Traveling Circus Needs Cook

I’m job-hunting again.

The good news, yah, there is always good news: I will only be laid off for a month and a half and then be brought back to work for a whole year. Yippee. Now for the bad news: Do you have any idea how far south you can travel in a month and a half?

If you’ve planned really well you’re in the tropics enjoying your month and a half of vacation. If you’ve planned better than me you’re at least homeless in a tropical climate. If you are me you’re considering a job with the circus.

Now I know this is all about attitude. Do I think I will end up homeless or cooking for the elephants? No. Do I think I can pull off another miracle? Absolutely.  But I’m still me and I also worry. I’ve been worrying since I was 9 and despite understanding that there is a Law of Attraction I’ve yet to force my way into the vortex and stay there.

So here I am, once again needing a miracle in 30 days or less. I admit this is turning into a bit of a challenge, sort of like: how long before I manifest this time?  This is a vast attitude adjustment from when I first started this blog. But even so, I want more than an emergency miracle that keeps me afloat.

I want stability.

I know I’ve said before that some wise part of me would rather live on the edge then suffocate in somebody else’s dream ever again. But still, isn’t there a compromise somewhere between the traveling circus and a job that sucks you dry?

That’s not a rhetorical question.

I’m seriously wondering: what does stability mean to me? Today I made a choice not to apply for a secretary job with the city. I just couldn’t make myself do it. And my 9-year old self is having a tantrum right now, “you would have been stable and had health insurance and in 19 years you could have retired with benefits.” Frankly, I don’t understand her. Room, board and a stipend: I thought she’d be thrilled to join the circus.

 

Sleeping Beauty Awakes

I decided to start dating. I know it sounds easy, like all it takes is a decision to date and miraculously someone shows up to take you dancing. But the fact of the matter is I do believe in miracles so it is that simple. At least it is when I get out of my own way. Getting out of my own way seems to be the problem.

But maybe I should back track.

It all started when I decided that I wanted to see a sex therapist. Seriously. I have issues. I’m sure they all started in childhood. But the issues I refer to begin with Mr. Wonderful.

You know how it is in the beginning. Talking is wonderful. Holding hands is wonderful. Kissing is wonderful. Making out is wonderful. Sex is wonderful.  The things that annoy you down the road are wonderful. We had that. And it was, well, wonderful. At first I didn’t mind when wonderful waned. We were still best friends. Still held hands. Still kissed. Still slept together. But that’s all we were doing, sleeping.  It’s not like we didn’t try to talk about our non-existent sex life either. Talking only made things worse and eventually even sleep over’s stopped.

Do you have any idea what that does to a girl’s ego? It is not pretty I can tell you.

If that wasn’t enough about a year after the relationship ended I looked in the mirror one day and discovered that my body had changed over night. It was shocking. The good news was that I suddenly had cleavage. For a girl who’d been relatively un-endowed all her life it was a welcome sight. The bad news was that extra weight showed up everywhere else as well. As I was looking in the mirror thinking, “when did this happen?” a rogue thought popped into my head, “this is why Mr. Wonderful lost interest in sex.” Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the thought and dating pretty much ended in that moment.

You’d think the obvious solution would be to give up the boobs and lose some weight. But, that wasn’t working so I got to thinking that maybe it was time to make friends with my body. And that’s what led to wanting a sex therapist. But who has time for therapy? It’s not like I’m getting any younger. So then I thought, “Maybe all I need is a little reassurance, you know get back on the horse that bucked you off kind of thing (that’s not meant to be kinky).” And then a friend of Fifi’s came to mind. David. The kind of guy that if I had 30 extra pounds and 6 pointy breasts with green scaly skin covered in warts and hair he would still be thrilled to have me naked. O.k. maybe he’d draw the line at the warts, but the point is, I was actually considering letting someone see me naked.  And not just anyone, but someone I trusted to not runaway, runaway at the sight.

It seems the mere thought was enough to create change.

About a week or two later I got naped. Let me explain. I was out with friends from work and one of them leaned over, put his arm around me and kissed the nape of my neck. Oh sure, at first I was surprised and uncomfortable. But let me tell you, once I stopped worrying about my gut I enjoyed it immensely and ever since I’m lit like a Christmas tree.

So, it turns out I don’t need a sex therapist and I don’t need David. All I needed was to be kissed. It feels like a miracle. At the very least it was an amazing event. And no I don’t take this married man who kissed my neck as Prince Charming. But I do think he is a marvelous example of how it feels to have someone appreciate my body, warts and all.

The Mother Ship Is Calling

Today I’m in a funk. Sure wish I liked writing when things were feeling glamorous and happy. But that doesn’t seem to be my style. Slightly sarcastic bordering bitter is and that seems perfectly suited for a funk.

The good news: R&F Paints has put out a call for entries. This isn’t like the gallery down the street calling for entries. R&F is where I first learned about encaustics. R&F is my favorite maker of premium quality oil bars and encaustics. R&F is the mother ship of everything I hold dear. This is like Lady Gaga asking you to write her a song and if she likes it she’ll make a recording. OK, maybe that’s not a good analogy since I don’t listen to lady g so don’t actually know how much I respect her musically. But the point is, this is like getting an offer to apply to the dance club, country club, smart club, whatever club of your choice. Not only is R&F the club of my choice but also the juror they’ve chosen to dole out the key to the kingdom is not just a highly respected artist in the field, she’s the woman who wrote The book on the field, literally.  Maybe she doesn’t call it “The Encaustic Bible” but it is.

The bad news: I’m relatively new to encaustic and will be going up against the masters in the field. I’m feeling daunted, insecure and overwhelmed to say the least. But I’m still going to try. It just means I’m going to be a really anxious, distracted, excited mess for the next month. Because of course, there is a deadline. And all the while I still have to function. Still, not such a bad problem, so why the funk?

I’m not sure.

Maybe because today is Fifi’s fiftieth birthday and I’m here instead of there so I’m not helping her celebrate. And believe me, missing a celebration with Fifi borderlines tragic. I say “borderlines” because I like to keep things in perspective, what with all the death and destruction going on in the world.

Maybe it’s because I put myself on a dating site and so far only one man has shown up. That wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t live in Texas. Or, if there weren’t a couple of local boys that checked out my profile but opted not to make contact. Or, if dating didn’t make me feel like I’m not enough in some areas and way too much in others.

Maybe it’s because I’m discouraged about my social life in general. It’s more than a lack of dating. It’s the total lack of tribe. In fact, all I want to do lately is drink, smoke and flirt with strange men in smoky bars. It’s miraculous that I ever stopped smoking. I’m thinking it’s probably better not to throw that miracle back. But as far as drinking and flirting… well, the verdict is still out.

Maybe it’s because I’m frustrated at work. But that can’t be it because it’s not like today is the first day I’ve had to deal with people to dumb to know they aren’t the only person in the room. But really, who wants to hear me bitch about work? Where’s the miracle in that?

Maybe it’s because summer is coming to an end. The election is drawing near and I still haven’t started applying for jobs. I know I’ve done great at manifesting so far, but this is bordering on cocky or stupid, or…. Oh there it is.

Maybe I’m feeling self-destructive.

No “maybe’s” about it, this is what happens when my laundry list of “shoulds” gets bigger than my list of “thank you’s.” This is what happens when I allow the critic in my head to take over. This is what happens when I let fear rule the day. This is what happens when I don’t appreciate my accomplishments. This is what happens when I don’t take the morning to drink my coffee and pretend to meditate. This is what happens when I don’t blog on a regular basis. This is what happens when I loose myself.

It turns out the Mother Ship really is calling. The Mother Ship is me.

Do I Choose Love?

It’s hard to miss the reality that our planet Earth is going through some major upheaval’s. Whether those changes are caused by man’s greed and ignorance, mass fear creating our reality, the dawning of the age of Aquarius or a combination of all the above I don’t know. I especially don’t know how much to stick my head in the sand, because I do know neither ignorance nor fear is my friend. Seriously, I don’t have a clue.

However I’m beginning to suspect that in the Golden Era I may not be amongst you because frankly, I know that I won’t be one of the people in an underground bunker and as far as stock piling food, exactly how much food do I stock pile? A year’s worth? Ten? Some days I think maybe I should be prepared with a cyanide capsule as to end things quickly. And maybe I don’t have to worry about a job come November because by then I’ll be gassed to death by Comet Elenin.

The only thing that I do know for sure (or choose to believe that I know for sure) is that I chose to be here on Earth at this time and to be exactly the age that I am now. Some days I trust that I had a reason, that my soul was wise and loving and wanted the exact experience that I have at every given moment.

I can’t control the planet, the comets, the production of oil or mass consciousness. All I can control is my reaction to fear—and to choose to have faith in a benign and loving Universe. It doesn’t feel like much at the moment but it is all that I’ve got.

And I suppose the moral of the story is that it all comes down to me. Do I choose love in the face of fear? in the face of death? in the face of the unknown?

Even though this blog is laden with fear, drama and the musing of one flickering light I say, “Yes.” I choose love.

Catching Up

First, let me start by saying that, “No news is good news and not due to my being so busy packing I had no time to blog.” In other words: the part-time work panned out. If I loved the job I would have been more excited and would have written about it back in June when I found out. But I don’t love the job. I don’t even like the job. Most days I wonder why the job even bothers to keep me.  (That’s rhetorical since I think I know the answer. I believe the Universe is giving me a gift with a job that keeps me fed and sheltered but does not distract me. If I loved my job, or even liked my job I would be putting all of my time and energy into it. I would be seeking opportunities, creating challenges and looking for ways to worm my way into the hearts and minds of my employers in an effort to have them love me, hire me full-time permanent and make me worthy and whole. Yah, I know, that’s a lot to ask from a job. But that is what I do: make work my life and turn it into my dysfunctional family. Sort of a, “I’ll slave for you if you love me,” type negotiation. So the way I see it, the Universe plopped me into this job where I don’t fit in and don’t feel challenged or competent on purpose. The gift is that I am not tempted to create a new garment out of an old pattern.) But, back to the point: I have a part-time job until November. And though not loving it might lead you to believe otherwise, I really do get that it is a blessing.

Perhaps the most exciting thing to come from being kept on though, even more important than income, is finding out that my lack of fear has been based on increasing faith and not my inability to muster up the energy to panic. Seriously, sometimes a little panic is good, like when your fear motivates you into action—actions like job hunting, escaping runaway trains and wrestling yourself out of quicksand—you know, action that moves you forward, saves your life and gets you unstuck. But I like that I’m meeting life’s challenges with faith instead of aggression.

But still, you’re asking, “why hasn’t she written in over a month now that she has extra time?” Well, there are reasons, some better than others. The best one being that I was busy making art and hung a solo show on July 1. Though the show is in a coffee shop and not a gallery, the place has gorgeous walls and more traffic than my apartment. Plus it gave me a deadline along with the freedom to experiment and try new things. I ended up creating my new favorite piece:

A Chance to Love Everything

I know, that’s all well and good but that was two weeks ago, WHY HAVEN’T I WRITTEN?

Lets just call him Bob.

When I slowed down long enough I finally realized that he is never going to ask me out. This is not news really. I have liked this guy for the better part of a year and for most of that time I have known that the guy is not interested in dating me. But the other, slower, will-hang-on-till-the-bitter-end part of me just caught on and reality is setting in.

I know that Bob is not “The One” (or even the three of four.) My first clue came when he went on a first date and it wasn’t with me. The second clue came when he started to remind me of my ex-boyfriend. The third clue came when I realized that though I could talk to Bob for days on end I could not imagine being naked with him. In other words I got to know Bob well enough to know he’s not a good match for me.  But that doesn’t mean that I’m discouraged about it.

Especially after meeting the woman he is dating.

When you find out someone you like is interested in someone else how do you not ask yourself, “what’s she got that I don’t got?”  Well, I discovered that she has a whole lot that I don’t got. But she don’t got a thing that I want. I was not coveting her style, her life, her personality, or even her man. In fact I find that I like Bob less for liking her.

That sounds cold. But I can’t help but think, “you chose her over me, what the hell’s wrong with you?” I get that this may be nothing more than a way to sooth my bruised ego and a defense against feeling hurt. But she was awful and I am more apt to believe that this is in fact progress. I’m not a beauty queen or blessed with a bubbly personality. I am not the girl who always gets the guy. For me to be thinking, “what the hell is wrong with him” implies that I genuinely like and value myself. It may even be an indication that, on a good day, I see myself as a worthy catch. But even on a bad day I’m not trying to figure out how to be more like her and less like me, so indeed I’m making progress. Which could also explain why I no longer want to be a slave to my job…

But the fact that I’m still picking the guy that doesn’t pick me back, well, what can I say? That’s beyond sad. It’s depressing. And despite all the good news I’ve found myself in no mood for blogging.

That pretty much brings us up to date. Except one last thing:  last week I was put back to full-time. Let me spell it out for you: It looks like I’m secure in Denver until November. Three months is more than enough time to manifest another miracle. Perhaps it will unfold in ways unexpected and delightful. Ways that aren’t called “Armageddon” or “Bob.”

Even Better

This is how my days gone:

6:30am woke to the sound of a doorbell. Laid there contemplating why in the world the Universe wanted me up so early. Since I couldn’t think of anything and the house wasn’t on fire I laid there for another hour.

7:30am instead of rushing off to work I decided to meditate. Which is another way of saying I drank my coffee and wrote in my journal.  But while I was there I sat myself down and had a nice little talk. It sounded something like this: “self, I don’t want to be mean to me today. So every time “should” comes to mind I’d like to remind myself that I’m doing the best that I can and that I’m perfect exactly as I am.” I think the talk went well. At least there was no pouting or arguing and I proceeded to have a very good day.

9am work as usual. Except I forgot my card key, which isn’t blog worthy news but since I was there for six hours I thought I’d at least mention the job.

3pm went to meet with the gallery director to talk about my next assignment: teaching poetry this coming Saturday. Though it’s more like a gathering of words than a teaching of poetry it’s still going to be exciting since the point is that once they’ve got a poem they get to typeset it. Really, how cool is that? If I weren’t teaching this workshop I’d be taking it. But wait, it gets even better. I was also asked to help with their Tuesday afternoon program because the regular teacher is unavailable for the next month or so. This program will entail four art projects, which we brainstormed a bit and are still developing.  I was excited by Saturday, but Tuesday too? What an amazing turn of events.  But wait, wait, it gets even better than that! While I was at the gallery someone came in to talk to me about teaching this summer. That job did not pan out because I’m not an accredited teacher but she asked for my resume, as she will need teaching artists in the future. And maybe I could have gotten around the accredited issue, told her that I had the experience she was looking for, so I could be telling you that I got three jobs in one day. But I’m not one to lie about my credentials. And the important detail here is that the woman came to the gallery today because the gallery had recommended me and told her I’d be there. I mean really, she came looking for me! Can you say “Act of God?”

11pm I’m exhausted. It’s time to end this marvelous example of a very good day.

Faith or Fear?

As I look back on my tendency to manifest miracles under crises the common thread seems to be: I had no choice but for things to get better. Maybe you can call that faith but the underlying fear was that if things didn’t get better I would get dead.

As much as that may sound a little dramatic, ok, so I’m a drama queen, the truth is that that kind of drama served me well. Extreme crises or blind panic moved mountains. Or at least it moved me forward. I’ve got 8 days of job left and the biggest question on my mind is: “why am I not more panicked?”

Granted, I’ve been told there may be the potential to stay on part-time, until November. I’ve got a friend who needs the upstairs of her house painted. Opportunities to teach keep falling in my lap, including a workshop next Saturday. I’ve got an art show scheduled for July. So maybe my lack of freak out is due to experience and knowing that if things worked out once they’re bound to work out twice. I’d like to believe that it’s faith that all these little breadcrumbs are leading to a bakery. But I can’t help wonder if my calm is in fact a good thing.

I have mentioned in previous blogs that I rail at the Universe when I don’t get my own way. Imagine a two-year old having a temper tantrum and you get the idea. Imagine said two-year old swearing like a truck driver during that tantrum and you not only get the idea but the soundtrack.  When I rail it is not pretty. But it is empowering and since I am 8 days from the unknown I’m thinking a little tantrum couldn’t hurt.

I didn’t just pack my bags and move to the unemployment line. Not at all, I took the scenic route, complete with temper tantrum. I was living in a small town in upstate New York. How I came to be living in that small town is a long story in itself so lets fast-forward to the part where I was ready to leave and trying to figure out what was next. I knew I wanted a population larger than Kingston, NY but smaller than New York, NY. I knew I needed an arts community and I wanted a mild winter. I was seriously looking at Asheville, NC and my friend Marsha and I were talking about taking a trip in October to check it out. It was only May.

About that time two events converged. First, my employer gave the entire staff a 10% salary cut. And two, my friend Fifi, ever the adventurer, had just ended a 5-year relationship and was in dire need of a road trip. She was willing to go anywhere. I needed to go somewhere. It was a win-win. I’m not sure if it was due to my tentative October trip or intuition but Denver was the chosen destination.

It was a Monday, the last day of our trip, and we happened upon a gallery that was closed but hanging their next show. We were allowed in anyway. Fifi chatted up the gallery owner and the next thing I knew we were being directed to go see the studios/living spaces upstairs. Two lofts were for rent and when we got to the second one my heart sung. I’m not exaggerating. Not even a little. We could see into the loft through a display window and that was enough. I knew. I went home, applied, was accepted, asked my employer if I could freelance from Denver and three months later I moved in.

Six months later I was laid off. I was shocked. I was angry. I was heartbroken. After all the serendipitous events that had led me to the loft I could not believe that I was going to have to leave it. I did not just question my faith; I questioned why I was even alive. Obviously I survived. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t rail at the Universe first. And when I say “rail” I mean I attacked with fury. You’d think maybe I learned something from the experience, that maybe I evolved but no. When I lost my unemployment a year later I didn’t just rail at the Universe, I kicked its teeth in.

So now you might understand why I’m questioning my calm. Maybe I’m worried for nothing. Maybe this is just the calm before the storm. Maybe this low-grade fear is building into a frenzy. Maybe I’m about to crucify Christ on a cross. Or maybe I really am resigned to God’s will. Maybe I do have more faith. Maybe this time I have evolved. Maybe this time I don’t need to rail at the Universe. But I’ve got my combat boots ready, just in case.

Pressure

I have been a negligent blogger and the fans are clamoring. Ok, so by “fans” I mean my best friend and my mom. But still, I feel the pressure.

And I have never done well under pressure. I am the girl that was once told if I applied myself I could probably make a living as an artist. I stopped making art for ten years.

I am the girl who, under pressure, let some crazy boy move into my house. And I do mean “crazy” literally.

I am the girl who, under pressure, can’t remember her own name. Granted it was a first date and he had asked if I was using my maiden name. In my defense I was adopted by a step-dad so I was temporarily confused by the question. By the time I figured out the correct answer he was less interested in my marital status and more interested in my mental stability. (Given my previous roommate I wasn’t entirely insulted by this.)

I do not test well, interview well or handle crises. I choke on the 8-ball. Do not pick me as your partner in a game of trivia. My mind goes blank and I take wild stabs in the dark. I try to compensate with excuses and find myself grasping at the first random idea that comes to mind and ride it like a bucking bronco. Twisting it into a rambling rant until I get bucked off. Embarrassed and bruised.

Needless to say this blog is my response to pressure. And I got nothing to say.

Embracing the Unknown

Being someone who willingly smothers the life out of the unexpected I am genuinely surprised that today I am embracing the unknown. I’m not sure what’s happened between today and February—or even between today and yesterday come to think of it—but today something shifted. I am not saying that I want to leave Denver. I don’t. What I am saying is that come June if I don’t have the means to stay in Denver I will leave willingly (and I think that the kicking and screaming will be minimal).

Today I believe that whatever comes to pass will be in my best interest. Today I have faith that that even includes a move to my sister’s basement. I can’t promise that I’ll feel the same way tomorrow but today the future doesn’t scare me. Not knowing what the future will bring means anything is possible. Sure anything means that the world could stop spinning and all life would cease to exist. But it also means when the world doesn’t stop spinning and life doesn’t cease to exist I will live another day. And not knowing what the day is bringing is a good thing. As much as I usually prefer to know the future, today I can see life without change as the slow agonizing death it actually is.

And the thing is, I’ve lived that life.  When I was living in Manhattan I thought I would live there forever. I was so sure of my NYC future that I even let my driver’s license lapse. Not only was I going to live and die on that island, I wasn’t even planning to leave for a short drive in the country. It wasn’t much different Upstate either—that part of me that wants desperately to know where my next meal is coming from, where I’ll be living, where I’ll be dying. But it turns out that another part of me isn’t willing to stagnate and die, not even in The City. I am the girl who moved to the big apple because I was curious; who moved out because I didn’t want to look back and wonder “what if…”; who moved to Denver, without knowing a soul, because a visit here made my heart sing. So I have no doubt that if I was still stagnating in New York, city or upstate, I’d be kicking at my cage looking for a way out.

So today I embrace the unknown. Yes, I want the security of having food, shelter and clothing. Yes, I want the comfort of knowing that I can pay my debts. Yes, I want to stay in Denver. But today can I see that by being attached to an outcome, be it job security or living in Denver, I have placed limits on what the Universe can bring. This is more than giving up my will and trusting in God’s. It’s a matter of giving up my need to know so that the Universe can surprise me with something better than I would have caged for myself. This is not easy for me. I really like knowing in April where I’ll be living in June.

But it was not easy to follow my heart song, to give up the known, to risk making a colossal mistake either. So today, even though I don’t know what’s going to happen in June, I do know this: I won’t be living, or dying, a stagnated life. And maybe, just maybe the Universe is so damn proud of me that it’s not going to let me crawl back into pond scum—no matter how scared I am.

Plan B

My plan to manifest a miracle in 30 days or less, though successful, found another flaw: it seems not only should I have pulled an Oliver Twist (as in, “please sir, can I have some more”), I also found out that I should have given the Universe a few extra days. Though creating my miracle in six days is less time than it took a certain somebody to create the Universe that is no reason for me to get cocky. I get it, just because I got what I wanted doesn’t mean there isn’t room for improvement—not to mention all those pesky details I left out. Like lasting stability. But not to worry, I may have found a new number system.

I’m not talking about gambling, though this miracle making business is somewhat of a crapshoot. I’m talking about another book. When I worry I read and this latest book is called, Make Miracles in 40 Days by Melody Beattie. Not to be confused with the 40-Day Miracle offered by the ARK of Salvation. The ARK method involves abstaining from the seven deadly sins for 40 days. Of course it helps if you know what the Big Seven are in order to avoid them so being well versed in the Bible is recommended. According to the ARK virtually all of our unhappiness stems from the Big Seven so I guess it stands to reason that our happiness could be derived by avoiding them. But since I had to look them up (pride, anger, envy, greed, gluttony, sloth, and lust) and don’t have an interest in familiarizing myself with the Bible, I’m going with Melody’s plan. We’ll call it Plan B.

I know I said this about the last book I read, and I suppose it will be true of anything that I read and pass along:  but you will get far more out of the book if you read it yourself. Meanwhile, let me tell you that I’m excited by Melody’s 40-day plan.  Yes, I’m desperate and I’ll try anything, but I also think Melody may be onto something. Besides it’s so fantastically simple what do I have to loose? 40 days is going to pass with or without me attempting to make miracles, so I may as well try.

And here is Melody’s plan in a nutshell: write gratitude lists.

I know, nothing new with that concept! In fact, I even have that on my list of miracle tools. But hold on, don’t get all smug (or discouraged) thinking you’ve “been there done that.”  At least this is not the kind of gratitude list that I’ve been writing. And let’s be honest, some days it is all I can do to come up with, “I am grateful for the sun, Buster and that I have toilet paper in the house.” On days when there is no sun, Buster has gouged me with his killer claw and I have used the last square of toilet paper to wipe off the splash of blood even that short list becomes an impossible stretch. What attracts me to Melody’s gratitude list is that I don’t have to come up with things I feel grateful for when I’m not feeling grateful. I do not have to belabor a fake list—which, when I think about it is really just my attempt to show God I’m worthy of getting what I want.

According to Melody you write Today I’m Grateful For/That at the top of the page and then list the things (feelings, events, whatever) that you are not grateful for. Not even a little bit. You don’t even have to pretend or think, “This suffering let’s me know that I’m alive.” She does make some suggestions like setting goals and writing for ten minutes a day, but you don’t ever have to counter the list of negatives with a list of positives. You don’t have to find the vortex, your lower self or an exorcist. I know it’s rather shocking isn’t it? Doesn’t this kind of gratitude list go against everything you’ve been taught thus far? Yet some part of me is doing a happy dance right now. That would be the part of me that’s been struggling to find gratitude when I’m feeling worried, resentful, angry, and frustrated.  That would be the part of me that knows feeling my feelings is far more powerful than masking or denying them.  That would be the part of me that doesn’t know what else to do.

I’m not sure how it works. I’m not even sure that Melody knows, but I suspect that it has to do with being real and present with your self during those ten minutes of writing. I also suspect that it works similar to Julia Cameron’s morning pages (and if you haven’t read that book you MUST go to your local library and check out The Artists Way.) I’m guessing, and this is just a guess, that because it’s a tool that gets you to your feelings—to your real self—that the miraculous can begin to happen. At least that’s my theory.

Surviving Armageddon

Lately I’ve been getting a lot of emails about Shifty-the-Earth. According to these emails, which site sources from scientist to astrologist to aliens from another planet, the Earth has shifted on its axis. The Age of Aquarius has arrived. We are on the fast track to evolution. Or doom—I can’t really tell.

I don’t know what to believe any more. Some days, like today, I get sarcastic and blog about it. Some days I fear the worst. It’s hard not to with recent events. Though, for me this fear of Armageddon began in childhood. I can trace it back to four things. First, my step-grandmother would entertain my sister and I with tails of death, destruction and war. I was a young child. I would lie in bed too afraid to sleep, trying to remember the name of the horrible monster she’d just described. Second, my Social Studies teacher, when I was about 11 or so, told our class that we didn’t have to worry about fighting a nuclear war but the next generation would. She actually said, “It will originate in the East” and showed us on the map. I can’t remember if she also said that it would be “the end of the world” or if I’d just jumped to that conclusion. Third, the aforementioned teacher made her remarks after we’d read the book Alas Babylon, a story about survivors of a nuclear holocaust, which she’d assigned. Fourth, and this I can only blame on myself, I read Stephen King’s The Stand. In his novel the few remaining survivors of a plague battle between good and evil.

Now I harbor a child’s fear of Armageddon with a literary vision of how difficult surviving it will be. My Babylon-Stand Survival Plan comes down to this: keep my cat Buster and I alive as we travel two or three thousand miles back to family—on foot. I imagine I’ll need to break into a store and steal a pair of good hiking shoes along with other essentials like a backpack to carry Buster in. My plan gets fuzzy when it comes to water and food since both will be scarce, and well, if things are that bad, likely contaminated. So I can never decide if Buster should be allowed to hunt or not. If I let him loose he might run off, but I’m walking so he could probably catch up. How do I keep him from meowing and giving away our location to marauding survivalist or protect him from becoming their lunch? All this thought and planning so I can reunite with family and then what? Battle evil together? Procreate with the neighbors? I don’t know. I never think that far ahead.

Thanks to my friend Fifi, in the last couple years, I’ve begun to rethink my survival plan. When I told her about my Ultimate Fear and described how it spirals out of control her response was, “I’d rather go down drinking champagne.” That caught my attention (I do love me some bubbly). It was like a light bulb, about the size of an atomic bomb, went off in my head and for the first time I realized that I didn’t have to drag my pregnant ass home whilst fighting against evil all so I could ensure the survival of the species.

I can’t tell you the relief. And I’m not being sarcastic here—though the end of my re-populating days are fast approaching. But until that conversation I had never thought about my plan and what I would be surviving. I had never questioned if I’d even want to. Being able to look at Surviving Armageddon in a new light has been liberating. Just tonight as I was watching a U-Tube video where the speaker implied the world’s richest were gathering in an underground bunker in New Delhi, where they could survive nuclear fall-out, I didn’t wish I were a Rockefeller. When the speaker suggested we all have our emergency kits ready I didn’t think about throwing Buster in a backpack. What I thought was, “Do I have any champagne?”

The Bad News is the Good News

Last night I got home late, threw the mail on the counter, checked my email, found a job rejection. Maybe I was depressed because then I went strait to bed. The rejection was for a job that I not only wanted but also thought I’d be really good at. There were so many reasons I thought I’d be good at this job I could barely write a cover letter. I thought this job was in the realm of, “soul work.” I thought this was a job I could have kicked the shit out of. It’s always disappointing not to get picked—even if it is a ratty old ball and you’ve never played the game. But when you can see how your talents and skills could be utilized and even have game-play ideas popping into your head, well it’s more than disappointing. Maybe it’s temporary spite, but I’m actually thinking, “I might just take that ball and run with it.” Literally start my own business and yes, I would become their competitor. But, I had some good ideas and if they aren’t interested in letting me play, well I see no reason why I can’t take my toys and start my own game. But, I digress. I had a discouraging evening.

This morning on my way out the door I thought to look at the pile of envelopes I never got to last night. There I found a check. I sold a painting today. Maybe I should mention that I donated a piece of art to a fundraiser and only made 20% of the sale. But I don’t care! It’s still more money than I had when I went to bed. And it was a sweet surprise after a bitter rejection.

At work someone asked how the fund-raiser had gone so I took the opportunity to announce that, “I sold a painting!” Which led to a comment about how I’m always surprised when I sell a piece of art. My co-worker responded with, “Things are slow right now.” And I enthusiastically stated, “I’m selling more now than I ever did.” And, it’s true, I am. Of course now I’m making art that is actually for sale but that’s really not the point.

Our cubicle mate who had been listening asked to see my work. I have some pieces on line so I brought up the site and she said lovely things about my art. She asked if I was going to be showing anywhere. I am, in July, at a coffee shop. Which some artists will snub, but I’m a deadline girl and if I don’t have a reason to make new stuff the ideas idle in my brain unmade. So for me it’s not about the venue as much as it is about the deadline.

Well, that prompted her to ask if I’d be interested in showing at the institute where she sits on the board. Now, I don’t know that this institute has a high volume of traffic, otherwise known as “art buyers”, but it happens to be an institute where a friend of mine exhibited her art. My friend didn’t sell a thing. Thought it was a waste of time. Hated the whole experience. So I knew to say, “Yes.”

I see it as a deadline. I see it as an entry on my resume. I see it as “somebody asked me to hang my art on their walls, how cool is that?” Besides, you never know, maybe I’ll sell a piece—at least the odds are better than when it’s sitting in my apartment.

Tonight as I was writing this blog I decided to reveal the name of the organization that held the fundraiser. As I typed in the name on the check I realized that it wasn’t for a piece of artwork. It was for the fliers I created a couple weeks ago. I didn’t recognize the amount as they’d added a little extra for my coming through at the last minute.

So, it turns out that I didn’t sell a piece of artwork today. Am I disappointed? Of course I am. But considering where thinking I had led, it’s not a crushing blow. And for the entire day I felt and talked like an artist, that’s got to lead somewhere good.

Manifesting Happiness

I’ve been chasing two fugitives: love and money. I have always believed, based on lots of reading, self-work and pure hope, that the two are not separate. Meaning: once I get one of those in hand the other is sure to follow. I recently finished reading a book called Manifesting Change. I think you’ll get a lot more out of it if you read his book, but the author, Mike Dooley, has thrown a monkey wrench into my wishful thinking. According to Dooley, manifesting work that I love does not guarantee that abundance or love automatically follow.

Maybe you all knew this already but I didn’t. Not this clearly anyway. And it sure has given me something to ponder. Dooley believes that our thoughts create our reality (this is not the aforementioned wrench). What I found so interesting/troubling though is he believes that when you go about manifesting you don’t want to have a single-minded focus. In other words you don’t want to focus on, “don’t be homeless,” as I have been doing. Apparently this will not bring you perfect health, a beautiful house, a new car to put in your garage, work that you love to pay for it all and a loving man who cooks you dinner on your stainless steel stovetop. Not even if you dance under the stars and howl at the full moon. Apparently this single minded focused manifesting could bring you a home, but it could also bring you a mortgage you can’t pay. Or a job that is only temporary. Hmmm. I’m listening. According to Dooley, you want to focus on the end result. And the end result should be “Happiness.” Not “employed”, not “in love”, not even “not homeless.”

I guess in my focus to not be homeless I set limitations.  To a certain degree this makes sense. When I think about my approach to manifesting miracles I have not been looking at the big picture: my overall well-being and happiness. I have approached manifesting more like a visit to the emergency room—once the bleeding stops I go back home to status quo. It seems that if instead of crises management I shoot for “Happiness” the Universe knows what to deliver. I don’t have to worry about details like “money for rent” since the Universe knows my version of happiness does not include homelessness. So it will provide a job that pays my rent. But the Universe is smart. When I think of rent I think of the place where I currently live. But the Universe knows having a washer and dryer and outdoor space would make me much happier. It already knows that a soul-sucking job won’t seal the deal. When I focus on “happiness” the Universe doesn’t just bring a band-aid and suture. The Universe brings everything under my happiness umbrella, things I may have forgotten or not thought of, and includes them. See how much better that is?

So let mine be a lesson to you: burning sage and chanting are optional but what ever you do, don’t put limitations on your miracles.

A Brand New Year

It’s mid-afternoon and I’m drinking champagne and eating chocolate mousse. God I love birthdays!

I didn’t always. My older sister’s birthday is three days before mine so growing up we mostly shared the date. For the record, my favorite has never been cherry. Not for cake, not for frosting, not for ice cream, not even as a garnish. I’m a chocolate girl through and through.

What I realized somewhere in my 20s is that it is up to me to make the day special. First, I stopped expecting anyone to remember. If I didn’t want to be alone I asked people to keep me company in whatever it is I was going to do. Then I stopped expecting anyone to plan my perfect day. (Though, last year, someone did and it was, hands down, the best birthday ever!) Things work out much better now. The only difficulty is deciding what it is that I want to do.

I have some traditions: I take the day off of work. I take time to reflect on the previous year and time to think about what I want to manifest in the coming year. I eat whatever I want, when I want, all day long. I drink champagne—course I’ll do that on a Tuesday in May for no reason at all, but still, it’s a tradition. And on my birthday I drink it out of a cobalt blue champagne glass that my friend Jeff gave me. I buy myself something special—for many years I bought myself underwear—the pretty, feminine kind so that eventually everyday was a good underwear day.  As much as I love pretty underwear, let’s do get back on topic. Birthdays.

The one day of the year that I have no qualms whatsoever spoiling myself. The one day I don’t compromise on what I want. Like I said, sometimes the biggest downfall is trying to decide among the options. Pancakes or Waffles? Thai or Indian? Swedish or Russian Massage? It’s a glorious problem. And today, as I was soaking in the body oil of my Russian Massage I was pondering, “Why don’t I live every day like it’s my birthday?”

That is not a rhetorical question. Can you imagine what life would be like if you treated everyday like your birthday? There is a chance we’d all be fatter but I think the risk is worth taking since we’d also be happier.

I suspect that after a few weeks of having cake for breakfast I’d prefer something savory, maybe even healthy. After awhile a psychic reading would not glean new and relevant information. Not even I want to drink champagne every day. So I’m thinking that as the novelty wore off celebrating myself wouldn’t be about outer festivities and material gains. Everyday I would have to own my specialness—not because the day on the calendar validated it but because some deeper part of me validated it. It would require a deeper connection to my wants, needs and feelings and the willingness to honor that information. It’s amazingly simple when you think about it. It would mean waking up every day and feeling worthy of a celebration.

And maybe it’s the champagne talking but I think this is a challenge I’m ready to take on. Pass the bubbly and let’s toast to it.

Day 29—One of Those Days

The whores are back. And the mental chatter doesn’t sound good. I won’t bore you with the details, I’m sure you’ve all been there, heard that. But dang is it ever discouraging.

I hope, and on a good day trust, that I’m on the right track towards change. On days like today it’s hard to tell. Some days I get these little nods from the Universe, like the other day when the “do work you love” guru asked me to design a flier. But an occasional flier isn’t going to pay the rent. And frankly, I don’t know that it qualifies as work that I love.

In fact I’m beginning to suspect that there is no work that I love on this planet. I’m beginning to think that maybe instead of manifesting work that I love it’s time to play the lotto? Rob a bank? Take whatever comes my way and hope I can keep my head above water until I retire or die? Yah, it’s one of those days.

Maybe my attitude will change in a couple weeks when I finally get into a classroom and get to work with kids. But the raging critic in me counters with, “So what if you love it, how exactly are you going to thrive on 10 hours of work a month?” I suppose if the job paid a $100 dollars an hour I could stage a counter attack but it doesn’t. And today I’m feeling defeated.

I realize that I’m not the only one on this planet struggling in this Let’s-Call-It-A-Recession-And-Claim-It-Over Depression. But knowing that doesn’t make me feel better. Doesn’t make me less afraid and certainly doesn’t inspire hope. (A side note: wonder if in a past life I lived the Grapes of Wrath?)

So today’s entry not so inspiring. But it’s not true mapping if I don’t chart all the terrain.