Ever since this past Presidential
election I find I am having a really hard time trusting people.
People in general, people in my family and people in my community.
Trust is a fundamental building block that relationships stand on, so
it's been an incredible challenge, to say the least.
I guess it's not all about the
Presidential election when I really think about it. It has a lot to
do with some of my past experiences, as well. I have no doubt. The
photo project would be the beginning of the crumbling of my trust
within my community. I couldn't pin that to any one thing that
happened, either. It was just a general feeling that people weren't
being honest with me or were taking their own things out on me, which
happens. I get it. I was able to refine my diplomatic skills during
that time and that's definitely something to be grateful for.
Then people treated some of the people
I care about the most in horrible ways. They're still out there in
the community spreading lies and darkness and getting away with it.
They face no consequences to what they've done to my people either,
other than karma, which I know will be a constant battle for them
given the things they've done. I wish I could warn everyone about
them. Narcissists, master manipulators and pathological liars are bad
for your lives. Don't let them in. Not even a little.
Then the election happened and I find
myself incredibly untrusting of my fellow human beings, minus the
very few who are close to me. I'm suspicious of their true
intentions, which no one ever seems to talk about. Maybe they
themselves don't quite know them but it all leaves me questioning
friendships, which is very uncomfortable and makes for a very small
circle of friends. It also makes me question the intention of
potential new friends in my life, which makes it difficult to expand
that small circle.
Is this an age thing? The older I get
the less energy I choose to give to friendships that no longer give
much or any energy to me. Also, the less time I have for people who
aren't honest, open and authentic. I'm tired of the games and refuse
to play them any longer. Maybe that makes my circle small but I'm ok
with that. I'm very protective of that small circle.
I guess my point to writing this is
that this feeling of not being able to trust is affecting my blogging
and being vulnerable with the world. Hence the quietness in this
space. I'm not sure what to do about any of it other than just sit
with it for now.
The Women's March on Washington was an amazing experience. Never before have I taken part in a protest or stand where there were so many people and the energy stayed in a place of peaceful power. The unity and solidarity was palpable. At least in my experience of it.
Writing about it, finding the words to give it justice, has been challenging. To say the least. I left with the intention of writing about it while experiencing it but, honestly, it was so overwhelming that it made it impossible for me to write about. Now as I sit here and try to put words together to explain my experience, I find that I'm still failing.
Perhaps it's partly because of the constant barrage of daily bad news. I'm finding that the overwhelm is not going away. It's just gone from one extreme to the other. I've spent today limiting my social media contact and trying to listen to music but I'm finding that I mostly just want to sit in silence. The overwhelm is already so distracting that it's difficult to find my baring.
Everything that I care about is being signed away, shut down and de-funded. Not only are they things I care about, they are things that are important to the lives of so many people in this country. Shutting down the EPA will affect every single living being on this planet. That may sound overstated to some, but it absolutely is true. What we do matters.
Never in my lifetime have I seen such division and hatred in this country. The day before the inauguration we stopped at a Peet's Coffee in downtown Washington D.C. where the barista told us that just the day before he saw members of the KKK walking down the street in their robes and hoods. How completely terrifying.
Reading the news and talking to other people about their experiences has had me living in fear. I've had people online tell me that I'm giving into the "fear mongering" which confuses the fuck out of me because aren't they reading the same news? It really is true that if it doesn't affect some people personally, they just don't care about it and they think others to be ridiculous for caring about it. I just don't understand it.
While away in DC I had a brief conversation with another woman who cuts her hair very short. I won't identify her as butch because I don't know that she identifies that way. She's been considering whether or not to continue to get her hair cut short (buzz) because she fears for the possible consequences. I told her that I was having that very same struggle. But, the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I'll be damned if I will let someone run me back into the closet. I'll be damned if I will allow someone to make me live in fear.
I am a warrior. I've always been a warrior and I will always be a warrior. A peaceful warrior but one nonetheless. I will always be an example for others in my community. I lead by example. I will not live my life according to anyone else. I will always be authentically me. Short hair, boxers, men's clothes and all. I am butch. I am a masculine of center woman.
So much change and transition has been happening for me over these past couple months. I keep meaning to sit down and write about them but either the words won't come or I just haven't been prioritizing writing. My paper journal has been neglected, as well. Sometimes the overwhelm of life silences the words and I just need to sit with and through it all.
This weekend I hope to write about this incredible experience I am about to embark on, though. This morning I leave for my first trip to Washington D.C. where I will march in the Women's March on Washington. It isn't my first march but it's the first time experiencing one of this size in a city where I've never been. I am a bit nervous, yes, but mostly I am incredibly excited for this experience.
Last night I explained to my Goddaughter, who is 8 years young, where I'm going and why. I was so proud of her. She gets it. I am not only marching for myself and all of the women I know, I am also marching for her. May this world be kinder and have more respect for her as she travels through it.
If you're heading to the March or plan to participate in any of the others around the country, please stay safe but let your voices be heard. Stand tall and stand proud.
It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.
This past Monday I took a walk in the woods close to the house. My heart and my thoughts have been heavy with home, family, friends and work so I was attempting to find my center. Nature always helps calm my mind and soothe my soul.
I walked up through the old North Cemetery communing with the trees. They aren't as vibrant as I've seen them in past years but they are beginning to change. We've been in a drought so the Autumn colors seem to be a bit quiet this year. Still, I smiled at the trees and even stopped to tell a couple how beautiful they were. I like to run my hand along the bark gently in greeting.
Trees are comforting to me. They are strong yet flexible. They know how to sway with the wind. Their leaves whisper gentle sounds of comfort.
In the park where I walked there is a pond. Sadly, a much smaller pond because of the drought but, still, a pond. After walking the loop trail around the park I headed to the bench next to the pond to watch the sunlight dance on the water.
When I sat down on the bench I noticed that my feet didn't touch the ground. Sort of like what it might feel like to kids when they sit on a big bench. I smiled at the realization then as I sat there I began to relax into that feeling of being a little kid. A kid who needed comforting. A kid who can't explain why it hurts but knows that it just does. A kid who's lost her family or is just too far away from them.
As these thoughts filled my head I felt the burning in my chest. The tears began to form in the corner of my eyes. They fought me to get out, to find freedom on my cheeks. Finally I stopped fighting them for a bit. The release felt good but I stopped them again. My only thought being, "What if someone walks by or comes to sit on the bench, too?" I was alone. There wasn't anyone that was going to want to share the bench with me but I didn't want to be surprised. So, I got up and walked along the bank of the pond. On the other side of me was thick brush so I knew for sure no one would happen upon me there.
As soon as I got far enough away and tucked back into a little alcove of bushes, my body let go. Why I felt the need to hide, I'm not clear, but I allowed myself to just to let it out. Out it came, too. In full force. My heart felt like it was going to burn through my chest as I silently sobbed and cried.
I love my family dearly and want nothing more than to help all of them in any way I can. My West Coast family is struggling and I'm feeling quite helpless all the way out here. My heart aches to be with them.
The transient feeling I've had over the last few years has helped me find myself and my priorities. It's been a good tool but I'm beginning to feel like I need to grow roots again. Ideas of a house, eventually a partner, a long term job, holidays spent surrounded by family and so much love are all floating around in my head quite a bit these days. I want to settle down again. I want to build those roots so I can stand even taller.
The tears I cried that day were for my family, for the distance, for their struggles and for the time it may take me to get home.
Home.
Just knowing I have a sense of that word now brings happy tears to my eyes.
Returning from the Farmer's Market with a carrot top tail.
This morning I woke up with a sense of
sadness. I awoke to clouds and rain and cool air and the sound tires
make in the rain as the cars pass by beneath my window. I slept in
this morning after staying up late. I've been tired, yes, but this
tired today felt different. It felt a little like escape.
My weekend mornings are usually spent
leisurely drinking at least two cups of coffee while I read or
journal in bed. This morning as I sipped my first cup I felt it. The
sadness. The loneliness. It scared me so I finished my first cup,
took a shower and walked down to the farmer's market. I felt this
pull to run from it but at the same time I knew that taking it for a
walk would do it some good and it did. When I returned I continued to
find ways to get away from it, though. Escape, I recognize, is an old
pattern for me.
I cleaned while listening to a pod
cast. It was a Moth Slam that airs on NPR and sometimes those stories
stir up emotions and sometimes they inspire me to write or look at
things differently. Sometimes they just plain make me cry. I'm not
even sure what the story was about at this point but I remember
feeling the tears start to well up and the surge of emotions in my
chest. I had to stop the vacuum, sit down on the steps and let myself
cry for a moment. I let myself feel what I had been running from all
morning. I stopped trying to escape and just sat there with it all.
In my mind, I wrapped my arms around the emotions and myself. When I
did that I realized that it wasn't just sadness that I was feeling.
It was such a mix of happiness and sadness and homesickness and
gratitude and all the feelings.
I sat there on the steps with tears
rolling down my cheeks counting all of the blessings in my life.
I have a group of the most amazing
people in my life, both family and friends.
I have an abundance of love, the
size of which I've never before felt.
I have a real sense of belonging
and home that I've never before felt.
I live in a world where there is
beauty that stops me in my tracks and brings tears to my eyes.
I am healthy and getting stronger
every day.
I am so much more connected to my
body, my soul and my mind than I've ever been before.
The self growth I've done over these
past few years has brought so much peace, confidence and friendship
with myself. I am amazed at the amount of growth that I've
experienced, in awe and am so incredibly proud of myself.
It really is true that happiness begins
within yourself. I have become my own best friend, my own companion
and my own confidant and there is absolutely nothing sad about that.
It's reason to celebrate. The level of trust I have in myself to be
completely open and authentic and real with those around me has
skyrocketed.
Never before have I ever known myself
so well, been so in touch with and connected to my soul and what it
wants and needs.
Never before has my heart felt so
completely open to life and love and happiness. This...THIS is what
it feels like to live, to be fully present with myself and the world
around and inside of me. This is what it feels like to be able to sit
with the good and the hard feelings and emotions and to come out on
the other side of them a better me. A more compassionate,
understanding and loving me.
This life is amazing and full of
adventure. My heart is so full of gratitude and love.
I've been participating in a challenge that's been going around on Instagram and other social media and it's got me thinking about my own time spent in the USMC. The challenge is to do 22 push ups for 22 days to raise awareness for veteran's suffering from PTSD. Among our nation's veterans there are, on average, 22 suicides a day. Mental injuries are real.
Thankfully, I was spared being deployed during war time. I was called back for Desert Storm but spent my time "re-training" in North Carolina. By the time I was done the conflict was over. It wasn't easy being pulled away from my son, who was only 9 months old at the time, but I am grateful that I never made it into a combat area. I can't imagine how my 21 year old self would have handled a situation like that.
I enlisted in the Marine Corps because I was looking for a place in the world where I felt a sense of belonging. The idea of the camaraderie that comes with being in the military was very attractive to me at the time. Also, my family has a history of it's men being Marine's and I was most likely looking for approval and acceptance from them, as well.
Not fully knowing what I was getting into, I signed up for the 6 year plan. The advantages this gave me was the option to actually choose my MOS (my job) and I was guaranteed to graduate basic training as an E-2. I choose to be a basic diesel mechanic and after doing so well in basic training, I began my military career in the fleet as an E-3, a Lance Corporal. As a matter of fact, I graduated basic training as the #1 graduate out of about 100 women, or two platoons. That is the one thing I am most proud of in this experience.
I was one of those weird people who actually enjoyed boot camp. Well, after the anxiety and nerves cleared away, of course, which took a little bit. Getting used to being screamed at almost constantly is a bit of a challenge but at some point I finally saw the big picture and just started rolling with it. I am an observer and this was the trait that helped me the most because I would watch others make mistakes and I learned quickly from them.
That camaraderie I was looking for happened for me in boot camp. We were a team. All 50 of us worked together, helped each other, motivated each other and looked after each other. It was one of the most challenging and awesome experiences I've ever had in my life and I don't regret one single moment of it.
Sadly for me, the camaraderie ended when boot camp ended. When I got out into the fleet it was every Marine for her/himself. I attended basic mechanics school in North Carolina. It was myself and about 49 other guys. I worked hard, understood it all fairly easily and graduated #3 in that class. From there, I was stationed at Camp Pendleton in Oceanside, California.
I was sent to the First Maintenance Battalion and looked forward to getting my hands dirty and driving some Humvees. Those things are beasts. I loved learning to drive them through the muck, the mud and the water. Yes, the water. There was about 6 inches of water on the floor board of the one I drove at one point and it didn't even hiccup. Beasts. I loved these machines and couldn't wait to work on them.
Unfortunately, I would never get that chance. As soon as I arrived at the offices of the First Maintenance Battalion to check in, I was directed to a desk with a phone and a computer. Thinking it was just a matter of time before I got to the motor pool, I did what I was told. Several months later, which included several weeks of KP duty (kitchen prep/cleaning at the chow hall) I asked my CO for a meeting. In that meeting I told him about my desire to actually be in the motor pool working on the trucks, in my MOS. I explained how well I did in training and that I was ready.
What he said to me has stuck in my mind all these years. It was the first big disappointment with the military and I was clearly shown where my place was in it. His response to me was, "You don't want to work in the motor pool with all of those guys." I told him that with all due respect if I didn't I wouldn't have trained for it. It went in one ear and out the other.
My idea of the military was shattered. I gave up inside and just did what I needed to do. I ended up choosing to be honorably discharged when I became pregnant with my son. At that point, the thought of leaving him to do a year long tour overseas was just too unbearable and that's exactly what I was facing.
The month spent apart from him when he was 9 months old was heart wrenching. I remember calling home and talking to my then husband (nope, I'm not a gold star), listening to him tell me about my son waiting for me at the front window, clutching my robe. The tears poured down my cheeks. I hated every moment of it. But, I did it.
I'm thankful I had this experience in life. It taught me a lot of things not only about life but about myself. I'm also thankful I didn't have to endure any combat or dangerous situations. I have family members that have. My Grandfather served in World War II and Korea. He was a Marine paratrooper. My other Grandfather was a cook in the Marines. My uncle served 3 tours in Vietnam. I can't even begin to, nor would I want to even try to, understand what it was like for them. Growing up, I watched them try to deal with the aftermath. I heard stories of attempted suicide. One of them involved my toddler self walking in on one of them holding a gun to themselves. Thankfully, I have no recollection of it.
Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome is a real thing. Mental injuries are real and our veterans suffer from them day in and day out. Not only are our veterans suffering from it, their families and communities are suffering. It's only been recently that the US Government has finally begun to accept this fact. I wish they could have done it sooner before so many lives were lost.
Please, go check out the challenge and the program that started it all go to 22kill.com. Join in on the challenge, as well.
I originally wrote and posted this on May 18, 2015 over on the other blog I started last year. (Original post can be read here.) It was good for me to re-read this morning so I wanted to share it here.
“There’s so much more to life than
finding someone who will want you, or being sad over someone who
doesn’t. There’s a lot of wonderful time to be spent discovering
yourself without hoping someone will fall in love with you along the
way, and it doesn’t need to be painful or empty. You need to fill
yourself up with love. Not anyone else. Become a whole being on your
own. Go on adventures, fall asleep in the woods with friends, wander
around the city at night, sit in a coffee shop on your own, write on
bathroom stalls, leave notes in library books, dress up for yourself,
give to others, smile a lot. Do all things with love, but don’t
romanticize life like you can’t survive without it. Live for yourself
and be happy on your own. It isn’t any less beautiful, I promise.”
― Emery Allen
I found this quote today while reading
through some things online. It perfectly sums up the way I’ve been
living my life for the past year or so. Prior to that I lived most of my
life romanticizing it like I couldn’t survive without it; waiting for
that one person to fill me up with love and acceptance. I spent so much
time being sad over people who didn’t love me and waiting for someone
else to complete me, to tell me I was enough. It was as if my life was
incomplete and on hold until that person showed up.
Somewhere along the line over the past year, I turned and faced
myself in the clearest of mirrors one could ever find; the relationships
in my life, both with those who are in my life currently or had been in
my life but are no longer. That’s when everything started to change for
me. That’s when I finally came around to that ever important lesson
that I am the one I was waiting for all this time. I am the only one who can complete me and the only one who can tell me I am enough.
After embracing this lesson fully, I felt like I finally started to
live in this life and “walk the talk”, so to speak by being present in
each moment with myself, the world around me and with the people around
me; by being completely open and honest with my friends and family; by
enjoying each day by taking moments to just breath and be – no phone, no
iPad, no computer, no camera, no journal – just me, my breath and my
surroundings. I finally began to get to know and accept myself. I’ve
discovered that I am already compete and I am enough. My heart and my
intentions are good. Every day I live to better myself and to love and
support my family and friends.
While researching a bit online about just who Emery Allen is, I came across this next quote of hers.
“Not everything is supposed to become
something beautiful and long-lasting. Sometimes people come into your
life to show you what is right and what is wrong, to show you who you
can be, to teach you to love yourself, to make you feel better for a
little while, or to just be someone to walk with at night and spill your
life to. Not everyone is going to stay forever, and we still have to
keep on going and thank them for what they’ve given us.”
― Emery Allen
“….and we still have to keep on going and thank them for what they’ve
given us.” I couldn’t agree with her more. There was a time in my life
where I wanted everything to become something beautiful and
long-lasting. But the reality of it is, life just doesn’t work that way
and that’s a good thing. When I think back on all of the lessons I have
been gifted by those who are and those who have been in my life, my
heart fills with such gratitude. In all honestly, I think about every
single one of them every day and with each thought I send them love and
gratitude. I also wish them love and happiness in their continued
journey in this life.
In Buddhist terms I practice the art of Tonglen in those moments. As Pema Chodron instructs:
“So in the in-breath you breathe in with the wish to take away
the suffering, and breathe out with the wish to send comfort and
happiness to the same people, animals, nations, or whatever it is you
decide.”
These lessons and this practice has done wonders for my thought
patterns, my well being and the way I relate to the world and the people
in it. There truly are no words to fully express my gratitude to those
who have lead me down this path. My life is forever changed by all of
you.
One of the things about living in a small town without a car (read about why I am car free here) is that it limits the things to do in the evenings after work. Since moving here last April and my car acting up shortly after that, I noticed that I started gaining some weight and just all around not feeling all that good about myself. Moving three thousand miles away from everyone and everything you've known for the past 13 years is a challenge, to say the least. There's a lot of adjustments to make, a lot of loneliness to sit through and a lot of homesickness to experience. So, I didn't do much physically other than walk to and from work and I didn't eat very well.
This past April I decided I should get another physical. Thankfully, I am generally healthy. I have the normal aches and pains for a 46 year old who's played a lot of sports in her life. The knee I injured playing women's full tackle football still makes a grinding noise when I bend it but I'm told it's in fairly decent shape. (I still don't fully trust that diagnoses, but I'm going with it for now.)
Surprisingly, I hadn't put on as many pounds as I thought, according to the doctor's scale. But, I really wasn't feeling very good in my body and my mind. At the time of the physical I had been debating with myself about spending the money to join the local YMCA and that debate rang louder in my ear that day as I walked past the YMCA to get to my physician's office.
On my way back from the appointment I decided to stop and check out the facilities. I really wanted to see the pool. The idea of swimming again felt really good every time I thought about it. Just seeing the pool again pretty much ended the debate that had been going on in my head. Enough was enough. It was time to spend the money on myself. My health and well being deserved it. I haven't regretted it. I feel a million times better today than I did all those months ago.
I started off swimming three times a week. Nothing major. Just 600 yards for the first couple weeks then worked my way up to 800. Mostly free style (or crawl stroke as they like to call it sometimes) mixed in with breast stroke and back stroke on occasion. It felt amazing to be back in the water. Not all that amazing to be back in a swim suit that was a wee bit tight in some areas, but I powered through knowing I was on the right track.
After returning from my two week West coast vacation this past June, I decided to put the swimming aside for a bit and hit the gym. It had been a while since I'd been in that space. Over the course of the last 7 weeks or so, I've vastly improved my strength and cardio. My visits have been pretty constant. About every other day. Sometimes I'll skip two days but it's usually because I'm taking myself on an adventure somewhere and on those days I end up walking quite a bit anyway.
The only thing I've changed about my eating is I've tried to eliminate as many processed foods as possible. Being a pescatarian, I do still eat tofu and tempeh but for the most part I'm all about the fruits and veggies. I only on occasion eat fish or seafood.
This week I decided to add pea protein drinks to the mix to get a bit more protein onboard. Specially on gym days. I chose pea protein because it's easily digestible. Mistakenly, I bought a jar of the unflavored kind, but it's ok as far as taste goes. I tend to chug those drinks anyway because of the grittiness of them. So, we'll see how it goes.
My goal with all of this is to just continue to feel better. I have an idea of what I'd like my body to eventually look like, but I also want to keep things very simple. I don't want to diet. Dieting just feels yucky and it's not a long term solution. I want a long term solution. Something that helps with my physical well being as well as my mental well being. So far, this path is working pretty well. I'm happy. I feel healthy. I feel strong. I feel more connected with my body and that, in itself, is pretty amazing.
I haven't been able to fit into these jeans since before the end of last year. Last week I put them on and not only do they fit, I have room! Feels pretty good.
Wow. It's so crazy for me to click over to this blog and still see so many hits on it even after not writing for over a year. Whomever you are out there who continues to read this blog and check out my photo project, thank you.
Of course, I guess it could just be bots, but shit. It's still nice to see all of those hits on my stats page. Maybe I really did put something out there into the ether that matters.
Cool.
Anyway, so, no promises but I'm thinking about coming back to this space and adding more to it. I like the other blog I created but it feels like it only really serves one purpose and that's to record some of my experiences over here on the East Coast. This blog feels more....I don't know....authentic, life like, real. That's the stuff I'm trying to come back to in my writing. I've been so far removed from it for so long now and feel like I'm, maybe not quite there yet, but, moving in that direction. Which feels good.
I'm still on the East Coast, until May 2017, then I'll move back to Portland. I'm homesick, missing my family and friends and need to make more trips down to help my parents out in Southern California. So, that's the plan.
Still single and learning more and more about myself every day. It's been an incredible two years filled with so much internal growth. I look forward to more. I'm also learning that my idea of relationships (the romantic kind) is changing and hope to write more about that soon.
I dropped out of Facebook land a couple months ago by deleting my account. Most of my social media accounts were also deleted aside from my Instagram and Flickr. Oh, and I have Google+ by way of GMail but don't use it all that often. The reason for dropping out of the social media world was more of a mental health thing than anything else. I needed my world to quiet down.
The "hoopla" over the project died down after about a year. I still, on occasion, am asked to be quoted in online articles about the butch/femme dynamic, which is nice. The book is still available over on Amazon, which is also nice. I'm grateful I was able to do the project. It took so much out of me, though, that I haven't really picked up my camera since. Today I'm taking it in to Boston to play so I'm finally coming back around to it.
So, I know some of you who followed this blog in the past are from my past and may not want to continue to follow it, so here's the heads up. I love you and wish you all only the biggest of joy, love and happiness. Also, I miss you.
So, hey, I've gotten back into eating healthy and working out at the gym again at least 3 days a week, most weeks more. My Instagram has a few gym photos, although, I haven't quite gotten to the point where I can join in on #flexfriday, but I'm working on it. I do feel much better and a wee bit smaller around the waist so that's nice. My knees are much happier, too.
Hope you've all been well and happy. We'll see where this goes.
There is a want inside of me. More of a need. A need that is gnawing and clawing away at my rib cage. The feelings are there. So many of them. But, the words are few. Patching pieces together. Searching for a way to weave the letters into words, the words into syllables, then the spaces and the punctuation together in a way that, first, makes sense and, second, says what I'm feeling. What's happening in my head.
Old patterns are hard to break. Re-programming sometimes feels like a numbness. You turn some of it off completely so there's room for reason, for awareness of thoughts. Turn the spicket on to a drip so you can see where the thoughts go. Then stop and ask why. Why? What is it that I really want in this moment? Why am I feeling this way? Which way are my thoughts going? Towards an old path?
Change direction. New perspective. New path.
That dark hole, that hole still exists. It may always be something that I carry with me. I may, for the rest of my days, be climbing in and out of it. From that darkness a question is constantly whispered, "What is the point?"
What is the point?
The point is to live and love and give. The point is to make others smile. The point is to help others in this life. The point is to find happiness within. The point is to have a point in this life, in this world. The point is to make a difference.
To one or to many. Make a difference. Inspire good. Be the point.
That's the point. The point of all of this. The point of this life. The point of my life.
I feel like these past few weeks have been a bit surreal. This book, this project that I've been pouring my heart and soul into over the past couple of years is/has become a reality. I signed a publishing contract this past October and the release date for the book is December 15th.
I haven't held a copy of it in my hands yet but, somehow, a friend of mine who ordered it from Amazon has already received his copy. When I saw the photos he posted of him holding the book I started crying. Tears of joy. Tears of release. Tears of "holy shit, it's happening, it's really happening".
My publisher is working out the details of the release party and I am anticipating the first copies of the book to be delivered soon so I can finally hold a copy in my hands. The photographer in me will closely look at every photograph to be sure they all turned out the way I had envisioned them. The writer in me will carefully re-read every word (for the 20th time) to be sure all of the typos have been caught. Even though I know there's no fixing things at this point.
Most of all, I will look at that book in my hands and see my dream come to life. This book is my heart. Everyone who holds a copy of it in their hands will be holding my heart. If that's not vulnerability for you, then I don't know what is.
I am incredibly grateful to everyone who participated, stood in front of my camera, took the time to meet with me and answer all of the questions I sent to them, freely gave their hard earned money, and to those who supported me with encouragement, love and support. None of this could have happened without each and every one of you. Thank you.
As I sit here this morning reading through the blog posts from last year I can't help but feel blessed and amazed. We did it. We fucking did it.
So, here are a few ways to get a copy of this book:
Also, come to the release party here in Portland, Oregon on Monday, December 15th at 7:30pm at the American Legion Hall at NE 21st & NE Alberta and get a copy. I'll sign it and give you a great big hug. Plus, there will be food! Here's the Facebook Event page: https://www.facebook.com/events/399674273532075/?ref_dashboard_filter=upcoming
A truly phenomenal woman moved on from this plane of existence today. I was awoken this morning by a text message from my dear sister telling me that Maya Angelou has passed. Renowned poet, author and educator. She touched the lives of so many with her presence and her words.
One of her quotes has been my mantra for the last couple of years.
"If you are always trying to be normal you will never know how amazing you can be."
The quote in the photograph is also one that has lead me through this life. People will always remember how you made them feel.
Thank you, beautiful soul, for sharing your words and yourself with this world. You will be missed. Rest in peace.
"Just do right. Right may not be expedient, it may not be profitable but it will satisfy your soul."
I didn't realize it had been so long
since I posted last. Just so you know, I made it back to Portland
safe and sound. It was a good trip with only a couple of instances of
snow. Yes. Snow in April. Montana and Idaho are crazy with their
snow. They like it a lot, I guess.
My welcome back to the Pacific
Northwest was wonderful thanks to family and friends, both new and
old.. It was so good to see my son again. I gave him the biggest hug
making him feel extra awkward. I can't figure out how I ended up
raising a non-hugger. Well, actually, he is a hugger. He's just not
as into it as I am. Anyway, I was so incredibly happy to see him and
hang out again.
I surprised my 5 year-old Goddaughter
when I went over to her house to pick up her Mom for a coffee and
catch up session. We were trying to sneak out of the house with plans
to make a time to hang out with the little one in the next few days
but that didn't work. As I stood at the door waiting for her Mom to
gather her things, suddenly I heard the pitter patter of 5 year-old
feet running across the house to the living room where I was
standing, trying to be quiet. The moment she saw me standing at the
door she stopped in her tracks with a shocked look on her face. Then
she smiled really big, yelled “WENDI!”, and jumped into my arms
for a huge hug! It was awesome!
Just after arriving in the Pacific
Northwest I received a text from my sister telling me my old studio
apartment was open again. Moments after getting the text I excitedly
sent a message to my old landlord asking her about my chances of
renting it from her again. She was so happy to hear from me and so
excited to rent to me again that she immediately cancelled all of the
appointments she had to show it the next day and rented it to me on
the spot. I signed the lease and moved in on May 1st. It
was incredibly surreal.
On May 5th I started my new
job as the shipping and receiving manager for a small shop here in
the Portland area. It's been going well so far and the higher ups are
impressed with the speed at which I pick things up. It's not rocket
science and I've done this sort of things many times over so, for me,
it's pretty easy to catch on. I'm not a big fan of the early morning
hour that I have to get up but I do enjoy having the late
afternoons/early evenings to do other things.
One of those other things has been
working on getting into classes at the local community college to get
on my way to applying for the Radiograpy program. Unfortunately, it's
all a bit dependent on how it's all financed and today I received a
bit of bad news in regards to just that. I'm about capped out on the
amount of student loans I can take in my lifetime and I don't have
enough left between what I've already taken out for my Bachelor's
degree and the cap to make it all the way through the program. The
moment I hung up the phone after receiving this news I immediately
thought to myself, “Ok. Now what?”. What's plan 'B'? Alright, honestly, I thought those things after first yelling, "FUCK!" but I had to get it out before moving on.
So now, what is plan 'B'? I am, at the moment,
unsure of the answer to that question. My wise, Life Coach Mom seems
to sense a bigger plan unfolding. I just wish I knew what that plan
was. My mind is bouncing between looking at scholarship applications
to continue down that path, taking my photography to a level that
would sustain me, writing/self publishing, and starting a new
business walking dogs/pet sitting. One thing that I am sure of is my
need to focus on finishing up my current photo project and getting
the book out there. The move and all of my transitions have put the
project on the back burner and it's time to bring it back to the
front. I miss it.
On a side note: I've noticed lately
that I haven't had the words to write. Until today. Until after
receiving that phone call regarding financial aid at school. I'm not
sure what to think about that, if anything, but it's interesting.
So, Universe? Where do I go from here?
A bit of guidance would be fabulous, thank you.
Have you ever thought about doing
something so big that it would be considered a major life change and
thought, “I could do that. No problem. It'll be an adventure.”?
Like picking up your life and moving it 3,197 miles from your family
and everyone you know and love? No sweat, right? It's an adventure.
You live for experiences and you love to travel and get out there and
see the world!
Well, have you ever gone through with
it and it turned out to be “no problem”? Because if you have, I
need to know how you did it. I'm gone 3 weeks and 3 days from the
town I consider my home and I'm a homesick mess.
I miss my son the most. This is the
first time we've lived in separate towns, let alone clear across the
country from each other. (Well, apart from being across the country
from him when he was 9 months old because I was called back into the
Marines for Desert Storm.) For the last 23 years, no matter what,
it's always been him and I. Even if we weren't living in the same
house or the same part of town we were always connected. We're still
connected but now I can't just drive across town and have coffee with
him or go on a hike with him or go have Terminator Milkshakes with
him at McMenamins.
It. Is. Painful. So painful.
Part of me feels like a huge baby and
if he's handling it well, then why can't I? The other part of me
says, “Well of course it hurts. He's your son.”
He's my son.
Chances are he will eventually move out
of Portland (maybe) and if I was there in Portland when he moved
away, would I feel the same as I do now? Of course I would. But
knowing that Portland was where he jumped off from and feeling like
I'm holding a sense of space for him to come back to would be so much
different then where I sit right now 3,197 miles away from the place
we've called home for the last 11 years.
I miss my son. I know that somehow this
distance will turn out to be good for both of us, but right now all I
know is that I miss him.
I miss Portland, too. I miss the small towns in the big city.
I miss being able to call up a friend and go grab a beer just for the
hell of it. I miss the quirkiness. I miss knowing where
everything is. I miss the queer community. I miss my friends.
There are things I haven't yet done
here on the East Coast that I'm sure once I get some funds coming in
and do them I'll start to feel the adventure part of this experience.
One of those things being spending time with fellow photographer Syd
London in New York. Seeing Times Square for the first time. Maybe
even seeing Brandon from Humans of New York out and about shooting
more beautiful photographs for his project. Or visiting my sister in
Connecticut. Photographing a New England winter, spring and summer.
Getting down to Florida to finish up my own project shoots. Meeting lots of new people.
In addition to being homesick, other things are eating away at me
during this transitional time. Like the way my leaving Portland looked to
a few of my close friends based off of things that were posted on a
social networking site. (I swear those sites will be the death of
society.) Things weren't as they seemed and there didn't seem to be
any room for clarity from me. There's so much pain wrapped around
that. I want to reach out but don't even really know where to start
at this point. Perhaps time will make things clearer with regards to
reaching out or leaving it be. I don't know.
Giving up my Oregon drivers license and
replacing the plates on my car with Massachusetts plates was
emotional. I took care of those things last week and almost cried at
the Registry of Motor Vehicles. Seems like such an odd thing to cry
about. Although, waiting for over an hour and giving up the money for it all really should have
made me cry.
The good news in all of this is that
after being here for only 3 weeks I've landed two part-time jobs. One
at a doggie daycare here in town and another at an IT company that's
only a 7 minute walk from the house. I started the IT company job
today and it seems to be a good gig. The people are nice and I'm
learning new-to-me software, which is always a good thing for the
resume'. My mornings are spent at the doggie daycare and starting my
days off with doggies makes me very happy. It sets a good tone for
the day. (The job where I'm paid the least and picking up poop is
where I'm the happiest. Go figure. If only I could survive on that
job alone.)
In the meantime, I continue to do tons
of internal soul searching trying to figure out what makes me happy
and how I can get paid to do it. Since I've been here, I've figured
out that wedding photography is not where my passion lies. The
project is where my passion lies. Maybe after this one is done, there
will be another. Writing has been heavy on my mind lately, as well.
The outline of a story for a book has been making it's way into my
thoughts. My Mom has been encouraging me to start writing again. I'm
getting other signs from the Universe to write so I need to just do
it. With the holidays coming I'm going to need a distraction. Plus, I
keep hearing how terrible New England winters are so I may be
buckling down inside to stay warm during my off hours. It'll be a
good time to write.
Also on the advise of my Mom, I will start
focusing on what I'm grateful for in each day. Starting today and
every day through the end of the year I will do my best to write a
blog post about that which I am grateful for. Today, I am grateful
for my two jobs and the income they will provide. I'm also pretty
proud of myself for landing them so soon after getting into town. I
certainly hit the ground running when I got here and it's paid off.
If you've read my blog for any length of time you know how open and honest I am in my online blogging. While I don't talk about everything that's happening in my life, I do talk about a lot of things most people wouldn't talk about in a public setting. There seem to be so few of us out there in the blogosphere. I've always admired those who do blog with that honesty and openness and, for some time, I've prided myself on it. The many emails and comments from people expressing their appreciation for writing about the things I do because it makes them feel less alone in the world have affirmed for me that I'm on the right path in this space.
But, over the last year or so, I've felt a self imposed stifling in my blogging. I've come to realize that I've allowed the public-ness of the photo project to quiet me down not only here in this space but in other spaces such as the big social media sites.
Why? Fear of people's judgements and reactions. Fear of unintentionally hurting someone. Fear. False Evidence Appearing Real. All of those fears came from my own head. Not from anything that happened in the real world.
I've been denying myself and I can't allow that to continue. This place, this public place where I write about my life in an unedited way, is my space to do so. I am reclaiming that for myself. I am reclaiming my authenticity.
On the 29th of this month I will be packing up my car and driving across country to Massachusetts for a rekindled love, a new adventure and a new start. I'm both excited and terrified at the same time. My entire life is moving across country to a coast I've only lived on during my military days. It's a huge jump into the arms of the Universe. It's a giant leap of faith and it's putting a lot of trust in not only myself, but also in that rekindled love and the Universe.
Over the next couple of weeks I expect to be moving through a full spectrum of emotions as I let go of my life on this coast and embrace my life on the opposite coast. During that transition, I promise to be me. My authentic, blogging self. The good parts and the bad parts. Flaws and all. Mistakes and triumphs. Just me in all of my humanness.
I've been back from my trip for two weeks now and haven't had time or energy to really sit with it all during those two weeks. The moments where I did write during the trip were moments of clarity. Moments where the words broke through the exhaustion and found their way to the page.
Since returning to Portland and returning to my day job, the words have disappeared. Maybe "disappeared" isn't the word I'm looking for. Perhaps they're there but just haven't found the strength to break through the stress and the frustration that my day job has gifted me with. The trials and lessons of this learning process I seem to be experiencing yet again. (What did I miss in the last lesson?)
I know the words are there. I just need to listen. Listen and be still. (Or is it "be still and listen"?)
Today is an unexpected holiday from the aforementioned day job. An unexpected blessing. I'm using it as a day to edit the photos I brought home with me. The photos will be my tool to find the words that mold themselves into memories of this great adventure I am on. Words to describe the amazing people I've met along the way and the beautiful places this project has taken me so far.
I'm not sure where this image comes from. I like it.
This year I've decided to accept the challenge of participating in NaNoWriMo. It's National Novel Writing Month and it's all about writing a novel in 30 days. That's 50,000 words in 30 days. If you've ever written a story, or not honestly, you'll know just how crazy this is. It's a pretty steep challenge.
I think most participants write stories but I've decided to use it to start working on a memoir of sorts. My story. Everyone has one but not everyone writes it down for one reason or another.
Through blogging and online journals I've discovered the value in sharing your story. People who read my posts have emailed me or commented that they can somehow relate and they're glad they're not alone in those feelings. Because of this discovery, I've been wanting to work on a memoir.
It isn't about how I survived the wild after trekking out on my own or how I survived a bus crash in a third world country but it is about how I survived life itself. How I got to this time in my life where more and more things are starting to make sense, even though the rest of the world seems a bit crazy at the moment.
It's about how I came out, the way I move and present in the world, how I got to that point in my life where I figured out that living a miserable life that looks nothing like the life I wanted was just not worth it anymore. Throwing away a career and a way of life, namely being able to pay the bills and save a little. Not to mention the respect of a few people.
For this challenge, in order for me to hit the target of 50,000 words in 30 days I have to write an average of 1,667 words per day. The first day was a breeze. I pounded out over 1,700 words but the last two days were a bit more difficult, to say the least. I realized today that I'm bringing to my consciousness things I hadn't thought about in years. Things that I may or may not have worked through during the course of my life. Hard things.
So, the writing slowed. But, I'm not going to belittle myself for it. The fact is, I sat down to write at some point during each of the last 3 days. Writing is something I've missed more then anyone could ever imagine. Writing, for me, is like breathing. Sometimes each word is a breath, other days every other word is an inhalation and every other word is an exhalation. Then there are the days when every character is a breath because the flow is so quick and I just can't write fast enough to get the words out of my head and if I don't keep up with the words my world will end!
But, the most important thing is to write. No matter how many words, how much time I spend doing it, or whether or not I create a story. The most important thing is to write.
Reading my story aloud last night in front
of a kinky crowd and in the presence of so many amazingly talented authors made
me finally realize that my writing is, well, good.
Hearing the
audiences reactions to certain places within the story and having people come up to me
afterwords to tell me how much they loved my story and listening to
me read it was amazing. I'm still thrown a bit when people ask me to sign the book. It's a very surreal feeling.
As much as my mind and my body resisted going last night, I am so glad I did because I needed that boost.
I have some things to work on as far as reading this story aloud, such as more eye contact while I'm reading, but all in all I did pretty well. My girl and my friends said they couldn't tell I was nervous, which was good because my heart was racing. Thankfully, I wasn't shaking. It's nice to know that I can keep myself collected on the outside while the bundle of nerves do their thing on the inside.
This morning I feel the motivation to write more. It's a motivation that hasn't shown it's face around here for a while. After listening to other authors read their stories, I'm also reminded that I need to go to readings more. It's a good place to find inspiration.
.jpg)
