Cultivation

I wish I had it in me to be a kinder person. My heart is in the right place; I just wish my mouth was there with it. I forget on a daily basis how much power words can have and how much passion can shape perception. As an actor and poet, I sorely abuse and neglect my use of words and delivery, and I and others suffer for it as human beings. My honest delivery hurts me and those around me.

My intentions are good- always, I want the best for everyone. I want everyone to win. But I lack a key element in myself that I wish I could grow: compassion. I wish I could learn that sometimes it's better to say the kinder thing than the truer thing. I have always, and I fear will always, be blunter than stone and, therefore, will always possess the ability to cut straight to the point, and unfortunately, so many ties in the process. Sometimes, the truth isn't kind, but I wish I could find a way to deliver the truth kindly. To be honest without being heartless. The say the right thing in just the right way... it's an art that will take me a lifetime to learn.

If there is a seed sown in me to grow kindness, how do I water it?
If there is a seed sown in me to grow hatred, how do I weed it out?

I see now in this difficult season of my emotional life that there are seeds sown in me that have grown thorny branches that stretch out towards those around me, scratching them with venomous barbs. When did the overgrowth get so large that I could no longer prune it? When did it grow so tall that the kind seed in me could no longer see sun, could no longer drink water, but was instead strangled by the bad seed that shared its bed?

Perhaps it is in seeing these scratches on those who come near that I realize: it's time to prune. It's time to be kind, to be compassionate, to be forgiving, to be understanding, to be gracious, to learn to say the true thing kindly. It is like me to want to clear the ground and start anew. But clearing away the thorns doesn't kill the root from whence they came- the root is still there, and the thorns will grow back. How do I begin? By slowly cutting away each branch, braving each thorny truth about myself and nursing my own resulting wounds, as well as the wounds of those I've hurt, with nectar from the fruits of kindness that will grow plump on a tree where a thorny patch once grew.

I could no sooner choose a favorite star in the heavens

Since I was young, my dad taught me to be fascinated with the world. I was brought into the world by two scientists (i.e. nerds) who got me interested in science, exploring, and asking questions. When my mom died, my once happy familial connections died, as well. My siblings and I scattered emotionally, unable to grasp the love of two parents, not just one. It wasn't until I was in high school that my dad made any real attempts to be a father again. We had a long way to go in terms of healing our relationship, but we managed to bond over similar interests, such as Josh Groban's music, and astronomy. My dad has, to this day, only ever cried once over a gift, and that was the massive telescope my stepmother bought him one year for Christmas. It was like he had received all the answers to the universe's most perplexing questions in a fat, white tube that, through its lens, blasted him into the next galaxy. When we talked about the stars, he took me with him into that outer space.

Some of my fondest memories are of the early freezing mornings in autumn spent in the front yard with my dad, watching meteor showers through that white telescope. It was a little thing that brought two people who were light years apart together under the same sky. My dad would leave me notes about upcoming meteor showers, and just this week, he texted me about the annual Perseid meteor shower, which was supposed to happen last night. I walked outside and peered up at the sky, hoping for some glimpse of a fond memory to shoot through the blackness, but none came. I found the little dipper and Orion's belt, pet the black cat whom I've now claimed for my own, and walked back inside. I pulled up a live webcast of the sky, turned off the lights, and fell asleep beside the stars.

It is now quarter to 2, and I am perched outside on my front stoop, drinking a hard cider, breathing in the aroma of a burning citronella candle, petting the cat, and writing this post while stealing glimpses of the sky. I imagine that each star, blinking faintly at me through the city's muggy gray darkness, peers down at me like a proud parent, sending me light and love and marveling at how much I've grown.

I'd like to look at the stars with my dad again. For old time's sake, I'd like to peer through the lens on a cold night, breathe in the chill in the air, and send light and love back to the stars that brought me closer to my long lost father.

 Me and my dad, 4 or 5 years ago

 

Me and my dad, back when I had a Ninja Turtles camera :)

Not us, but me.

Today has been surprisingly beautiful.
I have worked both of my jobs, one right after the other, for weeks, and have not had much waking time to rest. So today, I did not do anything I didn't feel like doing- that was the rule. Nothing specific was on the agenda, leaving the day open for all kinds of possibilities.

I went to the farmer's market, where I bought more beautiful goodies from Amir, for instance... 4 bottles of his moringa tea. Oy, it's so good for the body and soul! I spent a couple hours hanging out with my friend John Pepe at his soap stand and talked with his friend Matthew. We joked, told stories (John's story about meeting Ryan Gosling was hilarious), and sweated out half our body weight in sweltering 106 heat index temperatures. After Matthew left, John and I talked about my trouble letting go (this conversation inevitably came up after my ex passed by in his stupid boat shoes eating a popsicle). For the past few months, I've found it hard to let go of things, little things in my every day that piss me off... traffic, new neighbors parking outside my window, rude customers at the pottery studio, you name it. It's exhausting to get so angry. It's heavy to carry the past and all its troubles and unkind people. Dead weight on my shoulders literally weighing me down. So how do I move on? How do I find some quiet space that's just mine when I'm so busy?

I guess I'll have to make the time and learn to stop counting the times I've been hurt or been wronged. I've spent the past year dating, at various times being a girlfriend to one person or another, which taught me a lot (about myself and the human condition) and changed me in many ways. Plus, I've been working two jobs, going to school full time, working full time in the comedy troupe with rehearsals happening a couple days a week on top of shows every few months. Some of these time-sucks have been removed, but I still keep them on my watch, still count the seconds from when one thing ends to when the next new thing comes along. This is a wake-up call... to remove the distractions, and to stop looking for new ones. This is no longer the point in life where I want to fill my time with things to keep me from thinking about the things I don't want to think about; this is the time to unpack the past and move forward. A time to reset the clock and only count what really matters.

I'm going to finish the projects at hand. Right now. I have no time to lose. I've enlisted the help of a trusted friend to keep me accountable, and thankfully, he has. After my conversation with John Pepe, I came home and began feverishly working on my craft. I have not stopped. Even at this moment, multiple windows are open in my browser for research, inspiration, study, curiosity into the world of my art. I am doing this- the process has begun.

I know this post is vague, but I owe it to myself to not talk about it, but to BE about it. My friend Carissa once said that to me, and I take that to heart now as I forge ahead, surely shedding the skins of my old self and finding beautiful, shiny, happy newness underneath, unmasked finally from the identities I've found in my (in)significant others.

The Tell Tale Heart: The Blue Jay

The other night, after working all weekend and going to a much deserved vegan buffet with a coworker, I came home to see a couple neighborhood cats stalking my walkway. This was strange, as it hasn't really happened before, but I pet the cats nonetheless, and began to head inside. As I was about to go through the gate, I looked down in front of me at a blue bird on its back looking up at me. I was stunned, literally stopped in my tracks, as I looked down at this bird, still fluffy with youth, bleeding from its leg, crumpled and badly wounded. I threw my things down in my apartment and came back to look him over. He was still breathing, very much alert, and without doubt in tremendous pain. I scooped him up with cardboard and moved him away from the swarming cats. I was desperate to save him. I called three or four animal clinics, but considering it was about 7:00 on a Sunday night, my calls met answering machines and the resounding realization that I could not save him. My neighbor came out to walk her dog, and she sympathized and advised me to put him out of his misery. That was my first thought, as well, but... I've never been the one to have to make that call. I've never had to be the executioner. I sat for a few minutes just staring at him while mosquitoes devoured my blood, unable to move for fear that there would be no good decision. I was paralyzed with sadness over the inability to help him. I still don't know how it happened. My theory is that this teenaged bird, ready to fly (or to try) leaped from the nest and was unable to make the ascent, plummeting to the concrete where feline foes hovered over his body. Or, as my neighbor informed me, one of the cats, a boy named Sasha, is an expert bird killer, and he likely was the culprit in bringing him down. Either way, I can't be mad at the cats- this is what they do. So what could I do? All I could do was bury him. He would try to move his smashed legs, to stand, to fly, to show me 'Look! Look! I can make it! I can get better!', but he could not move. He could not fly. He would not get better. My neighbor offered to do it for me, but knowing that I'd have to learn how to let go, I took on the task. Alone now, I funneled the bird into a paper bag, and began sobbing as I looked into the bag at his crumpled body, his eyes still blinking, his heart still beating, and I just sobbed. I sobbed as I dug a shallow grave for him, and sobbed as I pressed the bag, warm with his fading life, into the dirt, his bones likely breaking as surely as my heart with each heave of my hands. I sobbed for him, apologized that I couldn't save him, and asked God to let him die quickly.

To most people, this experience likely seems trivial and inconsequential, but to me, it was like The Tell Tale Heart. I wept as I washed dirt from under my nails, distraught that this bird with dreams of flying will never know the rush of wind between his feathers or the comfort of a nest ever again.

Despite all of the sadness, the experience taught me that no matter how painful, sometimes, we just have to let go. We have to forgive ourselves, bury the past, and move forward with the understanding that we did the best we could with what we had, and that the rest is left for worms.

It is my hope that you'll love yourself.

I posted this blurb in response to an article on LearnVest.com, written by Amanda Chatel entitled "How I Do Paris on the Cheap". The writer traveled to Paris on a whim to move on from a break-up, and this was my two cents:

This article is perfect. I am writing this response from my hotel in Ireland, where I came on holiday after breaking up with a guy and choosing Ireland on a whim. I am traveling solo in all ways, and am even driving myself through the country seeing life-changing sights and challenging myself. Do what you're afraid of, if even just to prove to yourself that you can. Stand on cliffs, brave the winds and weather of a new climate. Be uncomfortable. Find comfort in adventure. And if you're nursing a broken heart, go somewhere new, meet new people, be unsure of everything and you will find so much of yourself in seeming unfamiliarity.
-Amanda

It is so reassuring that I'm not the only one who acts intuitively, but why do so many of us have to hurt? I know men hurt, too, but lately, it has been impossible to ignore all of the women in my world nursing broken hearts, feeling down about themselves, sometimes even verbally affirming that they have no worth or making crude comments about their beauty or lack thereof. WHEN DID THIS BECOME THE NORM?

Women have always been bombarded with propaganda to convince us that we're simply not good enough as we are, on our own, etc. Once a single woman hits her late 20s and early 30s, it suddenly becomes priority for those around her, a mission, to find her a mate. It's simply frowned upon for a woman to be single, wasting her precious time and precious eggs on years devoted to a career that won't cuddle her at night and provide stability. FUCK THIS, this whole demented mentality. I do not, have not, and would not define my worth based on my marital status. I have never depended on a man for anything, let alone my own self-worth, and I find it sad that in some ways, this has probably limited my success with relationships. I had an ex who told me it offended him the first couple times we went out that I insisted on paying for myself. The fact that I work three jobs and take pride in being able to make my own way in the world offends a man who feels it is his institutional duty to provide a cup of coffee or a glass of wine for me? WHAT?!

And for the matter of women afraid to be seen without make-up? I go out into the world without make-up frequently. I would even say almost always. Wearing make-up has, for so many women (myself included at points in my life), become a crutch. We become embarrassed to be seen without it because we're afraid of how we'll be viewed. We're afraid to be less beautiful than the women painted up and catching the eyes of men. If you won't like me without make-up, you won't like me any more with it. Throughout my years on stage, the idea of image has become permanently encoded in my DNA. I understand its value and its detriment; I, however, do not let it stop me from being who I am with or without my best face forward. Without make-up, I am still charming, I am still smart, I am still funny, I am still talented, and believe it or not, I have come to find out that without make-up, I am still desirable. There is nothing any cosmetic can offer me that I can't and must first cultivate within myself.

I am who I am because of my experiences, my determination, my passions, my ambition, my sense of humor. I love myself for myself, as I am. Like anyone, there are days when I feel less than beautiful and moments certainly when mascara makes me look more like I'm part of the living world, but I don't rely on it to give me personality, confidence, or a fighting chance at wrangling a man if I so desired.

So how do we move on from a place of insecurity and fear? It starts with an understanding of who you are and your deep-seated qualities. What is your value? What do you like about yourself? Who are you AS yourself? Again, not to be confused with "I'm a mother, I'm a wife, I'm a girlfriend, etc.". Those are not identities. Those are roles you play that require the role of others to define you. WHO ARE YOU? I am an artist. I am a performer. I am a poet. I don't need to be anything but what I am. Make-up can't make me who I am. I can only use make-up to enhance the projection of who I am, not who I am in general. I can express my personality through make-up; not create a new personality. This is a prompt for you to explore the difference.

It breaks my heart that a friend at work, who is so beautiful and funny and a pleasure to be around, sees herself as overweight and accessory to unworthy men. I cannot hear any more women put themselves down. We cannot accept the attention of others who do not respect us because we're desirous of the attention. THE RIGHT PERSON WILL MAKE YOU A PRIORITY. The right person will respect you above all else. The right person will compliment you- regularly. The right person will not say hurtful things to you. The right person will appreciate you. For all that you are; if not, the right person will be willing to learn.

So, let this long and wordy post remind you that you have, at all times, the option to love yourself more than anyone else ever has and treat yourself with the respect you deserve. Do things you enjoy. If you are not around people who love and appreciate you, find new people. If you are not happy with yourself as you are, explore who you are RIGHT NOW (not who you were or who you want to be) and find ways to love THIS person. You are all that you have, so if you don't love you to the ends of the earth, who will?

Here's to working my ass off!

I'm honor roll!

Where We Go from Here, a poem

Just before I left for Ireland, one of my very close friends wrote this poem to give me inspiration. And every day, it fills me with hope and, as he intended, inspiration to dream of the impossible becoming possible.

Where We Go from Here
for a good friend
By Viet-Dung Nguyen

When you asked me about life I likened it to the rise of balloons and the cascade of waterfalls. Then you, sensitive spirit that you are, thought of defying gravity and assured me that evaporation happens—the water will rise, eventually higher and higher. So may we cross the Niagaras in life bravely, as daredevils on a tightrope who know to keep focusing forward, who know that if we ever were to fall the mist may be enough to lift us up.