It's Time... Part 2

Oh, the journey of life.

As trite as that begins, lessons of life sometimes are as well.  I left off some months ago at the beginning of a big transformation.  A good start on sobriety, a purge of my life and all belongings, and a readiness to cut my dreads; summarizes, only a tiny fraction of what this journey has offered so far.  

I did cut those dreads, and I did purge a lot of my belongings; both tangible and intangible. My past is visibly in the rear view; emphasis on the rear.  I have remained continuously sober for over 16 months and I have completely redecorated my apartment; and, the top of my head. 

I went from this...

To this....  [note the maniacal stare of pure unadulterated WTF IS HAPPENING]

Not so sure... I was trying to own it... but couldn't wrap my head around it... har.  

Ok ok... we can do this... 

to... PWNing it.  Finally.  

It was all pretty traumatic and stressful at first.  All change is.  In the midst of my transformation, I also discovered I have Fibromyalgia (FM).  

Fibromyalgia Wiki

There's nothing like getting sober so I can still feel like hot garbage.  The crazy thing is, FM has taught me how to take impeccably good care of myself.  Obviously that's a worthy endeavor anyway.  Between a clean diet, acupuncture, meditation, daily prayer, exercise and a new mattress - I feel about 90% great, but 150% spiritually awesome.  For the first time in my life, I am taking great care of myself, I love myself, and I have deep self-respect.  I am useful to other human beings, I am available to my friends and family and I know how to ask for help when I need it.  I have healthy boundaries and I feel confident, content and joyous in my own company. 

As Liz Lemmon would say, "What the what"?!?  Even with chronic fatigue, pain and alcoholism, I'm kind of killing it.  Not to gloat too much, but I do feel grateful for the struggles because they have taught me to thrive.  They have taught me to let go of toxic baggage and resentments that just drag you down.  Through building new friendships, facing the truth and getting honest with myself, I am finally a whole woman in my own right.  I have found a way to face adversity on life's terms.  Through service, prayer, and letting go - I am free to begin the next journey.  

As a way to physically document this journey, I've collected a few of these in the last year as well: 

My woman.  Higher Power.  Goddess of the Earth.  Right hand to Father Universe.  This was a spiritual experience while sitting under the gun for over 11 hours.  I was elevated, mindful, and drawing the energy of the earth up through my artist's hands.  We were symbiotic and connected and the work definitely came out as such. 

 https://www.instagram.com/jessicazedtattoo/

An expansion of a memorial piece for my two lost brothers.  Well, one is a brother in the form of a cousin, but they were brothers to each other and to all of us.  Two families, intertwined by sorrow.  Two apples, fallen from the tree as cited by the filled in circles on the trees.  Each of them, halos within their own right.  

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boys.  

When I was a child, a very young child, I had a scary dream where a large bird was flying over mountains and woke me when it flew in my face and squawked.  It never left me.  I am of Scandinavian descent, and in ancient Viking mythology; the god Oden had two daughters who could morph into ravens; Oden always had two ravens next to him.  In Greek mythology, the raven's "Craw" is spelled "Cras" which means "Future".  Ravens are also able to speak; thus thought to be prophetic future tellers.  *See Game of Thrones.  Last year, I went to Taos, NM.  Around there, Raven symbology is everywhere and so are the birds.  I had a prophetic experience myself with two huge ravens when I was walking my dog along a path on the Mesa.  A few weeks ago, I ventured back to the Southwest, this time to Tucson, AZ and decided it was time to claim my right to this symbol.   Ravens represent wisdom, prophecy and change.  They also eat dead things.  Out of death, rises life, and a new beginning.  *See the common Phoenix rising out of the ashes.  

As a single woman, I feel I cannot ignore the fact that this transformation has been largely about healing the wounds of relationships pasy.  There's a LOT of pain, abuse, and unrequited love back there, but it's ok now.  I love myself now. I'm beautiful, happy, excited for the future and whatever adventures may come.  I might be single, but I'm not alone or lonely.  I am living and loving life, continuing to build enduring life-long friendships with strong and beautiful women, honoring my family and it's many tricky bits with love and grace and last but not least, expecting nothing and yet thankful for everything. 

What the what?!?!

It's Time...

About the time I finished my 4th step, in the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, I started to have neck pain.  The 4th step reads as follows:

"Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves."

The physical process of doing one's own moral inventory involves listing out resentments of people, places or even things, writing out the individual resentments of each person, place or thing, then writing how you were selfish, dishonest, self-seeking and afraid of each of those resentments.

It is not uncommon for this to take a while.  It took me six months; I wanted to be thorough.  Out of investigating and dragging up old feelings of my past, came a deep urge to physically inventory my external self as well; my apartment.  When I discarded all of my shame and bitterness onto paper and recognized my part in things, the shame and filth of my own surroundings became painfully unbearable.

I began a process of purging, planning, organizing, reshaping, and moving furniture.  What was originally planned as a simple spring clean and maybe light dusting and a room change, has become a complete overhaul of my entire apartment.

I have lived in this unicorn of apartments for ten years.  10.  A decade.  A LOT has happened between these walls, and it showed.  Carpets are destroyed, and my couch has been privy to more private parts that I probably even know.  I have been fortunate enough to live alone, in a large apartment at Lake Merritt for all these years, and it has been home base for me and my after parties for just as long.

So, my hallway continues to be lined with Goodwill loads, and my pinterest boards are full of inspiration.  I've read the Magical Art of Tidying Up and it's companion guide Spark Joy.  I have made a lot of progress, but like my 4th step, inventories take time and processing.  There is resistance and a distinct sense of procrastination and a keen death grip on the order in which I do things.  I've even made a legit project plan.  There will be contingencies, and I've definitely met some milestones.

As I am nearing the end of the purge process, I have already begun to repair some of the damage.  Even though I have been sober for over 10 months, started eating healthier, seeing a chiropractor, taking different and more effective supplements, my neck pain continued if not worsened.  I noticed the discomfort mostly when trying to fall asleep.  I have this sense of needing more support under my neck, as if there is this slight pull happening from the top of my head.

I bought a new pillow.  That didn't work, in fact it made it worse as it was too fluffy and my head was cocked too high.  I noticed my mattress was sagging so I bought a pillow topper; memory foam with cool gel.  Not cool.  The sag still existed so I sacrificed an old pillow to fill in the gap.  That seemed to solve my back pain but the neck still aches for support, or just some relief.

It has occurred to me that there is still a very vital part of my past that lingers.  My dreadlocks.  My hair is the product of struggle, of damage, of self inflicted armor that I created as a means to wear my survivorship as a badge of honor.  Death, grief, divorce, breakups, loneliness, shame, pain and heartbreak.  All that weight is bearing down on me and my poor neck.  It's gotten so long that it's brilliant to look at when I artistically shape it into poofy pony bundles, and the odd day I wear it completely down it's below my breasts.  These are the dreads you dream of when you decide to start the journey.  It seems funny that when you arrive at your destination, it's time to turn around.

I've been aware of the "It's Time" moment for a while now.  I've been holding on I guess, procrastinating and hanging onto the old stuff just a little while longer.  Afraid, that cutting them won't actually relieve my neck pain and I'll still battle my bed every night like the insomniac I've always been.  I want to sleep so badly, because now that I am sober, sleep is more sound and rejuvenating.  I'm often tired at a normal bedtime hour and have the will to heed it's call unlike so many nights of dread, avoiding the final task of the day in fear of doing it all again tomorrow.

I want to be free to soar to new heights in this magical life I've been given.  There is so much I want to do, and am planning to do, but something, this aching, is enough to drive me mad.  I am not that old and should not be in this much pain when simply trying to rest.  Sobriety hasn't been that difficult for the most part, but perhaps it's the letting go of the past that ties me up.  This idea that I am not worthy of total freedom, or maybe it's the FEAR of ultimate freedom that I must explore.

Perhaps it's simply the fear of the awkward bald phase.  Will I still be beautiful?  Will I put off men for months until I have hair again?  I probably need a few months to reinvent myself after releasing that garbage anyway.  I guess it's time.

Nov. 2010

It all started here.  I dyed my hair half orange as a means to get wild before I thought dying my hair would be more difficult.  It wasn't.

Jan. 2011

Phase 1.  Distinct lack of combing.  It was big and fluffy and I loved that.

Late Jan. 2011

Phase 1.5.  Tiny dreads! I remember wishing it would stay like that forever.  My hair is normally so thin and flat and fine, and this was full of body and life.  I knew I was onto something.

July 2011

And then I took the plunge.  It was not cute, and it got really short.  Full blown sections and backcombs and palm rolls and the unfortunate mistake of using beeswax.  Oh how much I would learn in the coming years.

Aug. 2011

And then this happened.  The process of making synthetic hair dreads was tedious to say the least, and I overshot the mark a little.  These were totally huge, unsustainable and I was so frightened that they would actually be this unwieldy when my real ones grew out.  I wasn't far off, but these made me feel like a mermaid.  

Jan. 2012

Then I got right sized and made the most majestic synthetic dread extensions ever.  I tried to recreate this color palette later on with hair dye, but nothing really quite did it like these.  

Nov. 2012

Ta-da! First time out in the wild on their own! They were finally long enough to see the light of day.  

Dec. 2013

Mom didn't much care for the dreadlocks, and I still don't think she does.  I remember this early stage taking forever to gain some real length.  They felt this short and awkward for what seemed like forever.  

April 2014

Majestical.  I remember feeling like I was coming into my own at this time.  Dreads, myself, everything.  I was hitting my stride. 

Nov. 2014

This trip changed my life.  I returned to Humboldt and it's beautiful coastline; the place where I had originally done dreads many years ago.  It felt like a homecoming.  

Feb. 2015

Length!  I finally had the dreads I was looking for.  It only took 4 years. 

July 2015

Nov. 2015

This is about the time I started to contemplate the end of the journey.  This photo embodies a lot of that sentiment of changing times.  A friend who was the catalyst for starting my dread journey, and a friend who will see me through the next while she also embarks on her own.  

To be continued...

Practice

It's been a while since I've posted, and like anything you want to be better at, practice is key.  These past few months have been exhilarating, exhausting, purposeful, trying and satisfying.  I've worked very hard on my 12 Step program and am deeply embedded in the new community I am privileged to be on this journey with.  At 8 months of sobriety, I've learned that patience is a game and not a thing I can control.  In fact, pretty much nothing is under my control.  I used to be a control freak (still am sometimes - working on it); thinking that I was being so helpful and organizing everyone's life all the time.  Turns out, spinning my wheels pushing people around caused my own life to be left in a pile of wreckage.  I probably (no, totally) was a pain in the ass to deal with.  Part of my 4th step is doing a personal inventory of resentments and learning what my part in them might be.  This particular step has taken me over 6 months... and counting.  It's a long list... what can I say?  35 years of pain takes a while to inventory.  

Resentments aside, I'm learning boundaries and self-care.  Many of my closest relationships were operating in a way that caused me continual stress and you guessed it, resentments.  I never really learned how to say no, or draw a line where something didn't suit my comfortability so I manifested coping mechanisms via other avenues - namely, alcohol and drugs.  Without these numbing agents, all the feels are hard to digest at once, so I've been kind of isolating while I attend a few meetings a week and diligently reorganize my entire apartment.  

This year has also afforded me some amazing travel excursions in the name of saving money on booze and cigarettes and parties.  (I also switched to vaping). This summer I attended my second TAPS Siblings Retreat with other sibling survivors of lost soldiers.  These trips are usually intense, exhausting and chaotic at best.  This was no exception, but I got to see some amazing SoCal beaches and riding bikes through Newport was a distinct highlight.  After that I went to Taos, NM; the highlight of my summer for sure.  My long time friend and I went to explore Earthships as a means to inform my journey to build off-grid.  The Earthship, Taos, the people in Taos, the crazy desert rave dance party at the local brewery at the end of the week was all just crazy amazing.  After that I went to visit my grandparents in Madison, WI.  They're originally from there but moved to Fort Myers many years ago and I've only ever visited them in FL.  They are getting on and bought a summer home in McFarland just outside of Madison.  It was a weird experience, but they managed to gather all the extended relatives I'd never met and that was super cool.  To see your roots, the people you come from on the extensions of the family tree and to hear stories about great, great, great relatives is an experience most folks don't get.  I'm super grateful for those wonderful people.  

Next up: Nashville!  I decided that I need some space from the family obligations for the holidays this year and decided to leave town on Christmas Day.  I'm worried I will feel sad and lonely and nostalgic to be on a plane and in another city that day, but I'm meeting a good friend who I haven't seen in a long time so, there's that.  I'm also a new person, and the old habits and ways and distinct family stresses of Christmas are not a welcome time anymore.  At least not until I have practiced more boundary protection in a more loving way.  

So there it is, I'm knee deep in practice: Prayer, Meditation, Inventory, Gratefulness, Service and Self-Love.  It's all a practice and I'm just doing it one day at a time.  

The Last Glimmer

For the last few months, and particularly this week, I have poured a lot of energy into a creative endeavor driven by my cousin; a short film project.   This sleepless adventure has deeply inspired me to refocus my heart on my own creative ambitions.  Late last year I decided to set out and write a book about the process of becoming a sibling survivor of death in war.  Though my brother was killed 6 1/2 years ago, I thought maybe it would be a good idea to reopen that wound; for deeper healing I suppose.  As the years go on, resentments and unresolved anger have morphed into a new and tangible albatross that I either choose to ignore, or process somehow.  Writing a book seemed like a logical solution.  

Ben's life was littered with a cast of characters beloved and charming.  In his death, everyone muddled together in grief, painting a distinct story of his wild and varied life.  I decided to approach my story using the memories of those who knew him best.   One such person has been on the film set this week working on unrelated projects.  He reminded me of my most pressing and important memory of my brother.   Years ago, there was a gathering at my old apartment and Ben asked about my bookshelf full of journals.  I told him it was all the poetry I'd written since the beginning of middle school.  He was astounded at the body of work I'd created thus far, and asked me to read something.   I chose to read a piece written several years prior.   To say that Ben was supportive of my work is a slight understatement.  When I told him I hadn't written in as long, he made me promise him, that I would never, ever stop writing.  That promise has weighed heavily on my heart and soul since, and more so in his passing.  

The days I spend at the old 9 to 5 are riddled with guilt, longing and regret.  Without proper training as a journalist, creative writer or even published work, I lack the confidence required to have the balls to quit my full time job and launch off on my typewriter like some sort of Bukowski.  Of course, here is where the discipline of an artist should enter stage right where I would be spending my evenings off toiling for the promise I so want to keep.  The truth is, the book project is a major ordeal that I've never even approached before and a little (a lot) daunting.  After hearing the reminder of the promise yesterday by Ben's best friend, I decided that the best approach at keeping it is to accomplish my original dream.  I have enough poetry to publish eight volumes and there have been countless manuscripts assembled already.  Perhaps going through the process of attempting to publish work I've already created would be a nice gate opener for the larger goal.  Less daunting.  

As I also embark on a new sober  journey (65 days!!), I find that old lurking feelings encroach the surface more everyday.  As I am getting more honest with myself, it's harder to ignore the truths about my life's wishes.  When hungover all the time, it was enough effort to roll outta bed and show up for my paycheck, let alone write a book in the evening.  After 10 years at the helm of the same job at the same company, I'm beginning to have a crisis of spirit.  The weight of the promise I must keep grows heavier each passing year, and heavier still as the fog of alcoholism slowly begins to unveil a deeper desire to follow my heart instead of my wallet.  

My cousin has taken many risks in life to seek that which is greater than the stability of cubicle life and actually, live.  I have a great many voices in my head discouraging me from even attempting a project that will surely lay stagnant on a long list of unrecognized authors.  Fear of completing a project for a ho-hum response has me paralyzed most of the time.  The reality is, most of our lives are probably like that.  Many of us have worked tirelessly on projects near and dear to our hearts simply for the satisfaction.  I think I am finally fed up enough of only having that glorious self gratification just out of reach.  I am fed up of talking about my dreams and wants, instead of showing the proof.  Life is so fucking short, and I am crumbling in this stale old stability box of work day in and day out for no one important to me.  However, finding the confidence and motivation to keep a promise born as an attempt to give me those very boosts without him here to fuel the fire, is the ultimate irony.  I am so grateful for those that remind me of him and his wishes for me.  I truly hope I can carry it with me on days I need it most.  Here's to growing a pair, and to healing through chasing dreams.  

The Change

This is one of those moments in life, where everything changes.  Things have felt painful and stagnant for the last few years and I think we were all suffering from that mercury retrograde thing together.  Sometimes life changes because you make it, and sometimes I think forces at large are in play.  

All at the same time, the following has occurred: 
- I turned 35 (yay hormones)
- I decided to get sober (30 days!)
- I am up for a promotion at work ($$$)
- I'm helping my cousin launch an awesome short film project 

Suffice it to say, I am busy.  All the while, I am trying to keep my mind on writing a book about my experiences of losing my brother in Iraq 6 years ago.  I occasionally schedule interviews with members of my family, record them and then put it in a file for a while.  There hasn't been that much actual writing.  I keep saying I'll do it when I'm less busy, but we all know that's probably just an excuse.  This is a great example of the artist's dilemma.  

As of today, I have 30 days of sobriety, the film project has barely met 40% of it's funding needs, and I'm leaning into the daily grind of my ever increasing job stress.  Everything is new, challenging; and I'm facing it all whilst finding new ways to cope with daily life.  The emotional roller coaster that is early sobriety is hard to explain.  The first few weeks were easy enough, as the horrors of my recent escapades were still fresh and haunting.  Now that I have rested, exercised, and worked hard for a month straight; I'm ready to have some fun and blow off steam.  My alcoholic diseased brain tells me I can have a drink now, but I know it's just a pinhole view that will open to wider consequences.  

There are many reasons, other than the consequences, to get sober.  As I near middle-age, I realize that I've wasted a lot of precious years partying and ducking away from potentially great suitors because I was too embarrassed to date anyone successful.  For shame! My empty bank account! Dirty apartment! Skeletons in the closet!  I didn't feel good enough to date anyone worthy of my love, because I was too scared to be found out.  As my body clock ticks away I realize if I want those things; family, a loving husband; I'd probably do best to take a good hard look at myself.  

And so I am here.  I find sobriety difficult and a relief all at once.  I don't have to worry about driving, or paying bills, or saving up for that piece of land somewhere.  Opportunities seem to abound and if I make good, conscious and sober decisions, I can potentially achieve all my wildest dreams.  Risk vs. Reward is a philosophical concept I was never good at.  Ironically, I like things stable, predictable and planned. Now that I am older, wiser and sober,  I feel I can face these life changing decisions with a cool head, and forge a solid destiny.  Whereas in the past, I have always played catch up and "fix the crises" over and over.  I don't know why I never saw the difference before. Predictably, life will always bring instability, and now I can plan for it.  

I guess this is adulthood.  Finally.  

***Please check out our film project and support if you can here!***

Milestones of an Ever-Changing Onion

The beauty about going through difficult times, skidding across the gravel and hitting those brick walls is that you peel back the layers of protective skin, and get down to brass tacks with yourself.  When you're all roughed up, scabby and bleeding, you find out what you're really made of.  I guess this is what they call "life" and frankly, I'm grateful.  Without the hard hitting times, I never would have emerged the strong, beautiful butterfly I am today. 

This past winter I had my heart broken so viciously I thought at almost 35 I had already been through enough relationship pain that it wouldn't really ever happen again.  I don't think someone has hurt me that deeply since my first love blindsided me with another girl back when I was 17.  Fortunately, it's the best thing that could have ever happened to me.  In such anguish, one finds a way to build strength to hopefully never go through that again.  Allowing someone in my heart to have it handed back in shambles drove me to really find out why.  Why would I not protect myself better?  Why didn't I see this coming?  I'm not saying one should go through life hiding behind walls or a consistently guarded heart, because there is so much beauty and strength in allowing yourself to be vulnerable, but it did make me do a personal inventory of boundaries, and lack thereof.   

As I broach 35, I realize the real beauty in truth, and that is the honesty I have faced with myself.  I have finally learned what I am worth, what I deserve, what makes me truly happy and I finally really, truly, deeply love myself.  I have seen that to be human is to err, and boy do we all.  The beauty in human nature is that we are all different, but we all struggle to feel confident and ok sometimes.  No one is better than I am, no one is prettier or more beautiful than the beauty I see and believe in my own heart.  I am finally in a place to celebrate the beauty of humanity because I finally celebrate my own.  It's really hard to appreciate beauty and strength in others when you're unsure or insecure about your own.  You are shifty, uncomfortable and tend to overcomepensate for your own shortcomings in often an unnatural and glaring obvious fashion.  No one buys it.  I certainly didn't. 

So, I embrace this milestone birthday, even though I may not be where I thought I would be (still single, no children...sigh) because I am good enough, right where I'm at, today, this moment.  I love who I am as a woman, for all my faults and my shortcomings, but also for all my strengths and power too.  Once I cleaned out the yucky self-hate tapes, I looked at who I am fundamentally and I like me, gosh darnit, I really like me. 

I hope this helps you to like yourself more too; because we are all beautiful in our own ways .  I hope this encourages some of you to allow yourself to be just a little bit more vulnerable out there.  Without risk there is no reward, and just imagine, how much more connected we can be if we allowed our own self love and strength to carry the risk of opening up to others. 

Thanks to everyone in my life who has always loved me for who I truly am all those years I didn't for myself.  Because of your love, I found hope and now believe it for myself too.  

Happy Birthday to me. I'm grateful to be alive. 

Onion Layers

Sometimes, when we are reeling from chaos back there, setting a bunch of new goals and disciplines are a completely scoffable idea.  2014 basically ripped me a new asshole, and I'm willing to bet I am not the only one.  I sense better times are ahead, but not without really absorbing whatever we were meant to learn in the last 12 months.  If you didn't learn something from those trials, then I think the next few months may not seem that much better.  I for one, am determined to really embrace the skin flaying pain I've endured as a definite mental notice to take heed; repeats will occur if you don't.

As I broach 35, it's sobering to realize you're no longer finding yourself,  you're defining yourself.  Keep It Moving is generally my motto when I feel stuck in an emotional circle I can't seem to shake.  The tough keep moving.  It certainly seemed to work for FDR.  I've had ample time to feel the feels and now I need to pick up some gas. Pushing through an emotional balloon that seems to have sucked you into it's distorted view, is just as pleasant as sticking yourself with a needle.  Yet it must be done.  Adapt or die.  Kiss whatever good thing you thought you had back there with sweet sorrow and keep it the fuck moving.  I realized the other day, I started 2014 with the song "Break My Stride"; and quite fitting, I embrace that mantra more than ever.  Only this year, it's less about not letting anyone break my stride, and instead, not letting anyone hold me down...again.

I will press on, continue to shed my deep onion layers, rustle those dust bunnies in the corners of my soul and shine that mirror further in.  For we are but vessels - open caverns to expel the gifts we are given.

Le Chiem.  To life.  Cheers, and Happy New Year.