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.

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.