surrounded by hundreds/thousands/millions of people. I love to look at people and make up stories about them, and though I've no doubt I'm far from right about anything I come up with, it can be a study in character building. And sometimes as i'm watching, a person will meet my eye and we hold it for a split second. Like last week when what I thought was a really full-of-himself, haughty guy pushed his way on to the train as I stood across from the door watching the people pour in. I rolled my eyes and the woman who came on after him caught my gaze and rolled her eyes too. then we both smiled, like we had an agreement. Then we promptly looked away, even more determined to not glance at each other ever again for the rest of the ride.

I don't know if it's fear of space invasion regarding a stranger coming in too close—or them thinking you are—or whether intimacy of looking at each other is just too intense, but that kind of connection is fraught with stuff. A week ago I'd doubled up on classes at the studio and came smack up on this very situation. Mind you, the room is dark, the space is safe and fun, and the ladies all in the same position (as it were), but I was doing make-ups and didn't know any of the women in class, which can be both freeing and intimidating. In one of the classes, the teacher had us double up and do some combination of moves for our partner, who was sitting in the chair. The kicker was that every movement involved us in some way showing ourself or coming in contact with her, whether through looking directly in her eyes or letting her see a part of us as we slid and twirled on the pole inches from where she sat. The woman I paired off with immediately started giggling as she did her thing, which I found charming as an ice-breaker, but also a bit distracting. I found myself saying all manner of encouragements like "beautiful" and "ummmm" and etc. to fill up the space as she moved. (we probably sounded like some weird-ass radio frequency that doesn't quite land on one channel or the next.) When it was my turn to dance, I found it near-on impossible to meet her eyes and actually, maybe sensing this, she closed them for a portion of the time. Afterward we figured out that the way we reacted was exactly how we do in the rest of the world when we're uncomfortable. I make nonsensical, mostly supportive noises, she apparently giggles uncontrollably. We both close our eyes to the discomfort and no doubt trip over stuff and/or miss the good stuff altogether.

A couple of days later, in another class, I was asked by the teacher after my dance if i knew who it was who'd been sitting in the chair during my dance...and I didn't. She wondered about that, acknowledging the immense fear of intimacy that exists in all of us, but also suggesting that it's pretty important to notice the humans in the world around us. I realized that even (maybe especially) with the person I'm most intimate with, I've had trouble looking into his eyes when I dance. It's almost more naked than being naked. So this exposure in life, whether total strangers or closest lover, becomes a test (or treat, depending) on seeing in both directions. Not having to have a goal of what wants to be seen or said, but instead just opening up to it, whatever comes. I oftentimes have latent reactions to things, so that I sail through in the moment, then the wave comes and slaps me from behind a couple of beats later. When I think about keeping my eyes open and watching as the swell approaches and appreciating that I'll be fine, well, it's something to keep in mind whether there's a story there or not.

limb to limb

hard and soft / rich and poor / empty and filled
stripped bare yet protected.
all these things i struggle with, yet celebrate. i see that tree in the neighborhood completely uncovered, i see right through it, and it lets me see more of the sky and what lies beyond, tho in the months that it's green and full i notice the actual thing itself supporting life and I may only look at what's there.

so there's that. i feel lately as i slip and slide between really feeling what i'm capable of and actually owning it, that the dichotomy between my desire and my power rises up to challenge me. The fact that i struggle with it, wrestle with what i perceive as the gulf between the power and the desire, only makes it that much more real that it exists. I've never felt so full of myself and possibilities and happiness, while still so unsure of what's around the corner. I know, i know ... this is the point. the dance i've been twirling around for the last year (plus) as i've been writing words on this blog situation. but, hey, a girl needs to remind herself every once in awhile (OK, a lot) that just because i had a kick-ass dance last week, there's no guarantee of anything near that happening the next time...or maybe it will. When i leave the studio or the apartment or the office, I walk my walk differently every time. Nothing is as it's been before. there's no telling that the passion i feel looking into a pair of eyes this morning is going to hold the same intensity the night that follows, but trust that those eyes will still be there to look into, there just may be a different view. and that's actually a good thing. that's the point i think ... maybe even the beauty. i'm sure we'd all just flame-out into little green spots if we lived in that intensity all the time.

and the fact(?ha) is: i'm scared of not holding the eyes of intensity in a steady gaze because my ego whispers in my ear that if i blink first, all that passion will disappear—as if that's the thing that rules me. me of little faith in space and what lies between. what exists in the dark. my sense that i can control anything, that somehow doing it on my own is a brave thing, when in fact it isn't courageous at all. What is, i'm finding, is to stay with eyes wide open, aware of the who around me, bare yet full, being seen through while still very much present. the hard, soft, rich, poor, empty, filled moments touching me over and over without me losing sight of what i have to offer inside of that. and so it goes.

acclimate

Sometimes you just need to find a place to burrow. somewhere to tuck in and survey your surroundings...or rest...or be watched over. sometimes you just need to give in.

having recently relocated with my furry beasts (and pole soon to follow) to lovely new surroundings, i'm wrapping around what it means to step into somewhere new, to look around and appreciate feeling slightly off balance though also completely present in the place I stand (or fall, or recline). while this transition is enhanced in a major way by the person whose abode i now share, the sense of taking the time to appreciate and explore my own presence in the landscape is key. If i followed my furball's three step process, it would go a little like this: first a tiny bit of hiding, then the picking of a spot to make their own—never to let a human displace them, occasional forays into other nooks and crannies, but always a return to that original place (while outright ignoring the fact that another body might actually be taking up the space) to sleep...and sleep...and sleep. But see, I'm not that tired and i'm actually curious about the intersection where change, comfort, challenge, and balance meet.

I used to gloss over moments of change because I wasn't sure what to do with the crunchy bits. if it didn't feel altogether good, then i sure didn't want to know about it...even though the sense of unsettled would burrow down somewhere, usually poised to rise up at some weird inopportune moment (like at the dry cleaners or grocery store or some such awkward place where i'd experience a sense of emotional vertigo and misfire some grumpy-ass-ness at an unsuspecting human. sorry, people to whom i've been less than gracious). But i was so unused to handling my own discomfort that i'd try to hold on tight to a zombie-happy state where the only antidote was a swing to the irrational. When i moved from the house that was the scene of my disintegrating marriage, i gave nary a backward glance. And while i was hugely relieved to be in my new digs, loving every view from every corner and window, I had lots of wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night dreams to do with being lost and not being able to find my way out/in/over/around. then i'd tuck all that away, roll over and go back to sleep. I was in fact burrowing, but i wasn't giving in. Nor was I resting or letting myself be watched over.

so in the here and the now, as we all negotiate space on the love seat that has apparently been claimed outright by the four-legged ones, i'm rolling up to that intersection and stopping, and looking in all directions to take in my surroundings. as long as my hands are still on the wheel and i've come to a complete stop, it's ok to be off-balance (a thing I've also discovered in class recently in the wearing of the tall boots, which has freed my body to move&stumble in ways i can't predict). I'm presently completely enamored of my surroundings and am still scoping out the space where it's fun to burrow, to watch, be watched, give in and partake depending on the moment.

sense & memory

in frolicking through this holiday, one in which I and me-honey mixed up a great smorgasbord of fun, food, play(s), libation, and relaxation, there was an appreciation in me of what it is to indulge in what the body wants, to give the mind (the overthinking part) a break. Twould seem easy, but i was presented with a question last week in class: how to let my body remember without my mind getting in the way? How to let the memory of what it is to move with honesty (a place I've visited before) prevail without my mental state mapping out the landscape. And being reminded that just because I've done it before (the free-your-mind-and-the-rest-will-follow part) doesn't mean it's the go-to place.

The 20+ inches of snow that fell on the NYcity helped remind me that there's no controlling the landscape or movement of anything: one day a street looks like a street, the next it's rolling mounds of white-covered hunks of steel with little side-view mirrors peaking out. Yesterday I knew where the blue mailbox on the corner was, today not so much. It's taking a chance that a train may come...or not. it's struggling in my clunky boots and hat that falls over my eyes through the icy river of an intersection gritting my teeth, then laughing when I fall on my ass in a snow drift (tho not so much when little salt pellets spray me from the salt truck. those puppies sting). it's all random. It all moves me in a way unexpected, because nobody gave me instruction on what to do as i slushed and negotiated the curb outside the front door.

Therein lies the rub: to approach it instinctually, to get up and over and sometimes land on my butt—then most likely get up again—without a solid plan. to be able to live inside the experience without building big thoughts on top that tip it over into choreography. i'm a lot less freaked out about looking silly than i've ever been before, so why not live it? no sense. no memory.

silences + discernment

Last night myself and the band of merry dance luvuhs went to see Alvin Ailey at NYs City Center, which just about brings me full circle to my first blog entry that featured Ailey at City Center on December 29, 2009. What an amazing year that has twirled me here and now (a topic to be returned to)! But specifically it dawned on me last night while watching the show that two things I've not known very intimately before are much more prevalent in my life: 1) calm and easy silence, 2) discernment.

One of the pieces, The Evolution of a Secured Feminine, my favorite (followed by a veryvery close second in a piece called "Uptown" where Clifton Brown, incredible Ailey dancer, did a solo piece to Langston Hughes "Weary Blues"), was a solo performed Brana Reed, choreographed by Camille Brown (click on the link to see a snippet). A portion of the piece was danced with no music on a bare stage featuring only a chair. For me, hearing her breathe, exert, deep ins-and-outs, feet scraping across the floor, feet landing on the floor, practically hearing her arms slice through the air was mesmerizing because, duh...dance...what do you move to if you don't have music? What do we respond to without a prompt? I've been facing those moments of finding a stimulus other than what is put in front of me to respond to. And of course breathing has been such a challenge for me, that to hear others do it loudly and necessarily is a kind of thrill. But almost as important was the realization of how uncomfortable silence can be. I may be making this up (as I am wont to do), but i sensed the audience's fidget and squirm as she moved and moved and no audible beat came from the sound system. no amplification, only the rhythm of her body language.

Silence with others has always been a challenge for me (when on my own it's no problem, i don't even talk to my cats, which is the reason as i understand it, some people actually own cats, but then the little beasts never pay attention to what i say anyway...). With people around, my go-to place has been to fill those expanses up because they made me nervous. My sense of What Are They Thinking? kept me from letting myself figure out what I'm thinking. It's been a big part of my dazzle and look-over-there-shiny-object way to distract before anyone can think or form an opinion. Gasp...an opinion that might not be favorable to/of me if i was just still. This last year I made leaps and bounds in the still department, much of it to do with learning how to move in class from my stillness (while attempting to remember to breathe), and also to do with my realization that i just can't control what people think and do. boy-oh-boy did i get that lesson this year. While wrapping my head around events that happened in the dark silences of my marriage, trying to wrap my arms around relationship echoes, and wrapping my mind around the knowledge that everything was going forward noisily anyway, I found myself giving up to the realization that it had to fall apart. It seemed like the kind of quiet that may happen in the calm before a storm or the eye of a tornado. Something that is quieter than quiet itself. Now I find myself sharing a space with someone where being quiet can be very very intimate, where I don't feel i have to prove by saying. Where my friends know me without hearing me get vociferous about stuff.

And so she danced with no pre-recorded soundtrack.

On discernment: I used to take the first thing that came along, just in case nothing else appeared...i'd learn to like what i got. I used to think that once the moment was in front of you, you had to like everything about it, because to admit flaws was to sully the experience. Last night at Ailey, I realized that there were some parts I really liked and some parts that left me cold. But the experience and view as a whole were absolutely worth it. And as I dance that out into the world I'm realizing that it's so much more fun to run my hands over the smooth bits and the flaws (which actually make the smooth bits that much better).


(this pic* is for me a good example of my eye of storm...the music had stopped playing, the joy was ongoing, the sound was only of click-click-click, the smile came from a place of knowing I'd chosen this. worked hard to get to this quiet place where I could feel/show me: flaws and all. Heather, the photographer, is also amazing at letting her subjects get to that place. Check out her website to set up your very own quiet riot: divavoom.com)


*stay tuned for more pics to come.

through a lens lightly

LA. Land of my youth. land of my leaving. land of my ex (recently). land being reclaimed (now). I was there last week for Thanksgiving and the city was tinged with a slightly different light. A good portion of my favorite people are there (father and friends), and I loved seeing them, still flashed on and visited places that make me smile (Fred's, Le Figaro, Jumbo's, the offramp on the 5 where last year, when Led Zeppelin's "Dancing Days" came on the radio, I became a teenager again and sang the lyrics out the window into traffic...loudly), but this time I didn't feel pulled between there and here. I just felt happy to be there and just as happy to be coming back to NYC. I did give thanks in what a difference a year makes. Especially when I went to the studio to take a class.

Last November something most definitely cracked open in me after an immersion class in the LA studio. I think of it as the beginning of my realization of how much i needed to slow down and let myself be seen--and to feel everything i did. everything. And so began a chain reaction of events throughout this last year that dipped into darkness, lifted into light and oftentimes simply coasted on curiousity regarding who i was becoming. For that I am extremely thankful and happy. This year as I sat on the floor in class, not knowing anyone and feeling fine about that, the comment I heard after my dance was to be more selfish. to hold more for myself. not give it away (which given my recent experiences as I show people my apartment to sublet is something I should just tattoo on my arm: Do Not Give It Away. eeek.) But I sense a theme: altho for maybe the first time in front of a new teacher I wasn't told to breathe, I was asked to see what it would be like to think of what I want first and move from there. This is an interesting moment for me. Especially as it would be the first time being in a relationship where I didn't put him in front of me. But in understanding that the essence of selfish in a good way is to support and live out the best that i have to offer unabashedly--kind of like in the airplane safety video that everyone ignores about putting the oxygen mask on yourself first--I'm feeling my way toward what it's like to understand and express my own happiness without it being parceled out and dependent on anyone else. Yes, it's true that I'm smiling most when the people i care about are in my life, but i'm also a grinning fool when something seems to be going a bit awry yet it's not the end of the world. Ok, so sometimes i may just feel the fool and/or the grin is more like a grimace, but the moment comes and the moment goes. And I'm still breathing.

This year in LA, the moments were sweet and funny and even featured a grimace, but as they dropped from the sky, I took them happily for myself first and found I had plenty of air to share from there.

...dancing as fast as i can...

this line actually occurs to me a lot (and reminds me of the movie of the same name starring the awesome Jill Clayburgh [RIP] that came out at a time in my life when everything was so important, and it seemed every movie of the time had so much to say to me. C'mon: Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Blade Runner, Tron-ferCrissakes! wow, now i've really digressed...).

As I was mentioning earlier, the sense of dancing to keep up is something I've hit against this week. I had a huge moment of feeling like i was moving my feet, but i wasn't getting anywhere, and there were so many places I felt I needed to get. It didn't occur to me to just stand still and breathe. It also didn't occur to me that these moments I was tussling with were luxurious ones to have. (As a friend used to put it when we'd all commiserate after class about our life, our life, our life. oh, the drama, mostly they were luxurious problems.)

Moment: Somewhere around Monday I felt overwhelmed because I'd taken on two new book projects to edit and freaked out that I'd never have time to work on them. Luxury: two different publishing houses feel i do a good enough job that they want to pay me for freelance projects. This is not a problem.

Moment: On Tuesday, the Kickstarter fundraising was a day away from ending with us still short of our goal money for the Pole Play. Luxury: Within the 36 hours we had left, money came in to take us above and beyond what we needed—and this included backing from a friend who I hadn't been in touch with for awhile and whose generosity totally reminded me that people don't disappear from your life (unless you really want them to).

Moment: On Wednesday the class assignment was not moving me. We were meant to think on what we would want to be when we grew up (still an act in progress, apparently), and of course all that was tumbling in my mind was Well I wanted to be a ballerina, to ride a pony, to be a princess...but really I've been happy in what career i went toward and experienced. I thought if i went in as the little girl, playing something that moved me from my youth (led Zeppelin, thank you), that I could see where it took me. After putting on a little skirt and socks, and adding in the tall shoes, cuz why not?, one of my classmates said, "Oh, you wanted to be a groupie when you grew up." Ha...that was kind of true. To have control of the male gaze, to not be afraid of my sexuality, that was probably closer to the case...but as a career move...yikes. My dance started off with the tease but ended with me pulling off the skirt and not giving a f&k if anyone paid attention or not. Luxury: C's comments: "I'm glad you took off that skirt, because your power lives underneath it and you're beginning to not be afraid of it being seen and felt." (Now I'll await the call to speak at Career Day...)

Moment: On Thursday, I found myself yearning for one household to live in, rather than the funny back and forth I'm doing now between my honey's and mine. I was impatient with no bites on my sublet ads and the real estate guy who was enlisted to put out the word. Luxury: A couple of people have dropped me a line interested in seeing the space. Also, and even more important, this so-called problem comes because of love. This is not a problem.


The view from my window that someone else will soon be lucky enough to see...

a view

I've just gotten a chance to peek into myself from the outside looking in. Not by way of an out-of-body experience, but instead through the lens of a camera. I was in a darkened room with a pole, a velvet-curtained wall, a wooden floor. I had picked some music that I knew would help me move, and that i also knew the words to. I was wrapped up in clothing that made me feel both exposed and free, but also pieces that reminded me that i was enclosed in them (laces crisscrossing up my legs tightly; a corset with stays and hooks pressing in when i moved a certain way). The woman who took the shots was so cool. Just a presence really. And when I did hear her, it wasn't intrusive as in "You look fabulous, baby" but more "Wow, stay there for just a minute more." And I did. Stay there. I'm still there, apparently. And it's challenging.

At the first full view of the photos, I had to look away a lot because they(me) made me uncomfortable. I kept thinking Who is that staring back at me? What is she thinking with her hands there on her body? How did she get to the place where she's even in front of this camera? The moments that had me most kerfluffled were the ones where I'm looking right into the camera. It seems like I'm asking for something. An invitation to come find me in here, to understand that now more than ever I can expose flaws and all without tucking into a ball and rolling away. There's also a hint of wondering if someone else might know more than me who I am and where I'm going. the unwavering glance suggests that the question is mostly aimed inward.

When the pictures were being snapped, I knew i wanted to be playful with the camera, but as with most intentions, that didn't really end up happening (except at the end when I felt like I was swinging-round the maypole). Instead I really felt a pure sensuality and at times the camera became my lover (and a fleeting vision of how he would feel while seeing the pictures spurred me on in those moments), but more than that, I felt safe in the exposure. Moving through the layers of the places my movement has taken me—how the dance and the emotional intertwine.

There were a couple of moments when i felt a sort of wardrobe malfunction happen and i'd think, damn, that's probably more than i want to show...but even still, bumps, bulges and all, that was mostly very far from my mind. In fact, feeling and seeing All.Of.It is a place I continue to move into slowly. And these photos really showed me that my eyes are more open to it all than they've ever been. And so follows the rest of me.

I keep looking at these shots and teasing out the moments of where i am now (ever-changing, i know): from someone whose normally been challenged to not make a face when facing a lens to someone whose curious enough to keep on looking. a little bit challenging. a dash of defiance and a shake of a question. I find myself wanting to hold the gaze.