torkieestar5
TorkieeStar5's Musicings & Words
Written words strung together, observations, songs, pictures, art, colour, humor, love & life!
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Forest's Resting Place
The forest was not dark at all despite being hidden away from what felt like the outside world. It was welcoming as of a home away from home. Natural cushions to sit upon made of grass. The warmth glow from a fire. The stringed lights illuminating the stage, creating an atmosphere with air enough to breathe deeply once again in a space for all to gather around. The flames danced upwards in alignment with the opening in the hollowed-out tree trunk as if to emulate its shape, it's dark mystery within.
We all looked towards that black void, wondering what worlds could be hidden inside. All eyes set upon it brought alive varied imaginations based on their hearts connected to their minds. Once the ideas were shared, everyone began to think of even more possibilities, amending their initial beliefs.
That was the other fire that spread. Once caught, it could not be extinguished. Like fluid on a flame, everyone's stories inspired more stories. The gears were moving more rapidly as what was shared out loud became seeds flying on the night's breeze, planting in the minds if fertile enough to allow them a resting place. Only weariness of the small hours would put a pause on these visions from their venture into the forests resting place.
The treasures discovered were not left behind. Instead, they were carried out of that alcove and into the wider world. Held and massaged into more fleshed-out beings for others to swallow and process themselves where they would be transformed again into new seeds, even more gifts.
The perpetual life cycle of words, an unstoppable force when one is willing to open up, to listen to the call after feeling its pull. What can you hear? What stories are you to tell? Go share the seeds!
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Light House
The house I grew up in has always been what I considered as my home. Ever since we moved out in my early twenties, I haven’t felt that where I laid my hat was home. I’ve had my own place, lived with roommates, lived back with a parent; apartment, room, entire floor of a house. None of these places felt right. I began to wonder if what you need in order to make a home isn’t the space or the place but rather the people you share it with.
Roger Waters' song "Home" lists a handful of places you could call home, throughout the world. Then it morphs into all the materials that could make up your home finally culminating in all the different people you could consider home. The last line of the song solidifies what is the true measurement; "everybody's got someone they call home."
For me, this has always been my nuclear family: Mom, Dad, Brother. And I think it's true, that it's someone not somewhere, not something. Time, fate adjusts the list. Who knows if someone will walk into my life and want to become part of my family or if I will be blessed with children - we shall see. Home has already changed with the loss of my brother and since has never felt solid. My parents are in their sixties now and I've watched them grapple with losing their own parents, making them the oldest generation. As we know, time waits for no one.
So can any comfort be found in settling down in a place that feels as close to home as I've come in sometime? Will that hold me tight when the people that are my home go on to eternal rest?
I've recently moved to a place that I have always been drawn to, since first seeing it over fifteen years ago. I would take road trips here and drive around the giant park and neighbourhoods and fantasize about making enough money that would allow me to live in one of these vintage homes. I wrote it on my bucket list on Lisa Frank stationary and locked it away. I still can't believe I actually live here.
It's been an awful year. The worst I've ever experienced in my 38 years - yes worse than middle school, even still worse than losing my brother. I say 2020 was the calm & shelter before the storm. 2021 was the storm. 2022 will be the settling into the light. I hope I'm right. We all need it now more than ever. When we were going through everything my Aunt asked "what would make you happiest?" and without a second thought I said "to have a home of my own." Somewhere to feel safe and sheltered.
Light is an interesting word in the English language because we use it to describe illumination and also as the opposite of heavy (I would lose points for this description in a word game!) The reason I say the opposite of heavy is because I shouldn't think of another way to describe it so I looked it up in the dictionary. They use the word "lightweight" instead of just "light" - we must have just gotten lazy and dropped the "weight" years ago. Ironic, eh?
I got distracted by the definition though; "containing little serious matter." Serious matter. Serious. To be lightweight is to contain little serious matter. Makes sense really. If you can let go of the seriousness of life; all the pressures, responsibilities, obligations, losses, stresses, etc. I guess you too can feel lightweight. These must be the things that weigh us down, keeping us from feeling happy-go-lucky.
I've felt the world on my shoulders for longer than I can remember but I don't know why. When did that begin? How did it come to be that I felt responsible for all those around me, including the world at large? Why does not doing anything about it make me feel unfulfilled and the idea of actually doing something about it make me feel exhausted? I take it all so seriously.
Seems that until I let loose and let it go, the seriousness will consume me. This is the only way to feel lightweight again, as we do in our youth and the only way to live in the light. Go with the flow and let the work find you. The wall I've built with my shoulders raised and tight is keeping the water from flowing naturally through. Where better than in my new home?
A fresh start in more ways than one. A new job in the direction I want to go. A new home in the neighbourhood I dreamed about living in. A new town. A new state. It seemed an accident of circumstance ending up here but it's not. I wrote down this wish years ago. I just had to be open to accepting it as my reality.
Perhaps that's the secret to living a not so serious life. To not worry as much and to be open to what may come next. We have been given the tools needed to get through anything, we must keep the faith that is true so that we stop pushing against it. All we need to do is to live in the light. Just like Motel 6, “they’ll” leave the light on for us. It is always there!
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The word Ying < the word Yang
I adore words. Love everything about them from their shape to their sound to their definition. The written word is one of those things we no doubt take for granted, using them every day like it ain’t no thing. But really take a moment and think about what they can do.
The power they hold is greater than anything else in this world, save perhaps love and the brain. Although when you break it down, without the words to convey our thoughts to express love, the heart and mind wouldn’t be as strong so I’m going to stand by words being the most powerful above all else.
Words can draft documents of peace and democracy, certificates of achievement and devotion, made-up stories of adventure and redemption, true stories of courage and advancement. They are able fight for justice and equal rights. They encourage devotion and inspiration. They share what it deep inside out hearts and mind. Overall, they can do anything.
Words can also work in the opposite direction. They sometimes lose out to injustice and start wars. Pass laws that compartmentalize the classes and are manipulative in doing so that it isn’t as obvious on the surface as not to stir those who will blindly follow along with the powers that be. They tell of lies, infidelities, and murder. Of deceit and hatred. Of zealousness and defeat.
I see more and more as I grow older how everything is part of the yin/yang; light and dark, good and bad. It’s crushing to think that words are part of this. For every lovely word, there is its opposite meaning, in all its brutality. Without the bad words, we wouldn’t be able to appreciate the good ones – it’s true. It’s hard not to wonder thought what could happen if we only shared the good ones with each other. Would the positive words lose their weight if they were the only ones we used because we’d become numb to hearing them repeatedly?
Scientists have studied how negative memories are remembered more vividly than those that are happier. They say we carry those dark times with us deeper and longer than we do the light ones. It’s heartbreaking knowing that we get in our own way, holding all the wonderful things that have happened behind a stone wall of horrible ones. How anyone overcomes this is a wonder, one science cannot offer up answers for.
I’d like to believe it starts with practice. Writing down in repetition a good thing that was said so that it is remembered. Overplaying a joyful moment shared while holding on to that feeling so that you can draw on it again in the future. I know this isn’t enough but maybe it’s at least a start.
We need to be kinder to ourselves. To allow ourselves to embrace the good and positive ways in which others put themselves out on a limb to tell you how much they appreciate you. How much you matter. If you believed them, who knows what happiness you could then spill out into the world. It would be a perpetual stream of magical dust swirling around the planet, sprinkling it’s love on us all.
I’m reminded of Marianne Williamson’s words from her “Greatest Fear” poem;
We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
I’m thinking we need to start by repeating this mantra to ourselves over and over again until it sticks. Because you are all of these things. Embrace these words as they are now part of your memories. This is the time a random stranger with a penance for writing down her inner monologue in a blog you happened to stumble upon told you that you were magnificent.
Where will you compartmentalize these words? Hopefully in the front, leading your way. After all, who’s to say it shouldn’t be Yang/Yin instead? Maybe it can be, if we will it that way, with the power of positive words?
27, May 2020
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Tin Roof, Rusted
The night brings with it a sense of inspiration for me the way I imagine most people receive from mornings light. I’m talking about the time in the evening after everyone’s gone to bed. Sometime after 11:00 p.m. It has always been like this for me. I’ve got the night owl gene.
I don’t know if it stems from when I was a child, observing my Dad up late in the living room watching music shows or if it's my own hesitation to end the day by resting my head but there is always this innate pull to stay up and watch a documentary or listen to music in the hopes that from it, I will gather up sources of inspiration.
I hardly ever put myself to bed because my eyes are heavy. It is usually done because the clock tells me to. Annoyingly, night after night, it seems to say "if you don’t go now, you’ll have only this short amount of time to slumber and will feel groggy in the morning from it. So often, to spite its truth, I will take my sweet time sauntering from the living room to my bedroom. Small victories.
The other night I went out to the porch to enjoy a glass of milk before bed in one of these such attempts at holding off putting myself to bed for a bit longer. That’s the other part of the night that draws me in – being outside under the stars. Living on a country road, I can see a sky full of stars if it’s clear enough and for miles since our area is so open. When looking up at them you can’t help but feel the endless possibilities that lay out ahead. What you are looking at is infinite.
I sat on the porch, under the stars, enjoying my milk, whilst extending the evening just a little further with the hope that inspiration would strike. I’ve been in a creative lock lately and am desperate to break it. I do what I always do in order to find an idea; I observe.
My eye caught sight of the tin roof on the side of the porch that protects the tiki bar below – which we never use. That thought diverted me for a spell, leading me to think of how we have this nice area in the backyard we could entertain in yet we never do.
Opportunities abound in this rented house with its sprawling acres of land we never take advantage of. Why just the other day Mom played in the back, loosening the dirt in some raised beds that have gone untouched since moving in a couple years ago. Often, we don’t use the resources we already have. We don’t grab the moment and squeeze it dry. Why not?
After this sad reminder of wasted moments in life I returned my thoughts to the roof again. The tin roof, rusted.
My next thought was of Jared.
Years ago, when a girl at work was leaving after the summer to continue her studies at college, we all went out for some dinner a few cities over from the office. It was further away than countless Chinese restaurants along the way, but they indulged me because I remembered they offered delicious and cheap scorpion bowls. In a strange coincidence when we arrived, we ran into Jared and his friend Jen.
Jared hung out in Warwick often. It was where we grew up and many of his friends still resided there. He was attached to the city as if it was a string tied to his heart. The city and his closest friends were intertwined and so it was a place that meant the world to him.
Running into him in Warwick wasn’t odd but me being there certainly was as I tried to avoid that area as often as possible else a run in with a former classmate where pleasantries would be exchanged about where we were in our life’s journey. That we were both there at the same time was something extraordinary.
We weren’t particularly close then. We were in our mid-twenties and had never really gotten along. It could have been the scorpion bowl’s take on the memory, but I do remember him lighting up when he saw me. A rare occurrence indeed.
He was finishing up as we were just arriving. I can’t remember if he ended up joining us for a bit and then leaving to drop Jen off or how it all played out but at some point he went off to do his own thing again.
Meanwhile I enjoyed a meal together with my co-workers in celebration of Sarah. Then, because we weren’t ready to end the night, we decided to stretch out the evening a little longer along with all its possibilities. We ended up at a bar where they had karaoke.
Somehow Jared eventually made it to the bar, joining us at our table yet again. He charmed everyone around him and became the life of the party, as he so often did. He wanted to do a song together choosing “Love Shack” as our selection. We got up there and sang it together. It was fun. I remember even then thinking to myself that singing together with my brother was a special moment to share. Now it means everything.
For him it seemed to be everything too but he already knew it was in that moment. I often think now how much wiser he was then I. He lived as if this was the only moment we had, needing to treat it like it was a gift by taking full advantage of it. He was flat out having a blast, milking each line with inflections and fully letting loose after the end of the bridge; “tin roof, rusted.”
I don’t know if it was that night that altered our relationship but looking back on it now, it could have been. Something shifted between us not too soon after that night. He seemed to finally begin to admire and appreciate me more. He showed love and pride towards me. He sought out spending time together. Maybe it was just time. I had always told him through the words I wrote in cards how I hoped someday to become great friends. He was finally maturing in being ready to do just that.
Family and friends often remind me of how awful we used to be with one another when we were young. Always fighting and placing blame. I chalked it up to being the same opinionated and blunt fire sign and because we were so close in age (368 days apart). I imagine part of why they bring this up is because of how amazing it was that this had all flipped during the last ten years of his life.
As I sat there on the porch staring at the rusted tin roof, that memory came rushing back. That Friday night in Warwick in our mid-twenties when fate had worked its magic. An opportunity to sing a song together, to share laughs, to have fun and, it seems, to have irrevocably changed our relationship forever, for the better.
That night’s possibility was seized. The moment was celebrated. The inspiration came then and now as I write this down and remember. We were there, together, singing into the night.
20, May 2020
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Boomerang of Joy
A long time ago I vaguely remember being taught the simple rule of “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t day anything that all.” It is straightforward advice, and it made sense to me. Apart from being blunt from time to time and the occasional insensitive burst that comes out of my mouth before I have said it in my head first, I do practice this tenant of living.
When I do something, anything really, I add an intensity that heightens or grows a simple thing into something much bigger. It’s just how I am. I’m a “go big or go home” kind of gal.
So somewhere along the line I took it upon myself to take this sentiment a step further by making sure to share whatever nice things I think out loud with the person I’ve thought them about whenever I can to the point where I may make others feel uncomfortable. Sorry, not sorry?
I do this a lot and why not? If you have something nice to say, shouldn’t it be shared? The trick is to act on your thought immediately. You can’t put it off or you’ll lose it because you’ll become distracted by life’s needs.
The more and more you do it, the easier it gets. At first, I will admit, I was shy and little embarrassed to share these endearments with people - sometimes I still am given who the person is. It’s hard to put your feelings out there, even when they are positive and uplifting.
But it is always worth it.
What I enjoy most about sharing compliments is that often my words represent a mirror for the person. They are hearing things they recognize in themselves but perhaps have begun to overlook. They needed a gentle reminder and have received one right when they’ve needed it most.
It is such a gift to be able to let someone know that they’ve been seen.
I find that the timing coincidentally links your sentiment to when they need to hear it most. I liken this to what I am henceforth going to refer to as the “inner promptings theory.” In this I feel that when you are drawn towards something it is because you are meant to do it.
If we look at this theory from my Mom’s podcast perspective then it is all about listening to those inklings inside of yourself that tell you to play by picking up a paintbrush and a canvas or following that idea with a butterfly net in your hand into creation. These tugs are meant to lead you to the laces where you are meant to explore mediums that you’ve been drawn to but haven’t been making the time for.
This same idea applies to saying and doing nice things for others.
How often do you randomly think about someone as a Cheshire cat sized smile spreads across your face with the tent of reaching out to say ‘hi.’ Or to take it a step further by adding a detail such as “I miss your face” or “been thinking about that time you made me laugh so hard I fell off my chair.” Maybe even “you make my life more bearable by just being you” or “you make my heart so very happy.”
Those are fairly generic, and they work well but I will say that when you personalize them, it adds vivid colour to your words as if you’ve pressed down harder with your Crayola crayon as you coloured in your picture. It stands out more.
Not only is that person filled with warmth from your words, it also gives them a lift of spirit. Not only are they moved that you’ve thought of them, but they also are grateful that you took the time to let them know. It’s a small gesture that makes the biggest difference.
I’ve been told many a time how my words turn their day around. More often than not it is shared that they needed to hear what I’ve said that day because they have been having a rough time.
This is why we get that inner prompting when we do, no? We are all connected to one another. This idea has been proven repeatedly so it’s no surprise that we’d get a kind of Spidey sense when those we care for need our love the most. Isn’t that something?
As an added bonus you feel great doing it. Almost like the feeling spring cleaning brings you, you have cleared out the thought to make room for something else. You become uplifted yourself by your kind words because of the love you’ve been able to pass on. It’s a boomerang of joy.
So act on those prompts. We all need them more than ever through this distanced time.
Send a note to someone on a postcard. You can make one from your printer on sturdy paper or you can draw one out – the possibilities are endless. Postcard postage Is cheaper ($0.35) that it would be to send a card ($0.50) – yet it means just as much. Isn’t it nice to get something other than a bill or junk in the mail?
Take ten minutes to call someone or have some facetime. Send a text. Check in.
They need it. Don’t you too?
4, May 2020
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A Small Win
It has been nice out. Let me re-phrase that. It has begun to get warmer out. It makes one want to get out to walk amongst the warmth. I’ve been walking regularly for a month now. I have always loved walking. It is a solitary experience with only sounds for company. It is a routine that combats time. If I take my planned route, I know that I’ll be gone for a certain allotment of time. No need to bring a watch.
Funny because I watched/listened to Ben Gibbard’s 4/30/20 concert from home last night while crafting. While taking questions, he answered one on what kind of music he likes to listen to on his runs. He answered that he doesn’t like to listen to music because it time stamps his journey.
Songs are about four minutes long so if you go through ten of them, you’ve been out there for forty minutes or so and you now know you have twenty more left give or take.
I think in this fashion too. Especially so as I am an album person. This means I know how many tracks are on an LP, the names and the order of the tracks, about how long they are, and what the running time of the entire album is.
If I put on Death Cab For Cutie’s “Transatlanticism” I know I’m in for 11 tracks that will run for about forty-five minutes all together and that once I hit track number seven; the “epic” self-titled song, I am about half way through. Epic not only because it’s the longest track on the record but also for its sheer power complete with an anthemic chant at the close of the tune.
I will admit that it does take you out of what are doing. My mind does this math fairly quickly and then it passes by just as fast. I t’s easy to let go of because it’s a certainty I don’t need to bother with.
The same goes with the path I take. I know that I’ll be gone for an hour, no matter what I listen to, or what I observe, or what I think while out on my walk. This brings with it a real sense of calm. It’s my small way of beating back the constraints of time I so often feel bound by. In these rounds, I win the match.
It is the small wins like this that help me with the fight against what I can and cannot control. I get to choose what I listen to. I allow it to wash over me. I move my legs in the direction I want to go. I sing out loud the parts I need to for catharsis.
For this one hour the plan I’ve made comes to fruition. It is the only time a plan of mine adheres to my wishes and reaches its goal really. All because I let go of time as I do it. No need to worry abut how long the walk is going to take because I’m mapped it out already.
Here’s to letting go yourself. To owning your own small wins. And to enjoying the outside too.
“So come on. Come on…”
2, May 2020
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Be You
I’ve always believed in signs and messages “from above.” After losing my brother, I am even more inclined to believe in them because he sends many reminders to me.
He leaves messages and gifts all around. He also does annoying things like making me feel like there’s something on me such as a bug or a strand of hair or moving the shower curtain back when I prefer for it to be closed. This is how I know it’s him. Brothers tend to tease and he enjoys doing that to me for sure.
So for the past couple of years when I find these pieces around, I assume they are directly from him, which isn’t fair. My guardian angels have been with me all my life and they were the main providers of signs and small gifts long before Jared got into the game. If I pause in the moment of discovery to close my eyes for focus, I could easily be able to distinguish if it’s from him or not intuitively, but I usually don’t have that kind of time.
What a dumb thing to say, eh? I can’t make time for my deceased brother’s/guardian angel’s messages? They are doing me the favour by sending me little hints, no? How ungrateful and selfish of me to not take a minute to figure it out! It is another reminder to stop moving so fast and take it in. Savour that a gift has been given.
Note to self to try in future to do just that.
I usually assume I know by the object itself. If it’s a gemstone, something sparkly or iridescent, it’s from him because he knew how much I loved glitter and dazzling things. I adored them as much as he couldn’t stand glitter. That’s love my friends. I got emotional simply typing that thought. Anyway…if it’s a feather, it’s my angel’s. Makes sense, right - this line of logic?
Yeah, with objects, I believe I know where they are coming from. It’s the words and phrases that I need to pause for to figure out because I think it does matter where they are coming from in order to understand the meaning behind the sign. One word’s message can change when it comes from one source or another.
This morning I was gifted two words that were left in my jewelry dish. This is a significant location because I usually would visit the dish two to three times a day. During this stay-at-home order, however, I have been working from home so there’s been no need to fully “adult”.
I mean that it is important to get dressed and follow a weekday routine for sure, but does that require putting on a bra and jewelry? No, no it does not!
I don’t know how long the message has been waiting for me to notice it, but I saw it today. It has me baffled. “Be You.” Hmpt!
I’ll be honest - I need a lot of reminders. Jared and my angels have their work cut out for them. I know that the advice I often give to others is exactly the words I need to tell myself. This though; “be you” is not something I need to be reminded to do. I have the being me down.
In fact, last weekend I was finally a guest on my Mom’s podcast (plug for “Inner Promptings” with JoAnn) and she mentioned that as much doubt as I may have for my talents, creativity, intelligence, ability, etc. - the list despairingly goes on, I’ve never changed who I am or my appreciation for who that is.
I knew early on in my life that who I was is the easiest part of my identity, of anyone’s really. There is no forming who you are into what you what to be. There is improving oneself, yes, through learning and self-care, but that is not what I am referring to.
Being you is about being genuine. Not being ashamed of your interests and thoughts the way the definition of a “guilty pleasure” would like you to believe. No, own that shit – even if other’s or society makes you feel as though it’s embarrassing. It’s not, it is a part who you are.
This has never been a problem for me. There are times when I may have felt that I didn’t fit in - okay any times. Yet when I was at the age where fitting in was very important, I still refused to alter who I was in order to “make the grade.” That wasn’t worth the price of admission. I knew that even as a young person in her most awkward years. I fully admit I was not able to achieve this alone.
My loving parents, who encouraged my uniqueness, were for the most part supportive. I also must give a nod to my favourite band at the time, Ben Folds Five, who represented to me through song that it was cool to be uncool, as long as you were truly yourself. I know these both aspects were key factors in my certainty that I did not need to change who I was in order to feel or be accepted.
Be you. Be you... In this case it does matter who sent me this message. I need to take the time to figure it out. Jared wouldn’t feel the need to tell me this because he knew I already was my true self. It must be a different kind of message.
The only thing I can think of is that it is saying I need to do more of me. More of the learning and self-care. More of my interests and hobbies. More joy. More fun. More me. Maybe what the message is staying is that the world needs more me in the way of my work and energy.
That makes sense. I think this is a message, in whatever capacity it applies, for everyone. Especially in this time of our collective lives. Here’s to being you, fully and unabashedly you!
1, May 2020
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Inside the [Mail] Box
I walk by many newspaper mailboxes on my walks around my neighborhood. The first thought that occurs to me as I pass them is ‘are these necessary anymore?’ I never see a paper in any of them. There is one house up the street who does subscribe. They, ironically, have no box. Instead the day’s news is placed in a plastic bag and hung on a nail jammed into the post of their mailbox.
The second thought that springs to mind is ‘why not remove them?’ On this account I believe they stay because it’s too much work to unearth it from its position. It seems like clutter to me. A stab into the Earth that could be healed back up if given the chance. Instead they remain put as a monument to a bygone time when news had to be read on good ol’ paper.
One particular box caught my interest. A nice red one that was two-thirds filled with small sticks. I thought to myself that this was the work of some kids and their hijinks because that’s a fun activity for little ones of today, no? Ha! It had to be something else because there are far too many distractions that would keep children busy than seeking out and then painstakingly placing over fifty thin twigs into a mailbox.
It must be the work of some other creature’s creativity! Turns out this useless piece of plastic can be repurposed into a base for nest building for birds. This reminded me of many points. That there are multiple uses for things. That we are not the only species that needs man-made objects. That ingenuity is all around. That home is anywhere you lay your sticks down.
I’ve never studied the balancing techniques of building a nest on a small, rounded surface up in the air but it seems like a pretty tricky and difficult task to accomplish. How, not only, do the sticks stay in place but how are the birds able to intertwine these pieces together in order to form a bowl-shaped structure while balancing it on the branch so that it doesn’t fall off? It is incredible when you really think about it.
Seems this bird found an easy shortcut by using the mailbox. A sturdy surface lower to the ground with instant sides so that no pieces will fall out. However, it’s a less than impressive endeavor than the old-fashioned way, right? There’s no weaving that needs to be done because there is simply no room in which to maneuver within the space. Beside that, it is unnecessary because the sticks don’t have to be held together as the box is holding them all in one place without having to be connected.
I still give the bird it’s due though because it discovered the empty box and thought to itself ‘hey, this would be ideal for a home!’ When I think about the patience it took for the bird to fly all over with an eye out for the perfectly sized sticks and then fly them all back to stuff them into the space, I can’t help but give the birdie it’s props. The creativity and resourcefulness it took for the bird to alter the found object into a home is tremendous.
Home is a place you build yourself. You lay your things down to make it your own. You add comfort for you and your guests to enjoy. It is a retreat of your own making. Home’s come in many shapes, sizes, and materials. Look around at your own and no doubt, you’ll start you feel a sense of pride. It defines who you are.
When I look at this bird’s home, I see that this bird is smart and flexible. Building inside of the mailbox wasn’t an easy solution because it was different than what it has known before. They had to alter what they knew about making a nest. These sticks were thicker and longer than you’d find in a regulation one. The space was cramped with no room for expansion. Basically, the bird had to think on their feet because the practical way to build a home all went away with the wind.
Great advice and inspiration from a bird, unbeknownst to them, to think outside of the box by moving into it!
30, April 2020
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Blame It on the Rain
Rain. Lots of it.
I used to love the rain. Look forward to it washing away the everyday dirt to re-freshen the earth – give it a good bath. Take advantage of the opportunity to relax. Doesn’t it feel like a welcome to do just that? Maybe it’s because it cools everything down and forces us to prefer staying indoors where slipping under a blanket to curl up for a night becomes an ideal scenario.
Lately there has been too much of it. I believe it wouldn’t bother me as much if they were warm rains. But these cold ones, I’m over it. I know the calendar is a structured way to keep time that mother nature doesn’t need to heed to, but it seems as though winter didn’t begin until mid-January and has stayed ever since. At least here in New England.
I am sick of being cold. I actually miss the sun. This is huge thing for me to say as I’m a vampire of sorts that revels in less light than most people function in. I am one of those people who can navigate her living space very well, if not better, in darkness. Films, after all, and particularly black and white films, can be better seen in complete darkness. This is how I justify my preferred lighting. Ha!
The rain brings with it a somber feeling that washes over us. Given the dark, sad, and scary time we are in now, we all are already in enough of a somber state. We don’t need any help from the rain. We already are indoors permanently. We’ve had a lot of time to curl up and “relax”.
I put relax in quotes because who knows what is bubbling down below our surfaces in the way of anxiety and trauma. I am fortunate to still be working forty hours a week. We have a fridge and freezer full of food and drink. Yet I know there are things I am worried about for my loved ones and for the world and even personally, but I am not allowing myself to think about them - yet. Can’t escape these feelings forever.
The rain allows me to daydream. To pause while gazing outside as I listen to the sizzle of the drops hit the ground. It also immediately makes me think of hopping into bed to wrap myself up in my comforter and binge a tv series. I never actually seem to do it though.
That’s why the glimmer of rain has disappeared. It carries with it a chance to slowing down and resting. We are doing so much of that already that it is no longer a momentary respite, a luxury of sorts.
It’s been six weeks of staying home. I’m disappointed that I have not taken advantage of this opportunity to have more time to work on my projects or even to binge on something cinematic. I’m not surprised though. I put up blocks and excuses to keep me from doing what is best for myself. Why?
Work still wears me out, especially the way I really throw myself into it whilst taking it very seriously. It’s a lot of brain work. I use this as an excuse for not getting my creativity on at the end of the day. Come the weekend though, there really is no reason not to and yet it still doesn’t happen.
My anxieties are starting to set is as we nearer the lift of this stay-at-home order because I know I have squandered this time. My time. What it all boils down to is wanting it bad enough. That and of course, making friends with time – my life-long struggle. Time; the one who is always teasing me with its elusiveness.
After all, I can’t blame it on the rain. Its only job is to fall. Mine is to grow.
28, April 2020
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New Normal
If I come home in between needing to go somewhere else or if I am already at home and need to go out, I’d rather stay put. If I sat down and let myself melt into the sofa with a cuddly blanket wrapped around myself, I’d rather settle in. I don’t think I would miss whatever it was I was supposed to be doing instead. If I allowed gently talking myself out of leaving, it wouldn’t take much. I think this just proves how important inner strength is.
We take for granted the “get up and go” mentality that is drilled inside of us when we are wee little ones so that we can become functional adults because it is our natural ways of living. The fact is that it is much easier to just stay home and not face the world. The world filled with obligations and errands, of socializing, and doing your part for the community. Often I just don’t feel like participating.
I’ll get up and go to work. I don’t have a problem with that, well not often anyway, because it’s a barter system. I give them labor and in turn they pay me for my skills. It’s the other stuff outside of that that I feel less and less inclined to do. The grocery shopping, sometimes the cooking, the paying the bills, and sadly enough – the social calls.
I wish this wasn’t true. I adore my friends and family and often remark about how blessed I feel to have cultivated such a bunch of talented, thoughtful, brilliant, and loving people who make me laugh, think, and feel loved. It’s not them – they are wonderful. It’s me. It’s the loner wandering artist in me that seeks alone time to recharge by resting.
It’s also the possibility that I will be productive with this time by fertilizing the ideas I’ve been holding onto into fully realized pieces. Or even the chance to read a book that is just slightly incomplete to my vision that it will inspire me towards new ideas. The film that will show me techniques that make me tingle with resonance, pushing me to take action towards the stories I want to tell.
I, 99% of the time, go out and live amongst the others who, if they were just as honest, would have preferred to stay home too.
The unfortunate truth is that the above list of possible ways my evening could go if I stayed home never actually happen. Instead I curl up and fall into the stupor of a sitcom or a riveting drama, staying up later than I should because I am not ready to go to bed just to wake up and go through it all again.
I believe this is what we all call being unhappy. It certainly is unfulfillment.
In this unprecedented time when we are forced to stay home, we are presented with a kind of wish fulfillment. We are given the opportunity to slow down. Get our commute time back. Learn to let our unbrushed hair down. Relax and recharge by having more time to do what we love.
I often think about Italian people and how they go to work for a few hours and then come home for a few hours to have a big lunch with family and take a nap, maybe do other things that one needs to such as errands and the sort, and then return to work for a few more hours. This breaks up the day and puts less of a daunting feeling on it as our American work-day schedules do.
This Italian way of living gives the impression that they know how to enjoy life. That they take their time and don’t allow themselves to get into a rut of feeling trapped in a place for a long period of time.
Now that clicks with me. The thought and reality of an eight-hour workday plus commute and lunch make for a long day and a strong commitment where you are locked into the needs of the job for the majority of the day. No wonder why I don’t want to go to bed just to wake up to do it all over again and I actually enjoy my job! Imagine those who don’t. It is heartbreaking.
I’d like to believe this pause button that been put on the world is teaching us to live as the Italians do. To adopt a much looser working structure to keep us from feeling so trapped. To appreciate the time when we can go out and hang out with our friends and family and touch them. I hope it is. We aren’t so good at looking at times like these as lessons in a fury to “get back to normal.”
But if you are like me, if you think and feel the way I do, then you too feel like we need a new normal.
It’s time.
- 26, April 2020
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Give and Take
She told me to never grow old. She told me to never marry an Italian. She told me to lose weight. She told me to find a mate. She told me of living through the great depression and living on lard. She told me never to grow old.
She said I was “so smart”. She said I was too smart for my own good. She said I made her think. She said I brought her joy. She said I brought her comfort by just being there with her. She, eventually, learned to say that she loved me at the end of a conversation.
She gave me lemons with sugar as a treat. She’d take me to Toys ‘R’ Us to pick out a prize. She’d cook the most delicious dishes that she said she could never replicate into a list of measured ingredients for recipe cards. She’d offer you dessert one minute after you started on your main course.
I would paint her nails. I’d tell her about my day. I would eat her cooking and marvel at its simplicity in preparation but complexity in taste. I would share the many thoughts running around in my head that often overwhelmed her. I was there for her when I could be, but it never felt like enough.
Without her I would not be here. Her blood courses through me genetically and spiritually. All of her lost dreams become my own goals. She didn’t intend for this to be, it is just the way of generations. We are inexplicably connected by those things that linger undone, unsaid, unappreciated because they push and pull us into being. We are ruled by unfulfillment. We take it on ourselves. If we care enough, to try to right that wrong as if it’s our purpose.
But our purpose is to take the advice, compliments, memories, gifts, and genetic makeup in order to become our own person with their own destiny. Her life created my mother’s life which in turn created mine. All of this has been passed onto me and I will pass on variations of it all to the next lives I create, with the hope that they feel less pressure to find the answers to my own questions or live my unlived dreams.
This was unintentional, this inherent responsibility to finish her story. She didn’t think she was putting this on me. I can only hope I don’t do the same but we do it unconsciously. We are branches from the same tree. We continue to grow upwards, but we are rooted to this one place. This is the give and take of life.
21, April 2020
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Word Starter
I don’t know what to write, which is insane since thoughts are constantly swirling around my head day and night, keeping my imagination a fire. Idea’s in the form of a one liner or a scene burn bright and then the embers swallow them up. Poof, they are gone. Like Jack Kerouac’s line about wanting to be around people who only burn so bright that they burn out like a firecracker, is how these images and idea’s fly in and out.
When you dream about becoming a writer where does that stem from? Sure you love books for the worlds they create that you then escape into. You appreciate the written word for the lyrical phrases it offers when sewn together to form the authors thoughts. The weight of a book in your hands holds a level of comfort because what you are holding is knowledge; hours and hours of it. A promise that your time invested will nourish your soul and leave you more informed that you were before you cracked the spine.
Perhaps it’s because of these feelings, these ties that become bondage of the brain. Those are big expectations to live up to. Enough to tie up these fingers and cripple my sense of story. How could I find something to say every day? Don’t I need a clear storyboard first to know where I’m going first? So many notions of what a writer is and what the writer is meant to do. They loom so large that it becomes too overwhelming to even begin.
In the end these are simply excuses. The walls I build in order to make sense of why I would keep myself from doing something I feel drawn to do. I always say if we weren’t meant to do something, then we wouldn’t have such interest in it – such a pull towards it – a desire for it. It boils down to that simple Freudian idea that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Stop overthinking it or turning it into something it’s not. If you want to do it, do it.
Then there are those times when you are holding that world in your hands that someone else had created for your own consumption. You are excited and enthralled. You can’t put it down, you must know what happens next. You have theories about what is to come. If it is decent writing, then those theories do come to pass, or at least not all of them. My Dad told me once that’s the true test of a great song; not being about to predict the next line; i.e. don’t go for the easy rhyme. It’s the same with writing. You don’t want to be the one writing the story you are reading.
You’ve finished the book and it has not turned out as you expected. All of those directions you thought it would take never happened. You are somewhat disappointed, finding yourself thinking ‘that didn’t play out like I thought it would.’ ‘I would have told this story differently’ you think. These thoughts and feelings are the kindling for the fire, aren’t they? This is the base for your own stories to tell.
Inspiration can be found anywhere. I find, at least for me, it stems from what has already been created.
For a while it felt like stealing but that isn’t so because you aren’t writing a version of their story. You end up writing something completely different.
Butter, sugar, flour is still necessary of every baking recipe. It’s what you throw in on top of that. Like the scene in “Garden State” when Natalie Portman’s character jumps around in her room saying no one ever in the history of time has anyone done what she’s just done at that moment, in that space. Where you are with your ideas has never been before.
It’s your job to put it in motion. One word leads to another and soon a world is built. Skyscrapers of words for others to look up to. To ingest and process themselves. To feel satisfied with or not.
To get out of their own way, fired up by what you have left out. To use their own voice to pass on to the next writer. The sourdough starter is given to the next generation for a slightly different batch of loafs. To be inspired to tell the story a bit differently again and again and again with different bits and bobs that make it one’s own. The gift that keeps on giving; a word starter of sorts.
20, April 2020
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The Manhunt of Life
“I know not all that may be coming but be it what it will I’ll go to it laughing.” – Herman Melville
This quote was at the end of my “Today’s Going To Be Great” Page-A-Day calendar for 2018. It sings to me directly so I’ve decided it will be my motto for 2019. I need to let go this fear of mine of not having enough time. I believe this quote can guide me there. It’s the living here, now, in this moment and simply enjoying it for everything it is. Then doing the same thing tomorrow and the day after that.
I’ve practiced daily gratitude for years now. This is a genuine act of appreciation because it grounds me and reminds me of the abundant blessings that have been bestowed upon me – a reminder I need sometimes when I feel pulled down into my privileged problems. I’ve found that the reward is tenfold for practicing this. With it comes a perpetual gift that continues to be regenerated; even more things to be grateful for! It’s like a magic trick that we sometimes forget we know how to perform ourselves. So my theory based on this is that if I can remember to be thankful for the time I have today and to cherish it, perhaps the same transaction will transpire. I’ll finally have all the time I need.
When a new year begins I find it inevitable not to feel all of its possibility. It is a vast clean-slate of opportunity to practice our inner magic; to discover and to apply. It is also daunting to have to a Santa length list of resolutions and goals you’d like to achieve in what seems like a massive amount of time but what really is only 365 days.
Of course, I have many things I want to bring into fruition, always have. My list of wishes most likely outnumbers the stars. I have always used this as my excuse; there are too many things I want to do. This feeling overwhelms me enough to stop me from accomplishing any of them, an excuse that keeps me away from living my true heart’s desire.
You cannot hide long from what you love most – it always finds you. The manhunt of life, if you will, reminding you that there is a reason you hear its call. It’s what you were meant to do. I chalk it up to what I like to call the stages of acceptance:
1. Something irks you.
2. You take notice and vocalize it.
3. Resentment sets in.
4. Realization of said resentment.
5. Wrestling with your emotions about this discovery.
6. Acceptance that it relates to you.
7. Actually applying what your findings are and how they relate to what you must do for yourself.
They say the first step is the hardest one but I find this last one to be the kicker. It is so difficult to jump into what you love to do. No matter how many times you remind yourself of the quote that goes “what would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?”
Anyone who knows me even slightly, known that music and singing has been my true love and deepest passion amongst the many arts and adventures I fill my days with. But I shy away from music the most, convincing myself that I’m not good enough. As I get older, I realize that it is really only me stopping myself and screaming that narrative. It is time to shut that monkey mind off.
The universe provides us with pushes and pulls that bring us where we need to be, we only need to be open to receiving them and then, step seven, apply them. 2018 brought to my attention a musician who has helped me go through the stages of acceptance when it comes to making music. She has released a brilliant, perfect record called Stranger in the Alps and an EP with a supergroup of young folk/alternative females. Ryan Adams has dubbed her “a unicorn in the music business”. Her song “Smoke Signals” is what I refer to as a travelogue song; one that encapsulates a lifetime of observation and experience, which brought me to tears the first time I heard it, something that hasn’t happened since Tori Amos’ “Pick Out Your Cloud”. She’s not even 25 yet and she already has a ridiculous amount of wisdom and talent. I couldn’t help but think to myself ‘not fair’.
Actually, I’m not being fair to myself because who is to say I cannot do the same in my own way? Phoebe Bridgers grew up listening to Jackson Browne and Joni Mitchell and told herself that what they did was what she wanted to do AND DID IT. My jealousy set in along with admiration as I listened. When I saw her perform live, the experience shook me to my core. This was the defining moment of 2018 for me. This is what I want to do myself – one of my many callings but the one that tops the list – the one that grasps my heart the tightest. It’s time to pay attention and act.
It’s time to let go of the idea of being good enough or of not having anything worthy to offer. Release the hope to be a musical prodigy. Let go of the desire to be able to paint worlds like Joni Mitchel and Kate Bush can or be as prolific as Tori Amos and Sara Bareilles or have a voice like Sarah Vaughn and Paula Cole. As I write this Phoebe Bridgers is humming the conclusion track of her album. Amazon plays a bonus track immediately after it, which I have not heard until this moment – this glorious, universe nudging moment. “It’ll All Work Out” is the name of the track and although the lyrics do not pertain specifically to my situation, some phrases resonate and the title itself is sign enough, not to mention it is a beautiful song. She sings that “it never goes away but it all works out.”
So instead of putting pressure on myself to make a list of resolutions in a strict timeline, I am just going to enjoy being here, now. Being present and laughing. They’ll be music and singing to help steer me home to my true self. I don’t need to be envious of Phoebe Bridgers, only thankful that she and her music remind me that it’s my calling too. We don’t need another her, we just need a fully realized me.
2019 Goal: Live for the now, laugh…and sing!
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I used to have a lenticular postcard of this so that its motion looked like she was turning the nipple like a radio dial. It made me so happy!
Everyone reblog this as much as possible over the next two weeks for good luck
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How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?
David ‘Doc’ Luben, “14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes”
(via wordsnquotes)
The question of our lives!
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Menu For Your Future
As much as I don’t want to invest in what critics say, I can’t help myself from buying in every time. Let’s just call it naïve hope, okay? We, as a people, seem to give their opinions way too much weight. Funnily enough, I heard an interview on Thursday with Kurt Vonnegut where he pointed out how it is the critics that control the culture. Isn’t that a frightening thought!?
But in the spirit of influences culture, even if it’s in the most insignificant way, I have to share some words on the film Me, Earl, and the Dying Girl.
The critics are astoundingly right this time.
I’m not going to give a summary of the film. You can find that in any review or on the book jacket. What I will say is that it’s a flawless film with a superb cast who feels real, the dialogue is witty and quirky in a way that will feel different and familiar at the same time. You just feel as though you are there in the movie, part of the scene, part of the friendships.
The appreciation of criterion and other art house films (especially Herzog) shines through as we see bits of Greg and Earl’s terribly done homages to them. The cinematography shows it’s appreciation for the film masters the character’s study as well. The colour and light of their final film is as soul stirring and encapsulating as a Sigur Ros song. Instead, here we have Explosions In The Sky. Speaking of the music, which is comprised of mostly Brian Eno songs, leaves you feeling abundant with life’s possibilities.
Yes, it’s another story about a kid with cancer but it’s so much more that. And yes, you will cry but it’s a good kind of cry, promise! The film’s a study in humour, wit, colour, imagination, personality, love, appreciation, hobby, hope, exploration, possibility and most of all it leaves you feeling moved. As if you really have just made a friend and lost one too.
I normally read the novel before I see the film. Seeing as though I’ve known about this film since January, I really have no excuse. However, I think intuitively my subconscious knew that I would want more-that I would need to be able to explore deeper into the inner workings of Greg’s world. Just as Greg’s teacher says, even when someone is gone, there is still more to discover about them.
This is the lesson I took as I walked out of the movie theatre. That even though we’ve lived through it, the good, the bad, there’s still more to come; more good, more bad, more gains, more losses, more people to meet and stories to hear, new world’s to discover. Life is a menu for your future and choices are infinite!
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