Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Freedom is an indestructible monument.

I can't read anything else about the attacks on Paris. The sorrow overwhelms me. I have been mostly speechless since it happened last Friday, trying to wrap my brain around something so senseless and cruel. It took me days to even draw in my sketchbook. I scoured the internet for quotes that would make me feel better. I avoided social media because it was too much to face. I am still mostly numb.

This morning in Paris, a man dragged his baby grand piano into the Place de la Republique and sat down on that bench in front of all those flowers and all those mourning people. And he played. The whole crowd fell silent to listen to the haunting chord progression of "Imagine" by John Lennon.

There is an innate need to do something in the wake of such tragedy. This man pulled his piano through the streets. The look on his face was almost out of obligation, as if the music he was going to make was the only shelter from the aching inside of him. He played for the flowers, and for the posters, and for the mourners. He did not say a word.

When his job was done, he pulled the cover over the keys, took his piano and went home.

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Yes, he was

He was black sheep
and mischief
and love for his craft.

And he told me that I
was Apollo 13 on that
very last day.

He said
"shoot for your dreams, little girl.
To the stars!"
Well, I'm taking you with me now,
this one is ours. And I
know what you'd say,
you'd say,

"On with the show!"
So on we go...

Ryn Weaver - Traveling Song

Monday, October 26, 2015

Things I'm not putting out into the universe

You have to be ready for love to come into your life. I am not ready. I am not willing. I am floating happily on my own little raft right now. I have never felt more whole or more excited about the next bend in the road.

This is not a defense mechanism. This is not an excuse for why I am single. This is a manifesto. I sleep well at night-- alone. I work hard and play harder, and I'm not searching. There is nothing I lack.

I heard a fellow artist say the other day that you have to be ready for love, and that when you are, you will find it. When that time comes, speak it into existence, she said.

I'm not ready for love. Not because I'm damaged or grieving or broken, but because for the first time in a long time, I feel entirely in charge of my life. I'm loving every second of this freedom.

I'm living every bit of my life on my own terms, un-apologetically.

So I'm not asking the universe for the love of a lifetime-- not yet. I'm not asking for a warm body next to me or a Christmas sweetheart or a last call of the day. I'm asking for inspiration for my art, for the discipline to work even harder to pay off my debts, for the ability to give more of myself to my friends and family.

And I'm also asking for more tattoos, if I'm honest.

Monday, October 19, 2015

It got better

This was the first place I lived after my divorce that was totally mine. I had bounced from one parent's house to the other while I got my affairs in order and could finally put a deposit down on my own place.

The first week I was there, I went to the store to buy shower rings. There I was, standing in the aisle with a pack of brushed metal shower curtain hooks in one hand and clear plastic shower rings in the other... and I was sobbing. That crazy person in the home goods aisle at Walmart, balling her eyes out? Yeah, that was me.

I had shower rings. I even had an extra set. Why didn't I grab them when I left? WHY DIDN'T MY HUSBAND CARE ENOUGH TO FIX HIMSELF SO I WOULDN'T HAVE TO BUY NEW SHOWER RINGS? I dried that mess up, went home to my townhouse, hung my shower curtain, and went to bed alone. I adopted Tater the following week.

I wish I had known when I was crying in the aisle at Walmart that this would be my life now. Last night I was sitting in bed with fresh sheets out of the dryer, surrounded by my babies, drawing and writing in my sketchbook. I just happened to look up and take this photo-- this amazing photo-- of my life now.

I realized I'm totally content. I'm okay with where I am in life. I'm happy to be snuggled up next to my furry children, drawing in my sketchbook, sleeping alone. I want for nothing. My bills are paid. I'm so grateful that I had the support of my parents through those first six months, and that since then I've been surrounded by people who have propped me up when I was a mess and a half.

And I just wanted to write this post to let you all know: it got better.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

I already failed at the 31-day challenge so here's a poem I love as an apology.

It was a lucky wind
That blew away his halo with his cares,
A lucky sea that drowned his reputation.

Here you will find
neither a proverb nor a memorandum.
There are no ways,
no methods to admire.

Where poverty is no achievement.
His God lives in emptiness like an affliction.

What choice remains?
Well, to be ordinary is not a choice:
It is the usual freedom
Of men without visions.

Thomas Merton