begin again

tonight i went to a meditation workshop. i'm still smiling and anticipate doing so for many many hours, etc., to come. even before the actual speaking/partaking began i was smiling because i noticed something about myself and humans in general that was so entertaining: it seems there are those among us (me, being one in particular) who will do almost anything to avoid asking people to move or otherwise put themselves out on our account. i say this because when i stepped into the room, i looked around for a seat among the many rows of folding chairs and decided i wanted to be against the wall with a view of both the raised area where the woman leading the practice would sit and the windows out of which lush, green trees could be seen. instead of straddling the half-dozen people already sitting in the row, i flattened myself against the far wall and shimmied up to the chair where i wanted to sit, then as i angled to place my bag down and squeeze around and into it, the chair folded up and just about fell over. but i caught it in time and sat down, acting as if i meant to do that, naturally. at the same moment i saw a woman shimmying down the wall in the other direction and knock someone's backpack off one of the chairs. she smiled, as a man next to her bent to help her pick it up and almost fell out of his seat. just then another chair across the room folded in on itself and toppled over, presumably displaced by a wall shimmyer. so the ultimate goal of being unnoticed and self-sufficient was completely blown. it was all quite awesome.

conspicuousness, part two: as our first guided meditation began, and the woman leading us started to speak, i closed my eyes and started to breathe. suddenly i felt one of my breaths catch on something inside of me and a coughing fit rose up and shook me...loudly. as i tried to control myself (and avoid getting up to have to cross over the now at-least dozen people in the row), i focused as much as i could on stilling myself. just in time to hear her say "you can always begin again. and again. every moment is an opportunity to begin fresh." damn. clean slate and all, i took a clear, fresh breath and promptly began again. and again after i entertained the thought of what i was going to have for dinner. and again after i mulled over what song i might play in class tomorrow. and again once i began reflecting on how interesting it is to just breathe. and again after i let go of the thought that it's so rare that i just...breathe...in so many areas of my life. i'm clearly still beginning as i continue to write this.

breathing: such a connective moment in my existence. the breathlessness of my desires, expectations, goals. When i was fully chasing a career, i'd go from one ladder rung title to the next (assistant, assistant editor, senior editor...) as if the dowel just under my feet was on fire. when i got to the top of that particular ladder, i flung myself off thinking i'd find some peace. not so much. i also didn't find my breath. in my relations with guys, i actually held my breath while hoping this would be the one. apparently being with a woman always on the verge of turning purple and fainting from anticipation is not an invitation to get comfortable and stay awhile (and the one who did stay the longest was, i believe, quite happy to take up the airspace i willingly gave over). on money, i'm still learning how to not hyperventilate while just thinking about the stuff.

but i will say that the last few months have been the ones where my airways have been most clear. I have a job where i can breathe. no one's bellowing at me and subsequently i'm happy to be there and be working with words. in dance, i haven't been gasping for air at the end of my song. i've been more lost in the movement of my whole self. and in each of those places, i feel like i can grasp what it means to simply begin again in the moment, rather than be living out in the future where the air is nonexistent, because there's no there there yet. i'm still stepping toward the begin-again wonder of money and men, but it makes so much sense that here i am knocking over chairs in my head with the promise of beginning as many times as i want.

floating&breathing. so wonderful.

when it rains it pours

Today i ran a half marathon and i wasn't really prepared. yet i did it, and while i feel it's aftermath much more than i normally do (primarily in the maneuvering of stairs and how my knees and thighs feel in the process), i realize that i can finish what i start and how powerful my mind and body are to push me through. what i really realized, though, is that there are certain things you can do, that with just a bit more preparation, will leave you feeling better in the end. I've known that intrinsically for awhile, yet somehow I'll get all superwoman about it and think, Bring it on, I can handle it. Well of course i can handle it, the question is more along the lines of How will i experience the aftermath. With today, i'm actually ecstatic to have done what i did today: joining a friend in a 40-degree rain and running a couple of times around Central Park with a bunch of kick-ass ladies. And recognizing I could have been better trained was an incredibly good lesson for me to remember. humbling really.

When I got home, a message was waiting for me about a date that had been planned for later in the afternoon. he was canceling and i wasn't at all surprised. disappointed, but not surprised because this particular person had been arriving but never actually landing for months. And i felt a certain relief to be able to put down the flashlight in my attempt to bring this baby down the runway. Now i may be functioning on a larger than average amount of endorphins today, but i'm realizing that more than not lately i'm less inclined to play with the gun once i've dodged the bullet. in other words, where in the past i would have still held on to a certain outcome, hoped to hear in future, thought there may still be something for me to do get what i think i think i want, i'm now so relieved to roll with whatever comes and realize that it's going exactly as it needs to. That when or if an intimacy with someone is right, i'm open to that, but i'm also very happy to recognize that it's not good for me to be cavalier about what i can and cannot handle. to honor my fragility and humanness is the best thing i can do for myself. and to speak the truth about it comes part and parcel. to be able to let this person know that i was moving away from the arrivals gate felt really necessary and freeing.

As i soaked happily in the tub tonight, giving thanks for what my body can do and honoring what i do for the whole of me, i included thanks that the universe takes care even when it looks like it's not.

i'm worth a million in prizes

So it's lunchtime, and i'm going to ruminate: First of all, it's Earth Day. I haven't yet figured out how to honor that, although i have spent some time thinking about how angry she clearly is with us, what with all the natural upheavals that have happened lately. so i'm going to think more on what i and we can do to move that toward a better place.

It's Take Your Daughter to Work Day, which i discovered when i entered the lobby of the MetLife building next to a stroller with a tiny (presumably) girl inside sleeping, then saw a dad with an eleven-year-old little lady on one hand and a maybe-eight-year-old boy on the other. I suppose the conversation at home went something like this: "It's not fair that she doesn't have to go to school and I do." [repetitive flushing of toilet sound.] "Oliver, it's ok, honey, come out of the bathroom. You can go with daddy to work, too." And then for most of today I've been coloring with Eva, the 10-year-old daughter of someone who works here (at least i hope she belongs to someone here, though i'm not sure who, but said parent better come and find her by 5:00, because i'm not going straight home and it would probably be wrong of me to take her with me).

But, to me, the most amazing thing this day marks is that Iggy Pop has made it to the age of 63. Seriously, that's incredible. And boy can that man dance! He's got a natural snake-like move that hasn't ever seemed to change with age (I saw a little clip of it just last month at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremonies). I remember seeing Iggy in LA at the Hollywood Palladium about 30 years ago. Totally and absolutely mesmerizing. There was no one favorite moment, rather it was an end-to-end "Oh-no-he-didn't" extravaganza. He rolled on glass, he climbed out onto the speakers that teetered over the audience and made them teeter more, he whipped his microphone chord around like a lasso (and may have hit himself repeatedly with it...though i might have made that up), he dropped to his knees, he crawled, he keened, he wailed. And there was kick-ass music to accompany him. I didn't have any one favorite song or moment, it was just balls-out awesomeness end-to-end.


While I don't have the stomach for the excess of Mr. Pop's life (and for more firsthand, surprisingly gleeful insight into that click here to get a peek at Legs McNeil's Please Kill Me: the Uncensored Oral History of Punk and read about why eyebrows are important or do a search for "Elton John" and read about how he terrorized a very high Mr. Pop at a show one night), I must say that the pure joy he seems to bring to his performing moments is unparalled and a certain inspiration for living. Certainly I don't know what happens when he's bouncing in his bubble out of the public's eye, but given the example of his public persona, I find joy. (And having "Lust for Life" as my ringtone makes my phone a more enjoyable necessary instrument.)

As I search for my own simple joie de vivre day in and day out, Iggy Pop's approach to life seems a crazy balance between full-out expression and no boundaries, chance-taking and creating. A kind of Energizer-Bunny approach to life (maybe without the dark shades). You keep going, you spin around, you keep a beat, you look goofy, it's all good. You pause and do it again.

Lust for life, indeed!

right on

this editorial by Sheila Kelley is so so so true!

roadmaps

Way back in 2000 i had an operation where they removed one of the lobes in my right lung (two lungs: 3 lobes on one side, 2 on the other. now i'm balanced with two on either side). I had a carcinoid tumor that was benign (read: not something that spread), and i named this invader Johnny Carcinoid because i was anticipating its retirement happening sooner rather than later. Out it came and while it was an event i never want to repeat again, i went forward sporting a gnarly scar, and started running, dancing, etc. so i could really feel my lungs at work. About 3 years later, i started feeling all these weird twinges and pulls around where the surgery had been and i FREAKED out. Was totally certain that Johnny-boy was back and all kinds of fears flooded my brain. I had a scan and all turned out to be fine, but i was thrown off-kilter wondering how something i thought had passed could rise up with such force and scare the bejeesus out of me again.

My friend F, an anesthesiologist, told me that our bodies often go into shock after major trauma and it can sometimes take years before all the nerve endings and feelings return to normal around that particular spot. This, he said, is a part of the healing process, giving our bodies time to build scar tissue, get used to tenderness and generally move forward. All of this happening instinctively, with our bodies working exactly as they're meant to.

Naturally I'd been under the impression that the event was over and, just like the mark left on the outside of my body, the edges would soften and all that would remain would be a faint trail as a reminder. I now get so much more clearly how time cannot be counted on when it comes to scars. As for the marks on the inside, I can be transported back into a moment by just a smell, a dream, a brief flash of seeing something. And there must be gentleness in the handling. I've always been prone to moving through something and thinking it's done,done,done, wiping my proverbial hands of it and walking away. Well imagine my surprise when seemingly out of nowhere I'll feel a little tickle inside and wham a moment, memory, person rises up and i'm shaking all over again. The jagged little edges as pink and angry as ever. Well, hello there sailor, time to ride the rough seas again until some calmness comes and whoosh i'm floating again.

The thing about scars, the kind you can see, is that you can, er, see them. And they seem to serve as a kind of invitation to remember the event. Hi, I'm that lightning-bolt indent on your left index finger. remember how i came to be when you were removing that avocado pit and the knife slipped? You knew you should go get stitches, but it was nighttime and some TV show was on you wanted to watch and, oh yeah, NYC emergency rooms are not a really enjoyable destination. so there was that. I'm that moment that you chose convenience and wishful thinking over immediate medical attention, though you were scared you might bleed to death if you took a hot bath. Or, hey, remember me? I'm that little faint line on your forehead where you slid into the corner of the door when you were five after tripping in the kindergarten classroom. And you didn't want to make a scene (or whatever the thought process is at five) though you were scared at how much your head was bleeding. I'm that moment in time when you felt unsure about asking for help.

I was at a party recently where i was talking about scars with three guys in the kitchen. They all had these great stories (and scars to show for them) about flying off their bike, or jumping off the roof or crashing through a plate-glass window (well, actually that one wasn't so great, maybe a little more tragic, although the crasher is OK now), and their faces lit up in the telling. Revisionist history, I think. We celebrate what we've been through and it gets better with the recounting. Whether it's the physical or emotional stuff, it can make me stronger, though I'm finding sometimes a scar stays pink and angry for longer than i'd like it to. But I'm still celebrating whatever it is that brought me to stumble into it and come out the other side. This roadmap of life can get pretty interesting.

space invaders

I was never drawn to video games, and the one that this title name checks was never even a temptation for a number of reasons. First there was the electronic soundtrack that just made me want to cue up Gary Numan's "Cars" on my record player, then there was the glassy-eyed stare people took on once they grabbed the joy stick, oh...and then there was the fact that i wasn't good at any of them (maybe PacMan, but i might be making that up). but while i can live with the fact that this Atari classic wasn't for me, the two words "space" and "invaders" suddenly resonates with a whole new meaning for me right here, right now.

Today i reflected on how lucky i am. while there's no doubt i'm shown this every minute of every day, this particular sunday i was lucky enough to embrace through movement, vision and conversation with friends what it is to truly know that i'm held. all of this began to really open up last week starting with a brunch with friends where i felt flat out how easy it is to just be me, in my body, no pretense ever. then, during a conversation with a friend at a juice joint, my eyes were popped open to the availability of balance in life. As the week unfolded and i canceled a dinner with two of my favorite ladies, they let me know it was ok to be selfish (i applied that word to it, tho not in a bad way) and they'd stand next to me, lift me, hold me, prop me if need be. and there was today, where i learned what it is to move in beauty and trust and came home to have a conversation with a dear friend who slid me a tile for me to lay into my life's mosaic.

And here's where the space invading comes in: it's time for me to do some of that. One of the tidbits of talk i had today with my fellow dance luvah was her observation that i don't claim&hold my space when i'm moving with people. and this, in fact, rang very true: i'll take as much as i can when i'm solo: roll, stomp, tumble. but if i find myself in a close cluster, or reaching for the pole and another comes along to claim the space as well, i defer, move away, find another spot. what rings in my head as i write this thinking about those moments: don't make a fuss. make do with what you have. would you really know what to do with it, even if you got it? do you really deserve it?

whew, that's a lot of posits, and it reminds me that i've always thought i moved through my life like that: take up as little space as i can, that way no one will expect anything. yet in reality, i express myself emotionally in the exact opposite way. i hold out my hand, i give an embrace, i listen and wrap people's words into my thoughts and actions just as they do mine. i'm not shy. so my inner thoughts/outer actions are not altogether synced. if there was a life syncing option as there is on iTunes, i'd plug myself in, but the reality is that the holding and claiming of space is mine to find. to ask for.

When i first started working at SPIN, i arrived the first day to find my office was the supply closet. I kid you not, this is not a moment from the movie Brazil. this was the space they had cleared for me the day before, wedged in a desk (damn near knocking down the door frame), grabbing a lamp off the shelf and calling it mine. my title was senior editor, my space was supplier of the stapler. but i didn't make a peep. i think my thoughts ran along the lines of "I can live with this. at least i have an office." Okay, so really? my go-to moment was Thank you sir for giving me any space at all, rather than WhatThaF&%k is this? You expect me to work here? And as time went on, this message was played out over and over until i left that supply closet behind for something completely different. Thinking: change of scenery, bring on the respect. But i continued to short-shrift my corner of the world.

I've often prided myself on my easy-going ways, but i'm aching for more space to celebrate myself inside of. i am lucky enough to have awesome people to share that real estate with, if i so choose. and if i pull a greta garbo and want to be alone, that's cool too. so i'm off to claim me some land.

(Also, i just discovered the link function on this blog, hence the plethora of click-on options in this entry. and here's one more: On The Media did a show today on the curious case of why women don't honk their own horn when it comes to their incredible abilities in the workplace. Quite worth the listen and/or read of the transcript.)

trust

a while ago i took a workshop where the very first message (of many) was "Trust in your presence." No problem, I thought to myself. seemed a simple thing. I'm here, I'm present, I trust that.

Boy, in looking that message in the eye, have i been brought up against what those words really mean to me. in retrospect, I realize that as a budding human i trusted very little in my presence. seemed all smoke and mirrors the way i'd not rock the boat, give off just enough presence to remind my parents i was still on the scene. i knew they loved me, yet it seemed a complicated blend of asking for their attention and not pushing my luck. That recognized, my belief in my presence around anyone who didn't have to love me was sketchy at best. for some reason, i was pretty sure i was forgettable. in all honesty, i don't know where that started, but i know we implant everything in and on our bodies and that became the inner tattoo i carried.

when i began my music journalism career, my intention was to slip in, be a fly on the wall, get good stories and fade away. Although i had a fleeting desire to make like Pamela DesBarres and become a notorious groupie, i just couldn't pull off the attitude or, for that matter, the shoes. what i really wanted from the music was the bravado, the confidence, the balls. I didn't want to be a tough-ass for the details, instead i wanted to hang, be the buddy, the confidante. I was often a bit intimidated by my fellow writers whose knowledge of music minutia was incredibly precise. there was no way i could go head-to-head in a round of "name every track off Sonic Youth's demo tape." this made me feel a bit of a fraud and i trusted my presence not at all, thinking i'd be discovered as a poser any second. (It didn't help that my very first Rolling Stone published piece was one i didn't even write. one of the staff writers had been forced to go to see a certain mega-pop diva's mid-eighties movie made with her at-the-time husband and it sucked so badly that he didn't want to put his byline on it because we kind of needed her record company to like us, so he asked if he could put my name on his scathing review...cuz no one would be able to retaliate against me, an intern. i said Yes, and ironically the review ended up in a book collection. And to this day, i've not seen said movie nor has this article ever come back to bite me in the ass.)

so here i was moving through my life, interviewing bands that were changing the landscape of music, becoming friends with some of the coolest chicks and guys i'd ever known, getting intimate with rock stars, becoming a better writer, and still i didn't trust that i had anything to do with it. thought it a fluke. a lucky turn of events. right place, right time. but here's the thing: Now i know better and it's just a cop-out for me to pretend otherwise. My presence is powerful. I have incredible people in my life. this isn't just chance, this is real and how i go about moving through this world has to do with that. A friend reminded me the other day that my focus has so much been on boys—who they've been in my life, what i want them to be, how they validate my presence. Although she said she now sees that dance&movement has brought me much-needed strength and confidence, she was so right in pinpointing the place that sends me spiraling outside of my trust in my own presence. i think about why it matters so much to me whether i've made or am making a mark on a man? why the need for validation from the opposite sex. I've no doubt it's a time-ongoing question, and i continue to turn it over in my mind.

If i trust in my presence, then i'm living from a place that i believe in. naturally i'm a breathing organism on this planet, but i didn't just fall into where my life is at now. i feel power rise up inside of me, especially lately while i'm dancing. i'm learning to be selfish about it. selfish is a thing i've always thought bad (girl=nice=giving=ouch). But i'm not doing any favors by pretending that i'm invisible. so as i stand with my arms outstretched, i trust that my presence is felt and enjoyed. not just because i happen to be there, but because it's worthy of sharing.

raw

this is one of the darker (or lighter, depending on your view) entries. i'm really focusing on giving it all up: expectations, desires and the like. i'm beginning to understand that i am no different. i can have no pride around being friends with my ex—that's been established for awhile. that i'm pricked, i bleed. that's how it works. smash the ego. i can't escape my anger, nor contain it in any sort of comfortable space. it hurts and that's the way it is. i touch it just to make sure it can burn me. time to put that self-annihilation aside as well. for the first time i've considered taking anti-depressants, though i don't necessarily want to alter where my feelings are going, but i am exhausted with where my feelings are going. (but, really, it doesn't matter if i'm tired. i can lay down.)

i'm giving up hope, which to some is for suckers anyway. hope suggests holding on to a desire that something may someday happen. slowly, slowly, i'm realizing that it's completely possible that a man will never hold me in a passionate embrace and tell me he loves me. i can't hope for that because the actual act of hoping is moot, though i still feel the ache of wanting it, that's all it is: an ache, a feeling. nothing is happening. i am where i am and there's no better or worse place to be. slowly, slowly i'm laying aside my sexual desire. i'm not stomping on it as i did in my marriage, but i'm moving the intensity out of my communication altogether. until i feel confident in being able to hold those desires equally with my power and voice, until i don't feel that it leads me, i'm inviting it to take a rest. i'll still investigate my sensuality, and especially in my dance, but no more control of it in my life.

there's no future. no expectations. i've made lists of desires until it felt as if my head would explode and the ink run dry. there's never a reason for one's head to pop off.

slowly, so slowly i turn away from what i think anything looks like. i open my arms. my eyes are closed, i'm not looking. i'm here.

still...falling

to let myself fly, to let myself sit, to let myself fall. i'm working on all that. (these images take me there viscerally.) to have no control except go where the moment delivers me and be alright with that. to stop thinking that i have to look at it and work it out. though i'm often confused about the idea of how letting go shares space with the power of thought and action. where does one begin and the other end? how to take responsibility for my words and desires, while still being ok with whatever happens? (though in a way, reading that last question, i see it's probably as simple as that: say it, ask for it, not be attached to the outcome.)

i have discovered that i feel safe when i can't see. when i'm moving in something and i can feel, but i don't have any vision around it. i let go. then i soar and climb and sit and no one else is there for me, yet i feel safe. i feel shrouded, contained, held. i can feel truly with no calculation. now take that into the hours when my eyes are open and i'm moving through the world. my obsession with sleeves and pulling them over my hands as if i want to climb inside, yet i want to be seen and to touch. sometimes i want to touch through something because it's less raw, less electric. as if i need a buffer. but i'm beginning to want to touch it bare. live it in the light.

i never wanted a nightlight when i was a kid because the darkness felt fine. once, when i thought the organ next to my bed was playing "The Hills Are Alive" all by itself, i knew not to tell my mom because she'd say it was just a dream and i'm sure i knew that, but if she told me then i thought the magic would go away. just holding on to the What-If-ness of my organ actually playing by itself was a moment i wanted. some things i don't want to expose to the light, and i think that's ok, yet i'm also finding my way to living in a place where i can ask and i desire, and wherever i land, i'm so happy with that.


*photos by nina (click on her name to learn more. She's got some amazing photos.)

now i remember

I forgot that when you get a tattoo (or alter an existing one) that for a few days the image grows all rough and scaly like an alligator's skin and then flakes off to expose something new, soft and just right underneath. (And yes, I'm getting all metaphorical here with this.)
I forgot how badly my butt hurts after riding my bicycle over the hills and valleys of my neighborhood, then i forget that my butt hurts when i look out at the beauty of where my bike takes me.
I forgot it was Easter, but now understand why i saw all the wacky things i did on people's heads today.
I forgot (but only because i was distracted by all the stuff people were wearing on their head) how much i like almost any flavor of ice cream.
I forgot that you can still miss someone even if you don't want to know them anymore.
I forgot that when i decide i'm ready, it will happen.
I forgot that i'm not in any hurry.
I forgot (temporarily) that crying while still being really happy isn't weird.
I forgot that when i move toward something i want, and then get scared and pull away, that what i want is still there.
I forgot that it's up to me. But now i remember.
I forgot to lock up my bike at Fairway and no one stole it.