filler

IIt’s been a day of giving advice, mitigating stress, collective deep breathing, reassuring, and listening to at times frustrated, nervous, overwhelmed, pissed off, anxious, overwrought parents going through the public high school process in NYC. Not everyone was all those things but I remember how intense and nerve wracking it was when I went through this with my kids. You only want the best for them and it’s mostly out of your control. 

So much of being a parent is that. Honestly so much of life is that. I’m grappling with finding some deeper meaning here and I know there is one but I have 3 more families to meet with and am conserving brain power at the moment. I’m feeling like red jello with whipped cream would help all around right about now. 

content

Today someone suggested I write about something other than me: perhaps a book or a movie or a situation. Valid suggestion. But as I slowly ease myself back into writing, me seems like the most appropriate subject matter. I’d like to say it’s the one I know best only I’m still learning so much about myself that that wouldn’t be true. 

I started therapy the summer before this past one, 2 weeks before my mom died, when she and brother and stepfather seemed to be taking turns in the hospital with scary and drastic things going on. My blood pressure got high, then higher, then so high it was almost ER levels and I knew I needed help. 

Asking for help is never easy for me. I trend towards internal suffering, gritting my teeth and struggling through things. I was anorexic for well over a decade - I’m quite good at that. And those tendencies are still buried deep inside. I don’t know that they ever go away. Maybe it’s more I’m aware of them and that takes away their overwhelming and devastating power. We’ll see. But as I talk my way through the minefields of my growing up, putting words to feelings and acknowledging the pain and hurt I gingerly tread through every day when I was young I’m cautiously hopeful all this digging and discovery will bring ease and empathy for myself. 

Fashion: Temu hat that is cooler than I imagined it would be although hard to see beyond the faux fur. Jacket, gift from a neighbor who couldn’t imagine wearing something so bright. 

filler

It’s late. I’m talked out. I’m thought out. It’s been a busy stretch of work and advising, discussing, educating, helping and I’m burnt. In a good way but whew. Not much of me left. 

Thinking about next steps, next projects, hearing a massive to do list back up. It’ll be good to be on top of my game again after this bit of feeling like I’ve been fighting forces being than me. More on that later. But for now, flower photography and drag race. 

growth

This morning I discovered that yes, I can access my entire photo library through this blogging platform. Even after spending several days not being able to figure it out. 

Perseverance?

Experimentation? 

Focus?

Determination?

Who knows. I figured out how to do it and am relatively certain I’ll forget by tomorrow. But I will figure it out again. Repetition builds connection and comfort and ownership. That is, on the positive side. Repetition can also promote all sorts of negative and destructive behavior so using it for good is, well, good. I’m working on letting go of patterns that didn’t serve me well, no matter how comfortable they were. And that’s hard. Comfort in the discomfort had been an underlying theme for me and sometimes I’m not even aware that’s where I’ve been coasting. 

Sigh. 

It’s never too late to grow, to accept, to acknowledge, to sigh hard and sob it out and let go of things that shouldn’t be. Even if they were a scratchy security blanket. 

Fashion: Calvin Klein coat that I totally didn’t need but also apparently did need. Bought in honor of my bargain seeking brother on his birthday at a Macy’s Black Friday sale for half off. Thanks bro. 

change

At 59 and almost one half I would have thought things in my life would be pretty well established, a well oiled machine chugging along with someone concrete expectations about what’s next. Actually, maybe I thought that conceptually but that’s never how my life has actually worked. It’s more I fell into things along the way. Retail. Art school. Graphic design. Writing books. Starting a business. I had no grand plans in advance for any of those - they showed up. Some rather randomly, others because I had ideas or motivation and the manifesting was because I’d put in time and energy in some way. 

It’s feeling like gears are shifting again. It’s time for an overhaul, or at least a tune up. It never gets easier or more comfortable. I struggle each time I stare the inevitability down. But there is more that I’m hoping will become a thing, whatever that thing may be. All I can say is we’ll see as I sow seeds, thoughts and possibilities flickering at the edges. 

Fashion: thrifted velvet coat and pants. Old Navy t shirt. Malabrigo vest I knit myself. Steve Madden subtle metallic boots. See Eyewear glasses. 

excuses

 I set a goal of blogging every day to get back to getting words on paper, or at least words on a screen. And then I stopped. I had a plan. I did. Of adding a photo a day of outfits I was wearing. But I change a lot over the course of a day. And couldn’t figure out how to link my phone photos to a Google blog and instead of figuring it out, I gave up. Perhaps it’s not about the images, which is generally where I start things from. It really is about the thoughts and ideas and those are harder for me to pinpoint. But here I am. Grappling with concepts and what to say and how to effectively say it. 

Day 2, messily in the bag. 

Reconnecting

It's been a minute since I've written. Well, well over a minute. 

I started this blog in 2008, on the precipice of a book coming out and feeling like a fake since I didn't have a writing practice—I fell into being an author based good ideas and a driven work ethic but not a lot of substance or experience. And so I wrote. I wrote every day. At first I was angst ridden about content. I didn't remember feeling political back then but turns out I was. It gave me something to write about that wasn't writing about me. 

And then I began to write about me. As I glanced through my old posts the titles alone made me cringe - might be I never delve back in to read about who and where I was all those years ago. These days, I don't write. Maybe it's because I'm more grounded and don't need that outlet. Maybe it's because I've grown and don't need to be so introspective. Maybe posting on social media was quicker and easier than finding the words to fully express what I wanted to say. Maybe I just moved on. 

But maybe it's time to come back to a practice that was exploratory and healing, eye and heart opening. Since I started this blog my little-ish kids grew up and graduated from college. I've since rescued two dogs and lost one. I lost my mom and my brother - all three of those in the span of a year or so. I started a business. A podcast. I was a fierce activist until I burnt out and can't show up the way I used to. I organized like mad, directed videos, created events, started branching out to a fashion space that's unrecognizable from the all black all the time that defined me for much of my adult life. There's more on the horizon that I haven't been able to figure it out. Actually, my whole life has evolved without me figuring it out in advance. Things show up. At least I like to think that but it took and will take lots of hard work to get that to happen. 

So, change. Reluctantly ready for more. Perhaps writing it out or writing in general will be the energy I need to put into the universe right now to help figure out what's next. Stay tuned . . .

fashion: Wildfang jumpsuit, UGG fur sandals, buttons made by me, and too many necklaces