perfectly Imperfect

28 August 2019

A long time ago, I struggled with inadequacy over how to express myself creatively.  I lived in a world where everything had to make sense; the t's were t's had to be crossed and i's dotted - then I found collage.  It was the comfy couch I needed to rest the imperfectly perfect Me.    The preconceived notions of what Art was and my contribution to that world suddenly made sense.
I was a new mom dorking through all the nuances and hiccups we make as a newly wed woman, then enter the in-laws, then enter little humans.  It was all scary and beautiful but so overwhelming.  I decided a I needed a break and wanted to actually use my brain for something more creative , so I went to this amazing forum of glorious teachers from all over the world.  They came to share their art and teach us to ways to express ourselves unconventionally.  Wait - did they just read my mind?

I was very shy with my first attempts, as the feelings from childhood sprang up inside me with a hammer to squash any thoughts of creating meaning out out of my ramblings and doodles. There were no judgy mean-girl ethics here - only lovely teachers embracing and grooming the very quirks I grew to hide from those Judgy Judys from my childhood.  There were no stupid cheerleaders laughing at me, only guiding me to put thoughts on paper in different ways.   Judgement suffocates your hearts purposes and makes you believe those thoughts and taunts from childhood.   It makes you believe all the shit everyone has told you and reduces you to mush.  These teachers basically said "Fuck the Cheerleader" and let my mind expand and explore a different artistic universe.

This collage up in the corner is entitled "Save Each other Save the World"  When we get off our pity pots and give of ourselves, not only do we help someone else, we quiet that inner cheerleader and stand taller than ever before.
This collage represents me standing tall amongst those very small dummies.  How strong and beautiful I am in the middle!  Quieting those voices and painting lifes canvas with truth and color. The theme of this pic is how I choose to be - tall and graceful, rich in experience not diversity, deaf to gossip and negativity.  The more I plug-in to this image the duller that awkward teenager becomes; the judgy cheerleader becomes pudgy, grows three chins and facial hair.  Perfect.

The days of worry and woe aren't over, but the complaining is.  I mean, it Has to be.  I got so sick of hearing myself, that the universe stopped me.  Literally.  I jumped 7 feet from a fence and landed on the cement floor on my feet, twerking my tibia and reworking my pride. My leg was so shattered I was rushed from urgent care to emergency surgery  tout de suite.   I was so high on pain meds I was  telling everyone I had been training for the Olympics and forgot my javelin.  Yep, I was higher than a kite and just enjoying the ride. 
I spent 6 months in what I would call the Cuckoo's Nest, kicked and screamed my way out of basically everything they tried to do.  It was my stop point. My "remember what is precious" point.  My "everything is temporary" point.  I was re-born, but not in the biblical sense.  I was given another chance to have a different life, a better focus and a need to find gratitude in all things.
I learned how to walk again but my fear kept me from taking that first step.  I think about it often. At the rehab center, I masked out the stink from the halls, and focused on literally putitng one foot in front of the other.  I only had my art materials and a few clothes, a bag of toiletries from where I was dog sitting at the time of the accident .  The dogs owner came back to deliver both my car and my stuff and told me that the dog buried an eye pack the emy people left right where I fell.  Smart pooch. 
I couldn't wash my clothes for 6 months, as they wouldn't ever make it back to me, so I handwashed everything like my grandma did in the 60's.  I reinvented my wheel.  I taped the holes, polished the rims as best as I could and now I'm rolling away from a life of pain and loss, and moving toward something greater.
The things I'm grateful for are many.  I have my health, my port-less chest, and a cat named Yoda.  I have my girls, a great job and a cute lil' jeep.  My house is not ideal, but it is home for now.  So I am rich.  Rich by the simple standards of a life free of judgement and bias, helpful hopeful me sees lost pathetic me now and then.  Having tea with her is out of respect, not out of pity, and when the time comes, I can let go of her hand, not feeling I have to fix her anywhere, anytime.  Free to disconnect.
This new me isn't void of fears though.  At times my fears get the best of me and I'm overcome with nausea and what-ifs again.  I may have stopped the loop, but I haven't yet learned a way to fully detach, but I'm improving every day.  I feel stronger even though I look compromised.  A limp that I have yet to straighten reminds me there is still work to be done.  Don't get complacent.  Don't get too comfortable.

Since I've been out of the hospital I've seen all types of reactions to my situation.  Pity and Defense.  They either feel sorry or feel it's too dramatic for them to deal with.  Hey you, I'm the one dealing with it, you are just listening to my story.  That's right - it's My story and I'm in the midst of changing the ending thankyouverymuch. 
When I really look at the reactions, I can't help but wonder if  I'm saying the information in a way that encourages either behavior.  When the cancer was at the height of its story, yes it was brutal but I'm still here for gods sake. Literally.  I've seen people perish and saw what labels one can create when telling this story.  What good does playing a victim do? It regurgitates the situation and makes you feel like shit all over again.  What good is that?!  The person that is listening will either be empathetic or cynical, neither knows the true grit of the situation and frankly neither of them want to.  Circle back to me; my part in delivering the story will be how it's seen.  If I insert my puppy dog eyes, you damn bet peoples heart strings will be pulled.  Citing every detail will bring my audience to its knees if worded right.  I don't want that.  Yes, a time or two I've pulled the cancer card.  It's gotten me out of situations, but then I feel like the asshole that parks in a handicapped parking space when they're clearly not handicapped.
That brings me to my next point - the cynic.  Cynicism is a learned behavior that rarely goes un-learned because it's "worked" for them.  Making fun of something puts them in control - they think they have you pegged so they run with their comedic flair, not really caring, while still waiting for the mic drop.  The reaction from the audience is key to how far they go.  If the other person is horrified or embarrassed, oh boy, they've down what they set out to do.  If the person kids along with them, they still don't feel like the idiots they are, but the story becomes the joke not the person. 
I met a man that is the epitome of the Dons - Don Rickles mixed with Donald Trump.  He's handsome as hell until he opens his mouth.  I may be dramatic, as he constantly pointed out, but I found his life to be boring and predictable. So there.  He gathered bits and pieces of my story and in one or maybe eleven comments he shredded me faster than a food processor shreds onions. I kid you not, at first I was affected but not nearly as bad as I would have taken it even months ago, It wasn't even in my delivery of the information - I said things very matter-of-fact, like one would talk about what they ate for lunch.  He was just ready to rip and classify to hopefully pump his scrawny chest up and wield his sword of power over me.  It didn't work.  The minute he said he was a Trump supporter, the whole 2 hours of getting to know each other went right in the shredder with the onions.
When I got back I didn't think of it too much as it would just get my panties in a bundle and get me hot and bothered all over again.  What it Did do is appreciate what I've got.  A roof over my head, a loving cat and food in the fridge.  I talked to two of my neighbors , not to commiserate but to be kind, reminding my that it's always my prerogative to change the story

What the Faith?

Faith is like a scientific experiment. It's your controlled substance you plug-in too, like one of those nifty electric car stations you see scattered about town.  It's always there, never waivering unless you scrap the whole idea and think you can do it alone.  It'll still be there drumming it's fingers on your life until you wake the hell up and try again. It teaches you patience.  It teaches you sacrifice.  It teaches you that all the shit you've been through is merely a hoop you'll jump through to get to a bigger, more brilliant hoop.   
Some shy away from that word. Eww faith ! It's like saying toilet paper in the 50's - no one likes to say it out loud as it may make people judge you.  I say Who Cares.  If a person is judged by their own beliefs and it isn't harming anyone, F that.  Fear is to Faith as Death is to Life.  If you go around living in a bubble, because so-and-so said  you were a dumb fuck, that dumbfuckishness will shape you to be the absolutely Best dumbfuck in ...Fuckerdom.  If you live in a belief that you can run naked through the mud of life (well, not literally) and see what happens next, know what ever Will happened will be ok, then buddy, you got Faithed.   The belief in a power greater than ourselves is rich.  The unchanging belief that I can do anything if I set my sights toward that goal is Rich.    The things that Do change are the variables; the actions, thoughts that bounce around in our heads, like kids jumping on a feather bed.  If we can take that belief in our pockets and apply good sense and work, we can do amazing things...but we have to see how fear can be the catylyst for change, not the enemy of Life
I have to see, remember, utilize what I've done to see with open eyes how faith works.  I'm not turning into a bible-thumper or a egocentered hypocryt if I have faith.  I'm empowered with a new battery pack, that will take me over the puddles and maybe through a couple too, but I know I'll be okay on the other side.                                                                                         

Whats My Part

Alright.  It's been a couple days since I spoke to you, sweet blog o' mine.  Have I been good to you? No...sigh. neglectful as f but still remember where you live.  You live in my mind; my twisted, beautiful, sometimes complacent, always repectful mind.  Though I seem to have misplaced my pen, I haven't misplaced that thing called Change.  Change is like the lint you can't seem to get off your favorite sweater.  It follows you, taps you on the shoulder when you think you're alone or in the "all good" mode, and shifts the gears on lifes vehicle (like that one?!) and spins you out into new & vastly undiscovered territories.  God how I loath change.  and lint.   Or do I?  Do I really dread change or do all of those lazy-assed complacent cells in my body really crave it?  Do they feed off of it like hungry larvae because they secretly crave the things I fear most?   The answer is an undoubtable kick-in-the-head Yes.
A lovely human walked into the shop ( oh yes...since I've last written, I've changed jobs, got fired, got hired, met boys, ran from boys, ran from girls, buried animals, wept profusely, moved 8 or maybe 9 times, drank alcohol, stopped drinking alcohol, ran from more people and...found-lost-and found my chi.  Now that you're caught up, no more questions. thankyouverymuch).  So what was I saying before I so rudely interrupted myself?  oh yeah...
A lovely human came into the shop, and after said duties of both of us were done, we talked about life, crystals and Life in capitals.  That should be the name of my business: Life in Capitals.  Anyway....She was and is and probably always will be a life coach.  Not the hey batta batta kind, but the I-want-to-help-you-get-off
your-ass-kind.  I think we could help each other greatly.  Talking to a real person, as in a face-to-face kind , would be useful.  I would much rather have a relationshipish face-to-face kind of person in my life instead of a virtual kind of human (thus this virtually inhuman blog I'm typing must be a dream. or a nightmare my single fan is experiencing.  Sorry fan. You count.  you really do. I will surely send you a token of my appreciation for following me.  You virtually matter.  you really do ) :)
Seriously though.  I value work and technology, and new experiences that can be handled via computer, but I truly think the human race is failing to see how incredible and incredibly important it is to see each other in our totality. not just virtually.  How do I know my fan is legit?  It may be my fan is a spy or an axe murderer who reads my blog when the're in the bathroom .  Who knows?   When I meet my fan in person, I will firstly bathe them in compliments and offer cookies and tea, thanking them for their support and virtual wisdom and commitment.  I will then plunge into the why side of their following , as part of me is fucking insecure, which should really be one word - fuckinginsecure. The fuckinginsecure part of me will tread water just a titch because being secure is still being able to acknowledge and periodically wallow in said insecurity.  It reminds us where we've been (hiding) and where we stand today.
My point is...there is no point.  There is breath that I need to feel when my fan talks to me.  There is eye movement and body language they tell me when I'm telling one of my would-you-get-to-the-point sagas.  We are both sages and students.  We are both aligned to give and receive information in order to grow and bloom and discover and experience the oh-yeahs in life.  Not just sharpen their reflexes to dodge and delete.  Technology is  beautiful, but human touch is much More.

Just over a month has passed since my last entry. I'm surrounded by friends that want the best for me; my trusty rogues, flying high in the sky.  I watch with wonder as they help me put lifes fires out and add fuel to my own joie de vivre.  Opening myself up, exposing myself to a life where the glass can and should be half full is a blessing.  Letting the glass-half-empty practice wither is so gratifying and timely.  I've come into a life where there is loads of possiblity just waiting for me.  I cannot go back to who I was.  Spirit has planned this all along.

The present scenario I'm "living" in has shown me a lot.  It has taught me that a truly cluttered life starts with a cluttered brain.  Seeing this property littered with shit is an immensely accurate portrait of what is going on in the owners brain.  I've experienced her clusterfuck of rants, and instead of spewing back with the same dark force of energy, I check myself.  I make sure my side of the road is clean, so to speak, then reply accordingly.  It really isn't all that difficult when I remove the desperation and focus on the solution.  I do not and will not function in an environment where being a bully is more important than being a compassionate human.  There is no room in my world for idiots.

Yesterday is over.  I am done with forfeiting my dreams in order to make others happy.  Living from place to place, I put my animals in jeopardy just to have them with me. Saying that I could take the best care of them was prideful, as I know they have come here on this earth to love and be loved, no matter if it's me or another lucky person.   Their next owners will fill them with a life that they deserve.  I simply couldn't do it anymore, as I was compromising my needs in order to think I was saving theirs.  If I truly love animals, it is an honor to find them a home that can care for them, be there for them, give them all that they need while also living their own life well.
It is indeed one of the most painful losses, but I have to realize my dream.  In order to realize what I've been put here for, I have to step out of the way and let my heart be heard.  I have to find me; the creative part of me that is deep within the core of my being.  I have not been honoring myself and looking at what I need to bloom.  I've just put the seed in the bottom of a hole, covering it with excuses and fears instead of enriching it with Truth, Wisdom, Positivity.

The sacrifices I made yesterday have left me completely flat emotionally, but when I see and re-read The Alchemist, I remember that the fuel I need to energize again isn't to be found in a pill, wine, negativity.  It is found when I see what lengths I went to make necessary change.  I did hella things in order to be happier, so now I have to bless the experiences leading up to this very moment I'm typing to you, dear journal, and see what is next with fervor and excitiement, not jumbled nerves and crying.  I have see my tears in different categories: it is greatly healing to cry when there is grief, loss, pain.  There is a time and a place to share these things, and I must get a better handle on my floodgate of tears shed at the drop of a pin!  There are the tears of excitement, where your face is blissfully hurting from realizing your goal, seeing hardwork rewarded or...reaching or pursuing your personal legend.  The tears that are the most disturbing and run out of every pore of me at any given moment are the tears of forecasted fear.   I call it that because they futurize the unknown horizon and think the worst is about to happen.  I mean, I have lived in allllllll kinds of precarious scenarios - you would think that these prepare me to receive Any thing without being fearful.  There is a time and a limit the Universe allows for upset and fear.  It is at those times where I am not supporting my calling and trying to control my environment.  I came here to realize something my parents did not.  I came here to be of service, to be happy, to make others light shine makes mine shine greater.  It is my time..