sometimes good-bye’s the only way

Raise the arms high, hold the head to kiss the sky, let it come down and embrace you, wash you clean; goddamn, I need some forgiveness right now.

I’m not going to explain the details, it’s enough that I’m angry and I’m letting it go.

(props to artist)

call to action – redefined

Change is such a loaded word.  It is our anthem when we find ourselves dissatisfied with the world at large (or even a piece of it) and yet equally so, we repel and sniff with disdain whenever the word is turned back on us.  When we stand together and cry out for it, we’re envisioning a shift in the environment that aligns itself more with our particular perspective on “how things ought to be”.  It is almost entirely self serving.  And yet a powerful concept.  Want to sway people to your cause – tell them you will change things and you’ll see the spark of hope spring forth in their eyes (while the cynics’ eyes will only narrow in doubt, but only because they themselves have believed in it before).  We long for difference, never content with the status quo and yet equally fearful of it.  Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.

Why?   Because intuititively we feel helpless….  unable to enact any measurable change as individuals and powerless to create an impact on our environment.  As a group, however, there’s a chance.  The number of people in agreement is directly proportional to the potential for success – or so we believe.  Our various systems would have us think so – from the popularity contests on social media platforms (how many followers/fans) to the United States democratic voting system, even down to the number of members a church has – one billion people can’t be wrong, can they?  How difficult it is to stand in the face of such numbers and think an individual could sway the masses.   No, only the masses must make any kind of “real” change.  So quick, find yourself a group you can agree with!    Or…

Think for a moment how great it feels when you want something and the world gives it to you.  Makes you feel lucky, doesn’t it?  Now hold that thought.

When we invoke change on a personal level, we often think about it in terms of environmental or physical change.  Switch jobs, cut my hair, move to a different city.  Things that are distinct, noticeable or create a ripple in how we move throughout our lives, things easily recognized by others to be a shift.  Whether by choice or necessity, we seek the silver lining of change – it will all work out for the best in the end. But even if change is driven by a sense of vision or purpose, there is still a sense of disruption, a resultant period of readjustment within that individual’s sphere of influence.  When will you come visit, I liked your longer hair better, etc, etc.  Questioning, reassessing, was this good or bad, what does it all mean, nothing more than attempting to establish the significance of it – essentially “what does this (blank) mean to me“.

What about a different kind of change?..  You know, the really hard one.  The one that isn’t always visible, is not founded on the safety net of a group agreement, and rarely ever gets discussed in the daylight.  It’s called “Change of Perspective”.  It could be a simple act of acquiring new information and redetermining one’s position, or it could be a life changing event that draws a line in the sand and evokes a permanent inability to cross it.   These moments are rarely based on self determination, more the unanticipated consequence of a previous action.  Reading a book, having a conversation, making a choice. Boom.  It hits you.  And suddenly you have changed.  Without announcement, proclamation, or aplomb.

I’ve always been a proponent for conscious evolution, but other than sounding niffy, how does one go about it?  How about being willing to unlearn what you’ve always thought to be true?  Perhaps, seeking out a change of perspective…  a step away from what “they say”.  Yes, please.

(props to artist)

it’s a process, not a decision

Disentangling one’s self from the various threads that create the tapestry of life is not an easy thing.  Go too quickly and severe one you’ll miss.  Go too slowly, and never get a shot at finding a new pattern or new array of colors.  It is equally as important to bind and weave in a new direction as it is to cut and burn off unwanted weight.  It is the start of the shift that can be difficult – time consuming, progresses feels slow and it seems that any consideration of change is still days or weeks or months away.

Patience has never been my strongest personality trait.

I am much more likely to tear away before it is really wise, leaving gapes and barren holes, while I forge ahead down a new path.  My past is riddled with stories of me uprooting, changing jobs, schools, locations, friendships, you name it, I’ve left it.  However, recognizing this about myself, I am causatively pausing – rethinking the process of enacting change.  Focusing on small moves, while attempting to review and consider the lessons and value the memories.  Making very certain exactly what it is I am releasing to the ether.

I certainly don’t attribute my new found methodology to being thirty – though I say that with some great amusement.  Rather that there is often a difference between the reality one wants and what one deals with.  Marriage, mortgages, jobs, relationships, hobbies – all the things that make life worth living, are also the things that make change (any real serious chaotic change) difficult to do well or easily.  We live for the entangements – for getting wrapped up in each other and influenced by other decisions and intentions.  It is how we help define ourselves and our place in the world.  Those points of connection are at once what support us and tie us down.

Sometimes I think change isn’t exactly encouraged by this system; self growth perhaps, and anything that doesn’t disrupt the lines of communication or activity – it also helps me understand why movement in groups is often so powerful and more respected than that of a single individual speaking their mind.  It must be done slowly to make any real difference…. one small move at a time.

(props to artist)

and it isn’t pretty

Shush now.  It’s not supposed to make sense.  If you’re baffled by the leadership you’re presented with, that’s normal.  They know what you don’t, they see what you can’t, you just have to trust they know what’s best.  It is you who are blinded…  who cannot adjust, or think outside the parameters of your reality.  When what you see would drive you to despair, remember – you cannot see it all.  And if your instincts are screaming and you raise your voice to rail at the sheer stupidity, remember – you do not have to be there.

In fact… if you disagree at all – please leave.  So sorry it’s not working out.  Clearly, this wasn’t a good fit.

I’m taking my own advice.

(props to artist)

or so they say

Tumultuous times of late.  I am pensive and anxiety rides my shoulders, it is a blessing when my instructor tells me to relax them; at her command I find myself able to, deep breath and let it go.  It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t directing her comment at me, or that I take it personally, only that I follow the sound of her voice.  The way my heart quickens at the beat of music, my breathing ragged with strain, and my fists clench in concentration, all minute actions guided and driven forward into the next second by her demands.  The hour is mine and mine alone.  I leave the rest at the door  and give myself over to another, to someone who only tells me what to do and doesn’t listen to excuses.  It’s a relief to not think, to forget what waits on the other side.

Class over.  I’m reminded of Eat Pray Love and wonder what it would be like to disappear for a year.

Hard decisions float above the ether, taunting, while I perch beneath in a state of zen-like awareness.  She’s trying.  He’s trying.  The stranger in the corner, the friend I’ve known forever.  All the movement within each intention, sorting through past memories and old hurts, as if by examining each will return what was lost.  It’s not your problem, I tell her.  Neither is that.  THAT however, yes, touch it, that one is yours.  That veil hanging low before your vision is not of your making.  It’s hard to tell the difference, she tells me.  To separate out what is real, what is true.

Truth is like a tone in music.  It hums with a specific vibration.  You know it when you hear it.  The rest is a discordant ringing.  A lie is easily recognized cacophony, easy to turn away from; the subtle nuances of shaded off-beat clapping, slightly out of place, those are the ones that hurt…

It’s not difficult to say I have trust issues.  That I don’t often believe what others say.  There is forever a part of my inner dialog that evaluates the vocal tones against my finely tuned vibration of truth.  It wasn’t always that way – I believed a liar for a long time – but the practice is automatic now.  Too often the harmonic sounds are colored with perception, intentional sincerity, flavored with desire and hidden demands, I’ve come to expect it.  The various nuances are pleasing and disturbing, an incautious dance of communication.

Today when asked, I told the truth.  It was tapered with other nicer statements, placed carefully around the salted uncomfortableness, to help paint a picture of unmovable clarity.  I even laughed between moments of seriousness and halting vulnerability.  Any potential consequence for failure to conceal past frustrations and anger were my own; bypassing the politics might prove dangerous, but tonight I will sleep well.

(props to artist)

guess what I want for my birthday? hehe

Yes!  An iPad, I am silly crazy obsessed with it.  But I do want to wait for the 3G to come out – whether I’ll need the option for access (sans wireless) is still being considered, but having the option is important.  And yes, I’ll freely admit that as much as the “oooh, new gadget must own” impulse was riding high, the big push to actually give in came when I start considering how I could have my entire book collection digitally accessible.  (pant pant)  Even my mom is on board.  While it certainly won’t replace the feel of a paperback book, the sheer accessibility and minimal storage requirements is a large allure.

So it’s the big 3-0…  whew, been a long road getting here, and most of it rocky as hell.  I’m definitely not cringing away from the concept of getting older, being a third through my life, blah death-fearing-rubbish bleah – it’s a good thing, a welcoming change and paradigm shift I’m happy to embrace.  Aside from the minor nagging thoughts that there are clothes I’ll never get to wear again (because only women in their twenties keep mini-skirts in their closet) or that all night partying becomes “occasional” rather than “frequent”, and that eating right and exercising are no longer “optional”, I’m feelin’ deliciously amused.  Helloooo new adventure!

it wasn’t that bad

Let me paint a picture…  It’s Easter Sunday, I’m relaxing with friends and their family, drinking my third glass of wine while wearing none too short heels; as I’m walking to set my glass down at the table, suddenly I feel very drunk.  I glance at the other guests and see the same confusion mirrored in their eyes…  we couldn’t have all suddenly gotten drunk at the same time. Helloooooo earthquake.  It lasted for over a minute and I haven’t felt the ground sway beneath my feet so strongly, for all the years I’ve lived in California.

I stood there in shock, caught up in identifying the sensations and gauging the motions, it didn’t even occur to me to try and find cover/protection/[insert some other self preserving instinctual act here].   Afterwards, I realized how uncomfortable I was (the desire to become drunk was almost overpowering) – no, apparently I am not a California native.

And to think, I just moved, signed another lease, readjusted my cat to new living quarters; yeah, I’m not going anywhere fast.

In other heart warming news, life is good.  I’ve done a fair bit of traveling, went to Guam to visit my brother, wine-tasting up north, about to turn 30 (gasp).  Life is moving, we’re well on our way into 2010….  oh and everything blends!

(props to artist)

breaking down, rebuilding up

I’m feeling the stress of the day, it’s almost like a Monday.  I have a call tomorrow with a client, bright and early, another full day of meetings, going back and forth on various deliverables, staying on task requires an enormous effort – it makes me proud of the team I work with, though tonight I’m feeling peevish and unworthy.  I’d like to think I have a pretty thick skin, but the events of late are proving me otherwise.  My boss mentioned he has concerns about my ability to maintain the quality in my work; it’s fair to say, I let something slip recently.  It’s funny sometimes, how the little details can snag you – not so much the details you miss or put down, but the ones you trust, the ones you know.

The new year is here, hello January.  It started off so beautifully, calm and collected, a fluid dynamic forward motion; a change of scenery, a growth in perspective, a new hope, all signs acknowledging that I intend it to be a very great year.  This is the year I turn 30, a fact that makes me sit a little straighter, and think a little longer.  But…  my shields are up these days, I can feel it, a guarded edge to every look, every sentence; I wonder if I’ll ever really learn to trust again.  Still, secretly…  I’m hopeful and vulnerable to that slim chance of …..  well, that indescribable something.

This weekend, I head home to visit my parents, chill with old friends, and try to shake it off.

back home at last

Well well well….  I am finally home after three weeks of traveling.  If you were wondering where November went, well, so was I.  The days themselves disappeared into hours spent without remembering the date or time; I have the memories and some photos to prove I was in fact there.  So yes, Spain was amazing.  We traveled to 8 cities in 16 days.   If that sounds crazy, it was.   Props to Summer Rose and Lady Claudia for all their preparation and planning; they put in a lot of effort in the 8 months prior.  The experience was incredible – I can say with all honesty that despite the many hiccups and surprises that naturally come with traveling, it was a blast and I’ll never forget it.  It made me want to speak spanish fluently, remember that life is more than just work, and at the end, I have two wonderful women I now call close friends.

This past week, however, haha, was in much colder lands and was definitely not for pleasure.  While I made my co-workers laugh while I frolicked in the snow and generally expressed awe and enjoyment at the new landscapes and scenery, the purpose of the trip was work.   After days of meetings and three flights, I am back in the comforting temperatures of California weather and paying affection to my much beloved and neglected cat.

Of course, that was an hour ago.  Now I’m at the bar working, glad for free wi-fi.  Did I mention I got sick this past week?  Time to go back to yoga.

(photo taken in Bilbao, Spain)

a lifelong study and reflection

It’s just after dawn.  I haven’t been sleeping well and my house is ripe with the chaotic remnants that plague my working days, a reminder of restlessness I’d rather ignore.  These last few weeks have been draining, with political maneuvering becoming a requirement and an attempt to maintain a sense of self outside the office to counteract the vampyric essence of my day to day.  The distractions of parties and events are simply that.  The time change has really thrown me, the darkness intruding early on my day, a subtle nudge on the realization that my evening hours are more often hollow than not.  Still, the winds have been shifting and while the entrapments with which I find myself entangled have grown, there is hope on the horizon.

As well as a trip to Spain. I am counting down the days and finding myself longing for the scent of a morning spent in unfamiliar territory.  The whimsical nature of traveling to foreign lands brings out a side of myself I wish I could share more often.  There is a sense of peace in knowing comfort is carried on your person, rather than tied to a place or a individual, a gift that comes with a release of the daily expectations of duty.  What are you when there’s no title to describe you?  Work is too often the thing that defines us, our professional identity that weighs equally alongside relationships.  Am I a programmer more than I’m a friend?  A leader more than a daughter?  If you count the hours spent in each role, the answer would be yes.  I hunger for the chance to regress beyond form and definition, to recoil back into that singular stance noted as only I or me ; it is that last inch, that piece we cradle to ourselves and bare only to a few in our entire lifetime.  This trip will be good for me and comes at a time when I need that solace of self.

There is much I wish to get outside my head; a crossroads of the future that will determine my next steps.  I am not sure what I want right now, it is an odd feeling.  For the past year, I have no questions, no drive to seek answers, only a calmness I’d never felt but appreciated.    Lately, I feel a sense of worry, deep and unbidden; I don’t like it.  I would rather the day come as it may, and alter my steps within the moment.  Knowing the future is less about prescience, but a causative creation, fueled by our desires and intentions.  My intentions are unclear, and in the face of their mystery (and my inability to decipher), I return to a different balm.

(props to artist)