"It's not who you are that holds you back, it's who you think you're not."-Anonymous
When I was working for a business process outsourcing company, one of the accounts that I contributed to had a supervisor that used to tell me (repeatedly) that it was ok for me to believe in myself. I used to feel guilty at just the thought of being able to believe in my abilities, my potential, my own perspectives, my own journey. I don't need to see a fancy psychologist to know that it stems from being told (in one way or another) that my needs didn't matter and that no matter what I did (or didn't do), it was never good enough. I'd seen and talked to enough of those by the time I was 16 to write a novel. And in the end all they get paid for is to point out what you already know deep inside. You still have to do the work. You still have to change your inner voice.
There was always that stigma that I would turn out to be a "bad, hurtful" person. But the thing is that a child doesn't choose a "bad childhood" or "bad experiences." They just happen. It doesn't make them a bad person. It certainly doesn't mean that they'll grow up and participate in anti-social behavior. Some of the most beautiful people come out of ashes and darkness. And people who have wonderful childhoods can grow up to not be so "beautiful," and commit several "bad" behaviors simply because that's who they choose to be. The real demon that you have to fight is your own inability to believe and value who you are.
Yep, I'm still fighting that demon. I haven't conquered it yet, but I'm trying. Apparently the universe has faith that I can, because it keeps showing up. A former boss who tried to make me feel incompetent and unable to go after what I thought I wanted because in reality she was threatened by my abilities and credentials. A mentor who sees her former self, but wants to project her own experiences and her own capacities onto someone else. It's funny sometimes how we end up trying to sabotage and punish ourselves through other people who either remind us of what we think we're lacking or who we just might be inside. Jealousy, envy, and competitiveness are dark traps that I consciously try to avoid. Sometimes that means ending relationships with people and situations that I otherwise love, enjoy, and truly value in some way. But there's no sense in living a lie of "toxic support."
The thing is I know who I am inside. I know what I'm capable of. I know that I have ability, knowledge, experience, talent, wisdom, insight, determination, and elasticity. And so does everyone else. The difference may be that they grew up in an environment that reinforced these beliefs by the time they were 10. I have to build and re-build my own foundation. So what? At this point I am tired of listening to external opinions about what I may or may not be capable of. Sometimes you have to go through the class twice. And the reality is that each of us are capable of accomplishing anything that we choose. But we have to believe that we can, and then we have to do the work. There's no easy path to graduation-only the inner strength that propels you to keep walking as you say "no matter what anyone thinks, I'm doing this."
Monday, January 16, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
She Decided
She decided that this new world was as corrupt as the one she left
And that she was going to create her own
No more hiding behind safety nets
of academia
and snobbery
that sought to discount the validity
of a simple breath
of just knowing
without analyzation
and justifications
for what makes something "right"
and what makes something "wrong"
No more labels
or bottles of sleeping pills
to calm the uneasiness
the endless mind chatter
the endless seeking
for something that only wants to fly
No more pressure
No more deadlines
No more revisions
until nothing exists but a pile of shredded nothings
No more whys or hows or "this is who you should be"
When all she wanted
was to lay her towel down on the sand
and hear the waves of the ocean
sparkle in the sunlight
and make the words dance
until everything faded
into something more than what it was
into something more than what it could be
without knowing
without articulation
without longing
for something
that was only meant to be
felt
And that she was going to create her own
No more hiding behind safety nets
of academia
and snobbery
that sought to discount the validity
of a simple breath
of just knowing
without analyzation
and justifications
for what makes something "right"
and what makes something "wrong"
No more labels
or bottles of sleeping pills
to calm the uneasiness
the endless mind chatter
the endless seeking
for something that only wants to fly
No more pressure
No more deadlines
No more revisions
until nothing exists but a pile of shredded nothings
No more whys or hows or "this is who you should be"
When all she wanted
was to lay her towel down on the sand
and hear the waves of the ocean
sparkle in the sunlight
and make the words dance
until everything faded
into something more than what it was
into something more than what it could be
without knowing
without articulation
without longing
for something
that was only meant to be
felt
Sunday, December 25, 2011
What is Christmas?
I've been mulling over the question in my head for a few days. It's not really a date on the calendar or a set of decorations we drag out from underneath our basement stairs and out of our dusty, damp closets each year. It's not the feeling of togetherness as families reunite or the isolation that some feel when circumstances and choices separate them from potential connections. Separations that can either be physical or psychic. Sometimes the loneliest feelings come from being in the midst of orchestrated social activity.
There are the different symbolisms for the same celebration. The birth of goodness and light that will cause the darkness of physical existence to fade, the gradual lighting of the Menorah, a new moon that ushers in blessings and the idea of being connected to something powerful and unseen, an omniscient being that travels the universe in one night and deposits trinkets of wishes, hopes, and dreams. But it all comes down to one thing, I think. The belief that anything is possible.
So much of what we experience as humans occurs in "the dark." It doesn't make sense. It seems outrageous, ludicrous, damaging, painful, destructive, defeating, despairing. I could go on, but I think we all know what a struggle walking in darkness is.
Our entire universe (as we know it) exists within a vast, dark hole of nothing. Yet within that emptiness is something. A lot of some things. Brilliant, bright, self-sustaining, and intelligent somethings. From darkness life creates itself because it believes in the possibility of something good.
During the rest of the 364 days on the calendar we sometimes take for granted that the sun's rays warm up our skin and that miracles can manifest at any time, and in ways that take some effort to notice. It can be an alabaster statue of a deity, overlooking a once prominent neighborhood slowly being overtaken by crime. Or a stoplight on a freeway on-ramp that makes us stop to take notice of the license plate on the car in front of us. Or a Facebook message from an old friend, an invitation from a new one, the mystery of synchronicity that reunites past lives, a message from a recently departed loved one that shows up as an "accidental gift."
Christmas is a reminder of what is possible when we believe in what we can't see. Trust. Hope. Faith. Light. Magic. Kinship. Life. It is the only reason why we are here; the only purpose behind the facades of talent, profession, "project," "ambition," current state of existence. Light illuminates darkness. Possibility makes something of nothingness. Belief transforms sorrow. Giving ensures receiving, until nothing can be seen but a single star.
There are the different symbolisms for the same celebration. The birth of goodness and light that will cause the darkness of physical existence to fade, the gradual lighting of the Menorah, a new moon that ushers in blessings and the idea of being connected to something powerful and unseen, an omniscient being that travels the universe in one night and deposits trinkets of wishes, hopes, and dreams. But it all comes down to one thing, I think. The belief that anything is possible.
So much of what we experience as humans occurs in "the dark." It doesn't make sense. It seems outrageous, ludicrous, damaging, painful, destructive, defeating, despairing. I could go on, but I think we all know what a struggle walking in darkness is.
Our entire universe (as we know it) exists within a vast, dark hole of nothing. Yet within that emptiness is something. A lot of some things. Brilliant, bright, self-sustaining, and intelligent somethings. From darkness life creates itself because it believes in the possibility of something good.
During the rest of the 364 days on the calendar we sometimes take for granted that the sun's rays warm up our skin and that miracles can manifest at any time, and in ways that take some effort to notice. It can be an alabaster statue of a deity, overlooking a once prominent neighborhood slowly being overtaken by crime. Or a stoplight on a freeway on-ramp that makes us stop to take notice of the license plate on the car in front of us. Or a Facebook message from an old friend, an invitation from a new one, the mystery of synchronicity that reunites past lives, a message from a recently departed loved one that shows up as an "accidental gift."
Christmas is a reminder of what is possible when we believe in what we can't see. Trust. Hope. Faith. Light. Magic. Kinship. Life. It is the only reason why we are here; the only purpose behind the facades of talent, profession, "project," "ambition," current state of existence. Light illuminates darkness. Possibility makes something of nothingness. Belief transforms sorrow. Giving ensures receiving, until nothing can be seen but a single star.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Gratitude in Darkness
I have a few people to thank for this past week and a half. Some I may never see again, some I will work with in the months to come, and others I may never see in this lifetime (but who have been a silent, inexplicable force of guidance and inspiration for more years than I care to count).
Anyone who has ever come here or lived here knows L.A. is a strange city. You arrive and you're either irritated and disoriented or elated and full of excited teenage energy. Then you get homesick and wish for everything you left behind in another reality; a reality that seems like it no longer exists, except in memories and dreams. Somewhere along the way you feel like you've been here before. You've seen the sights, heard the sounds, sensed the history, driven the roads. Finally, you get sad and realize that you're leaving another place that feels like it's home. Maybe this only happens to the people who have lived too many past lives as artists and sensitives. I'm not sure I can really say. I just know what I feel every time I'm here.
The people that I would like to thank may read this and they may not. I hope that they eventually do.
Thank you to my recent workshop leader and current term mentor for showing me that you can't escape a lesson that you thought you could run away from.
To my last term mentor and workshop leader for showing me that you don't always have to know what you're going to learn.
To my workshop peers for advocating for what was right, and being sensitive to encouragement, true support, "what's working," silent thoughtfulness, and allowing yourself to stretch to your fullest potential as an artist.
To the "random" speakers, writers, and beacons of social justice for revealing that I'm far from lost. I just have a lot more "dots to connect."
To the universe for all the repeated, obvious, urgent messages of "don't give up" on the freeways, the streets, and the clocks.
To the old friends and strangers I should have spent more time with, thanks for the advice, the chats, the tears, the laughs, and the insight.
To J for being understanding when I had to cancel our plans. Here's hoping (and promising) for next time.
To my sister and brother for helping me out with "Mr. Scruff."
To my gracious hosts for letting me stay in your guest suite and giving me a place that truly felt like "home away from home." I appreciate all the extras you thought of and for inviting me to spend time with your family and friends this evening.
To the city for being beautiful at night from "above." Beauty and light exist in all different shapes and forms when we stop to breathe.
To the other half of who I truly am-thanks for guiding me to the right street when the directions couldn't, and for your constant "vibes" of understanding and support. I couldn't ask for a more beautiful reflection of my side of the rainbow.
And finally to that part of myself that knows this point in my journey is happening so that I can get "lost" and "let go" in order to become one with whomever and "whatever" I need to serve.
Anyone who has ever come here or lived here knows L.A. is a strange city. You arrive and you're either irritated and disoriented or elated and full of excited teenage energy. Then you get homesick and wish for everything you left behind in another reality; a reality that seems like it no longer exists, except in memories and dreams. Somewhere along the way you feel like you've been here before. You've seen the sights, heard the sounds, sensed the history, driven the roads. Finally, you get sad and realize that you're leaving another place that feels like it's home. Maybe this only happens to the people who have lived too many past lives as artists and sensitives. I'm not sure I can really say. I just know what I feel every time I'm here.
The people that I would like to thank may read this and they may not. I hope that they eventually do.
Thank you to my recent workshop leader and current term mentor for showing me that you can't escape a lesson that you thought you could run away from.
To my last term mentor and workshop leader for showing me that you don't always have to know what you're going to learn.
To my workshop peers for advocating for what was right, and being sensitive to encouragement, true support, "what's working," silent thoughtfulness, and allowing yourself to stretch to your fullest potential as an artist.
To the "random" speakers, writers, and beacons of social justice for revealing that I'm far from lost. I just have a lot more "dots to connect."
To the universe for all the repeated, obvious, urgent messages of "don't give up" on the freeways, the streets, and the clocks.
To the old friends and strangers I should have spent more time with, thanks for the advice, the chats, the tears, the laughs, and the insight.
To J for being understanding when I had to cancel our plans. Here's hoping (and promising) for next time.
To my sister and brother for helping me out with "Mr. Scruff."
To my gracious hosts for letting me stay in your guest suite and giving me a place that truly felt like "home away from home." I appreciate all the extras you thought of and for inviting me to spend time with your family and friends this evening.
To the city for being beautiful at night from "above." Beauty and light exist in all different shapes and forms when we stop to breathe.
To the other half of who I truly am-thanks for guiding me to the right street when the directions couldn't, and for your constant "vibes" of understanding and support. I couldn't ask for a more beautiful reflection of my side of the rainbow.
And finally to that part of myself that knows this point in my journey is happening so that I can get "lost" and "let go" in order to become one with whomever and "whatever" I need to serve.
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