Today’s gender is: Grief. 

Scorpio season feels like the natural season for grief. Halloween/Samhain, when the veil is thin and our beloved dead come back to say hello, can be spooky, but what’s even spookier is when we deny our own shadow or even our past selves that are no longer. Denying their existence only makes them stronger. I like to think that ghosts work in the same way. 

There is so much to grieve this year. Heading into the Fall, watching the trees in the northern hemisphere shake free their verdant vibrancy and come back to their bare bones, just branches, signals to our bodies that we must do the same. Remember what’s underneath all that life— death is coming for us all. Every day we get closer to our last breath. 

Each year I find a new level of serenity and peace in that statement. One day closer. I am reminded of my humanity, and of the circular nature of grief. Yes, it is wise to grieve while you’re here. Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin according to Buddhist tradition. When we honor one, we honor the other. But, this year specifically, as I grieve the loss of my marriage and my home and a whole future I had planned, I’m reminded of how when we are grieving, a portal opens to grief of the past. It’s never just about any one thing, is it? 

A dear friend called me out of the blue last night and we talked for an hour. This is a rare occasion for me to actually answer, being the introvert I am. But I was just doom-scrolling and shaming myself for staying inside on a Saturday night in Mexico City, so I picked up. This friend and I have so much in common- from neurodivergence to our family structure, to gender identity. And as I told her about the grief I’m feeling on every level, the grief that is penetrating my mind, body and soul, I was reminded that I’m not just grieving everything that has happened in this past year. And I noticed something- a different kind of healing that is unveiling itself, because I am grieving differently, more openly, than ever before. 

When I was two my parents divorced. I was four when my mom remarried. The day I met him, I slammed the door in his face— he terrified me immediately and would continue to do so for the next twenty years. When I was 13, my grandfather killed himself. We were close. All of this abandonment and mistreatment left me deeply grieving by the time puberty hit, not to mention the fact that I’d been transferred to a new school district in the middle of 7th grade, two months before Poppy took his life. I fell into a depression, deeply grieving not just Poppy, but the world view I’d had that if I was good enough, if I tried hard enough, bad things would not happen to me.

With that belief shattered, I didn’t know where to turn for comfort. My mom and stepdad chastised me for my grief, couldn’t understand why I was moping all the time. They mocked me repeatedly by faux-threatening to call the “crisis team”. I had no idea what that meant then. In retrospect, I wish they would have called for help. I wish they would have sought out a therapist for me. But we were working class Christians who didn’t believe in paying someone to tell us what was wrong with us. So was Poppy, as it happens. Didn’t work out so well for him, but I digress. 

That summer they put me in volleyball camp. I did everything I could to prove to them I wanted to be better. I wanted to be healthy, happy, smiling, caring for my siblings. I turned to my bible every morning. I prayed every morning and night. I threw myself into bible studies and youth group, searching for a place to put this overwhelming grief. It only grew, but now it was growing in a dark, damp closet somewhere deep within me, like black mold of the soul. I did my best to tend to it on my own, locked away in my room, occasionally with my youth group leaders or close friends who tried to understand. I felt deeply alone. 

This is how I learned to grieve. This is how I learned to push people away and deal with it on my own. That imprint doesn’t really go away. That grief I was carrying, still lives within me. The black mold comes back from time to time and I have to fight it off with bleach and sunlight. Luckily, I know now to ask for help. I sought a therapist when I was 18, away at school, distancing myself from a toxic family. That helped. I started talking to my trusted extended family about the secrets I kept for my parents- the abuse, the neglect, the forced childcare, the physical harm, the lies I’d been asked to hold. I opened up the dark closet where the mold was multiplying and suddenly it started to die down.

When grief gets triggered in me, the trauma response to close up the closet comes back with full force. The fear is that the people around me will tell me to close that closet, and get back to work. The entire world we live in supports that model (ahem, capitalism! There’s no time to lie in bed and be sad! Get. Back. To. Work!!!!) But years of evidence that the open-closet, sunlight and bleach method works, compels me to lean into the sunshine, to sit on the park bench in the light of day, with tears streaming down my face. And a smile cracks open my mouth. Because this is honoring the grief, honoring the destruction and the creation that come from grief. And by honoring the dark, you can appreciate the light. By allowing myself to move through this darkness completely, holding the hands of my dear friends and chosen family, allows me to relax into the knowing that this is all part of the human experience. Their witnessing, your witnessing in reading these very words, reminds me that these experiences are not any less valuable than Joy or Happiness or Contentedness. This is the bitter leaf of Life, and bitter is a taste we can experience, is it not? 

Like black coffee and burnt toast. Like raw collard greens straight from the farmer’s market into my mouth. Like oil stains on my grandfather’s hands after a long day at work. Like the smell of diesel and the thrum of a five cylinder engine running on four cylinders and doing a fine job for a forty year old car. This is the stuff of life. This is the refining fire I choose to walk through because I know there is value at the bottom of the barrel. 

I will not look away. I will not flinch when I am asked to continue on. And I will not bury the grief nor let it fester in the back closet. The call of the artist is to reflect the human experience, is it not? Is not grief an integral part of the human experience?

Mary Welch reminds me that the difference between grief and depression is movement. I am moving through it. I am writing about it. Chani Nicholas reminds me that grief is not linear, and when I am going through it, it doesn’t mean I am backsliding in my progress toward healing. It means I’m at a growth edge, that I am discovering something new about the tragedy of life, which means there is more to discover about the joys of life, as well. This life is the art project. This life, this moment, is the very thing that I’ve been waiting for. And while only I can save me, the journey toward salvation/redemption/healing can be less lonely by holding a friend’s hand or describing the texture and taste of that first flood of grief. 

Thanks for holding my hand while you read this. I feel you. I appreciate you. 

ok, let's talk, for real. yeah, about death and joy again, ok?

i feel the spring relinquishing its water.

the thawing of winter

from my dead bones,

into vibrant moss.

listen, i can’t even get poetic about this shit right now because the way it’s all playing out is too dramatic, too written for television (really good television, if i’m being honest). there’s betrayal of the spiritual sort, of self and of other. there is inner conflict, outer conflict, ties have been broken, and ties still linger! and we’re in this really climactic moment of the story where there is a huge swell of joy and elation as our main character bounces off of rock bottom and starts taking steps toward realizing their fullest self! we’re at the end of this story, and we know it because we’re seeing the characters we forgot about from act one and they’re coming back in to resolve the storyline. but it’s smart, it’s witty, because as some storylines resolve and come to a beautiful reunion in a childhood swimming pool 20 years later, others don’t.

other storylines don’t have anywhere to go. because one party has died. or pulled away. or chose to live a highly unconscious life, or— well, god, there are a hundred ways and reasons why people exit our lives. it all feels trite. like i’m directing it. like i’m playing a new part, one that i’m better casted for than the one i was playing before, but it’s all happening to someone else.

i’m removed from it. it’s too hot to get too near.

so i focus on the things that are going well. the projects that are sprouting, the ways i’m getting a handle on my new life, my new life standing on my own two feet in every single way. feels like paddle boarding. balance. you’re definitely going to fall in, and you definitely don’t think you will, but you will. just prepare for it.

they could smell death on me for years prior. people started feeling weird with their babies around me, stopped making plans with us altogether. they felt guilty that they had it so easy, straight couples, that they got pregnant quickly, right after they said they intended to. and for us, it was years of talking about it. when it’s so intentional, you can really easily talk yourself out of it. ask for another 6 months. maybe a year. and then again at the next promotion or career idea. it’s easy to put off.

the truth is, i had fallen into a death cycle. some combination of living in nyc, trump becoming president, getting married, lauren’s grandmother dying, my cousin dying, lauren’s step-mom dying… sometimes i think about becoming a death doula but right now i’m seeing the ways that i have already been holding that work.

maybe this is the rebirth. maybe it’s through these final fires that i can finally have a fucking break. please, universe. fucking please. i’m exhausted.

i’ve been incubating on writing. words haven’t been coming fast enough or clear enough to be worth trying to hammer together anything respectable or responsible. i’ve saved it for the journals. the book is on pause as i figure out a way to be financially on my own. hard to remember that it’s not the same survival mode i was in 8 years ago. i am not hungry. i am not cold and wet in seattle, unable to buy new shoes. i have skills. and yes, i still have too many jobs.

i have dreams of where i’m heading. but i’m fine taking my time. i’m loving what i’m doing right now. i write a corporate blog, that i really actually love. after a traumatic year and a half in the corporate world, i have some fucking opinions, and this company allows me to express those opinions in corporate-speak which also requires me to back my opinions up with data and research and critical thought, so like, that’s probably a good muscle to flex for this double-pisces feeler.

anyway. joy is flooding into my life hot and fast like a pot of water boiling over. it’s a lot. it’s intense. i’m still grieving. and shedding old layers and tending to this very tender, very fresh new skin. i’m surrounded by people who are loving me and making space for me and are giving me space and allowing me to be a little messy.

geographically speaking, i’ll be a bit all over the place between september 1 - december 1. i didn’t get the gig in austin- cookbook photography gig- but i did book 2 other freelance gigs! so hey. things are panning out. i trust in the divine movement of the universe. i trust in myself. going through hard things is easier with age because we have the tools to reach for. i’m grounding myself in deep gratitude for taking the time to know myself, for advocating for myself, for making space for my deepest desires. what else can we do? relinquish control. surrender to the movement. be smart. use your tools.

know that it will pass in the very moment you think it won’t.

the erotic & its place in my work. in some roundabout way.

i’m integrating my body as a tool in my practice of living Life. let me explain.

i was not taught that my body was my own. i was taught, like many good little christian kids, that my body was a temple that belonged to god. god knew everything i did with my body and i should treat my body with respect and reverence as a holy temple. great, love that idea! but that sentiment, in the context of the evangelical church, means abstinance. abstinence. wow- i don’t even know how to spell that word. lol.

absitinence didn’t just mean abstaining from sex, but also from masturbation. i remember a pastor once saying, to the boys in our youth group (clearly the only ones who masturbate, or so i thought until i was waaaaaay too old)- that if they masturbated to someone, that was the equivalent of raping them, because they hadn’t received their consent. and jesus looks down on rape. and all sins are equal, so masturbate, rape, either way, you’re a sinner and you shouldn’t be doing either. WHAT.THE.FUCK. often i wonder if these things are exaggerated in my head because i am so different now than i was when i was hearing those ideas, but honestly, i remember this night at youth group like it was yesterday. i was maybe 13.

a sketch of a photo from 2017, the first boudoir shoot i ever did was with myself and lauren. i was testing it out- i came away with this picture and felt so powerful, so seen, so myself- bare and strong.

for my 14th birthday i asked for a purity ring. my parents weren’t that religious. it was me driving this narrative, and the messaging i was receiving at church. my parents were telling me to maybe cool it on the religious ideology, but i was adamant that i was going to save myself for marriage. i wanted to be closer to god. i wanted to be closer to myself. i wanted to fulfill my soul’s purpose, which, at the time, having suffered the loss of my grandfather at his own hands, i felt was to stay as close to god as possible to avoid the same fate. i’d been dealing with depression, anxiety, raising my brother and sister with minimal emotional support from my parents. in fact, when i would cry, which is often, i’m a pisces, after all, i would be mocked. from an early age i remember my parents asking me, “oh here they go- what do you want? you want us to call the emotional crisis team?” yeah. one step up from “oh does the baby need a waaahhhmbulance?”

anyway. my first boyfriend and i were deeply in love. and deeply christian. i was 18. he was 16. i was a late bloomer in this realm- i’d been a bit preoccupied with death and child rearing, i guess. we were committed to keeping our vow of not having sex until marriage. until our car make out sessions started “pushing the limits” and ending in focused calculations of when exactly we could get married. at that point, we got curious about what the bible really said about sex before marriage. spoiler alert: it says nothing. the church has made a meal out of a few breadcrumbs about sodomy and adultery. it’s muddy at best. trust me, we looked INTO IT. what we walked away with was the understanding that, to be safe, we needed to be married in our hearts and in the eyes of god. we made vows to each other. we loved each other in an incredibly fierce, deep way that i will never forget. i feel madly lucky to have had him as my first love. our conclusion: we knew our intentions in our hearts. after a year of dating, my stepdad threatening to kill my boyfriend [and his family] if we had sex [suddenly he cared A WHOLE LOT about my chastity], we finally had sex. and my world was opened. something clicked- some power deep within me that i hadn’t noticed before. my agency, my autonomy was suddenly in my hands. i made a choice, and i stood by it. and i still stand by it. we were never legally married, but i consider him my first marriage, my first love, my first commitment. i feel forever indebted to the powers that be for aligning our paths and allowing us to walk together for some time.

after we broke up, i came out as queer. i met lauren when i was 23. 23!!!! a total baby. we were monogamous (another word i barely know how to spell ha!) for two and a half years. when we got married, we opened up our relationship with some hesitation, as an experiment. and then suddenly we were off to the races, both having separate experiences and experiences together, and we continued our own individual exploration of our sexualities. it’s been expansive and eye-opening and created so much more connection in my life as a human and our life as a couple. i am wildly grateful to my wife and the powers that be that we have also aligned and continue to walk this path together. it’s not always easy, not because of polyamory, but because marriage is fucking hard- but we are both better for it. having this option, this opportunity to continue growing at our own rates, simultaneously or parallel, allows us to maintain that autonomy, that agency over our own bodies. we don’t own each other. we celebrate each other’s growth and would never expect each other to grow within a vacuum.

counting my blessings that we were brought together. thank you, okc. we didn’t know what we were getting into when we met, and we’ve continued to grow and give each other space and nurturing when needed. it’s wild in the truest sense of the word.

i have found myself through other people, through their reflections and the way i respond to things they say or do or the way they are. i think that’s all relationships are, really, is an opportunity to rub up against each other, scratch an itch, slough off the dead and discover the new. i am in awe of the amazing people i’ve met in this lifetime. i’m sad to let people go, always. each and every time it surprises me at how hurt i can be. don’t i know that nothing is forever? friends, lovers, they’re here for a time. it’s ok if it’s not forever. we all have the agency to make our own choices, to choose to stay or walk.

a friend’s wedding brunch in germany. boudoir. community. connection- to be seen as our truest selves fosters connection, real, deep, honest and raw. we need witnessing with each other to chase away the shame the world constantly puts on us for our erotic desires. enough already, amiright?

i am learning what it means to embody my values. when i boil it down, when i answer the question from francis weller, “what vow is your soul waiting for you to make? and what will you sacrifice to fulfill that vow?” my answer is to foster connection while staying loyal to myself first and foremost. i am willing to sacrifice comfort, understanding, being seen and known by everyone. i realize i am of a distinct flavor- i am for a select few. but the way those people understand me fills my soul endlessly. and the way i am beginning to understand myself far surpasses my wildest dreams thus far. i am my own hero. i am my own healer. i am the one i’ve been waiting for.

i’ve often wondered why i do boudoir photography, why expressing sexuality or embodiment is so important to me. it’s part rebellion against the way i was raised, but it’s deeper than that. to express the human experience, we cannot erase the erotic. to tell stories about who we are as a species, we must talk about sex, about our bodies, about their glory and splendor, their curves, their muscles, their soft bellies. we must stop, admire the very thing that is. you are the manifestation. you are here. i am here. i am witness to you, in your body, will you be witness to me in mine? in all the deep, undercurrent ways that we can know each other, will you be brave enough to jump into those waters with me? to explore the unknown, the unsaid, the unsayable- the things we can only feel, deep down in our bones, stardust incarnate. connection of all kinds allows that interdimensional travel. whether you’re mind melding or body melding or spiritually entwined, we all know each other. we are connected because we are all of the earth, all of the same materials- there is no separation between me, you or the plants or the air, or the stars or the dirt. we are all of the earth.

my secret wish in life, the thing that drives me constantly, is this image: a long dinner table, with 20-30 people around it. the sun is setting. the food is made and in big, beautiful, bountiful bowls, being passed around between loving hands. there is laughter and wine and there will be dancing later after we lounge around, holding our bellies, aching from so much good food. i want the village. i want the community. i choose connection. i choose hope. i claim this body as my own to use as i so please. i claim this life as my own to do with what i so please, and what is for the highest good of myself and the ones i come into connection with.

this is an embodiment of my values.

ok, so let’s talk about all this painting

I’ve been craving this feeling, of creating and expressing without anxiety or over-thinking- for a long time and I haven’t had the space, the literal, physical space and the emotional space and/or mental focus to actually buy canvas and paint and let my hands do the rest. And then we moved to the country and I had/have a desk, a secret desk, a whole room to myself, where my art supplies could live out at all times ready to be used. Lo and behold, I started making a lot more art.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned this year about my own mental health is that I have ADD. Have probably had it my whole life. I think it runs in my family. I think it’s a trauma response to a very disjointed childhood that ended abruptly and traumatically and revolved around childcare and people-pleasing. It’s come to my attention since starting a more-corporate-albeit-very-progressive gig that I do not think the same way that it appears the majority of this team thinks. And then ADD TikTok helped me and all my friends feel far less alone (shout out to Panda, the TikTok influencer in our friend group) and realize that we all have ADD and we’ve probably been attracted to each other because of those traits.

But ADD and the corporate world with deadlines and “accountability” and constant “feedback” don’t really mix well together. I average between 3-8 zoom calls a day. Often with people I don’t know. And I’m an introvert. I don’t sit still well. The anxiety has been building, but I’m starting to find relief. In no small part due to the freaking painting.

My hands can move as fast as my brain, finally, for once. I make decisions without overthinking. I don’t put off what I intuitively know is good and beautiful and cohesive and complimentary. I just do. I put the brush in the paint, I let my hand guide me to the color and I smoosh it on the canvas. Over and over. And when I get bored of a color, I shift. I hate cleaning brushes. So I don’t. I scoop up more color and see what happens. When I’m bored with the technique of the brush, I shift. There is always more beauty to make somewhere nearby. I hate wasting paint, so I don’t. I work until the paint is gone from the plate. I mix more as I need it. Every color is unique. Every brush stroke a thought, a memory, a song, a conversation, a feeling, a passing moment, a different dimension, full of possibility.

An Aside: What happens when we take a tool away? —when we purposefully or are unwillingly limited in some capacity? I gave up my camera this year. Capturing weddings and celebrations and portraits and boudoir and events… all of that went away overnight with the panoramic.

I didn’t adapt a FaceTime photography practice. I didn’t brave the early months of the pandemic to photograph risky weddings. I froze. I completely shut down. My camera became a reminder of the life that suddenly was ripped from me. It wasn’t comforting or fun to try and photograph myself or my surroundings when I felt trapped by both.

I want to be messy. Paint-flecked. Glitter-covered. Pomegranate stained. If it means I can create, if it means I can move my hands and calm my brain for the time it takes me to complete a painting, is worth it.

The relief, of putting thoughts on paper without words, without structure, improvised, honest, in the moment, pure from my fucking heart, is deep and profound. Intergenerational healing. I feel it reaching back beyond me, before me, for all the women in my lineage that have been caretakers since they were children themselves, helping the family get ahead. The ones who sacrificed their own dreams and visions and thoughts and futures for the ones who would come after them. Related and not. 

Sidenote: This was my art back in January and February. Lauren pointed out the difference to me today and it really struck me. A lot has burst free since then. March was by far the longest month of my life. I feel liberated by some big choices I’ve made in the recent months, including making my way westward to the deserts of California for a four month stint. More soon. Much more.

been thinking about being 17.

been thinking about being 17.

band of horses playing over my crackled stereo of my car. a vehicle literally called the POS. given to me for free from a neighbor who had three kids just slightly older than me who had all used this 1996 Geo Prizm as their first car. the power steering fluid would fall right through the car, but every week I emptied a bottle of the blue stuff into some valve under the hood and I could steer it freely until sunday. by thursday i was muscling the steering wheel for even the slightest turn. 

i can feel the full 180 turn of the highway, getting on the 60 from the 15. i would drive 30 mins each way to a job that was paying me $7 an hour. a hawaiian restaurant called honolulu harry’s. gas was $4.25/gallon. the restaurant was dead. it was 2008 and the housing crisis had hit southern california hard. people were foreclosing on their homes left and right.  i’d applied to 80 jobs, most of them in person, driving around desperately trying to get an entry level job. the deal i struck with my parents was i could quit sports if i got a job. i had the pos and i had to pay for insurance and gas if i wanted to drive her so... honolulu harry’s would do. 

the polyester, completely appropriated ‘hawaiian’ shirts. the disgusting smell of the bathroom cleaner. the taste of wasabi mashed potatoes. the feeling of sticky, wet plastic menus, wiping them down every moment of waiting at the host stand. reading gandhi. the pit in my stomach, looking up and seeing my crush from church walk through the doors to visit me. the late nights, driving home, nodding off at the wheel. the california desert august heat. the hot, dry october wind. 

30 inches closer and i can’t help but think about how much i am the same. i’ve changed, yes, but i was pretty close then. i was as anti-authority as i am now. i was as sensitive as i am now. i was funny and dry, and awkward and shy, just like i am now. i felt like i knew my place in the world. i was dreaming of opening a bakery, and here i am, with the same beautiful dream in front of me again. but even more possible this time around.

i thought i knew then what i know i know now: i’m here to serve a community. with my light, my truth, my seeking nature, my depth, my feeling ways. i had to lose it and find it and lose it again- and find it again. i think i know that’s to be expected now- a forever flow of finding and losing, shedding and gaining.

i am stronger now. wiser. more trusting of myself. i know what i’m capable of. i know how to stand on my own two feet and i know how to rely on the people around me. i’ve been struck by the idea (from a meme, thank you instagram) that first comes self actualization, then comes communal actualization.

we find ourselves to find each other.

be present to what is.

the only words that are coming to me, as an intention for this year, are “be present to what is.”

i’ve been wondering why this new year isn’t hitting the way it usually does. i am a dreamer and a planner and i love a fresh start. new years is, typically, my favorite holiday. lauren and i usually throw a big party. once we held a vision board party on new year’s day. our apartment floor was dripping with people and magazine clippings- queers take manifestation very seriously. it was like a dream sequence- morning light flooding the living room, groups of my favorite people sharing their hopes and visions for the coming 365 days, eating snacks and making new friends, in my home. it was the year i was desperate to step out of my role as perfect host and “housewife”. everyone who came to the party was shown where the mugs were and the hot tea kettle and the treats to eat, and they were told very explicitly to help themselves. i wanted to work on my vision board, too, not just make space for everyone else.

i didn’t have high hopes for this year. i needed more time to reflect on 2020 as a whole: the year i lost my business. the year lauren got fired. the year we moved away from the only city i’ve ever loved- new york. the year we took to the streets and fell asleep to fireworks and sirens nonstop for 2 months (4 months?). the year we were relegated to our fire escape as our only outdoor space until finally, sweetly, we came to have a backyard. - and we are the lucky ones. the luckiest, most privileged and it shook our worlds to the core. the grief had time and space to settle right in thanks to the christmas break from work.

by new years, it was clear that a vision board was a tall order. we painted our bathroom instead. by january 5th i was only mildly surprised that the urge to sit down and make my list of goals and hopes wasn’t coming. the only words to come to me were “be present to what is”. i realized i’d been compartmentalizing, dissociating, away from my body, away from this experience because it was too painful.

at least i could stand behind that statement.

that’s about the only commitment i can make to myself at the moment. by january 6th, if i’d been subconsciously holding off on hopes and dreams for fear that the world would collapse before i even had a chance to get started, i was validated. i know it’s a red, waving flag of depression when you start thinking “why bother?” but honestly. why fucking bother?

let this be but a moment.

i can commit to trying again tomorrow. i’ll rise and find ways to do better, because it’s not just about me, is it? i won’t get sucked into depression or pulled away from an action plan to work towards a better future for me and mine, and my greater community. but for today, the grief is here. she walked in with a suitcase and made herself comfy on the living room couch. she can’t stay in the guest room. she knows her welcome is limited. let’s pray that’s enough.

victory! & now we get to work.

I didn’t fully believe the results of the election until seeling Kamala Harris’ speech last night. Madame Vice President-elect, Kamala Harris. Beautiful vision in white, melanin poppin, WOMXN, Kamala Harris, smiling her megawatt, politician smile, talking her compelling prosecutor talk, taking note of the way the crowd was responding to her. I hope she was soaking it in. I hope she was feeling the collective hope she brought all of us last night. Looking at her at the podium, speaking with confidence and grace and self-awareness, I wept. It was like watching a futuristic movie. Of course a woman of color will lead us into the future. She’s been trying to all along. I am not surprised, just grateful that for once, she is in power.

I forgot what it feels like to have someone on stage who doesn’t actively hate me. I was re-sensitized to the idea that words mean something. The fact that she is up on stage, talking about systemic racism, healthcare for all, and- can you believe it?- a primary focus on containing Covid-19. The sanity of it all was refreshing and inspiring and gave me hope, even as I noticed the fear creeping up deep within me. It’s a familiar fear- one that I felt while watching Obama in the early days of 2011/2012: the fear that this person, whom I’m hanging some limited hope on, will be assassinated- and I might have to witness that.

Joe came out and gave his boring speech and lulled me into a weird sense of safety, then when they came together in front of the plexiglass, at the edge of the front of the stage, taking in the crowd and the confetti, their hard won victory, a popper of confetti made a large bang a little too close to them. They winced- surprised, as anyone would be, but for a second, I thought I caught that glimpse of fear- a reflection of my own- that it was a gun shot.

This is a win, but it’s a perilous one. Progressive folks who’ve been in Movement work for far longer than me continue to have cautious optimism. The candidates elect are saying all the right things. But will they follow through? Are we so conditioned to being ignored that we can’t accept a victory when we see one? Surely this is a step in the right direction. The words coming out of their talking heads match the words of so many grassroots organizations I’ve taken to following- work that has primarily been done on the backs of people of color- especially womxn of color. And now, a womxn of color is standing behind a podium, being a loudspeaker for their voices. Even if it’s window dressing, it’s a fucking start.

We’ve done the work personally, individually- a lot of us, anyway- and made our voices just a little bit louder. We showed up in the streets. We flipped off the cops and refused to cooperate in corrupt systems. We stood up to the INJUSTICES of this world- and we won- we are winning. Lauren said something to me yesterday that’s sticking with me: it matters what the messaging is from the top. It matters what people in power say. We’ve become so numb to the sheer idiocy spouting off from the leader of the “free world” of the last four years that it’s hard to believe someone has actually LISTENED and thought about the experience of the American people. It’s enough for me, for the moment.

But we cannot sit back on our haunches and take a breath for real. An obstacle has been removed out of our way so that we can get the real work done. Now we get to work creating the future we want to see. We need to create our plans of action now- a commitment to upholding the issues that matter most to our most marginalized people. This is when we create the communities of care that we are dreaming of. They are not our “back up plans” for if Trump got re-elected. They are the true solution to moving forward to the utopia of communal care, mutual aid, skill-based living and resource pooling that we are dreaming of. That is still the vision.

Investing in a future that diverges and divests from the current rotten systems in place is a longterm solution for peace, justice and liberation. Only then, when we come together as communities in unity and abundance, will we be safeguarded against the ebbs and flows of moral corruption in our government and the systems that flow from patriarchy, capitalism, racism and individualism. Biden and Harris are not the antidote or a vaccine, they are a treatment to the symptoms of corrupt government and institutions who profit off the pain and disenfranchisement of the people at large. We, the people, are the antidote. Love, care, and mutual aid are the antidote.

What can I commit to in this time that ensures well-being for ALL? (Guess what, that includes Trump supporters, because holy shit they are literally half of our country and apparently this disease that has gripped them won’t die even after 4 years of hell as evidence.) What am I willing to sacrifice for the greater good of ALL? In a land and time of abundance, we should all be interested in wealth redistribution. No billionaires until there are no homeless people. No tax cuts until there is food on every table. Basic human rights like food and housing- how do we care for each other? How do we lift each other up? How do we share our resources and stand firmly in our integrity?

I don’t believe there are solid, universal answers to these questions. They are meditations as we pioneer a new way forward. We must continue to get clear on our personal values and find a way to imbed those values in our communities, eventually infusing them into our systems, healing from the inside out.

i am noticing

here is what i’m noticing right now: 

i’m noticing more joy. more connection. more honesty. 

i am witnessing this moment in time in a different way, 2.5 hours north of a city that once was home, but honestly it feels more like 2.5 miles above the atmosphere. i am noticing my lightness, the freedom i’ve gained within myself by getting out of a place that was suffocating me with overstuffed schedules and too-fast subway trains. i need to be here to listen to this wisdom of the trees. i need to be here to read the words of the future travelers, the Black femmes like Octavia Butler and adrienne maree brown and bell hooks. they are my teachers and leaders into this new paradigm, a paradigm centered on Liberation and Justice. They are the future keepers, the visionaries, the empathic Black femmes that have been doing this work for centuries. Look to them for the future of liberation and justice you seek. 

i am noticing how i have freed myself of toxicity with every year that passes. i am fine tuning. i am refining myself and the environment i want to be in. i am reclaiming my autonomy, my power, my choice. 

i am noticing a shift toward lightness. the trajectory has been there, but now i’ve slowed down enough to notice the trend. i am healing myself. i am on a journey of healing, reparenting, re-discovering, remembering who i am, what i stand for, and how to live within my integrity. i am noticing change in me, growth in me, that i am proud of and surprised by its ease. i am noticing my toolbox of coping mechanisms is cleaning up and i’m keeping it more organized than i have in the past. i am noticing the habits i’ve built and how they support me as i do the shadow work of journeying into the underworld, unearthing the parts of me left behind, reclaiming them and resurfacing, over and over, like an underwater diver. 

or perhaps i’ve been doing that my whole life, stockpiling my own precious jewels of lessons learned, relationships had and lost, what works for me and what doesn’t, and now i’m on dry land, looking at all i’ve collected, taking inventory. i’m putting together a collection of these valuables to share. i feel called to it. i can’t explain it other than to say it feels like i’ve been working up to this my entire life. like deja vu- i knew i would arrive here. here in this home, in this town, away from anything and anyone i know. here in my body (finally). here in my marriage (finally). here in my sense of self and purpose (finally!) here i am. proving myself right. i have it in me. i have the guts, the gumption, the audacity to live loudly. i am strong enough to be vulnerable. i know that safety is an illusion if it doesn’t start with you being safe in your body first and foremost. 

i am noticing a shift in my spirit. i am turning toward the light. i am laying down the ego more often. i am willing to let you see me unguarded, even if for the briefest of moments. i am gaining control of my boundaries, learning the sacred sound and feel of the word NO in my mouth. it tastes like ripe raspberries straight off the bush, warmed from the sun. NO. No, Thank You. No, Not Today. No, I won’t speak to you like that. No, I won’t let you speak to me that way. 

i am noticing a shift in my approach to community. i am turning toward to the light. we are stronger in numbers. at the end of the day, you might need your neighbor to save your life. or you might save his. i say this as i watch my neighbor, a man in his late 70’s, climb a 6 foot ladder. i am noticing my growing understanding of the line between life and death. i am noticing how i’ve shifted my priorities accordingly. i am noticing my gratitude for every sunrise, my joy with every glimpse of the moon or stars, reminding me that here we are, the cosmos, all together, all as one, doing what we’re meant to do: survive. carry the species forward. we’re still new here and we haven’t quite figured out the system that works for all of us.

i’m noticing people turning their lights on. i’m noticing businesses and corporations tuning in, listening to new ideas and renouncing old systems as a part of the dead and dying paradigm. i’m noticing my personal power in the work i’ve done to understand the world through understanding myself, now i can speak of these ideas with others who are organizing and trying to do better. i’m noticing a desire, a deep longing, for a world focused on liberation and justice for all beings. 

my future visions are emerging. i’m seeing my role in the whole. i am grateful for my hard skills- cooking, cleaning, taking care of children, executive functions of all types. they will be my survival if i need them. i can care for my community with these skills, should it come to that. i am grateful for my empathy, my compassion, my courage to dream, i am grateful to the teachers who lead me. i am grateful to the guides in my life who have lead me here. they are mostly of the spirit variety, and i find it miraculous that i knew to listen. somehow, i knew that i had to listen to my intuition if i was going to survive, if my soul was going to stay online. and here i am. at the edge of the world, ready to forge ahead. 

things i know right now

These are the things I know right now. 

I now know I needed room to fucking breathe. I needed space and trees, rooms with doors. I am overcome with relief that I look out my window right now and see trees, tall, old oaks with deep, interconnected root systems and a century of wisdom. I see a blue sky with white, silvery clouds lingering, suspended for the moment (something I do not take for granted as I pray for a miraculous end to the wildfires on the west coast). i see sunlight tickling the edges of the leaves, the leaves that are starting to turn their shades of sage then seneca then crimson. Some mornings I wake up and put my shoes on and I walk. Sometimes the cat follows me as far as she will, then turns back when she reaches her invisible boundary, one she set for herself, apparently. I know I need to be here, in relative isolation with nature, my wife, and our cat. 

I know Community is different now. I’m finding new ways to engage. I’m eager for spontaneous interactions and I find my attention zeroed in on whomever I encounter in “the wild”. The wild being the trail behind our house where retirees walk and jog, and maybe sometimes stop to tell you the kind of tree you’re inspecting. The new moon in Virgo is reminding me to mind the details. I’m a dreamer. I like to talk about the vision at large and someone else can figure out the how. I wanna talk about the what. But sometimes that manifests in less than cute ways, like forgetting my friends’ birthdays, not following through on rescheduling, or not texting back. “but i was up in the clouds, reading emergent strategy and daydreaming about the kind of future we’re building together on this earth right now. what’s my part in it? where can i be of service? of value? where do i belong now that i’m comfortable saying i belong nowhere and might always be a nomad?” anyway. September is a good month for doing better on the details with my friends. I have approximately 46,987 friends with birthdays this month and I’m sending packages and handmade cards. I set reminders on my phone to call and wrote them into my 76 different to-do lists. I want to be better at gifts and presents. As I’ve moved and unpacked, I’ve taken stock of all the amazing gifts people have given me: a painting for my birthday, a book I’ve picked up 8 times and blows my mind so hard every time that i have to set it down, a plant that’s now multiplied into two! I know I want my friends to have things around them that remind them I’m there with them. 

I know my self-worth is growing as I find my feet in my new work environment. Separately, I’m working on a book thing and as I outline it, I can see how all the skills I built at all my random jobs (nanny, baker, barista, food “blogger”, wedding photographer) actually equipped me pretty well to transition into this role as… what are we calling it? some kind of creative salesperson, services advocate. I know how to build relationships with people and how to follow up with folks. I know how to suss out the need and brainstorm on solutions. Lauren and I work together full time, from our home in our tiny town, in different offices in the same house. It’s perfect for us. We pivoted hard and built this small business for our survival and it’s hard to believe that our plan is actually working out. I know there’s a tricky mix of privilege and resourcefulness that got us to this place. 

I know the world is a terrifying place and all I can do is focus on the things I can control. Questions that have been on my mind: How do I support my community in this time in a way that is authentic and sustainable to me? How do I show up for the revolution every single day with an act of resistance to dominant culture and the status quo? How will I reflect on my actions in this time in 20 years? In what ways can I strip shame from the equation so that I can continue this fight for the rest of my life without depleting myself, falling in to self-sacrifice and martyrdom? Who do I protect? Who do I serve? Are my actions in line with my values? Am I living within my Integrity? I know that if I continue asking myself these questions and holding myself accountable to the legacy I leave behind when it comes to the revolution we find ourselves in, I will find the ways to connect and support the movement in the ways that are most utilizing my gifts and talents. I know that if I’m on the lookout for opportunities to help, I will find them. 

I know that writing and putting it into the world is deeply healing for my soul. Thank you for reading my words. I’m feeling the flow and I’m going with it. Something about this time is really clarifying what’s important to me and how I want to spend my energy engaging with the world. This. This is where I am the most me. Thank you for accepting the invitation to witness and entangle with me. 

morning thoughts: then & now

9.11.10 I 5:48am I Secret Desk

My morning thoughts used to be those of anticipation for the day. I’d lay in bed and plan out my day with my eyes closed, noting what I needed to bring with me or when I would eat lunch. Occasionally those thoughts would come too early and too fast, hot with anxiety. I could usually redirect it or swap it out for a dream of the future. Future dreams, then, in the *before-times* revolved around our next upcoming trip: a weekend on the Jersey coast for our anniversary; a trip to California (or Texas or Washington) to visit family and friends. Once we went to Greece for a vacation in a tiny fishing village- that might land as my ultimate future dream and now cherished memory.

If I really let myself flash forward, I’d think about my five year plan: kids, what it would be like to have a home upstate *and* our apartment in the city, a book deal, a movie deal! I was ambitious and eager.

My morning thoughts now seem to be focused on the past, teeming with anxiety and regret: a dinner at our apartment with friends where the chicken wasn’t quite cooked all the way through; an awkward thing I blurted out during sex 7 years ago; an encounter with a stranger on a subway platform that lingers in my mind. My mind flashes to the same feeling of unease in a hundred different moments, smash cut together as I lay in bed, bathing in blue pre-dawn light.

A folder of Unresolved Moments, thrown into the air, memories float down and drape my bed in half-stories. No closure. The emotional loop remains open and ambiguous forever threatening to loom above my pillow before the sun’s arrival. 

This morning I watched from behind my eyelids as nineteen-year me stole cans of chickpeas and greenbeans from people I was babysitting for when I was too poor for a grocery budget. (I’m sorry.)

Now, I can afford food. I even go to the fancy grocery store every two weeks and stock up on luxury items like gluten free biscotti and tiny, ruby-red strawberries like the ones that grew in my backyard as a kid. They actually taste like strawberry!

Now, I live in the country for at least the next year. We gave  up our apartment in the city after the constant sirens, fireworks, gunshots and refrigerator trucks thoroughly shattered our idea of a future in NYC. Our car got shot in March in the middle of the afternoon on a Monday, 100 feet from our home. I lost my business as a wedding photographer. All the scripts I’ve poured my heart into are officially shelved and if it seemed like a foolish endeavor before 2020, well now it feels just plain stupid to pursue a career in screenwriting.

Lauren and I started a new business- a sales consultancy. Which is neither as plain or as glamorous as it may seem. It’s fine. But as an introverted, creative writer, I don’t make the best sales person. I do fine. I’m doing fine. This new job is keeping our lights on. And by 2020 standards, that is LIVING EASY. 

It has taken me 29 years to call myself an artist. Do you know how I finally came to the conclusion? I became a salesperson. You don’t know you’re a fish in water swimming along with all the other fish until you’re suddenly in a desert with lions. Suddenly that question, “Am I a fish?” becomes irrelevant and obvious. Luckily I have some kind of magical ability that alllows me to stand up on my back fins and posture as a lion. I can talk like a lion (though my voice gets a little watery) and I can walk like a lion (only in short bursts and then you better get me into a tank of water fast). Survival packaged to look like a party trick. Hell, I’ll even smile and tip my hat.