Thank U

Thank U for chronicling my journey to self-acceptance

This feels like as appropriate a song as any to mark the day that I decided to peace out this blog:

How 'bout getting off of these antibiotics
How 'bout stopping eating when I'm full up
How 'bout them transparent dangling carrots
How 'bout that ever elusive could have

How 'bout retiring this blog after 10 years? I think it's time.

For me it's never really been about having readers, more just a space in which to express myself, and to delight in my love of music and the messages I get through the lyrics that run through my head.

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you, thank you silence

Yes, thank you silence. You were frightening and elusive and now you're just plain delicious.

How 'bout me not blaming you for everything
How 'bout me enjoying the moment for once
How 'bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
How 'bout grieving it all one at a time

Yep, I reckon I've grappled with all of those how 'bouts in these pages over the years: blame, presence, forgiveness, grief...

The moment I let go of it
Was the moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it
Was the moment I touched down

And I've wrestled with letting go here in this blog a time or two as well.

How 'bout no longer being masochistic
How 'bout remembering your divinity
How 'bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How 'bout not equating death with stopping

I've never really been masochistic and I don't equate death with stopping. I've been at a level of mastery on bawling my eyes out unabashedly for years now -- remembering my divinity has been a longer journey.

In fact, it's a journey I'm still traversing, and I can honestly say that in ten years of marking my days with music, I've remembered it a lot more clearly...

Thank you... 😍

Outside

Future home of stickie notes to organize my book

The Universe is in alignment with me and my book project. Here are a couple of ways I know this to be true:

1) After a meeting with a colleague, I asked her about the huge boards she had leaning up in her office with stickie notes on them. I told her it would be great to have one to organize the different sections of my book, and she gave me one!

2) During the course of the conversation, I told her what my book was about. When I walked out of her office and into the stairwell, a woman ran after me to tell me that the experience I described of trying to piece together what happened in my childhood because I disassociated
from my body for three decades was the same experience she had. We went to lunch this week, and it was helpful to compare notes and support each other in the very difficult work of reintegration.

Today while I was putting away clothes in my room, a song came on Spotify about being on the outside looking in. I thought it was this one, turns out it wasn't, but it's still apropos of the conversation I had at lunch with my sister in healing:

And you
Can bring me to my knees
Again
All the times
That I could beg you please
In vain
All the times
That I felt insecure
For you
And I leave
My burdens at the door

But I'm on the outside
I'm looking in
I can see through you
See your true colors
'Cause inside you're ugly
You're ugly like me
I can see through you
See to the real you

My lunchmate talked a lot about feeling this way, to the point of not wanting to do yoga in a studio with other people. She also talked about feeling that she had nothing left in her to do the work of healing from what she went through - like she wants to, for her kids, but she just kind of doesn't have it in her:

All the times
That I felt like this won't end
It's for you
And I taste
What I could never have
It was from you
All the times
That I've cried
My intentions
Full of pride
But I waste
More time than anyone

I know from my own experience that it takes a good deal of healing to get to the point where you feel you have the strength to take on the hard work of unlearning all that has held you back in this life -- these rockers, whoever they are (I've never heard of this band) - seem to know the feeling:

All the times
That I've cried
All this wasted
It's all inside
And I feel
All this pain
Stuffed it down
It's back again
And I lie
Here in bed
All alone
I can't mend
But I feel
Tomorrow will be okay

I know now that tomorrow is ok, but I remember a time when I wasn't sure about that, which is just one of the reasons I want to write this book...

This is the Last Time

Wow, that was a big weekend!

I had dreams/nightmares galore, along with a breakthrough in the writing of my book, which I am now sure is a memoir.

Going into the weekend, I had started it about 20 different times, so the workshop I signed up for was called "Great Beginnings." I also signed up to work one on one with a published author on a critique of a manuscript that I submitted ahead of time, and out of both experiences came an understanding of where my book needs to begin: with a scene from my childhood.

On Saturday night, I wrote that scene, and on Sunday in workshop, I shared it to a group of kind, compassionate, and helpful writers who helped me understand better how to convey what I want and need to convey.

Tonight, I revised the scene based on their feedback, and now I feel like I have a path forward for my book.

While writing today, I heard this song, and it seemed appropriate to mark this day, as I am hoping this is the last time I will write the beginning of my memoir:

This is the last time
That I will say these words
I remember the first time
The first of many lies
Sweep it into the corner
Or hide it under the bed
Say these things, they go away
But they never do

Something I wasn't sure of
But I was in the middle of
Something I forget now
But I've seen too little of

The last time
You fall on me for anything you like
Your one last line
You fall on me for anything you like
And years make everything alright
You fall on me for anything you like
And I, no, I don't mind

This is the last time
That I will show my face
One last tender lie and
Then I'm out of this place
Tread it into the carpet
Or hide it under the stairs
You say that some things never die
Well, I tried and I tried

Something I wasn't sure of
But I was in the middle of
Something I forget now
But I've seen too little of

The last time
You fall on me for anything you like
Your one last line
You fall on me for anything you like
And years make everything alright
You fall on me for anything you like
And I, no, I don't mind

The last time
You fall on me for anything you like
Your one last line
You fall on me for anything you like
And years make everything alright
You fall on me for anything you like
And I, no, I don't mind

I Don't Remember

Starting November off with snow on the ground!?!

Stepping out of my comfort zone this weekend, I signed up for a writing retreat.

I learned so much today, day one of three, including a genre that I didn't know existed: autobiographical fiction. It refers to a book that is primarily comprised of made up events and characters that may be based on the author's own experience and self.

When I signed up for this retreat, I was still trying to decide between writing a memoir and writing fiction. It's tricky to write a memoir, because it requires that you remember things from your past, and quite often, like my friend Peter Gabriel, I don't remember:

I got no means to show identification
I got no papers show you what I am
You'll have to take me just the way that you find me
What's gone is gone and I do not give a damn

Empty stomach, empty head
I got empty heart and empty bed
I don't remember
I don't remember

I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything, anything at all

Strange is your language and I have no decoder
Why don't you make your intentions clear
With eyes to the sun and your mouth to the soda
Saying, "Tell me the truth, you got nothing to fear"

Stop staring at me like a bird of prey
I'm all mixed up, I got nothing to say
I don't remember
I don't remember

I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything, anything at all

I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I don't remember, I don't recall
I got no memory of anything, absolutely anything at all

I don't remember
I don't remember
I don't remember
I don't remember
I don't remember
I don't remember
I don't remember

It's true. There are a lot of things I don't remember, but a lot that I do remember too, and I have a feeling that the process of writing will unearth some long dormant memories.

When I got home tonight, I wanted a giant glass of wine -- my first sign that I was triggered and did NOT want to feel whatever was trying to come through.

I don't have to do it tonight, but I am committed to standing up to these memories and putting them on the page so that they can help others who have gone through something similar to me...

Half Of You

I'm taking a memoir writing class, and it's soooooo good for me in so many ways:

1) I've been wanting to write a memoir for years, and now I'm learning how!

2) I'm writing! The goal is five minutes a day, plus three pieces over eight weeks to be shared with the group;

3) I'm getting great feedback on my writing and learning to become a better writer;

4) I'm inspired by my own work and others' in the class to forge ahead with my memoir; and maybe most importantly of all:

5) Through the writing process, I'm learning more about myself.

In the car on the way home from Milwaukee today, I popped in a CD that said "Tunes for Sarah" on it. I have zero idea who made it for me - didn't recognize the handwriting, and can't remember being given a CD with primarily Cat Power, Gorillaz, Pearl Jam and some other band on it, but listening to it brought me this song:

When you give half of you
I want all of you
When you give half of you
I want all of you

When you go back window
You see shadows
When you're shopping for me
'Cause when you give half of you
I want all of you

Sadness is a gentle mind
But a good woman has her hands to use
Empty package of chips will tell you
What can be sold market and what can belong to you
When you give...when you give half of you
I want all of you

And I've felt this way, for sure, like I'm not getting all of the person I love. I feel less that way lately, so that's an upside to this rocky period we're in right now.

But what this song brings up for me most of all is how I recently saw, while writing about a trip I took with my boyfriend a year and change ago, how I go in and out of being in a place where I am wholly present and available. And that CAN'T be easy for him.

I'm excited to continue on my healing path, and continue with my writing, and integrate into a whole that sticks together more easily than the one I'm working with, and trying to share, right now...

I Know It's Over

Reading a perfect gift I received from a friend

 I started working on my memoir again, this time in a different way, though I'm not sure I can say how it's different just yet.

I reckon this song will be one that I return to during the writing process, to remind myself that though the memories I'm working with are powerful forces in my mind and my body, it's not where I live anymore...

Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as I climb into an empty bed, oh well, enough said
I know it's over still I cling, I don't know where else I can go, over and over
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
You see the sea wants to take me, the knife wants to slit me
Do you think you can help me
Sad veiled bride please be happy, handsome groom give her room
Loud loutish lover treat her kindly though she needs you
More than she loves you
I know it's over, still I cling
I don't know where else I can go, over, over
I know it's over and it never really began but in my heart it was so real
And she even spoke to me and said
If you're so funny, then why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so clever why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so very entertaining why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so very good looking, why do you sleep alone tonight?
I know, 'cause tonight is just like any other night, that's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms, while they're in each other's arms
It's so easy to laugh it's so easy to hate it takes strength to be gentle
And kind, over, over, over
It's so easy to laugh it's so easy to hate it takes guts to be gentle
And kind, over and over
Love is natural and real, but not for you my love not tonight my love
Love is natural and real, but not for such as you and I my love, oh mother
I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head, oh yes
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head
Mother, I can feel

Yes, I can. Way more than I did when I was a kid...

Love Your Way

Outfit inspired by Peter Frampton

It has been soooooooo long since I've blogged. I've been on lockdown. I haven't been writing. I've barely been listening to music, or singing it.

I think it was Lady Gaga that unlocked it for me. That voice of hers could crack open the tightest vault.

This morning, I was texting with a friend who is sick. I sent her some love, and she texted back: "Love your way too."

I'm thrilled to report that this song started to play on my inner jukebox:

Shadows grow so long before my eyes
And they're moving across the page
Suddenly the day turns into night
Far away from the city
Don't hesitate
'Cause your love won't wait

Oh baby I love your way, everyday
Wanna tell you I love your way, everyday
Wanna be with you night and day

Moon appears to shine and light the sky
With the help of some firefly
Wonder how they have the power to shine, shine, shine
I can see them under the pine
Don't hesitate
'Cause your love won't wait

Oh baby I love your way, everyday
Wanna tell you I love your way, oh
Wanna be with you night and day, oh yeah

Well don't hesitate
'Cause your love won't wait

I can see the sunset in your eyes
Brown and gray, blue besides
Clouds are stalking islands in the sun
I wish I could buy one
Out of season

Don't hesitate
'Cause your love won't wait

Oh baby I love your way, everyday
Wanna tell you I love your way
Wanna be with you night and day

And just like that, the muse came back.

Welcome back, sweetest heart. I've missed you so!

Breakdown

I'm sure I've mentioned before that I am working on a book. I've started numerous times before, but this time I feel like I'm really getting somewhere. I mean I'm sure it's just a shitty first draft, as Anne Lamott calls them, but if I could manage to get a whole book written I'd be pumped no matter how much editing it required.

A big part of this book is about the love story of Archie and The New Englander -- that relationship taught me more about myself, about love, about life -- than any that has come before or since. And for a while I think it was too painful to revisit our old emails and letters, but now I feel up for it. Now I feel sort of honored to see the story of us unravel on the page.

Heard this song today and felt it in some respects captured the gist of who we were and who we became:

I saw you
You saw me
That's when I needed you
You needed me
I kissed you
You kissed me
And thought forever yeah
We'd always be
Well I like you
You like me
Seems that we fit so perfectly
You make me feel worthy
And I've let you take care of me

Ohhh
We're alright now,
Gonna break down the breakdown
Move from where we stand
See what we don't want to see

I love you
You love me
Oh but lately
Somethings wearing on me
I've been growing
I've been changing
And seems like you're barely moving

There is nothing we can do to get past this
Nothing you could say
Baby please don't fret
Our time has moved passed us
I love you
You love me
Is it possible we love differently
You need me but I need to
Feel strong baby without you

It's more than possible we love differently -- it's a fact. It's also a fact, as readers of the book will one day fully come to understand -- that the way we loved each other may have been flawed, but it was also really beautiful...

Last Christmas

The godmother of spilling

Tonight I had the good fortune of gathering with some amazing women at an amazing house to spill -- or write what was on our minds and hearts as prompted by our fearless leader (pictured at left in her evergreen boa).

The first time I joined the group was two months ago, and I was struck by how much more freedom and poetry they all had in their writing. I took a month off, and when I returned, I was determined to find a little more freedom myself.

In some ways I managed -- I didn't use my computer this time, I used good old fashioned pen and paper -- but I was pretty bummed when the lovely writing prompts (from the poetry of Nayyirah Waheed) led me to the well-worn topic of my heartbreak at the departure of the New Englander.

This is what I wrote:

"it isn't so much that i look for you,
but that i find you.
i find you in the expected places --
the trails we rode together, the parks where we camped, the bed where we slept...
and i'm ok with that
i'm prepared for those memories
i've practiced those tears
i know where they'll fall

it's when i find you where we haven't been
where we didn't get to go

that's when the idea of a second heart
a heart that doesn't have to forget you
a heart that's never met you
starts to seem like
my only path to freedom."

I cried while I was writing it, I cried while I was reading it. I thought by now I'd be past this point, but it seems, I'm not. So I'm just going to try to be gentle with myself.

And while I work on that, I'm gonna listen to Wham:

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special (special)

Once bitten and twice shy
I keep my distance but you still catch my eye
Tell me baby do you recognize me?
Well it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me

I wrapped it up and sent it
With a note saying "I Love You" I meant it
Now I know what a fool I've been
But if you kissed me now I know you'd fool me again

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special (special)

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special (special)

A face on a lover with a fire in his heart
A man undercover but you tore him apart
Maybe next year,
I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone special
Special, someone, someone
I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone special

Who'll give me something in return
I'll give it to someone, hold my heart and watch it burn

I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone special
I thought you were here to stay
How can love be for a day?
I thought you were someone special, gave you my heart

I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone
Last Christmas I gave you my heart
You gave it away
I'll give it to someone, I'll give it to someone

...special.

Yes.

I.

Will.

Below the Feet

Tonight I joined a group of women for a writing group. Many of them have been getting together for 10 years once a month to write and share together. I love the concept, and really appreciated their willingness to welcome me into the group.

I told the group leader that I'm working on a memoir, and the prompts she created for the evening were meant to provoke writing about our past, present or future.

It was super interesting to me how much more poetic most of the women were than I am. It didn't even occur to me to write a poem, or write something free form. I think in general free form is hard for me -- this is one of the reasons why practicing Ashtanga works so well for me -- it's always the same container. I change how I show up for it -- mentally, physically -- but I always know what comes next.

One of the women mentioned this song in her writing:

You were cold as the blood through your bones
And the light which led us from our chosen homes
Well I was lost

And now I sleep
Sleep the hours and that I can't weep
When all I knew was steeped in blackened holes
I was lost

Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn

And I was still
I was under your spell
When I was told by Jesus all was well
So all must be well

Just give me time
You know your desires and mine
So wrap my flesh in ivy and in twine
For I must be well

Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Oh keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Oh keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn

And it felt fitting, especially the line about learning from where I  have been. My whole desire to write a memoir is based on me learning from where I've been, and sharing those lessons with others....

Tie A Yellow Ribbon

My son and I are reading Running With Scissors together, a memoir about growing up with an alcoholic father and crazy mother. It's a book I've been intending to read for years, but like so many others, it has sat on the shelf. Until now. Because while I don't get a lot of books read these days, I do read aloud to both of my kids, and now that my son is 14, I feel like he can handle this one. I wouldn't want him to read it on his own, but I think reading it with me, where we can talk about what we read, is going to be a learning experience for both of us. Not to mention that it's hilarious.

Although Augusten Burroughs is only six years older than me, there are a number of cultural references I don't understand. It bugs my son, but I insist on googling them so I can see what he is talking about -- like when he mentioned loving Tony Orlando and Dawn -- I'd never heard of them.

Still, there's something familiar about this song:

I'm comin' home, I've done my time
Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine
If you received my letter telling you I'd soon be free
Then you'll know just what to do
If you still want me, if you still want me

Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree
It's been three long years, do you still want me?
If I don't see a ribbon round the ole oak tree
I'll stay on the bus, forget about us, put the blame on me
If I don't see a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree

Bus driver, please look for me
'Cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see
I'm really still in prison and my love, she holds the key
A simple yellow ribbon's what I need to set me free
And I wrote and told her please

Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree
It's been three long years, do you still want me?
If I don't see a ribbon round the ole oak tree
I'll stay on the bus, forget about us, put the blame on me
If I don't see a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree

Now the whole damned bus is cheerin'
And I can't believe I see

A hundred yellow ribbons round the ole oak tree
I'm comin' home

Tie a ribbon round the ole oak tree
Tie a ribbon round the ole oak tree
Tie a ribbon round the ole oak tree

This is a pretty happy tune, and the video is super fun to check out what with the outfits and the hairstyles, but I won't be tying any ribbons around any trees any time soon. Nor am I likely to see any.

What I will be doing, however, is focusing more on myself. My dreams. Not my dreams about love and marriage -- anyone who regularly reads this blog has got to be as tired of me focusing on those as I am.

Nope, for the next few months I'm going to focus on my other dreams -- being a writer -- finding a way to help people in my work -- and trust that by more fully becoming myself, I'll be that much more ready to partner with someone else when the time comes...

Live to Tell

The iPod dialed this one up today, which felt very appropriate.

Because I have lived to tell, only I haven't really told:

I have a tale to tell
Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well
I was not ready for the fall
Too blind to see the writing on the wall

A man can tell a thousand lies
I've learned my lesson well
Hope I live to tell
The secret I have learned, 'till then
It will burn inside of me

I keep hearing, from the spiritual teachers in my life, that I have to write my story, but I'm finding it very, very difficult:

I know where beauty lives
I've seen it once, I know the warm she gives
The light that you could never see
It shines inside, you can't take that from me

The truth is never far behind
You kept it hidden well
If I live to tell
The secret I knew then
Will I ever have the chance again

I think I will have the chance again, but it feels like the time is nigh to get writing:

If I ran away, I'd never have the strength
To go very far
How would they hear the beating of my heart
Will it grow cold
The secret that I hide, will I grow old
How will they hear
When will they learn
How will they know

They'll hear when I speak. They'll learn when I teach them. They'll know when they're ready. I'm quite sure of it...