Tonight is my last night to drink... Come midnight, 2015 will be my first dry year since I was 16.
12 MONTHS
52 WEEKS
365 DAYS
8765 HOURS
525948 MINUTES
31556926 SECONDS
I can't say that drinking has become a problem, but then... who knows what I might have accomplished without countless nights of glorious delirium and so many mornings hung over?
Instead, I will avoid being negative altogether... GRATITUDE!
Al... Alcohol helped me overcome stage fright a multitude of times when it felt nearly impossible sober. It gave me the courage to have conversations with strangers and speak my mind without a filter... I would NOT have made quite a few FUN mistakes... Because Al was there, carrying the burden of rational, realistic decision-making and potential consequences so I could claim I was not responsible for the risks I took. ...and on the nights when I couldn't escape sadness, it soothed me to sleep.
...it turns out that >25% of my time will be spent...
131,400 minutes sleeping
10,600 minutes in the bathroom
So, I really don't have that much to waste... and I have BIG ideas becoming real jobs, events, gigs, products~ I just don't have another second to spare for booze this year... I know Al won't be lonely. There are plenty of people to keep him company for me~ We'll talk about seeing each other casually in 2016.
I told
myself to keep an open mind. Watching my
old classmates post photos of their weddings and children; I heard a friend’s
advice echo in my mind, “If you really want to be a musician, let go of what
you were supposed to do.”
Whether
I liked it or not, letting go was my only option. In every devastating moment before, my usual
reaction would have been an episode of depression and suicidal ideation. By this moment, I understood allowing myself
to fall down that pit of despair again would mean another hospital visit,
medication, and perhaps most alarming; time away from my guitar.
Instead,
I persevered; spent time with friends, wrote new tunes, and performed. Between visiting client homes to deliver
speech therapy; I wrote in local coffee shops, went to the gym, and avoided the
void of loneliness that would greet me each night.
And each morning.
I told
myself to celebrate the loss of appetite that inevitably accompanied the
breakup. Lucky me; less money I had to
spend on groceries, less groceries I had to carry from the store, less…
Suddenly I changed my perspective on the world.
I told myself, If you thought everything
was good when you were in an unhealthy relationship- “Unhealthy” as confirmed
by his therapist, then try the opposite now… Start loving the life you have!
It was night on Larchwood, and I
was walking around the block to where I had parked my vehicle. As I came down the sidewalk, I saw a group of
four or five young black boys,
all
no
older than 12.
For a moment the thought crossed my mind, “They
do not live here.”
Here is a relative statement. West Philadelphia is a very diverse part of
the city. However, there is a distinct
difference between the 40-something numbered blocks and those they lay beyond
in the 50’s and 60’s.
I could
hear the boys murmuring, plotting, as children do. Then suddenly, they were running. One boy broke from the pack, yelling,
“I’m
not gay!”
As he
came up behind me, I braced myself. I
saw the other boys running away in the other direction as I felt it… The lone
boy smacking me on the butt as he ran past.
I paused. Initially, feeling a parent’s anger, I wanted
to give chase and spank him over my knee!
Taking a long deep breath, I realized I would never catch up in the
heels I was wearing. Besides, in another
decade, I would look back at the moment as flattering.
A small grin crept up
my face as I
approached my car.
“Did
those guys assault you?”
I
turned to see a Caucasian man with a long white pony tail step out from his front
vestibule.
Wiping
the smirk off my face, I admitted, “The one smacked my ass. Just young kids, daring each other.”
“I’m
calling 911.” He was already dialing.
“It was
just kids playing pranks, really,” I insisted.
He was
not listening to me, “You have to report them.
The police don’t protect us unless we tell them we’re not safe.”
The
boys were waiting within eye-shot, curious to see what would happen next. We could hear them murmuring again as I
listened to him tell the operator his series of events. I was a young defenseless girl, going as far as to claim I might be as young as 21. They were a gang of hoodlums, planning to assault us again. We were in danger.
I was
trying to leave, but he was urging me to stay; “They are targeting Asians, you know.
Holding them up, especially the Asian men- Because they don't go to the police.”
I thought to myself, "Probably not. They can be pretty proud."Then paused to question if he had expected his sympathy for Asians to help his case,
“They were just kids being kids.
Somebody ought to know their parents, talk to them,” I told him. I provided speech therapy to families in the
50’s and 60’s, and I understood the disconnect.
This man did not know his neighbors beyond the 40’s. He was from here. They were from
somewhere else.
The families here do not allow their young children to be out by themselves after 10 PM. The thin line between families with new cars and day jobs versus those taking the trolley who were more likely to work third shift lay somewhere between the parents. Whenever I turned on the radio I would hear both sides blaming each other. Depending upon what time of day I tuned in, either side of the pole was complaining about something...
Voting. Charter school admissions. Gentrification.
No one speaks on the radio to accept responsibility-
Unless they are running for office... and no one likes politicians.
No one is trying to take the blame-
Unless they like pain... and no one likes masochists.
Everyone has a solution, and very few are interested compromising with creativity.
Except maybe comedians... and no one likes a comedian.
It's why they kill themselves.
When
the police did not show up, he called campus police. Although we were just outside University
City, where the majority of Drexel and University of Pennsylvania students reside,
we often saw their bike officers enter our streets. This time the pony-tailed man handed me the
phone, “Can you give them a statement?”
Reluctantly, I took
the phone, “Hello.”
“Hi. You are the young lady who was assaulted?”
Releasing
a heavy sigh, I welcomed the opportunity to correct the misrepresentation, “Some
kid smacked my butt.”
“And
you are a student at which university?”
the operator inquired.
“I’m
not a student,” I answered.
On the other
end, the lack of concern was evident without a word. “We don’t usually get involved in disputes
outside of our area.”
Suddenly, I felt irritation arise within my chest, “Wait. What?” At that moment I put aside whether I had an
actual complaint. Instead I was thinking
of how I politely greeted the bike officers everyday outside my coffee shop,
one block from where we were standing. “So
you don’t care because I’m not a student.”
“I can take a statement for a report,
but-“
“Fine,” I sighed. At least there would be a record of the
actual series of events from me rather than the my aspiring good Samaritan. I accurately explained the details,
handed the phone
back,
and waved goodbye. With the
butt-smacker and his peers still watching, I was urged to wait for the police. As I started my car, all I could think was,
This.
This is HOW
black boys
get shot in the street
by cops.
No wonder they don't want to answer your calls.
What if they’d believed you? Ran to rescue me? I can’t be your damsel in distress…
What
a horrible thing to think…
Like a joke nobody wants to hear.
My confidence gained a boost after a steady stream of successful gigs. I tried to hang out with friends, learn to live unattached. If "fear of abandonment" was code for "relationships are your poison", than I was going to learn to be alone the fast and hard way! Mistakes gave me more instant gratification than patient practice. I let myself live inside-out. I lived the way I did when I first fell in love with an unlikely beau and lost all my shame. Once more, I became the fool, unafraid of being transparent for the amusement of others, if they bothered to listen at all...
It is how I found my way onto a stage...
since that leap, my feet have not found the floor.
It was an exciting week! Miracle money had found me within 24 hours of my praying for it so that I could take my good guitar making friends to the $30 per ticket gig I was playing at World Cafe Live. It was only one song, but I was going to make it the best- AND be my friend's "The Price is Right" showcase girl in the process! It felt rude to invite the guitar without its family.
A new-found friend and fun dobro player I had met through Philly Folk Fest captured a video on his cell phone. Although I record myself so often for practice at home, I was so grateful and excited to watch an actual big performance!
On top of everything, I was a guest to two other fabulous shows that week at the same Northern Liberties venue, Johnny Brenda's: Califone and Upholstery. I was feeling pretty sassy when I texted my landlord for the third time in over a week to ask about when I would have a laundry room key. As I flicked my thumbs over the touch screen, I stopped myself... "Running out of what? You always say underwear. You can't say underwear to your landlord! ...What's like underwear?"
Shocked but amused, I read it aloud to my friend. He made a face of uncertainty, "That's kind of creepy, right?"
I thought back on the way the landlord had showed me through a total of five apartments before I haggled my rent down $25 a month; how he had brought his sister to the second showing and his two little girls to the third, final showing. "Nah. You gotta meet the guy. He's a character!"
Seeking someone who might share my sense of humor, I quickly blocked out the the identifying personal information and posted a screenshot to Facebook. Instantly, the "Likes" started "blowing up my phone".
Not bad... I'd never broken 100 before my liberating body-painting experience a couple months prior! 80 with just words ...and I didn't even have to take my clothes off.
Living out loud had become a preoccupation... It was keeping me busier than the job I was doing to earn money. Music was boiling in my veins. My mind's eye was brighter than either of what the two eyes in my head could see... The world had become beautiful. It all still felt backwards and opposite, but who was I to complain? One can spend it laughing or crying... I chose to laugh.
I was amazed by how so many people were eager to attack the man
and how few seemed to notice the response in their comments.
On this wave of attention and flattery, months passed... September melted into October... Friends and acquaintances came and went, turned into crushes and heartbreaks.
My friend, Sue called one day to inform me my ex had contacted her to return some of my things. My heart paused to look for its pain and found only irritation. "Why can't he be an adult and contact me?"
Afterwards, she told me he seemed disappointed that I was not seeing a therapist.
"A therapist? I have not considered suicide since we've been broken up... for the first time in- ever? He is the one seeing a therapist now," I sighed. "Do you know how many months I've been trying to find one that would take my insurance?"
I felt more reassured than ever that it was over. However, I wanted a doctor's note...
One that would say, "Just so you know, Ev's not really crazy anymore. Now she's just crazy. It's who she is. There are others like her. It's not a bad thing."
By November, I finally found a therapist. She took my insurance, but the co-pay was still $75 per hour. Setting our initial appointment up over the phone, I was honest about my intentions, "I haven't been suicidal, and I think I'm utilizing the strategies I learned in therapy and from reading. I really just worry because I hear BPD patients frequently refuse treatment. I think I'm okay."
She reserved her opinions during our first session... Seeing the pink streaks and feathers in her hair, I instantly liked her.
Over the week between our first and second sessions, my path started to have a few more bumps in it; drama, unrequited romances- in either direction, experiments... As I sat on her couch again, unraveling the long yarn, she tried to politely keep track of time.
A little past the half way point, she interrupted to inquire, "You're telling me a lot of things about other people and things that are happening in your life, but where are you in all of it?"
I looked around inside my mind, "Where am I? Here... There's so much going on, and this is what I do with it- I breathe it in and pour it out as music and writing and art. That's who I am."
She rephrased her question, "I want to use your therapy time effectively. I hear you, excuse the term, venting... and you don't have to pay me to do that. You have friends."
"I do."
"So, what goals do you want to target in therapy?"
I stared at her gorgeous black knee high boots, speechless.
We went back and forth for the remainder of the time I had paid for, concluding that I was "exploring". She assured me I could call whenever I needed to make another appointment... and I left with a mental doctor's note I promised not to lose.
......
Thanksgiving.
I quit my job. I stopped going to work until I had to admit it. Unable to face my family as a single, unemployed, barren, 31 year old, cat lady... I opted to volunteer at the local women's shelter. My friend, Alex had just gotten a job in the kitchen there. It seemed like a good way to spend the day...
In reality, there were more volunteers present than women and children to feed.
"If only people would come other times of the year," Alex sighed.
"Right? I will... We could bring these kids some music," I grinned.
Instead, I believe I was there to meet someone. As we enjoyed plates of turkey, lamb, mac'n cheese, potatoes, and greens; I started a conversation with a woman who teaches basic computer skills for adults returning to college. I was fascinated with her passion for preparing them for the real world.
"When they give their presentations, I tell the men to at least wear khakis and a button shirt. They don't have to wear a tie, but it doesn't hurt. The ladies can wear a skirt or nice slacks and a blouse. It doesn't have to be a suit," she explained. "I don't care if they go to the thrift shop. Usually you find better things there than most people can afford. I tell them to look in their mother's closet if they have to. I want to know when they get a call for an interview that they're going to have a least one outfit to pull out."
I informed her of my women's artist collective. We exchanged cards.
That would have been enough, but then I had to visit my BPD therapy friend who decided to spend her holiday alone when her family went away without her. I didn't ask how this happened. Any possible reason did not seem worth bringing up. I took her a plate of the gourmet Thanksgiving feast from the shelter.
Part of me wanted to stay with her for the evening, but I had accepted a invitation from the guitar-building folk to be their plus-one at another dinner. Somehow, as much as I wanted her to feel better, I knew I had to take care of myself first... and I wanted to go to the party.
My first time visiting a stranger's home in New Jersey on Thanksgiving, sure... Little did I know, not just a chosen-family of old friends. When I first saw her walk in, there was a scarf around her neck, a hat on her head. The only thing I was paying attention to were those fantastic black knee high boots. I even asked her for her name a second time, and her face still did not register.
After a few minutes of greetings, I wandered into the kitchen to find my friends when I saw the lady wearing these boots... Her name and face met instantly; She was my therapist!
Nonchalantly, I smiled and maneuvered into the next room where I find my friends. I was nearly bursting with laughter as I revealed our fellow dinner guest's secret identity to them. The one made a point to comically admire her "Jersey Girl" qualities. The other asked about her profession and immediately feigned shock, "Oh, really? Therapists scare me! I'm always worried about how they'll think I'm acting around them!"
Meanwhile, I watched my therapist, her husband, and their closest friends drink bourbon and tease one another. All the while I told myself, "Just watch. Take it in. If this is normal, I have to see it."
Later in the evening, I found myself playing a handmade guitar in the living room with my therapist's husband. We played special songs... The songs that made us feel the songwriting pass through us; songs that came in one serving, one sitting, a single occurrence. ...That was when it became clear; all the dinner guests were members of a band, and my therapist's husband was the leader.
Oh, the irony was a beautiful hallway of warped mirrors, a ride of continuous circular motion, a performance of unbelievable fetes; I had arrived. I had found myself in the carnival again.
Well, apparently there are no authorities to depend on- I might as well read tarot... or the weather.
December... Reality started seeping in. Although I tried to avoid it, the news was everywhere. Without turning on a television, radio... avoiding the headlines and internet... It lingered in the atmosphere between people. It was heavy on everyone's hearts... and I kept thinking of whether those boys who had crossed my path only a few months prior were still wandering around after dark unaccompanied.
I had resolved to write it all down so many times, but I could not bring myself to revisit the story in its entirety... Until I found myself at its ending:
I spent a great deal of time with a new black friend. I learned about jazz; about how to sense the music from different perspectives, textures, and measurements, how to appreciate exquisite imperfection. I observed the layering of three, two sided drums; the meeting of three minds to create a unified beat and sound. Bata drumming. I watched forms of dance and movement very different from what I had learned- and ached for confidence to join in... I learned how a 6 foot 3 black man, older and more mature than myself could seem like a child who needed his hand held to walk down my street, when he saw the University bike officers crossing our path after dark.
I learned how to let go again with the same naivete I had had when I wrote my first song before knowing how to play the guitar. I forgave myself my mistakes... Resolved to love each day knowing there will most likely be another one tomorrow to love even more. I took the pain I can not escape having happened, the scars I can not deny... and I poured them into a song that did not come in a single moment... A song that had been singing to me since September.
There was this moment in time... When I thought I could make plans. When I thought I could count on certain people to be in my life until we watched one another's hair grow gray. There were moments when I thought... It's all over. I can't do it anymore... But even when I gave up on myself, there were others telling me they knew I would get back up again.
The problem with being an artist is having no way to rely upon one's art for financial support until there is a finished product to sell. Nevertheless, I can recount so many occasions during the past few years- Over the time since Ev Reheard became Every Heard... Since Echo Victory was conceived... that people I considered strangers informed me they were there to take care of me.
During my mayhem, they were there; telling me stories, feeding me, restocking my wardrobe with hand-me-downs, giving me places to sleep...
I remember the first. You always remember your first.
Her name is Jules. Actually her name is Julie, but she lets me call her Jules... She was a bartender at the Narberth Great American Pub, where I frequently cut my teeth at the open mic in those days. Her blonde curls, athletic build, and winning smile always found her free drinks waiting when we went to bars. She was the first of so many beautiful women... Who made me feel like I had suddenly been transported back to high school, transferred to a different district and adopted by the popular clique. She gave me that look and understanding that would take me much longer and many more friends like her to comprehend... She thought I was like her.
My drinking was a problem then that I couldn't see, didn't want to see... It released me from my inhibitions, blinded me from my shame. Humility was a distant hope that I did not yet consider claiming. Humility then meant admitting how humiliating it was to stand on stage for a crowd, playing sad songs wrapped up in pretty melodies and elementary rhythms. Humility meant facing the truth... and I was still running from myself then.
Like me, Jules has a professional career... She is a nurse. I am a speech therapist. We both adore people and being helpful, but at the end of the day, neither of us can seem to escape our passion to be out, working crowds and making friends. She chose to tend bar. Music chose to play me.
So many nights she let me drink far more than was safe, and many nights she drove me home... I never appropriately acknowledged her generosity until one particular incident- after a disagreement with a man I was seeing left me particularly vulnerable... Laying in a bathtub for most of the following day, contemplating the ways in which I could kill myself to escape my pain.
...The alternative was a music camp out, where I would be forced to face the man again- But where I would also be surrounded by friends... The moment I arrived, they were there, offering me hugs. This was before I knew how to tell them how anxious the abundance of physical contact with others makes me... Jules, on the other hand, knew what to do, "Come sit. I have a chair for you," she placed a bottle of Yards IPA in my hand and popped the lid. "Our tent is up in the back. When you're ready, we'll go take a walk, and I'll show you where you can sleep."
I let out a long exhale, took in a large swig of strong beer and listened to the music wash over me.
From then on I began learning to give... I have always known how to give to lovers. They incite those chemical reactions that turn me into a nurturer, a wife, a mother... This was different. This meant playing different roles; a mother in ways, a sister in others... and I had never had sisters. Jules taught me to give as much as I could when I had something to share, and in between much more was shared with me.
She taught me to accept that we are all flawed... She taught me to not pry but wait until she was ready to tell me details- In the process, I learned to trust the manner in which my story unfolded before her. We would see our respective playmates hang around when they were treating us well, and we would avoid a bitch fest when we could see they were wandering away. During those times we reminded one another how special we were... are. During those times, I began to accept that Jules was not so high above me that she would forget about me. Instead, she extended a hand to show me where it was safe to walk up onto the next invisible step.
Suddenly, I was attractive like her... Suddenly, I wasn't constantly fearful that people wouldn't know I was smart. Suddenly, I could make things happen...
...By the time I was moving into the city to be within biking distance of gigs, she was going west. She voluntarily went to an intense camping program, where she would be deprived... Centered back to zero... Where she could restart her nursing career again away from all her old habits. She still tends bar. She still finds ways to support artists. She still sends me love, and someday soon we will meet again.
It was one beautiful weekend I spent at a river house with her that I knew... I had one of those moments; as we kayaked and swam in our bikinis, as she bathed in the sun to my music, as we discussed her plan to spend her twilight years in a rocking chair on the porch of a house like this one... that was when I knew we would grow gray together.
There is a lot of information to cover, and I want everyone to understand- This is about whatever you want it to be! If you want to be part of something listed, great! If you have other ideas, let me know!
#1: aMUSEment is volunteer based. We are all busy individuals, but we all can accomplish great things as a whole. There will be three committees to choose from, each committee will choose a leader:
a. ONLINE: content, photos, web design, upkeep of social media
Although most of us haven't met them, there are several other partners involved in our online presence. We need writers, artists, photographers to collaborate with these partners to expand the audience for everyone. This may mean something as simple as taking photos with bands we want to support when we go see their shows, write ups of our experiences in a couple simple paragraphs, creative responses to inspiration of our peers... Ideas are welcome!
b. CO-OP SPACE: resource office, creative workshop, retail location
We are looking into attaining a physical space where we can have an office from which to do business. Within this space, we would have things like sewing machines, photography equipment, and open studio space in which women could come to create. Those utilizing the space would pay in part by working the cash register for any retail being sold. Crafters would be encouraged to display their goods here between flea markets. Seamstresses could design and style clients... and the online content group would also be able to call this a home base for meetings, etc.
This is an area for business women to shine! Who has experience writing a business plan, applying for loans, writing grants?
c. PARTY/TOUR: aMUSEment events will be hosting another party in Philly in February
Two new and big transitions:
1. 3-9pm will be exclusively female, FREE networking function. At 9:30pm, we will open the doors to paying customers and feature 3-4 headliners. Basically, only men will be paying and required to have wristbands.
2. We are going to take this show on the road within the year! Contacts in Nashville, TN are our first target city.
#2: Calendars/CDs
After considering what materials we have to work with currently, I suggest that we issue a monthly calendar. A week or so prior to each month in 2015, we will mail a calendar to our followers/patrons/supporters. This will allow us to mark any gig/exhibition dates as they come up, as well as include envelopes to encourage ongoing financial donations to our cause. We may chose other groups to share this money with (i.e. if we were mailing out for October, we would explain part of our proceeds would go towards our breast cancer awareness fundraising for the Ric Rac show Saturday, 10/11).
In addition, we can include a monthly download card for 1-3 songs that we want to feature. Some may be from the party. Some may be from other sources, depending upon who we want to feature for what shows that month.
#3: Listening (House-warming) Party
I am expecting the recordings from Philly Sound Studios just in time for everyone to visit my new living space! I want my new home- where I will be living alone- to be a place where friends feel welcome to be creative and share ideas. While it will be pot-luck and open to anyone, but it will also come with a small entrance fee for those who can afford it ($5). This is a difficult decision to make, but honestly, everyone will receive their music whether or not they attend the listening party- This opportunity to participate in the community and discuss upcoming projects with the group will be followed by many more FREE meetings.
I have tried to count on people giving without my asking... Then I started asking, and we raised nearly a thousand dollars. Let's start by valuing ourselves, then we can learn to ask others. Whatever is raised will go right back into aMUSEment!
For those of you who don't know what the IndieGoGo was for or where the money went:
$400 Sound Fee at the studio
$150 Sound person
$150 Photographer
Remainder: Beer, water, plates, etc.
Ok! That being said... Please don't hesitate to be in touch. All this keeps happening because so many smart women have expressed their dreams and hopes! The ball will keep rolling whether you're able to participate at this moment or not~ I just want to keep everyone in the loop!
There are so many things I want to write about today... Actually, this is the one day that I wish I was working instead. I am paid by appointment, and there will be no income for cancelled appointments! I just borrowed money to get an apartment~ So, it is vital that I have a steady income right now. However, I have learned~ When life knocks you down with this much force, don't fight it... Take this moment to reassess and appreciate the necessary time off. A broken heart can be as serious as a broken bone.
Let me start with this story... Jimmy was a random stranger I met in a bar out in Reading, PA. I had just played a featured set at the open mic there, where my friend Matthew Bailey hosts.
Matt and I met on occasion when he visited Philly to play city open mics. A tall, strong black man in his twenties; I would not have imagined him to be such an innocent and unconditionally optimistic soul upon first seeing him. However, he caught my attention by playing an original he wrote for a friend who committed suicide, "What a Drag". His words touched me. They drew a picture of a person gone that I could still meet. They explained his pain in being unable to make his friend understand that there is healing in music that might have saved him...
I understand... because music has saved my life many times.
...Back to Reading- upon finishing our set, my partner broke away to visit with an old friend, who was also dealing with a personal tragedy... My suggestion to go play this gig was largely in part to create an opportunity for this meeting.
In the meanwhile, I knew that my presence would impede their communication- and Matt was still performing... So, I struck up conversations with the local patrons. The first one I wanted to meet was a large biker with long dreaded hair. He had a very distinctive look that left me dying to ask a silly question, "Would you be offended if I asked if you've ever dressed as a Klingon?"
He laughed uncontrollably, "I'm a Star Wars, not Trek kind of guy."
We exchanged words over our mutual taste for Sci-fi. His name was Tommy. He complimented my set and offered to buy me a shot... "It's the least I can do," he said. Reluctantly, I agreed- feeling like liquid courage would help me socialize with strangers.
Feeling a little more brave after, I asked if he would let me put an Echo Victory sticker on his chest for a picture, "You know, like how they have hot chicks wear t-shirts with brands across their boobs? This is my reverse gender exploitation! I'm going to post tough dudes marked with my brand!"
He was into it. He thought it was so funny- that when his other biker friends came in, he introduced me and they let me do the same with their riding vests... This is how I met Jimmy, Amber, and Ty.
Suddenly, I couldn't help but notice that Matt works in a very different world from Philly... I grew up in a small central PA town, much like that area, without many minorities mingling. Some part of me felt a little concern for whether this group of bikers was open minded and friendly to everyone- or just cute girls.
I told myself to put my prejudice out of my mind and remain in the conversation. I learned that Amber is a nurse... Having worked in a hospital and nursing homes, I was quick to tell her how much I admire the work nurses do!
She was shy.
I invited her to my aMUSEment even party, "I know it's far, but it's really an awesome experience! -and we do it about twice a year, if you can't make this one... There will be more."
As I continued getting to know Tommy- a former marine... who rebelled from having his head shaved weekly by growing long dreads... and Ty, a tattoo artist who showed me his amazing work on his smart phone... I could overhear Jimmy talking to Amber, softly, privately. He was explaining to her that I was being so overly friendly because I was a performer, "It's a good thing."
Although I did not address what I had eavesdropped, it stuck to me.
Too often I am bombarded by "friends" who tell me how I look at any given moment... frequently accompanied by a strange reenactment. This never ceases to make me uncomfortable. However, what I heard Jimmy say opened my mind... That thing that I was trying to force myself to practice, to learn; how to meet strangers, acknowledge why they are special in their own rights, and enjoy the fleeting moments we share... I was obviously doing it right!
...By then Jimmy had offered to buy me a drink, "Alcohol or non- it doesn't matter, my wife's not drinking 'cause she rides her own bike." He smiled with pride.
I looked out at the table where my partner and his friend were still deep in conversation, half wishing I could check in with him first to be sure he wasn't waiting for me to ask to leave... "I'll have what you're having," I smiled.
Amber giggled, "Oh, now he'll definitely wear your sticker!"
We drank our rum and cokes, telling jokes... Until the topic started to get very racial- I think I may have likely been the instigator. That was when I realized, although Matt had given the mic to Tommy now, he was sitting away from the crowd.
I wandered over to him, "What's up? These guys are funny!" I whispered, "Can you tell me that guy's name? I keep forgetting."
Matt looked at me blankly, "I don't know him."
Somehow I closed the gap between where Matt and the crowd were sitting enough to hear Ty say, "Okay, you can come back. We're done telling racist jokes. Really, we're not like that..."
I smiled, "How does every black joke start?"
Before I could go for the punchline I knew, Matt chimed in, "No offence, BUT~"
Everyone chuckled and chatted... and I felt good, really good. Jimmy was talking about what crew he biked with and how they wouldn't let anyone "mess with" Matt. He really made me feel like... It had been ME being a small person, presuming I could classify his character according to his appearance and profession. Somewhere in the pain of growing up, I had picked up my own prejudice... Believing I could tell anything about the quality of a person based upon what pictures they decided to ink into their skin or where they pierced a hole... But in only a couple short hours, Jimmy both showed me a side of myself I longed to meet, as well as a side of Caucasian men in his social subsection that were modern and just trying to live good lives.
...I have followed their posts on Facebook... I have commented encouragement when Amber has posted about the challenges of being a nurse... Only today did I realize that the reason there have suddenly been so many more posts with Jimmy's name tagged is because he passed away last week, five days short of his 31st birthday.
I do not know the details of his death.
........................Strange- How fragile life is. How suddenly it ends for some people who are appreciating it... While people like me complain about wanting to commit suicide.
Last year, around this time, a good friend lost her teenage son to suicide. I remember seeing her post announcing it... I recall feeling guilty that my immediate, unconscious response was pure jealousy. A teenager figured it out! How hard can it be? Why am I stuck in this life? This body? ...This beautiful body.
I have avoided speaking out about those feelings because I was still working past them. However, having lost my partner yesterday- to complications I will leave between he and I -I will remind myself again and again; what a good friend of mine told me during one of our disagreements, "It could be worse. He could be dead."
I have been working hard to find a reason to want to live- even without him in my life -to release him from the unintended burden he has been carrying- to give me purpose. Perhaps it was not possible to prove I had found it until I could live alone, not for anyone but myself...
I do not know what the future holds, but I not ruling anything out anymore. Anything is possible.
Jimmy, Amber, and their families are in my prayers... People who touched me- the way that I want my music and writing to touch others.
Happy belated holidays!
Hope you and your family are doing well… Don’t worry about not being in
touch. You have good reasons- for which
you have my sympathy. I have the
advantage of being responsible only for myself (and I don’t always do a good
job of that- So, I don’t know how you do it all!) You little girl is growing up quickly! Thank you for the pictures. She’s as adorable as ever!
I might graduate in May… IF I get 183 hour the necessary experience
at my new hospital practicum… and IF I pass my comp exams (that prove I learned
everything they taught), then I will graduate in May instead of in July. It will be a lot of work, but if I graduate
early, it’ll be worth the brief discomfort… I’ll be catching a train every
morning at 6:17 AM. My internal clock is
going to require some serious resetting.
On the bright side, I’ll get to wear scrubs every day… So, I
won’t have to worry about dry-cleaning or ironing or even matching! At my other practicum, I wasn’t even supposed
to wear sneakers.
(sigh) It’s upsetting
that after I was assigned to this hospital, I decided to move- effectively
doubling my daily commute, from 30 minutes to an hour. This is unfortunate, but I’m really happy with
my new apartment. It’s in an old garden
style building in Ardmore (where people who work in the city seem to live, if
they have money). The train station is
only a five minute walk away. Then it’s
a 20 minute ride into the city of Philadelphia… From there, I transfer to
another train and ride north thirty minutes.
The remaining mile is either an uphill walk or a bus ride, depending
upon the weather.
I was feeling stifled in my tiny studio… and MB, well, the
bad news is that his family’s business crumbled, again. The good news is that he has decided to go to
college. This was why we found an
apartment close to the city but also not far from his father’s house. In fact, his little sisters go to school a
train stop away… It’s fun having them around.
It is the first time I have played big sister.
Anyway, now we are sharing this place… something we agreed
that we were planning to do eventually. So, we just moved the timeline along a little
faster. It really wasn’t because we
wanted our relationship to be more serious.
I didn’t mean to move in with MB for convenience or to be frugal, but I
think those are just unintended benefits… MB is my best friend as well as my
boyfriend, and that helps a lot.
Today was my hospital orientation. They made us sit through four hours of safety
videos. Ugh! It’s interesting that I thought I’d be the
only student there, but instead there were two other girls from other schools
as well. My supervisor works from 7 AM
to 6 PM, and she’s says she doesn’t take a lunch. So, it’s up to me to “stay fed”. It should be an interesting few months.
I’m very tired and low on patience. I just barely missed a train that would’ve
gotten me home an hour earlier… But MB’s cooking dinner right now in our lovely
little apartment. It’s going to be
wonderful to come home to that instead of my crumby empty studio, even if it
was thirty minutes closer. It’s so nice
to be with someone who takes care of me as much as I do him.
We’re looking at the local community colleges for him. He’ll start in the summer. He’s very worried about classes- as he hasn’t
had any since high school –and then he wasn’t a very good student. But I’m confident he’ll succeed if he just
tries (instead of opting to pursue some business venture his father cooks up,
thinking it’ll make him money faster- which seems to have been the plan many
times up until now.)
But his dad has been supportive, thanking me for MB’s new
plan and telling me he knows MB wouldn’t be going to college without me—I’m
sure he has good intentions, but I’ll believe it when I see it. His dad has been burned in business enough
times to figure out his sons are the only reliable partners he can trust. He expects MB to do so many errands; chauffeuring
him to and from the airport, fixing his stepmother’s car, helping with his
step-sisters… What about when MB has a class?
Will MB tell him no?
I like MB’s family, but MB… feels more obligation to them
than I do to my family. I want a partner
who makes himself and me his priorities, but this may be a process for
him. I think it will be easier when his
sisters aren’t children anymore… I hope.
Anyway, life has been moving so quickly these past few
months. It’s been good. I get anxious once in a while, but I don’t
get anxiety or depressed. I’m going to
be crazy busy. I won’t have any time to
work at a part time job, but maybe I can graduate early and get an SLP job
sooner- that would be amazing!
It hasn’t even been two weeks that MB and I have been living
together, but already we’re noticing that we have more petty
confrontations. I told him that I didn’t
say anything about how he kept his apartment because it was his, not ours. It’s the little
things; I had laundry and asked him for his before I did the wash. Then as I was folding, all his socks were
little wet balls. Well, he likes to wait
until he’s putting them into the machine before unrolling them…
While my family has always been supportive of my endeavors, they have never been in a financial situation to pave my path for me... That is why, when I saw the generous donations coming into Philly a MUSE ment EVents's Indiegogo campaign (https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/amusement-events-live-recording-party) with so few contributors, I called and asked each of them for a $5 donation. "I want the gals to see we have people behind us. I know the money will come in- People have already committed to send us more... But I want MORE CONTRIBUTORS."
...an hour later, my mother donated $100. While I know I should be elated at anyone's generosity exceeding my requests, I felt a little annoyed- as a daughter -for not being heard. I meditated on it and sent her this email:
Umma, I told you to just give $5! I really don't want you and dad to give a lot of money... Make the other women responsible for giving too~ But THANK YOU! The reason I wanted just $5 is because this is how crowdfunding is supposed to work... Instead of taking $100 from one person, I want $5 from 20 people! Anyway... Please tell your friends that this is something really important that is your daughter's career... I am a musician/artist/writer, but aMUSEment isn't only about me- It is about every woman who wants to express herself through a creative medium. These parties we have been throwing have been getting bigger and more and more attention for a reason~ Because the women LOVE each other! The thing only a few have is money... and those who have it mostly have children and jobs that keep them busy. Understand why I am writing you- - - the amount was TOO MUCH from you and dad! I know that you don't have it give away like that... and I want you to understand that I am doing this campaign to help other women in the group realize it is part of being an artist to start acknowledging their self-worth and asking others to show appreciation for our works' value too!
Okay... I love you... Please know I do not have a lot of time to write right now- I took the time because it is important to me that I explain it well so that you can explain it to others- Like your friends who like to throw their money away at casinos. hugs, -Ev
...As I hit "send", I told myself, "She is your only mother, and she loves you. She thought more money would show how very much she cares. You can not demand validation under YOUR terms- Accept validation however she chooses to express it!"
The next day, she sent this response: Thank you for explaining I just wanted to help, but now I see what you mean. I love you and I am so proud of you, you work so hard to make so many people realize what their potentials are, and together you can accomplish much much more than they ever imagined. Good Luck Babe.
This morning a $5 contribution was made in my father's name (which I know he could not have made without my mom typing for him). It was the most generous donation we have received! -that I have received! I am so grateful to my parents, my brothers, my family~ Without them, I would not be the woman I am today!
I was having a conversation about church with a
girlfriend. She told me it is important
to go and be spiritual. She also added
that she doesn’t believe in what is literally being taught. I felt a strange sort of relief at this
statement. The feeling stuck with me
throughout my week, interacting with my many friends along the spectrum of
belief and doubt. My conclusion was
unexpected; I feel the same way.
Jesus is my savior… Because my mother said so.
I
have tried to think of nicer ways to say this. I have tried to argue with it…
But at the end of the day, I just do not really feel sure that Jesus was
anything more than a nice man who made a lot of friends. People never stopped talking about the guy, for
centuries.
Faith. That’s what they call it- whether one is talking
to a Christian, or a Jew, or a Buddhist, or a Muslim. We all speak of faith. We talk about “good”. We talk about “knowing what’s right”… Well, I
don’t know what’s right. Because it seems like I
had to learn all my lessons the hard way. The ones I think I can avoid learning forever
are those that I am more and more eager everyday to humble myself to. I make a decision with every conviction in my
heart to do it without ulterior motive, and somehow someone always finds a
crack in my seal.
Everything has balance-
Then I come to that state of mind where I give up chasing good and running away
from bad… and I am free of the desire to chase. I simply accept. Yes seems like the right answer to every
question; if not for me, than perhaps for the sake of the person asking. People usually do not ask questions unless they
anticipate a yes. Even when asking,
wanting to hear “no”… They are usually asking out of fear of hearing “yes”.
This can go on for some
time. There are people who
stop here altogether… They decide to make their entire life charity. This is a state of perfection in its
sacrifice. However, if one allows
him/herself to feel like a martyr, they begin to border upon pride and self-pity…
and this is not a healthy state. This is not the purpose.
Lust is a choice in
human flesh. It is sinful. It leads to jealousy, anger, and other ugly
feelings. However, desire is a
pain that the majority prefer to return to- again and again. It’s the cigarette that is worth one day less of
what might end up to be some very lonely days as a meat suit past its sell-by
date. We choose which vices we
prefer to hold onto- as individuals.
Back and forth, the
pendulum swings… excess and deprivation… hunger and satiation… determination
and indifference. This is life. Welcome.
This is what the voice
in my head tells me, anyway.
Then I talk to my mom,
and she tells me that she wants see when she gets to Heaven. And... I
give up trying to change the terminology we're using. Somehow I know whatever
she’s calling Heaven is the same thing as when my universal dust will touch
hers. I can't help but have doubts given the experience I grew up with,
compared to hers.
Nevertheless, her voice
is the voice in my head; always has been, always will be. In those moments when I am reduced to a
screaming child inside again, it is her voice that soothes me, tells me how to
find the calm again… and she says what I have heard her say a million times; “Talk
to Jesus. Tell him what’s wrong. He’ll help you.”
While my very stubborn adult exterior says, “I feel like
you’re telling me to write Santa a letter… I hear there really may have been a
man named Kris Kringle…” The little girl
inside agrees with whatever her mother tells her can deliver her from pain.
There are tricks we learn- to suppress pain. They don’t cure, they cover the agony. Layers of tissue and fascia absorb it, muffle
its voice, but it remains. It stiffens
and tightens the joints. It weakens our
natural defenses. It plants doubts in
our logic and reason. We succumb to time
and gravity.
This is when we realize we are no longer growing. We are grown.
We are standing on a great horizon, with endless horizons ahead to
choose from, but none as insurmountable as this one had seemed. It is when we stop seeking the answers and
start accepting them.
Arguing is arduous, especially with oneself.
So, maybe when I am old and my hair is silver, more of my
remaining friends will return to whatever faith their mothers indoctrinated
them. What will I have told my
children? Perhaps we will have entirely
new forms of religion, as has happened so many times over the centuries. Humans like to play with words, but the
concepts remain. We like ourselves. We imagine everything with attributes as
human as we are… and I for one am –just for today- comforted by our
imperfection.
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