Maybe I won't go to South America. Let me know if you get tired of following my brain map around the world, but this is the evolution of my life right now. A constant bubbling of ideas that I myself can't quite keep up with. They come up so quickly and then just as quick they return to the place whence they came. I promise you! I have a really good reason for not going to South America. But let me start at the beginning, at least, the beginning of THIS particular part of the story.
I talked my mom into going to an ayurvedic retreat instead of the weird north carolina thing she wanted to go to. This turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.
For those of you who don't know what Ayurveda is, it's the ancient indian system of medicine that yogis have been using for 5,000 years. And it's pretty powerful stuff. It is based on the five elements of fire, water, air, earth, and ether (whatever that means) and the therapist determines which constitution you are by feeling your pulse and basically checking you out. There are three Dosha types: Pitta which is fire and water, Vata which is air and ether, and Kapha which is earth and water. Pitta people tend to be firey, intelligent, irritable people (guess which one I am). Vata people are airheads, ungrounded, friendly, fast moving types, and Kapha people tend to be heavier, more grounded, slightly lazy people. They believe that imbalances in the body lead to disease, so besides determining what dosha you are, they also determine what your imbalances you have and recommend treatments and nutrition that will balance you out. They believe that opposites are balancing. So if you have a vata imbalance for instance, it's good to eat warming, grounding foods such as soups, and stay away from things like coffee or alcohol that exasperate the airiness in you (guess which imbalance I have).
Now, I am the type of person, in case you haven't noticed, that is constantly questioning EVERYTHING. I think I learned this in college, in the QUESTION EVERYTHING 101 class. So when I walk into a place like this, and the cheesy yoga music is playing through out the house, and you hear running water somewhere but... where the hell is it? And the people are talking as if, should they raise their voice, the walls may crumble around them, I say to myself, "Really? Is this for real?" and I feel a certain level of discomfort as my new agey-phobia sets in. Now, if I'M feeling this way my MOM has got to be like, "Oh god, what is this place? Where has my strange, yet intriguing daughter takin me?" The discomfort was seething from my mother's pores which put me even more on edge.
The first thing we did was a health consultation with the therapist, Richard Masla. He determined quickly from my obnoxiously sweaty hands and feet and my sharp, cunning wit that I was a pitta person. He also determined after two seconds of listening to my current state of affairs that I had a major vata imbalance and recommended that I see an Ayurvedic psychologist. There it is. That WORD. Psychologist. Just the sound of it sends the heeby jeebies (is that how you spell heeby jeebie?) through my veins. But since it was an ayurvedic psychologist who wouldn't be prescribing me any tiny chemical deposits to cover up and drown my soul, I agreed. But what I REALLY wanted was a reading from a vedic astrologer. Vedic astrologers are different than our western astrologers. In India, astrologers are considered highly spiritual people and are respected guides. They are not considered freaky floozies and they mostly lead very yogic lives. So I inquired within and sure enough there was one available and a meeting was scheduled.
After our consultation we had our first Ayurvedic lunch which was amazing. Ayurvedic food consist of fresh, organic vegetables and whole grains cooked to perfection with some staple spices such as ginger, garlic, cumin, and tumeric.
Once my food settled I went in for my first treatment. It was a full body massage with a hot oil specifically prepared from a 5,000 year old recipe which consisted of many herbs and oils. It was fantastic. They even put the oil in my hair and massaged my scalp.
Feeling super relaxed after the massage, and not having anything else to do, I settled in on the upper deck and did some reading and writing. At six o'clock was my first yoga class. The type of yoga they taught was much different than any I had ever experienced. It was in no way, shape, or form athletic which I totally needed, even if it wasn't what I totally wanted. The soul purpose of the yoga class was to settle the mind and relax the body. To calm and pacify. Most of the class was done on the ground. We got up at one point to do a couple balancing poses before settling back down into Savasana. This was a TOTALLY foreign concept to me. But I surrendered and let things be as they may.
For the next few days we followed roughly the same schedule. We woke in the morning for yoga, ate a light breakfast, went to our treatment, then to therapy sessions, then my favorite time of the day: lunch. We had the afternoons off until our six o'clock yoga class. Then my second favorite part of the day: dinner. To end the day my mom and I would watch a movie in my room and pass out.
You're probably wondering what any of this has to do with my canceling my trip to South America. Having time to relax and think about things got me wondering if traveling south was such a good idea. I started thinking about what I want to do with the next portion of my life. I started thinking about how happy I was during my yoga training. How nice it'd be to open a GOOD yoga studio in Jax Beach. One with an Ayurvedic therapy center and a vegetarian restaurant. Well, when I had my session with the astrologer he got a very worried look on his face about my trip to South America. He said it would be a very dangerous time for me to go there. He saw a stalker, or even rape in my charts. He also told me that training would be a great way to use my time right now. He was so right on about everything else he said about me that I figured I should listen to him. So the session confirmed the feelings that had been welling up through my newly found clarity. It seemed heading back to Los Angeles and continuing my yoga education was the best choice for me at this time. Yes, I am disappointed that my travels won't be leading me any place terribly new and exciting. But I have a feeling that if I work hard right now, it will lead to more exciting and adventurous things in the future.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The First Stumble
Ok, so after making my first step I made my first stumble. I booked my ticket to Guatemala with all the enthusiasm of a person who has finally gathered the courage to go for something, to go for ANYTHING. Just something! And then as I was sitting back and picturing myself on the sandy beaches of guatemala, taking a weekend trip to El Salvador, or maybe even Costa Rica, handing them my passport at the border and...
"MY PASSPORT!? Where the hell is my passport?
"I last saw it in my bike bag which is currently en route from New York to Charleston, South Carolina in my friend Ben's big (FREE) truck. But I KNOW that I grabbed it on that sleepless morning upon leaving New York, didn't I? It must be in my back pack, OK, my suitcase, NO?! OK, it has to be in my bike bag. HAS TO BE! I don't loose things."
I called my friend Ben in New York and he searched the bag for me.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! It's NOT THERE!" I cried with dismay.
I tore my parent's house apart three times over looking for it. "Where in the hell could it be?"
I called every person I had contact with in the past few weeks. It was nowhere to be found.
I looked into an expediting service. I'm now scheduled to leave in a week. Over $300 to get a new one by then.
"NO! NO! NO! Ok, breathe in, slow and long. Exhale, ahhhhhhhh. Surrender to the Universe. Ahhhhh.
"Fuck this shit I want my passport! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
I couldn't afford to spend $300 on a new passport! Especially since I had the feeling that it WOULD turn up somewhere eventually.
And at the same time my mother was REVELING in her victory. The first thing she always says upon hearing a new dream of mine is, "NO!" And yes, this does fuck with one's head, just a little bit. But by now I am use to it and it is to be expected. She was adamantly against my traveling to Guatemala. She was basically adamantly against ANYTHING that didn't involve me getting a job, getting married and having a child FOR HER.
This was a huge victory FOR HER.
This was when the bribes came. "You can put off the trip, I'll pay for you to change the ticket and we can discuss something ELSE for you to do. Wouldn't you rather go to France for a week? I'll buy you a Prius if you stay here. How about a condo by the beach?"
My, my, my the devil works in strange ways. "Let go your hold of my beautiful loving mother evil one!"
Her most successful solicitation was a week long mother/daughter retreat to North Carolina where we would transform ourselves mentally, physically and spiritually by learning how to "prepare delicious, healthy food and juices and enjoy exercise in the great outdoors and all this in JUST FIVE DAYS!"
"OK, I'll take your week long retreat and raise you one. If I do this, you have to do the Landmark Education Forum with me."
"Deal."
And there it was. I postponed my trip to Central and South America in order to (A) Obtain a passport, and (B) transform myself mentally, physically and spiritually in a matter of nine days (the Landmark Forum being four additional days of transformation). That can be done, right? I guess if I am to set out on such a big adventure I should do my best to get my reckless brain in working order.
I was further comforted in my decision upon receiving a phone call from Brock. He was slated to leave for Uruguay within the week. For those of you who are like, "Where the hell is Uruguay?" It is a tiny country south of Brazil and East of Argentina. Eco owns a house on the beach near the border of Brazil. He spoke with Eco and they both happily extended an invitation for me to join them there. They are turning one of the bedrooms in her house by the beach into a recording studio and their plan is to live simply, play happily, and be free for awhile while making music. So after my month or so of spanish lessons in Guatemala I will travel south through numerous countries, especially those with waves, practicing my spanish, on my own little adventurous odyssey. And I will eventually end up in Uruguay in a house by the beach with a drummer, a singer/guitarista, and a recording studio, and I will make more music.
"That's the plan and I'm sticking to it, Mom!"
Fuck, what else is this life for if it can't be lived?
"MY PASSPORT!? Where the hell is my passport?
"I last saw it in my bike bag which is currently en route from New York to Charleston, South Carolina in my friend Ben's big (FREE) truck. But I KNOW that I grabbed it on that sleepless morning upon leaving New York, didn't I? It must be in my back pack, OK, my suitcase, NO?! OK, it has to be in my bike bag. HAS TO BE! I don't loose things."
I called my friend Ben in New York and he searched the bag for me.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! It's NOT THERE!" I cried with dismay.
I tore my parent's house apart three times over looking for it. "Where in the hell could it be?"
I called every person I had contact with in the past few weeks. It was nowhere to be found.
I looked into an expediting service. I'm now scheduled to leave in a week. Over $300 to get a new one by then.
"NO! NO! NO! Ok, breathe in, slow and long. Exhale, ahhhhhhhh. Surrender to the Universe. Ahhhhh.
"Fuck this shit I want my passport! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
I couldn't afford to spend $300 on a new passport! Especially since I had the feeling that it WOULD turn up somewhere eventually.
And at the same time my mother was REVELING in her victory. The first thing she always says upon hearing a new dream of mine is, "NO!" And yes, this does fuck with one's head, just a little bit. But by now I am use to it and it is to be expected. She was adamantly against my traveling to Guatemala. She was basically adamantly against ANYTHING that didn't involve me getting a job, getting married and having a child FOR HER.
This was a huge victory FOR HER.
This was when the bribes came. "You can put off the trip, I'll pay for you to change the ticket and we can discuss something ELSE for you to do. Wouldn't you rather go to France for a week? I'll buy you a Prius if you stay here. How about a condo by the beach?"
My, my, my the devil works in strange ways. "Let go your hold of my beautiful loving mother evil one!"
Her most successful solicitation was a week long mother/daughter retreat to North Carolina where we would transform ourselves mentally, physically and spiritually by learning how to "prepare delicious, healthy food and juices and enjoy exercise in the great outdoors and all this in JUST FIVE DAYS!"
"OK, I'll take your week long retreat and raise you one. If I do this, you have to do the Landmark Education Forum with me."
"Deal."
And there it was. I postponed my trip to Central and South America in order to (A) Obtain a passport, and (B) transform myself mentally, physically and spiritually in a matter of nine days (the Landmark Forum being four additional days of transformation). That can be done, right? I guess if I am to set out on such a big adventure I should do my best to get my reckless brain in working order.
I was further comforted in my decision upon receiving a phone call from Brock. He was slated to leave for Uruguay within the week. For those of you who are like, "Where the hell is Uruguay?" It is a tiny country south of Brazil and East of Argentina. Eco owns a house on the beach near the border of Brazil. He spoke with Eco and they both happily extended an invitation for me to join them there. They are turning one of the bedrooms in her house by the beach into a recording studio and their plan is to live simply, play happily, and be free for awhile while making music. So after my month or so of spanish lessons in Guatemala I will travel south through numerous countries, especially those with waves, practicing my spanish, on my own little adventurous odyssey. And I will eventually end up in Uruguay in a house by the beach with a drummer, a singer/guitarista, and a recording studio, and I will make more music.
"That's the plan and I'm sticking to it, Mom!"
Fuck, what else is this life for if it can't be lived?
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The First Step
Ahh, finally some peace. PEACE. PEACE. PEACE. The one thing someone needs in times of trouble is PEACE. Just to hear the wind blow through the leaves is enough to put one's heart at rest.
I'm staying with my teenhood friend Liz in St Augustine. She lives in this quaint little hobbit house in the woods behind a castle across the street from the beach. And yes, I said CASTLE. She lives behind a castle. It's the only castle I've ever seen in Florida so if you're from the area you know exactly where to find me.
It's a green house. Warmed by fire, compost toilet, the hole deal and I love it. Half of the square footage is the wrap around screened in porch. The entire yard consists of passageways cleared through the trees, no grass, just passageways.
Already I feel better as I sit here in front of the fire I just made with cedar and look out the open door to the forest.
Maybe I'm not a city girl at all. Actually, I think I'm totally not. I find happiness comes so easy when I'm someplace peaceful and slow. Someplace TIMELESS. But when I'm in the city - I have to try so hard just to hold onto my sanity. I enjoy the culture, the busyness, the people, but to maintain a grasp on myself takes so much effort. When I was living in LA my perfect daily ritual for happiness was to surf, THEN do yoga, THEN go to work, and THEN - what time do you have left for music with a schedule like that? But I HAD to work. I HAD to pay the bills. I HAD to surf and I HAD to do yoga to keep myself happy in a world that was constantly trying to climb up some sort of social latter to some sort of heaven made of stars and botox. God, all that climbing. It was one of those things where you see everyone running for the hills and you eventually think to yourself, "Damn, should I run too?" I made it out alive but not with out some wounds. It's amazing what a year can do to you.
Yeah, so I'm officially NOT a city girl UNLESS it is (A) for a period of less than a month in the United States or (B) in a foreign country for lets say - maybe a year? Which brings me to my next topic of conversation.
I've finally made my first step toward... toward what? What am I walking towards? If only I knew. All I know is I just bought a ticket to Guatemala for a month. I found a spanish school there that is cheap and located on a black sand beach that is known as "Guatemala's most beautiful beach." Not to mention some of Guatemala's best surfing. I've been wanting to learn spanish ever since I moved to California and realized that it's the first language there. You may THINK California is run by actors like Arnold Swarzwhatever but you are so wrong. California is run by Mexicans. In fact, if they were to team up and go on strike for say, CITIZENSHIP, the whole place would shut down.
When I was slingin fish at Ocean Ave Seafood the whole kitchen was Mexican. At first I was a shy gringo unsure of how to communicate with them, and believing full heartedly that they had no interest in communicating with me. But soon we were the best of friends and they took me on as one of them. They even called me "Paesana" which meanst in less than so many words "fellow mexican." This was my first immersion into the spanish language and they took me on as an apt pupil. In fact, to make the restaurant job a little easier on my soul, instead of saying I was going to work I would say, "I'm going to my spanish lesson."
They taught me very useful phrases such as "Tu eres mi swano mexicana," (you are my mexican dream) and "Essez es mi estylo," which means "That's my style bitches." As useful as these phrases were, I was ready to hit the big leagues.
I found a program that is so insanely cheap. It's cheaper for me to stay there, attend twenty hours of spanish instruction, and eat three times per day than it is for me to pay rent just about anywhere. That's my kind of place.
So I'm going to chill out by the ocean for a month, possibly longer. Who knows, maybe I'll keep traveling south. Until it turns cold and then head north again.
Hasta la vista! (does that make sense?)
I'm staying with my teenhood friend Liz in St Augustine. She lives in this quaint little hobbit house in the woods behind a castle across the street from the beach. And yes, I said CASTLE. She lives behind a castle. It's the only castle I've ever seen in Florida so if you're from the area you know exactly where to find me.
It's a green house. Warmed by fire, compost toilet, the hole deal and I love it. Half of the square footage is the wrap around screened in porch. The entire yard consists of passageways cleared through the trees, no grass, just passageways.
Already I feel better as I sit here in front of the fire I just made with cedar and look out the open door to the forest.
Maybe I'm not a city girl at all. Actually, I think I'm totally not. I find happiness comes so easy when I'm someplace peaceful and slow. Someplace TIMELESS. But when I'm in the city - I have to try so hard just to hold onto my sanity. I enjoy the culture, the busyness, the people, but to maintain a grasp on myself takes so much effort. When I was living in LA my perfect daily ritual for happiness was to surf, THEN do yoga, THEN go to work, and THEN - what time do you have left for music with a schedule like that? But I HAD to work. I HAD to pay the bills. I HAD to surf and I HAD to do yoga to keep myself happy in a world that was constantly trying to climb up some sort of social latter to some sort of heaven made of stars and botox. God, all that climbing. It was one of those things where you see everyone running for the hills and you eventually think to yourself, "Damn, should I run too?" I made it out alive but not with out some wounds. It's amazing what a year can do to you.
Yeah, so I'm officially NOT a city girl UNLESS it is (A) for a period of less than a month in the United States or (B) in a foreign country for lets say - maybe a year? Which brings me to my next topic of conversation.
I've finally made my first step toward... toward what? What am I walking towards? If only I knew. All I know is I just bought a ticket to Guatemala for a month. I found a spanish school there that is cheap and located on a black sand beach that is known as "Guatemala's most beautiful beach." Not to mention some of Guatemala's best surfing. I've been wanting to learn spanish ever since I moved to California and realized that it's the first language there. You may THINK California is run by actors like Arnold Swarzwhatever but you are so wrong. California is run by Mexicans. In fact, if they were to team up and go on strike for say, CITIZENSHIP, the whole place would shut down.
When I was slingin fish at Ocean Ave Seafood the whole kitchen was Mexican. At first I was a shy gringo unsure of how to communicate with them, and believing full heartedly that they had no interest in communicating with me. But soon we were the best of friends and they took me on as one of them. They even called me "Paesana" which meanst in less than so many words "fellow mexican." This was my first immersion into the spanish language and they took me on as an apt pupil. In fact, to make the restaurant job a little easier on my soul, instead of saying I was going to work I would say, "I'm going to my spanish lesson."
They taught me very useful phrases such as "Tu eres mi swano mexicana," (you are my mexican dream) and "Essez es mi estylo," which means "That's my style bitches." As useful as these phrases were, I was ready to hit the big leagues.
I found a program that is so insanely cheap. It's cheaper for me to stay there, attend twenty hours of spanish instruction, and eat three times per day than it is for me to pay rent just about anywhere. That's my kind of place.
So I'm going to chill out by the ocean for a month, possibly longer. Who knows, maybe I'll keep traveling south. Until it turns cold and then head north again.
Hasta la vista! (does that make sense?)
Monday, November 3, 2008
All or Nothing
It didn't take long for the newness of Florida to wear off and for my brain to go back to its usual questioning, "What's next?"
The reason it was asking this so fervently was because I found out that the Ginger NInjas wouldn't be touring again anytime soon. MAYBE in January. Maybe not at all. Maybe not with me. There were a lot of maybes happening in my life. So I spent a shit ton of money to end up right back where I started, once again. And (once again) my future was so wide open I could throw a stadium through the hole of it. This was pretty much the most wide open I'd ever found myself. There were a million things I could do of course, but which dream to run with?
What is it about us humans that makes us so uncomfortable with that wide openess. There was a time when I basked in it. Loved it. Wanted it to always be that way. But now I wanted some kind of security. Was it because of that dirty number thirty that'd crept up on me? I felt like I had aged ten years in two months.
These were the things going through my head as I laid awake not sleeping when all of a sudden an idea floated through the chaos: What if I just spent the next year fulfilling EVERY dream I'd ever continued to have? Lets see: Live in France, play music in London, meditate in India, learn spanish, surfing in Costa Rica, become a rock star, write a book. Those were the main ones. What would it take to do something like that? Probably more money than I had, but if I really, truly believed in this whole MANIFEST YOUR DESTINY thing, if THE SECRET was really out, I should be able to accomplish it all. I could take what money I had and go on the adventure of a lifetime with TRUST as my career. I should be totally fine, right? Somehow everything I needed would be provided at the right time and place, right? I could travel around the world on TRUST. The ultimate trust. Just me, my backpack, keyboard, computer and TRUST. It would be like the movie Into the Wild except I'd be living large in Europe (maybe not large) and totally appreciating human companionship and I DEFINITELY wouldn't die of starvation at the end. If anything I would gain a few pounds because this is an abundant universe. OK, so it would be nothing like Into the Wild, you're right. But WILD it would be.
I felt like just saying fuck it and traveling. Steppin out the door of comfort zone, USA with a pocket full of trust and heading out into the wide open Universe. There's so much out there and there is this thing in me that feels the need to see, be, and DO everything. It'd probably be much cheaper to go to a psychiatrist but why not just try going for it. It would be a lot more fun and it would probably put me in a far better place than any professional mind washer.
Of course I've pictured myself doing exactly what my parents have been begging me to do ever since I first quit my last real job: GET A JOB, like a real one - with benefits and a paycheck that comes once every two weeks. But something about this vision made my stomach hurl. Something inside me kept saying that I had so much more to give to the world by living the way I DO live. Like maybe if I kept exploring I'd stumble upon SOME gem SOMEwhere. Believe me when I tell you that it's not easy. I envy the people whose biggest worry is getting their kids to the soccer game on time while still putting a healthy meal on the table. The idea of really going for it scares the hell out of me. So much so that I was hesitant to put this blog out. If I did, would I actually have to go for it?
"What if I change my mind? Maybe no one will read it and I won't be held accountable to my own dreams."
All of these dreams, all of these questions, all of these things, had been weighing on me. My chest felt like at any moment it would hit the floor. Then all of the sudden, the clouds parted and the next step could be seen so clearly. Finish and release my second album. (Just ONE more album!) then travel the world promoting it. Duh.
(but don't be mad if I chicken out)
The reason it was asking this so fervently was because I found out that the Ginger NInjas wouldn't be touring again anytime soon. MAYBE in January. Maybe not at all. Maybe not with me. There were a lot of maybes happening in my life. So I spent a shit ton of money to end up right back where I started, once again. And (once again) my future was so wide open I could throw a stadium through the hole of it. This was pretty much the most wide open I'd ever found myself. There were a million things I could do of course, but which dream to run with?
What is it about us humans that makes us so uncomfortable with that wide openess. There was a time when I basked in it. Loved it. Wanted it to always be that way. But now I wanted some kind of security. Was it because of that dirty number thirty that'd crept up on me? I felt like I had aged ten years in two months.
These were the things going through my head as I laid awake not sleeping when all of a sudden an idea floated through the chaos: What if I just spent the next year fulfilling EVERY dream I'd ever continued to have? Lets see: Live in France, play music in London, meditate in India, learn spanish, surfing in Costa Rica, become a rock star, write a book. Those were the main ones. What would it take to do something like that? Probably more money than I had, but if I really, truly believed in this whole MANIFEST YOUR DESTINY thing, if THE SECRET was really out, I should be able to accomplish it all. I could take what money I had and go on the adventure of a lifetime with TRUST as my career. I should be totally fine, right? Somehow everything I needed would be provided at the right time and place, right? I could travel around the world on TRUST. The ultimate trust. Just me, my backpack, keyboard, computer and TRUST. It would be like the movie Into the Wild except I'd be living large in Europe (maybe not large) and totally appreciating human companionship and I DEFINITELY wouldn't die of starvation at the end. If anything I would gain a few pounds because this is an abundant universe. OK, so it would be nothing like Into the Wild, you're right. But WILD it would be.
I felt like just saying fuck it and traveling. Steppin out the door of comfort zone, USA with a pocket full of trust and heading out into the wide open Universe. There's so much out there and there is this thing in me that feels the need to see, be, and DO everything. It'd probably be much cheaper to go to a psychiatrist but why not just try going for it. It would be a lot more fun and it would probably put me in a far better place than any professional mind washer.
Of course I've pictured myself doing exactly what my parents have been begging me to do ever since I first quit my last real job: GET A JOB, like a real one - with benefits and a paycheck that comes once every two weeks. But something about this vision made my stomach hurl. Something inside me kept saying that I had so much more to give to the world by living the way I DO live. Like maybe if I kept exploring I'd stumble upon SOME gem SOMEwhere. Believe me when I tell you that it's not easy. I envy the people whose biggest worry is getting their kids to the soccer game on time while still putting a healthy meal on the table. The idea of really going for it scares the hell out of me. So much so that I was hesitant to put this blog out. If I did, would I actually have to go for it?
"What if I change my mind? Maybe no one will read it and I won't be held accountable to my own dreams."
All of these dreams, all of these questions, all of these things, had been weighing on me. My chest felt like at any moment it would hit the floor. Then all of the sudden, the clouds parted and the next step could be seen so clearly. Finish and release my second album. (Just ONE more album!) then travel the world promoting it. Duh.
(but don't be mad if I chicken out)
Friday, October 10, 2008
Floridays
Florida welcomed me with open arms. I was praying for rain. Some might find this strange, but LA is overwhelmingly dry. In fact I'm pretty sure in the year point two I lived there I gained some permanent aging wrinkles that would not have showed up for AT LEAST another five years had I stayed in Florida. You're asking what this has to do with rain. I'll tell you. Florida is wet. It's humid. It's hot. I love Florida. It keeps your skin young and your spirit on edge, in a good way. The summer storms throw you into a unavoidable solitude. Something everyone needs but can never give themselves. There's always something you are obligated to do. ALWAYS. And if there isn't, you'll make something up. But when it rains its like a spanish siesta. And when the thunder rolls it shakes your walls and your soul. This is why I was praying for rain. Soul shaking solitude.
My prayers were answered.
My flight landed to the sound of pitter patter on the windows. I was never so thankful to see gray skies. My friend Andy picked me up from the airport and we headed for the beach (he lives a block from the Atlantic). The perfect place for me to RAIN it in and reflect. I'm staying with him for three reasons: 1-He's one of my favorite people on this entire earth, 2-My parents are going through a divorce and think I'm their marriage counselor and 3-He lives a block from the beach, duh.
The next morning I woke to beautiful sunny skies. I immediately put on my bathing suit and walked to the beach, Andy's longboard in hand. Another thing I love about Florida: It's October and I'm surfing very comfortably without a wetsuit. Ahhhh! I love moments spent in the Atlantic. There's nothing like it. The sea is full of so much passion which doesn't necessarily make for the best waves, but it makes for beauty.
The waves were about two feet and I couldn't get out. Yes, that's right. I couldn't get out. It is always a humbling experience to spend a day in the Atlantic. I lovingly call it the white water tread mill. Now, if I had tried REALLY hard and incurred shoulder muscle trauma, I could've gotten out. But I was going more for the relaxing day at the beach vibe, so I remained the white water warrior. Whatever. I enjoyed my time in the water and that's all that matters.
After my hard core white water surf session I laid in one of my favorite spots on earth: the spot where the water meets the land. You lay there and the water rushes up against you flooding you, wrapping you up in its cold, energizing arms. I was laying on top of the board with my eyes closed, in a dream state. At one point one of those higher than normal tides rushed in and engulfed me. I opened my eyes and before they were able to adjust I saw the most beautiful sight. The ocean was this electric light blue and the sky was too. And the white was extra bright. the sand was that perfect color that is so much different than blue but somehow made to stand beside and beneath it. The entire earth within my range of vision was reflecting the sun's light in the most magnificent and glorious manor. Everything was brighter and at the same time softer. It brought a smile across my face that stretched to the deepest parts of my soul. As I was sitting there soaking up the view some guy on a bike rode by, turned around and said, "Hey! Girl! You make the perfect surf photo, I wish I had my camera."
I pictured myself at that moment and agreed. About the camera part. It would've been nice to have a photo of that moment.
Soon after I walked back to Andy's and soon after THAT the rain clouds poured in once again and once again I was so thankful. There was a list of things I had compiled in my head to fill the afternoon, but since I was on bicycle none of them could be done. I was so sad.
Yeah right.
The one thing I did get done before the rain began to soothe my soul into oblivion was buy some fruit, nuts and yogurt from the local health food store. I came back and made the most amazing smoothie and just as I sat down to drink/eat it the rains came down from the heavens, bringing the heavens to me. Andy's apartment is that perfect little beach place with a wooden porch the same size as the apartment itself. I opened all the doors and some of the windows and just sat there feeling and listening to the rain and thanking god for the moment. I even texted Andy a one liner, "I'm in heaven."
Sometimes you just need that day where nothing really happens but life itself. It is crucial for the soul's survival. The Florida rainstorms give you that chance. It sends you into this silent place. Everything shuts up but the sound of water and earth. Then there's the occasional outburst of electricity. Your soul melts and nothing really matters. You're just right there in it.
My prayers were answered.
My flight landed to the sound of pitter patter on the windows. I was never so thankful to see gray skies. My friend Andy picked me up from the airport and we headed for the beach (he lives a block from the Atlantic). The perfect place for me to RAIN it in and reflect. I'm staying with him for three reasons: 1-He's one of my favorite people on this entire earth, 2-My parents are going through a divorce and think I'm their marriage counselor and 3-He lives a block from the beach, duh.
The next morning I woke to beautiful sunny skies. I immediately put on my bathing suit and walked to the beach, Andy's longboard in hand. Another thing I love about Florida: It's October and I'm surfing very comfortably without a wetsuit. Ahhhh! I love moments spent in the Atlantic. There's nothing like it. The sea is full of so much passion which doesn't necessarily make for the best waves, but it makes for beauty.
The waves were about two feet and I couldn't get out. Yes, that's right. I couldn't get out. It is always a humbling experience to spend a day in the Atlantic. I lovingly call it the white water tread mill. Now, if I had tried REALLY hard and incurred shoulder muscle trauma, I could've gotten out. But I was going more for the relaxing day at the beach vibe, so I remained the white water warrior. Whatever. I enjoyed my time in the water and that's all that matters.
After my hard core white water surf session I laid in one of my favorite spots on earth: the spot where the water meets the land. You lay there and the water rushes up against you flooding you, wrapping you up in its cold, energizing arms. I was laying on top of the board with my eyes closed, in a dream state. At one point one of those higher than normal tides rushed in and engulfed me. I opened my eyes and before they were able to adjust I saw the most beautiful sight. The ocean was this electric light blue and the sky was too. And the white was extra bright. the sand was that perfect color that is so much different than blue but somehow made to stand beside and beneath it. The entire earth within my range of vision was reflecting the sun's light in the most magnificent and glorious manor. Everything was brighter and at the same time softer. It brought a smile across my face that stretched to the deepest parts of my soul. As I was sitting there soaking up the view some guy on a bike rode by, turned around and said, "Hey! Girl! You make the perfect surf photo, I wish I had my camera."
I pictured myself at that moment and agreed. About the camera part. It would've been nice to have a photo of that moment.
Soon after I walked back to Andy's and soon after THAT the rain clouds poured in once again and once again I was so thankful. There was a list of things I had compiled in my head to fill the afternoon, but since I was on bicycle none of them could be done. I was so sad.
Yeah right.
The one thing I did get done before the rain began to soothe my soul into oblivion was buy some fruit, nuts and yogurt from the local health food store. I came back and made the most amazing smoothie and just as I sat down to drink/eat it the rains came down from the heavens, bringing the heavens to me. Andy's apartment is that perfect little beach place with a wooden porch the same size as the apartment itself. I opened all the doors and some of the windows and just sat there feeling and listening to the rain and thanking god for the moment. I even texted Andy a one liner, "I'm in heaven." Sometimes you just need that day where nothing really happens but life itself. It is crucial for the soul's survival. The Florida rainstorms give you that chance. It sends you into this silent place. Everything shuts up but the sound of water and earth. Then there's the occasional outburst of electricity. Your soul melts and nothing really matters. You're just right there in it.
Friday, October 3, 2008
From Bike Star to Boat Star
As slowly as my bike tour began, it's end came rather quick. I shouldn't say end. There were still numerous countries to visit by bike. I was lured away on a major detour by the chance to full fill a lifelong dream of saltwater and sails. Yes, that's right. My professional sailor friend, Tim who picked me up hitch hiking offered to take me sailing. I was so excited! I left the group (who I think may have been a little jealous of my plans) and rode my bike down to Bristol where I sat and drank espresso as I waited for Tim to come and pick me up. He eventually arrived around 3:00 or so and made all the usual loving jests at my crazy biking lifestyle. We packed up the bike and headed for Newport, Rhode Island where we'd be staying the night. When I made plans to go sailing it totally made since because I thought we'd be sailing out of Newport. The rest of the group was heading to Boston and then we were to meet up on Saturday in New Hampshire. New Hampshire is far enough away from Newport as it is, but we weren't sailing out of Newport. We were sailing out of Rye, New York.
OH.
As we set sail out of the Yacht Club (yeah, a yacht club - my life is lived in polar opposite extremes) I got a view of the beautiful NYC skyline and had an overwhelming feeling of going backwards. How in the hell did I get all the way back where I started? The real guilt set in when I realized that I would probably not meet back up with my new family until Florida. I've been having a really hard time with this, but I couldn't find another solution that made since.
The group was heading to Montreal in a week and I could not legally accompany them for reasons I don't care to mention here. As open as I am, I'm just not gonna go there. So once I realized that I definitely couldn't join them to Montreal, and having a free ride back to New York, I decided to take the easiest route. If I were to make Timmy drive me all the way back to New Hampshire, I would then have to turn around a week later and get a train back to the city when they crossed the border.
So there I was, sitting at a Bed and Breakfast in Greenwich, CT which is the nation's richest zip code while my fellow bikers were hanging out at some super cool musician's collective in Boston. Where did I go wrong? One choice to take a few days of yuppiness ended my North East tour. As I sat there in that Bed and Breakfast in the yuppy town full of European hunting clothes shops and Mazarati dealers, I wished that I were sleeping on the dirty floor of some musician's apartment. I realized that this yuppy shit was boring. Never again would I leave my fellow riders for the dark side.
Now, as you know by now I'm a little dramatic in my writings. I like to make jokes. In no way shape or form is hanging out with my friend Tim the dark side. He's awesome. In fact, we enjoyed making fun of all the rich people he works for. I'm thankful for this experience and especially thankful for the opportunity to go sailing. It was really a beautiful experience. We sailed out of Rye and into Long Island Sound and the weather was PERFECT. Tim's bestfriend, Ben and his soon to be EXquazigirlfriend accompanied us. This made for some interesting dynamics. Thirty minutes into the trip we were three bottles of wine down with six more to go. This is when we realized that we were going to get totally SHIPfaced. Yes, I am a dork. By the time we made it across the sound we were six bottles deep and the sun was beginning to set. We moored the boat at some other yacht club and watched the sun go down. Then we went into the cab, ate cheese and bread and polished off the other three bottles of wine while playing "spoons." Whoever lost a hand had to shot gun a beer which I hadn't done since high school and which probably took things a little over the top. We proceeded to have a dance party on the deck as loudly as possible so that if anyone was sleeping they were definitely not anymore because what's a party without waking up and pissing off a bunch of yachters?
Our enthusiasm for drinking eventually fizzled away when Emma, Ben's soon to be EXquazigirlfriend, got mad, seriously mad, because she lost spoons and Tim fell asleep sitting up beer in hand. This was the moment where I put down the last half full glass of wine I was nursing and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up way too early, had some coffee and cheese, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again at a much more decent hour like 1 PM we set sail even though Ben was still in between napping and puking over the side of the boat. After we set sail I went to the front of the boat and took my second nap of the day because I realized there's not a whole lot else you can do on a sailboat.
I woke up again an hour later feeling worse than I did before the nap. Soon Ben came to life just before we pulled back into the yacht club from which we came. We made the necessary arrangements for the boat then headed for the Bed and Breakfast in Connecticut.
This was when the guilt really set in. This was where my longing to be back on the bike with my new family really started to overwhelm me. This was where I wished I had a better attitude about things in general. This was where I got on the internet and found out that there was a Landmark Forum beginning the next day in NYC. I've heard that they are life changing. And since my bike tour wouldn't be doing anymore life changing for the moment, what better way to use my time off than a little bit of attitude adjusting? Unfortunately, registration was already closed. I tried to weasel my way in but to no avail. The attitude adjusting would have to come later.
Whenever and where ever it took place, it had to happen. It needed to happen because I didn't feel OK about the things I was doing and I didn't know why. Nothing was ever good enough for myself. This started happening when I realized that my dreams weren't coming true and all of my confidence was set on those dreams of what I thought I would some day be. Believe it or not, I am an eternal optimist. I still believe that I can accomplish these dreams - mainly the dream of finally making a name for myself in the music industry. I still believed I could do this - but not with the current attitude that had come creeping into my way of thinking.
To make matters worse the supposed flea attack I experienced in Providence had evolved into a full blown explosion of poison oak in THE one place you don't want poison oak. And it spread all down my legs.
I was in a sensitive place and I didn't know how to work my way out of it. My insides were screaming for change and my outsides were begging to be scratched. My ego was unhappy with the progress I was making in my career. The real zinger: I knew the mental dialogue that needed to take place. I knew I needed to tell myself that (A) - this whole idea of success was just an american bred psychosis that I should do my best to heal, and (B) - Don't fucking scratch it! I knew all of this, but knowing didn't dampen the desire for success nor scratching. Both were deep rooted in my soul. I wanted it. What do you do when you have a desire so deep inside your heart that no self help book can talk you out of? There was only one answer that came to mind: You go out and get it... and scratch it. I scratched it. I scratched it all. I couldn't help it. It felt so good. In fact, if I ever have children and that moment comes when they ask me what an orgasm is, I will tell them that it is like scratching a really bad itch.
Thankfully this was exactly what I was doing.
All of the anxiety wore off with the physical, mental and spiritual hangover I had incurred from the week's overdose of red wine. Within a few days of being back in New York I was confident that I had made the right decision in all matters of my being (except the scratching) and promised myself that the next time I had a really bad hangover, I wouldn't lock myself in a Bed and Breakfast and ponder my life's worth. I would go... maybe do some shopping, or see a movie. You know, something that wouldn't drive me crazy.
Yeah.
The scratching was a different story. At one point I managed to go an entire day of throbbing itchiness with out scratching... UNTIL I GOT IN THE SHOWER. Upon feeling the hot water beat itself directly into the most terribly affected areas I literally had to brace myself on the tile wall as I groaned with pleasure. I couldn't take it anymore. I went crazy. Obviously this did not help at all. After a total of ten days of trying to talk myself out of scratching and failing miserably, I finally went to the doctor. He gave me steroids and some weird creamy stuff and by the end of the day it became bearable to live in my skin again.
OH.
As we set sail out of the Yacht Club (yeah, a yacht club - my life is lived in polar opposite extremes) I got a view of the beautiful NYC skyline and had an overwhelming feeling of going backwards. How in the hell did I get all the way back where I started? The real guilt set in when I realized that I would probably not meet back up with my new family until Florida. I've been having a really hard time with this, but I couldn't find another solution that made since.
The group was heading to Montreal in a week and I could not legally accompany them for reasons I don't care to mention here. As open as I am, I'm just not gonna go there. So once I realized that I definitely couldn't join them to Montreal, and having a free ride back to New York, I decided to take the easiest route. If I were to make Timmy drive me all the way back to New Hampshire, I would then have to turn around a week later and get a train back to the city when they crossed the border.
So there I was, sitting at a Bed and Breakfast in Greenwich, CT which is the nation's richest zip code while my fellow bikers were hanging out at some super cool musician's collective in Boston. Where did I go wrong? One choice to take a few days of yuppiness ended my North East tour. As I sat there in that Bed and Breakfast in the yuppy town full of European hunting clothes shops and Mazarati dealers, I wished that I were sleeping on the dirty floor of some musician's apartment. I realized that this yuppy shit was boring. Never again would I leave my fellow riders for the dark side.
Now, as you know by now I'm a little dramatic in my writings. I like to make jokes. In no way shape or form is hanging out with my friend Tim the dark side. He's awesome. In fact, we enjoyed making fun of all the rich people he works for. I'm thankful for this experience and especially thankful for the opportunity to go sailing. It was really a beautiful experience. We sailed out of Rye and into Long Island Sound and the weather was PERFECT. Tim's bestfriend, Ben and his soon to be EXquazigirlfriend accompanied us. This made for some interesting dynamics. Thirty minutes into the trip we were three bottles of wine down with six more to go. This is when we realized that we were going to get totally SHIPfaced. Yes, I am a dork. By the time we made it across the sound we were six bottles deep and the sun was beginning to set. We moored the boat at some other yacht club and watched the sun go down. Then we went into the cab, ate cheese and bread and polished off the other three bottles of wine while playing "spoons." Whoever lost a hand had to shot gun a beer which I hadn't done since high school and which probably took things a little over the top. We proceeded to have a dance party on the deck as loudly as possible so that if anyone was sleeping they were definitely not anymore because what's a party without waking up and pissing off a bunch of yachters?
Our enthusiasm for drinking eventually fizzled away when Emma, Ben's soon to be EXquazigirlfriend, got mad, seriously mad, because she lost spoons and Tim fell asleep sitting up beer in hand. This was the moment where I put down the last half full glass of wine I was nursing and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up way too early, had some coffee and cheese, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again at a much more decent hour like 1 PM we set sail even though Ben was still in between napping and puking over the side of the boat. After we set sail I went to the front of the boat and took my second nap of the day because I realized there's not a whole lot else you can do on a sailboat.
I woke up again an hour later feeling worse than I did before the nap. Soon Ben came to life just before we pulled back into the yacht club from which we came. We made the necessary arrangements for the boat then headed for the Bed and Breakfast in Connecticut.
This was when the guilt really set in. This was where my longing to be back on the bike with my new family really started to overwhelm me. This was where I wished I had a better attitude about things in general. This was where I got on the internet and found out that there was a Landmark Forum beginning the next day in NYC. I've heard that they are life changing. And since my bike tour wouldn't be doing anymore life changing for the moment, what better way to use my time off than a little bit of attitude adjusting? Unfortunately, registration was already closed. I tried to weasel my way in but to no avail. The attitude adjusting would have to come later.
Whenever and where ever it took place, it had to happen. It needed to happen because I didn't feel OK about the things I was doing and I didn't know why. Nothing was ever good enough for myself. This started happening when I realized that my dreams weren't coming true and all of my confidence was set on those dreams of what I thought I would some day be. Believe it or not, I am an eternal optimist. I still believe that I can accomplish these dreams - mainly the dream of finally making a name for myself in the music industry. I still believed I could do this - but not with the current attitude that had come creeping into my way of thinking.
To make matters worse the supposed flea attack I experienced in Providence had evolved into a full blown explosion of poison oak in THE one place you don't want poison oak. And it spread all down my legs.
I was in a sensitive place and I didn't know how to work my way out of it. My insides were screaming for change and my outsides were begging to be scratched. My ego was unhappy with the progress I was making in my career. The real zinger: I knew the mental dialogue that needed to take place. I knew I needed to tell myself that (A) - this whole idea of success was just an american bred psychosis that I should do my best to heal, and (B) - Don't fucking scratch it! I knew all of this, but knowing didn't dampen the desire for success nor scratching. Both were deep rooted in my soul. I wanted it. What do you do when you have a desire so deep inside your heart that no self help book can talk you out of? There was only one answer that came to mind: You go out and get it... and scratch it. I scratched it. I scratched it all. I couldn't help it. It felt so good. In fact, if I ever have children and that moment comes when they ask me what an orgasm is, I will tell them that it is like scratching a really bad itch.
Thankfully this was exactly what I was doing.
All of the anxiety wore off with the physical, mental and spiritual hangover I had incurred from the week's overdose of red wine. Within a few days of being back in New York I was confident that I had made the right decision in all matters of my being (except the scratching) and promised myself that the next time I had a really bad hangover, I wouldn't lock myself in a Bed and Breakfast and ponder my life's worth. I would go... maybe do some shopping, or see a movie. You know, something that wouldn't drive me crazy.
Yeah.
The scratching was a different story. At one point I managed to go an entire day of throbbing itchiness with out scratching... UNTIL I GOT IN THE SHOWER. Upon feeling the hot water beat itself directly into the most terribly affected areas I literally had to brace myself on the tile wall as I groaned with pleasure. I couldn't take it anymore. I went crazy. Obviously this did not help at all. After a total of ten days of trying to talk myself out of scratching and failing miserably, I finally went to the doctor. He gave me steroids and some weird creamy stuff and by the end of the day it became bearable to live in my skin again.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
