hustle & flow

I've always been of a mind that i had to bust my ass in order to get what i wanted. Don't we all grow up hearing that? You gotta work for your money, make every minute count...do the hustle. I mean, c'mon, those were the only words to the song and i dare anybody not to immediately get up and hustle to that baby. All the way though my career (read: life), i've felt like the only way i deserved to relax was if i worked extra hard. Bled a little for it. I'd often hope somebody would notice. But whether they did or not, i'd have to solve the problem. couldn't rest until i did. Couldn't let it fall apart.

One memorable pretty-much-went-to-hustle-hell event happened when I worked at Elektra records and had to take one Adina Howard, she of the "Freak Like Me" fame, down to Miami Beach for an MTV dance show. Wheee. what fun that was. First off, she and her ladies eyed me as their nemesis since it was my job to deny them almost everything they wanted. Plus, i in no way resembled anyone they'd want to be seen with, what with my pigtails and geekiness and them with their bodacious all-over-ness. I could handle them changing their rooms a half-dozen times to get a better view, their need for a running tab of room service that kept the kitchen and bar beating a path to the door, their desire to mani-pedi themselves to death before the taping. But what I couldn't let them do, had been told under no circumstances to allow, was for them to commandeer the limo driver for joy rides all over town after we'd done the requisite meet-and-greet dinners. So naturally our first night there, I looked over my hotel balcony to see Adina and her gals climbing into the back of the limo...noooooo...i ran like my pigtails were on fire to the lobby to watch the taillights pull out of the circular driveway, and with it any hopes that my budget would withstand the scrutiny. The next day I told Adina that this couldn't happen again. sure, yeah, she heard me. I talked to our driver. yeah, like he was going to refuse a freak like her? All-in-all, i couldn't hold it together. the trip was a series of "Where's Adina?" moments as she rode that driver...i mean car service...like she owned it. While i didn't lose my job, i took it as an indication that i didn't hustle enough. that i could have done something about the situation. handled it better. And all the while there was a voice coming up inside of me saying, There's nothing you could have done differently. Boy did i shut down that whisper, because, in my estimation, i don't care how mellow i seemed, i could always have hustled it better.

And i've been giving power to that voice pretty consistently ever since, until recently, when i've felt exhausted keeping my finger in every dike so that the supposed disaster waiting on the other side of the wall won't come crashing over. And for all i know, there's not even anything on the other side of the wall. So now I've decided i want full use of all my fingers again. I'm removing them from the holes. Whatever comes crashing or trickling or flowing over/through that wall, bring it. I'm ready to be courageous and go with the flow. I haven't really had the bravery before. And i'm not even saying that critically. just matter of fact. I wonder what is possible if i do nothing, just let things take their course. let stuff fall apart. What if i give my love and don't get what i want in return? What if my words and deeds just float out into the world cuz i set them sail, not on a recon mission to bring me back something, but to let them go without any expectations. just stand in it, let the flow move me, rather than me move the flow. Because, I don't know if you've noticed lately, one cannot control a flow once it's started (check the news for the sad part of that unfortunately man-made gusher).

I've been meeting this moment in class. the place i take many of my emotional baby steps . i've felt a shift in the studio as i've let myself slow down, wide open and floating. I'm not hustling anywhere. I'm not controlling anything. and damn if i haven't felt better and more present in my body when i don't care what it looks like. I'm tired of agitating away from the hard feelings. i've decided to make friends with them, namely loneliness and courage. I thought i'd animate them with some attributes. For some reason, the first image that came to mind for my loneliness was a pickle. seriously, i wasn't even at a barbecue when that image came. It's the first thing that came to me: a sour, scrunchy-faced, cold to the touch pickle (maybe a dill). so i'm gonna make friends with that little green thing, my loneliness. aside from being startlingly crunchy, it ain't gonna kill me.

As for my courage, that looks like a waterfall. free-flowing, ongoing, bracing and something that i can jump from and in to. i've walked away from that cliff so often. Haven't stayed in situations or relationships because i was scared or thought it better to disappear. So my courage will be the flow that me and my pickled loneliness can leap from, paddle in, float and go with the flow.

OK, I'm suddenly craving a BLT and some potato salad...
this is where i sit and watch mother nature bring the tide flowing in and out. there are no pickles in this picture.

journey (not the band)

This past winter, I went to a shaman gathering. Being a California girl who wasn't raised on a diet of any particular religion, i've always been curious about what goes on in the different belief systems that pop up door to door. Also, a combination of live percussion and interesting views on life and beyond will draw me in even faster. So there i was on a cold NYC night, in a downtown loft hearing a story about me. A few minutes earlier i'd been lying on the floor with the drum beating and a couple of people apparently feeling me and my vibes (not literally feeling me, mind you, but, ya know, esoterically speaking). When I sat up, one of the guys told me a tale of what he'd seen for me. He said (after a kind of lengthy preamble involving a bear and some fish and me being devoured by one..or both...i don't remember, but in essence i was totally lost up until this point): I was in a cave with an old woman who knew all the stories of the world. She was surrounded by a lot of young women, and she'd told bits and pieces of the story to each of them. The old woman was about to die and now it was my task to gather all the stories from each woman into one cohesive whole. My first thought was, Do I get a stipend for this? Then I felt suddenly exhausted and fled into the night with the thought filed away in my brain for future reference.

A couple of weekends ago, i went back to the shamans and another woman did a session with me. Afterward she told me that she felt i was a collector, that I drew people in to hear their stories, but that i had to be careful to not just hold onto everything without finding a way to release my own tales into the world. That i needed to think less, play more. Lead with my heart more than my mind. That's when the previous shaman tale started to ring true.

I started to think of all the incredible women i have in my life. Ones I've known for decades and years and months and all the way to just met—and even those who i've never seen face to face but exist in that weird world of social networking. Women who make me laugh, who challenge me, who bring really cool things into my life. It goes on and on. In the past, i was surrounded by a lot of men. In particular music business men who i often gave front and center attention to. Guy-ville was the place i tried to live and collect more stories. But one rock chick at the time came to override that moment...for a moment.

A good friend of mine was the manager of Hole, and so i got to know Courtney slightly pre-K.Cobain. She was by far the most intense, edgy rock woman i'd met (so far). I was both intrigued and scared shitless of her. For some reason she decided it would be a good idea to call me at wee hours of the morning to talk about feminism. I fancied myself a grrls grrrl, and was really flattered by this attention. But i was also exhausted and even though my job didn't seem like a real job sometimes, i still had to get up and turn up and edit and write every day, so there was that to consider. When the phone would ring, i would approach it with dread and titillation, a weirdly unsettling cocktail. But here was the thing: this was a totally one-sided conversation. she would talk. i would listen. occasionally grunt something. she would talk some more. At one point during our last conversation, I laid the phone down on the pillow and i dozed off. The next morning i was a little mortified, plus slightly curious about what i'd missed (but mostly mortified). she never called again after that, though she also didn't act weird or outraged when i saw her next (truth be told, i was terrified that she'd either scream at me or punch me in the nose).

Those were the early days of my listening and telling. Now i'd never lay the phone down to miss a story, though i honestly don't even like the phone, and much prefer face to face. I also am coming to understand how to pace myself so i can hear and say and be fully involved in what's up with my ladies and not frustrated because i'm too tired to listen. I feel really privileged to know such awesome women whose stories are shaping this planet. Guys are cool and all, but we ladies have some mighty good tales to tell. And we're living them, too.

(BTW: this is not me, but a photoshop'd thing that a friend
made with my head and Courtney's body. but it made me remember stories...
and made me think i could maybe go blonde.)

gifts

Riding my bike along the hudson river where the people like to roll and stroll along, i did a double-take as i rode by a crumpled green paper in the grass. not wanting to impede the flow of traffic, i kept going, yet i thought to myself, That looked like a dollar bill. i rode a little farther down the path thinking, Surely by now someone would have picked it up. I don't want to turn around. It'll look silly.

Two seconds later I whipped my bike around and went back to the spot, where, after dropping my bike in the grass, i found not one, not two, but three dollar bills and a ten and a five. Seventeen bucks mixed in with the grass blades. a couple walked by and asked if i needed help. i guess my kneeling in the grass with my bike beside me was something unusual. i said Thanks, no...tucked my find in my pocket while giving gratitude to whatever source this lovely lucre had come from, got back on my bicycle and rode on to Fairway down the road. I'd been wondering how much i had for groceries, and now i could relax a bit. As i was walking through the entryway, lined with shelves of chips, i took out the money and as i was holding up the five, the air conditioner over the door blew it out of my hand and under a rack of chips. Nooooooo....

I leaned over and looked under the rows of Pirate's Booty, but saw nothing. a Fairway employee was passing by and i asked him to look under the shelf for me. huh? but he did it, and after a little belly shimmy, came out with my found five. i thanked him a lot and realized that that was the second time in under an hour that i was willing to not blend in, to do something that would bring me attention. all because i saw and then held something i wanted.

icky thump...

This weekend i was riding at sunset on the westside highway bike path when i heard a sound that i would like to soon forget, but know will stay with me for quite awhile: thud, scream, yelp. As a knot clinched my stomach, i turned around to see a woman and her dog lying in the crosswalk. She'd been hit by a turning car as she'd been crossing the street. In the moment between freezing and moving toward her (weird surreal, no-time-zone moment), the thought passed through my mind that i didn't know what i was going to see when i got to her but i kept moving anyway. Luckily there happened to be a doctor on his bike who stopped, called 911 and was already by her side. Myself and another two cyclists were the next ones to reach her.

The woman turned out to be conscious, no blood, and we were told this was a good thing. The dog, a tiny little terrier, was fine and had nestled immediately into her arms, looking around as if to protect her as much as it could. When the cops arrived, they took her little dog and put it in their car. And that is when she lost it. Initially, i thought it was cruel that the police were taking away what seemed to bring her comfort. But later, standing on the side talking to dr.-man, he told me that a) the paramedics needed to work on her unobstructed and even little tiny terriers can get worked up into snapping snarling menaces and b) the woman was finally focused on herself and no longer distracted by taking care of her pet. He said he'd often seen people keep it together in front of loved ones so as not to scare them, and only when alone in a room would they give vent to their feelings.

The b) explanation really stuck with me as i rode (super, extremely carefully) home. it made me think how many times i've not given full attention to my own emotions when i feel i have someone else to take care of instead. I totally did this when D and I split up. For some reason i felt i had to keep it together in front of him, even though he'd started the leaving party. Although, truth be, i was also terrified of fully accessing all my feelings because i was pretty sure i'd just fall apart humpty-dumpty and never get put back together again. So it was easier to pretend all was gonna be ok. (And of course, all was/is ok. Even better, actually, but that's mainly because i finally fell apart and figured out how to six-million-dollar myself back into action.) When my johnny-carcinoid tumor was on the scene back in that last decade, one of the main reasons i didn't want my mom or dad to come be with me was because i thought i'd have to keep it together for them. Brave face and all. That was far from true, and my mom did an awesome job of being there on the scene, while my dad gave long-distance support. But even in everyday moments, i'll not give full range to how i'm really feeling icky if i think it will bum someone out. It's not as if i'm leaning toward a full, spill myself out anytime/anywhere scene, but i am trying for a little more honesty in bringing myself to the surface and letting people who know me actually....know me. We'll see how that works.

This last weekend it was also suggested to me that i stop thinking and just move from my heart rather than my head. (I was also told to try breathing through my toes...don't even know how that works. If anyone out there has suggestions, i'm eager to know.) This follows completely the thread that's been running through my dance and the notes i hear. To imagine myself a blow-up doll was one comment, because then i'll actually take up the room that a 5'6" person would. To lay in the middle of the floor not moving if that's where my heart wants to be, because who cares what anyone else will think (& i'm lucky enough to have classmates who really would agree it's best for me to do nothing since they don't want me to entertain them. Hell, no). I struggle with turning down the sound in my head, with doing something just for me because i feel like it and not keeping it together for anyone else. I struggle.
my two-headed furry beast(s). they have no problem letting me know what they want/need. and when they want it, which is always now! i rarely let them cross the street alone.

bend it like bravery

When i would ride on the back of D's motorcycle, the rule of thumb when going around curves on the road was to lean into them. That was about the only thing i had to remember to do as a passenger (next to not, ya know, screaming and pointing and causing us to run into anything). It was a simple thing, yet weirdly challenging because the time to lean the most was when we were going around hairpin turns. The kind that felt as if your knees might actually scrape the ground. And instead of following the natural instinct to pull back from what felt dangerous, you were meant to go toward it while the engine revved steadily to take the cycle round the bend.

This occurs to me now as a pretty excellent metaphor for life in general. I'm finding that facing inner situations that make me want to pull back in the other direction are actually better served when i actually bend my whole self into them while keeping my eyes open. Suddenly i'm meeting the moment head-on. And that's all it is, a moment. None of the crazy shit that i've made up in my head comes true. I realize i'm fine, no matter what. And then the next moment comes. My sense of safety becomes expanded because i realize i've made it through the turns and i'm ok. In some cases, even better. Sometimes exactly the same. Occasionally sporting some bruises or a scar, but no matter, those can be fun to tell stories about and eventually fade with time.

Talking to my mom this weekend, she was telling me about some this&that of which she has real fear around, yet she was always aware not to show that fear to me (except for the aforementioned post regarding the ferris wheel), and i think that served me well. I don't remember having a whole lot of terror around trying something new, even remembering the time i was on a horse when we were on vacation that got spooked by something and ran willy-nilly off the beaten track and through bushes, backyards, outhouses and i don't remember what all. In fact, all i remember is hanging on. I don't even have a memory of how long it went on or where the horse eventually stopped. For me, moments like that have a way of completely wiping your brain free. There's no room for thinking, it's all just survival. And boy did i lean into that one, i even think my eyes were open (possibly my mouth, too). Obviously the horse stopped. Clearly i lived to write about it. Woo-hoo, saddle up my pony.

The interesting thing is when it's a choice to feel the knife's edge. To lean a little closer to the proverbial blade just to see what enlightenment may come. I think when moving toward an otherwise scary place inside, that the intention to learn must be front and center. I was always fascinated by mr. eVedder's absolute physical abandon during the early PearlJam live shows. Witness the photos below (clearly I'm obsessed with these Lance Mercer shots). As i understand it, these are the kind of moves that inspired the concert halls where the band would play to charge about a thousand-percent more insurance so as not to be liable for him killing/hurting himself. It didn't matter what his inner circle said about Please Don't Hang From The Rafters Tonight, he'd still do it. I always thought of it as a kind of trust vs. test. Would he be caught by his fans, crew, band? Or would they all stand back and watch him come down hard? The answer to that question was never put to the test, because over time E stopped climbing, scaling, swinging in the air. In fact he had almost slowed to a complete halt the last time i saw them, tho his voice still filled up all that space.


When i think about leaning into the moment, trusting that i'll be ok, a lot of it has to do with exposure. The need to let myself go through without any preconceived idea regarding how things might turn out or how i might look to others. To stay planted there, no flinching. Lean in closer. Look it in the eye. Scraped knees? who cares. And when i try to cover myself, hide away, fine, go there, but i know i'll feel the hot breath of my life on my face no matter.

show and tell

looking at these pictures,* i think about the nature of exposure. what does it mean to be alone in a crowd? to be looked at hungrily? to want to hide, but yet still want to be seen?


when i first met pearl jam, they were as yet unaware of how popular they would become. when they were in NYC in the early days, when 10 was just about to be released, i went to a baseball game with Eddie. after taking the 7 train to shea, as we were heading into the stadium, we were met by one of the record company people who seemed to be as surprised to see us as we were to see him. (i later found out that when the company found out we were going to the game, they sent this guy to make sure Eddie'd get back to the city that night for the show they were playing. a kind of insurance that he wouldn't decide he wanted to be a pro-baseball player and run away with the team.) we were both really naive about the nature of being watched. even though in essence my job was to be a fly on the wall and keep track of all i saw and heard, then relay it via words in a magazine, i still had a certain idea that i could form friendships without them going on record. that day, he and i talked about his childhood. i said i wondered what it felt like to not know his father. he wondered how i knew that. i said, Your lyrics to "Alive" tell the story. the fact that he was surprised that the story was that obvious in his lyrics told me that the learning curve of popularity might be kind of steep for him. a few years later, after i'd known him to wade fearlessly into crowds and let them carry him, and to hold impromptu Q&A sessions with fans in public parks, then not too long after to see the look of frustration in his eyes when he couldn't walk out of those crowds on his own because they were too big and too hungry for a piece. Until finally i walked into a dressing room many years into their popularity and found him in the corner with his back to the room, seeming to will himself to disappear. He went through it, came out the other side. apparently knows how to handle it in his own way now.

but really, the question becomes exposure and vulnerability. who is it we open ourselves to? as much as i have gone through, i still hold close certain moments & thoughts. sometimes they are held so close that they're absorbed inside and i don't remember they're there. until i begin to move honestly, and then of course they step out. i discovered what it means to lay myself bare this last week. to pause, open and just stay, though i wasn't actually thinking about it. i was just doing it. but when the last note resonated and i found myself in the middle of the floor, i kept staying there. it didn't matter if it was a minute or an hour. i thought about my fire and realized instead of it consuming me to the degree that i felt burned and had to move, it was providing light so others could watch and there was enough heat for me to feel it's power. i stayed there, open, letting them see it all. no flinching.

reading When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön (thank you to my friend E for suggesting): She talks about dissolving the line between "this and that, good and bad, by inviting in what we usually avoid..." describing it as "leaning into the sharp points." Exactly. in order to know what it is to feel, it seems there's a necessity to see and be seen. and when i cover myself, pull the hood(ie) down, i'm still there. i don't become invisible, i'm just honoring my need to bring a layer between myself and the rest. it's only when i pull down the gate of communication altogether that i'm locked out of what's possible. and that's showing nothing and telling even less. lonely. no chances. not a place i want to live now.

*Lance Mercer's book, 5 X 1: Pearl Jam Through the Eye of Lance Mercer or individual photos

olly-olly-oxen-free

when i was a little girl, my mom and i went on the Ferris Wheel at an amusement park in California. As we click-click-clicked slowly to the top while more and more people were being loaded on, i remember loving the view. But my mom didn't. i was totally confused when she shouted for the ride's operator to let us off. and as we click-click-clicked back toward solid ground, i felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. i figured that she was maybe protecting me from something. (it turned out to be less active omniscience and more outright acrophobia. the woman simply doesn't like heights, and being up there scared the bejesus out of her.) but i also had a feeling deep down that the ride would be really fun, and then it would end...so maybe not going on the ride at all was best. (OK, i was about five, so i'm quite sure i'm making most of this disappointment/relief/emotion memory up...but regardless, liberties and all, something resonates.)

oh-so-many years later, i stood on the side of the stage at the Reading Festival in England, watching kurt cobain being pushed onstage in a wheelchair. He was wearing a ratty platinum wig, a white lab coat and was feigning frailty (at least of the physical kind) ostensibly because he felt he had to make an attention-grabbing entrance that wouldn't disappoint. As i stood still in that magical moment before the lights go up and the music blasts out, i turned back and forth between the commotion on the stage and the bedlam in front of it. the shadows of the band picking up their instruments, feedback and tuning noises noodling away while the crowd seemed to hold their breath and flashes from cameras gave pops of light to show their faces, lots of mouths hanging open, eyes glazed. i remember thinking, Damn, I'm lucky. then, almost as swiftly, the twins of disappointment and relief stepped in to play. this was not an altogether unwelcome entry, because my happiness felt on the edge of being too much to bear.

what is that? the funny dance that embraces a let down more than the flying. the anticipation that exquisite happiness can't go on, so better to just get it over quickly or not have it at all. some say waiting for the other shoe to drop. yikes. maybe it's a matter of the intensity.

a few years after the Redding fest, i was working at Elektra records and in San Francisco for an mTV/metallica contest. one lucky guy had won the band for a day in which he would go for a boat ride with them, then to the bass player's house to jam with them, then to dinner with the band and friends. all caught on tape for mTV to replay over and over again (and naturally timed with the release of some Metallica album or another). it seemed absolutely perfect that the guy who won resembled Beavis not a little bit (and his buddy for the day fit the Butthead description pretty well, also). when we got to the boat basin where the day was to begin, the band was already onboard. i waited for the winner to get out of the car to join us. and i waited. and i waited. finally an mTV publicist came over to tell me that little B would not/could not get out of the car. the cameras stopped rolling and i went over to talk to him. he was in the backseat alone (his friend had practically flown out of the sunroof as soon as they'd pulled into the parking lot and was no doubt drinking jagermeister with James at that very moment). i got in the front and asked, What's up? It's all too much, he said. I wish you guys had never shown up. i could have handled the disappointment. But now everything in my life from here on out will be downhill so i'm just not gonna do it.

I remember being stunned. it was so fatalistic. i honestly don't know what it was that finally got him out of the car (maybe we got Lars to come over and cajole him. that guy could annoy anyone into doing anything). but this kid's words made a mark: it was almost too painful to be this fortunate, bring on the disappointment and relief. (Needless to say, 10 hours later said-contest-winner was standing on top of a chair at the pizza restaurant trying to pour beer on the bass player's head....and that ended well.)

disappointment and relief are a cocktail that i've been known to shake up together. maybe it has to do with the responsibility of what will come if the situation unfolds as i want it to. the responsibility for sustaining the good stuff...but i'm also realizing about balance, acceptance and the art of doing nothing in the face of happiness. I had a moment with that last week in class, when halfway through my song&movement I realized all i wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the floor. give up. i was done. wasn't feeling it. but i ignored that voice and kept going. it didn't work to keep going and i was disappointed. i crawled away and shut down. but what followed changed the course of my reaction profoundly. i was offered another chance to give in and i took it, just followed, didn't think. it made me really happy and no relief from disappointment followed.

I can handle it. each week i sit a little longer in the bliss of my life and let the warmth of that float me. i do nothing but sit, whether i'm watching the beauty of my ladies dance or my eyes are closed, wherever, whatever, i go a little longer each time and know i can stop hiding behind the shadow of those D&R twins.