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.