Oooooo sexy!

I’ve been back on Bumble for less than 24hrs and already I want to get off! There has to be a better solution to finding someone I want to climb mountains with, eat Scooby snacks with, have great conversations with, ride bikes at the Burn with...and so much more. This evening I started the usual (boring) texting with someone I swiped right on. (I find the whole premise of swiping right disgusting...but I'm at a loss as to what else I can do‽) So anyway, I started texting and here's how things proceeded...

Now don't get me wrong! I'm happy to be called all kinds of pet names once we've met and we're both into each other. I'm cool with "babe, sunshine, nibble" (yep, I've been called that one!) "sweetie, ma'am" (though this one sometimes makes me feel old...) "sugar, sexy, boo..." and the list goes on. I am honestly not at all fussy about pet names! I'm not someone that finds terms of endearment offensive. When I see the look in someone's eyes, that tells me this name they've chosen for me means that I mean something to them...that they like me...then they could call me "snarkelpuss" and I'd be thrilled! But when you've never met me and we've only exchanged 10 fragments of a sentence, don't, just don't, say "Oooooo sexy" at me!

Thank you and goodnight!

ps - Also, I should not be something you get up to just cause you're bored!

Bookends

The hills outside San Jose are dotted with a particular tree in full bloom. Their color is that of a forsythia bush, but they are tall, the blooms a yellow puffball the size of a grapefruit or large navel orange. The color bursts out from a sea of lush green as they dip and wave in the breeze. It must be spring, now, here in this timidly familiar place.

Pylons criss-cross the verdant surroundings as we approach the city...moved forward in a luminous pink bus. I've given Costa Rica two months of my life now, slowly inching up the list of other geographical contenders for my attention. The slender bodies of the bamboo that frame the highway are yellow too, but softer. Broken up by their leafy tops, they do not smack in the eye like the "Costa Rican forsythia" does.

Our pink bus plunges down the hill into the suburbs of San Jose. My two bags (one holding all my art) and I will soon be expelled from this rosy air-conditioned cocoon into the bustle of the city for my last forty-eight hours here...ramping up to the level of home, LA.

Reflective, as one might be on, say, New Years Eve, I circle around this thought...I do not believe in transformational festivals, an irony not lost on me, since I spend the better part of the year bringing these festivals to fruition...but there it is. For me, life is transformational. Life, that is so much bigger in scope than a tiny sliver of time in the jungle, or in the dessert, or the mountains...but in this particular instance the festival has served as bookends to my year. Highlighting my transformation in the year that was wedged in-between.

"What a difference a year makes!" This common phrase is spot on for this last year. My experience of this festival, as well as my changed response to the city of San Jose have served well in highlighting this shift. Confusion, heartache and loneliness have faded away, like darkness with the approaching dawn. This year I am "me" again! Happy and interested in life all around me. Invested in my art and hopeful again that I will find an adventure partner that shares my passion for life rather than kills it...what a difference a year makes...

While you, my dear (few) readers, may find your festivals to be transformational (and I'm happy for you if they are, as I LOVE creating that magic)...I will be happy if my life continues to be a source of learning and transformation.

The Power of Tiny

Painting walks a fine line between meditation and inner contemplation...after this last Burn I dove straight in and sank so deep that I was a day late in returning my rental car (oops!). While there have definitely been meditative moments, on the whole, the process of working on this latest painting has been a very contemplative process...digesting internal experiences that took place for those two weeks in the dust. (my navel runs deep 😉)

Today I had a moment where a physical/visual occurrence dovetailed with my inner monologue (so it makes for a tidy example).

The painting I've been working on contains some blocks of letters on red. They are bold and stand out in a sea of (mostly) monochromatic tones. They are the visual equivalent of the grand gesture...and they were at odds with the rest of the painting...too bright...too much...to there...but I knew that they had to be a part of the painting...a part of the bigger picture.

This afternoon, I made a tiny gesture. A tiny visual gesture. I added five matching red shapes, the largest of which is no bigger than the fingernail on my index finger...and the whole painting just popped into togetherness.

You wouldn't think such a tiny element would have such a big impact, but it does. This tangible example mirrored what I have been mulling over in my head, during, and since the Burn.

So much in our lives focuses on the grand gesture (and don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan, it makes for a good story) but what inspires me more is the tiny gesture...the tiny pebble that is tossed into a pond and the subsequent ripples that reach the other side and then reflect back.

Maybe some slightly less esoteric examples will paint a better picture.

I went to the Burn this year wanting, seeking the grand gesture, the epic adventure, the sparkle...and for the most part it remained elusive...

In a mid-week lull of whatthefuckisgoingonIwashopingforadifferentnarrative, a tiny moment presented itself. Not a grand adventure. Not a chance to have a magical make-out session under the stars, nor a letscommandeerbikesandgetlost or a letseatallthefuckingcandy* ...but rather a moment that said, stop, sit outside your tent and a small but worthy conversation will come your way.

It did.

Change radiated out from that tiny conversation and back in...

Tiny gestures...

Of course the power of tiny gestures goes both ways. You can take two seconds to pick up a mooped sequin or two second to brush off someone in need of inclusion...

I think in the face of big events (and there are so many happening around us constantly) we feel a need to respond with a big gesture, and we forget that even the tiniest act, can have a profound effect...

I guess what I'm really trying to say, is thank you, to all you bringers of the tiny gesture...you made my Burn... x

Traveling Light...

So, there's been a (not so fun) recurring theme with the past few men I've given my heart to, and I've been struggling to unpick what is going on...but I think I may have figured it out. (Thanks, Erin, for the reiki and reminder that I have a light heart).

I've somehow been attracted to men who find women with excess baggage interesting. I found myself thinking back to an early high school boyfriend, in combination with some more recent and current interactions with men in my life and a pattern emerged.

I've been stepping into these connections with an open, uncomplicated heart (having been so blessed with a loving and supportive past...everyone should be so lucky!) but I think this lightness of being has backfired on me. I think, because of this lack of heavy, lack of drama, I'm being perceived as both boring and possibly not engaging the subconscious male animal's protective instincts...a one-two punch that is cultivating disengagement.

The tricky part is...how to I go about solving this? How do I break this cycle? How do I find a man who understands that after a while all that baggage gets heavy, it becomes a burden that gets in the way of the adventure that is life. I travel light, and traveling light is great for adventures.

I know that at some point I may acquire more baggage, hold more sorrows...that's a natural part of life...but I don't think this will make me anymore authentic or interesting than I am now...so...

I know there is an adventurous man out there somewhere that wants to run out into the world with me and do all the THINGS!! Someone that can stand tall next to me...both of us with light hearts, open. [and maybe (at least for now) only a carry-on between us...😉].

Happy 12yr Anniversary...

What do You Call a Blonde...

"What do you call a blonde with pigtails?"

       ~ "A blow job with handles." 



NOTHING about this "joke" is ok...especially giving the setting...

I (with my hair in pigtail/buns) had just stepped on to the Red Line in Hollywood. I'm use to the crazies, the homeless, the rando's chatting you up and all the other medley of people I encounter on the subway in Los Angeles, but having someone say that to me, out loud, in public, was kind of the last straw. This man was not crazy (though he might have been drunk) ...and not a single person on the fairly busy train said a word... not. one. word.

...at the time I was wearing my black biker style boots and I wanted to kick him right in the face. I am not a violent person, but this kind of treatment is not to be tolerated...but I, unlike at least one person on that train, know how to restrain my impulses. Fortunately for me, I had my ear buds in and though no music was playing through them at the time, I was able to ignore this person that was not worth a millisecond of my time.

...but the real trouble is, I have given more than a millisecond of my time to guys who think it is ok to treat me like garbage. Oh, they haven't done anything like the guy on the train, but in many ways what they have done is much worse. Worse in its subtlety, so that I don't realize I'm being sucked into a black hole of communication. They open the door for me like a gentleman but when I step through the door they disappear. These men lacked the directness of my subway encounter and, as shitty as it was, I'd prefer a direct asshole any day to the slippery ghosts I've had to deal with for the past few years...at least then I would know immediately that they needed a metaphorical boot in the face, kicking them out of my life swiftly and effectively.

I like "me" and in general I like other people. I try to be direct, honest and kind when dealing with people even when we don't see eye to eye and I really don't fucking understand why others can't try and do this as well...

In the wake of this, it is difficult to find the desire to push myself to find someone to date...I know there are many kind and honest men out there... I know a few...many of my friends are dating and/or married to some exemplary men.

I don't think it is too much to ask, to want someone who is both kind/honest and exciting... but for some reason I can't seem to find someone who excites me (and I them) who also wants to open that door, step inside, and stick around...

(Everybody) Be Somebody*

It seems that I keep having people in my life, friends and acquaintances, who are working so hard at being somebody. Who are looking externally for what makes them somebody. Who feel as if they are not somebody because they haven't made some kind of mark on the world around them.

I want to reach out somehow, place my hands on their shoulders and say "you are somebody!" You have been somebody all your life.

You may want to do more of something and less of something else, but that is simply the trajectory or path of your life's activities.

It is not you.

History (your past) does not make you somebody.

Success does not make you somebody.

Failure does not make you somebody.

"Likes" do not make you somebody.

Happiness does not make you somebody...

neither does sadness.


While all these things, experiences, may give you a deeper understanding of your "somebody", they are not you, they do not define the quintessence of you.

You always are and always have been somebody. Stop trying so hard. Accept that you are somebody. Love that somebody. Hold those who know your "somebody" close...those ones who mirror back the true quintessence of you. 

Let those who don't, fade away.

Some people will never see you, see your "somebody"...let them go. It is not their job to see you. You see you. That is your job...it is your only job...the rest is just activity.




(*for those of you who had the distinct pleasure of knowing the magical beauty that was Sweat, Sir Henry's...EVERYBODEEEEE, BE SOMEBODEEEE! EVERYBODEEEEE, MOVE YOUR BODEEEE!!!!)

Meaning-full

In the wake of confusion that comes when someone decides, for whatever reason, that they are no longer into you, I always find myself asking the big questions...like, "what is the point?" and other such ruminations. During this last fallout period, I ran across a quote from Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning. It struck a chord. So I ordered the book and began to read it between bouts of self-indulgent mopey-ness. I haven't finished it yet, but so far it has been a good and thought provoking read. It has made me think around my own ideas of the meaning of it all.

Here's what I've come up with, for me, personally. 


     The meaning of life is to have a life full of (lived) meaning.
      (I like how that is kind of a verbal palindrome) 



I'm sure I'm not the first (nor will I be the last) person to have this idea, but what I do like about it is that it's a blank slate or in my case, a blank canvas. The blank canvas has no judgements, it simply sits there, waiting for you to choose a color and start to paint. Meaning or meaningfulness is a bit like painting, you have to approach it with intent. Without intent you will produce mud...

I also like the universality of this idea. That, if you pay attention to what your genuine needs are for fulfillment, then this idea should provide a path to finding meaning in life that fits perfectly with you, and only you. It does require some thought about what genuinely gives you meaning, but it is fluid and can accommodate most needs and can change and develop over time. I hesitate to use the word "needs" as there is a lot written about setting yourself free of need. However, in my mind these are not "needs" that make you needy, but rather less concrete aspects of life that bring you fulfillment. Ok, I'm starting to ramble...examples, right, good idea!


For me, the things that give my life meaning are - 


     People. The people I choose to surround myself with... 
     (both friends and family)

     Creating. Or creative expression, in all its forms. 
     (painting, baking, ceramics, photography, dancing, etc!!)

     Adventure. Travel...seeing what is around the next bend, 
     whether that bend is on the other side of the world or the 
     view from my bike in an unexplored neighborhood of LA, or   
     around the corner of time...as well as the adventure of 
     discovering new people, new creative pursuits, new stories, 
     internal exploration, etc...the adventure of life/living, 
     as it were.


Those are my three. What are yours? What feeds your soul? What fulfills you?

While, not being wanted, can knock me on my emotional ass for a minute or two, it never really takes the meaning out of life for me, it just pushes me to reflect, reassess, lick my wounds and then get on with living, with intent, purpose and meaning!