what is there to say?

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Kick her when she's down, easy target. Some jerk stole my pretty blue bike today.

 

#sometimeslifeisrough

Growing Pains {The Adjustment Period}

Hi friends. The lack of posting isn't necessarily for lack of things to say, sometimes I'm not sure where to start. This week was a rough one, it's coming down to the missing feeling of place in this city. It prompts me to recall vividly the growing pains I experienced upon moving to Memphis... This blog has been a weird evolving process, certainly for at least the first year of its inception I wasn't writing anything too personal--whatever that means. (Of course the content is still edited down but it's now become a journaling/documentation of sorts.) A lot of my emotional experience of that time remains undocumented. It was rough, more lonely than this go around, but I do feel parallels to the growing pains and adjustments that come with calling a new locale, "home." I attribute my negativity this week to really disliking the work and office I'm temping in multiplied by the exponent of "x" also known by its scientific classification as represented by the acronym pms... so there's that. In Memphis, I was so lucky to find Project:Motion. It was a space where I could belong and contribute and be challenged and do something utterly selfish, to benefit myself and do it for the good of my soul. My place, for me. I understand to find this takes time, but this week my patience feels tried and tired. Darling on the other hand feels like he finally fits in where he lives, not only does he take less time to adjust to his surroundings, but New York, specifically, seems to be an excellent fit.

I'm also still searching for the driving force of what I'd like to do in that grander, commit-to-something-and-give-it-everything-you've-got kind of way. I need to do some soul searching, and soon. It's difficult to be so unsatisfied professionally and still have no solid dream to replace it. I dream of something finding me, that if I just say "yes" to the things that come my way surely the doors will continue to open and it will lead to something fulfilling, I also have the sneaking suspicion that things don't necessarily happen that way. Actually, my experience since graduating college tells me that those things only happen once you've begun to proactively seek things out, so where does one start? When I dig deep down and talk through it with Darling it keeps looking as though I'm really searching for an occupation that for all intents and purposes doesn't actually exist. How then, can I make something meaningful for myself, or expose myself to something to get invested in? The truth is that I love to work and love to feel invested in what I'm doing. I hate jobs that don't provide enough to do, or work that is understimulating, underwhelming--we've all had that job, where the brain begins to feel affects of atrophy set in. I believe I have never heard it said so articulately or poignantly as Harold Bloom as when he coined this feeling, "the search for difficult pleasure." Satisfying, empowering, fulfilling...

I cannot say (nor am I trying to) that I haven't been having a good time since moving because we've been so fortunate to find a good home and explore and enjoy so much in the short time we've been here. But a lot of light has been shed into "real life" in NYC since getting into working mode. Feeling no ownership, no sense of belonging or community. It's only been a taste of the good and hard things to come, it makes me worry for all the heed of warning I received before moving about the first year in New York as such an ass kicker. I raise this glass of Burgundy next to me to you, fair lady, as I understand it you don't take kindly to the faint of heart, I'm up for a challenge, but I do ask, "please be kind." 

How do you articulate and solidify your dreams? 

Observations

"In life you give but in chess you take. Unfortunately, people live life as in chess..."

- Man challenging for a chess game in Washington Square Park

Steve Earle with The Dukes and Duchesses

Last Wednesday evening, Darling and I saw Steve Earle play at the Music Hall of Williamsburg. Like Whoa. Darling says it was his favorite of the shows we've seen since moving here. I can't really say I'm up for ranking experiences right now as, truthfully, I'm just enjoying them as they come. The music was fantastic, and the band had a tangible chemistry--exuding how much they really enjoy what they do and who they're doing it with (and that, ultimately, is what we want from our lives, correct? How to achieve this is specifically what weighs on my mind more than anything else right now). The longest single band set I've seen in a very long time,  they played for nearly 3 hours! The talent and level of musicianship was top notch, the band was made up of 3 smaller projects, also doing their own things, and there was play in the set to highlight and feature each of them "in old bluegrass fashion" as Mr. Earle pointed out. They broke only for intermission, at which point Darling and I moved closer to the stage while everyone else went for beers. This eventually lead to me standing directly at the feet of the lead guitarist. I'm not really a "front row person," I can't tell you the last time I was so close to live musicians, but being so close to the instruments was amazing. I was absolutely mesmerized watching the hands skillfully and knowingly handle the instruments. I had this overwhelming feeling of wanting to play with them, an envy of their talents, an envy of their opportunity to perform, an envy of their doing what they love to do. In reflection these last few days, it's a feeling that has stuck with me...

I can't wait to pick up Mr. Earle's novel, just recently released. Catching him on The Wire, Treme, on stage and now in paperback? What a cool dude. Although this isn't my first song choice, it's the highest quality video I have the patience to find right now, enjoy.

Compassion

I imagine that we've all had a friend or at least made a connection with someone that has it, whatever it is. A magnetism. Someone that sees the world with amazing insight, someone who is equally (genuinely) as giving and humble as they are talented and creative. They are an artist in everything they do. They see goodness in everyone. They make you feel interesting and listened to. That person that you want to sit with for hours on end, and pick their brain, feel true connection, laugh till your cheeks ache (in the sour spot) and allow conversations to wander into the hidden and difficult places to express. With them you see new definitions of beauty and humor and pain and love. It usually seems that you are not the only one who gets this about them, that everywhere you go others are equally as drawn, and no one ever has anything but love to express for that person.

I have this friend. I've stated to him before that I feel so lucky that the time and place was right for us to meet. That we hit it off so well. He was the one who would encourage me by dropping in to take the dance classes I was teaching at UVU and UofU. The one who would call me to perform with him. Who makes me laugh and laugh and laugh. The one who came over every night after I put Fosse (my cat) down--simultaneously one of the most difficult and profoundly lonely periods I've been through, to pick me up, take me out, stay in for long talks and glasses of wine, and help me get ready to move across the country. He always makes time for me when I travel home to Utah and between those visits I look forward to long telephone conversations of catching up while we live far apart. 

Imagine then, Darling browsing online to see how the Utes (our alma mater) did in their football game and see instead, that this person, so dear to me, had been the victim of a violent hate crime. He was attacked at work for being gay. 

My heart sunk. I felt sick and confused. My mind felt heavy and fuzzy. Although there was no questioning the name or description I sent a text message anyway, "Please tell me it isn't you I'm reading about. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I'm shaken, but I'm okay."

I still can't wrap my mind around it, thoughts of worry and sadness and confusion have overwhelmed me. How could such disgusting acts of violence and bigotry manifest themselves so adversely to someone I care for? Who suffers from such deep lack of compassion for others? There is no excuse, nothing solicits that kind of behavior. Who could ever hurt Cam? I mean seriously, EVER? I wish I could wrap him in my arms and ball up all the love in the universe and blast it through his veins, direct delivery into the body for healing. I know his physical wounds will heal much faster than the emotional ones. I know he is receiving an outpouring of love (I can't even leave a voicemail because the mailbox is full) but I also know how difficult it can be to see past the negative impact. I hope he is okay. I am having a hard time understanding it all. 


If you see this post Cam, I love you. We're thinking about you and loving on you day and night.

Rock The Bells

Saturday past, Darling and I ferried our butts over to Governor's Island to enjoy the day long hip hop festival Rock The Bells. The morning had proved a tough one for me, I wasn't exactly in spirits to be doing much but I had been looking forward to the event since before moving. I packed a bag of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bottled water, of course I forgot a camera, and we made our way to the Battery to do some waiting in line. Although I was excited to visit Governor's Island, the charting of 20,000 people to location via ferries isn't exactly what I would call the most user friendly (?? patron-friendly, but that sounds redonkulous) idea. I've never seen Jersey Shore but I imagine I got the homegrown taste of its subject matter while in that line. Klassy folks, friends, cut in line directly behind me... lets just say it took, awhile.  So we missed a few sets that we had hoped to catch glimpses of, although nothing major. We spent waay too much money and time waiting for fresh squeezed lemonade (ugh, but who can turn it down on the last Saturday of summer, outside, at a festival??) but coupled with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a little shady spot things turned up a bit, just before miss Erykah Badu took the stage. 

Badu's performance was as fierce as her outfit. I've seen Miss Badu once before (in Salt Lake City) and her performance energy is incredible. I believe that no one is having a better time than Erykah, and the influence feeds and transports her audience. If you are unfamiliar with the festival, its basic premise is classic artists, classic albums. She put it on with 1997's Baduizm. Whoa nah. (Boom clack, boomclack)

We stuck it out for the stage breakdown and setup and sidestepped our way as close to the front and center as the GA could be for the next set, put on by Ms. Lauryn Hill. 

Friends, I don't know if I can really convey to you in this post how long I've loved The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, or how much I wanted to be Lauryn Hill when I was younger (but it did include convincing my mom to buy me some knock off Timberlands. You remember the 90s, yes? They had the Alex Mack vibe which is why I think she actually got them for me but I was definitely going for more of a Rita in Sister Act 2 kind of ensemble. Too much? I digress.). The album was reworked, the songs done in a new style but Ms. Hill sounded fantastic. She was a bit preoccupied with the band (too loud? too quiet?) and her earpiece was obviously not working properly so there was some stalling and lag time, I wouldn't call it "seamless." Things loosened up at the end of the set when she treated everyone to some "Fugeela," at which point everyone sort of lost their shit, only for Pras to join her on stage for "Ready or Not" and finally, "Kiling Me Softly." It seriously blew my mind to see these two beautiful, talented, influential females do their thing. To say the least, my mood had dramatically shifted from earlier that morning.

At the close of the set it we had to push ourselves out of the crowd for alllllll the duudes (where were they the rest of the day?) were swarming the stage for Nas. Sausage. Fest. Do I need to tell you I'm not a big Nas fan? Okay, so there's that. And although Darling can jam to some Illimatic we were on the same page. Those guys roll 16 people deep, it becomes everyone's cousin and best friend from elementary school on stage and I feel like it'd be really fun to be a part of, but much less enjoyable as a live performance. We cut from the set early to try and make the ferry before the masses funneled onto the little boats back to the city. Lady liberty with the Manhattan night skyline for a backdrop? One of those electric moments when you cannot tell if you are really inhabiting your body, seeing with your eyes, knowing you stand where your feet hold you. Do I live here?