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Nobody will protect you from your suffering. You can’t cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It’s just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.

Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things (via wordsnquotes)

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The Search for Truth

I feel that these are exhausting times in which to live. Seeking truth, "come whence it may, cost what it will," which has become a mantra for me, requires more effort than ever before. To get at the heart of any issue requires hours, if not days, of research before I feel well enough informed to form a coherent, well documented conclusion on any given matter due to the rhetoric that is spun at every turn. It's like being a miner, chipping away for eons before a nugget of truth finally becomes apparent. It's there, but buried under the biases and opinions that have to be removed before it can be seen. And that's before the refining process even begins. That's when I take this hard earned semblance of what is real and then have to find a way to refine it, and attempt to burn away my own prejudices, before I can truly behold it, and understand it, and claim it. By the time the process is finished, the world has already moved on to something else. Usually several issues have been in the spotlight since my initial search began and I have no time to rest my weary mind before I begin yet another quest. I think, for a lot of people, that search for truth is just too damn hard. The tendency is to go with a set of beliefs they already have, look for confirmation bias, and hold to an opinion based on those things and never really consider another viewpoint or the people that offer them. They are secure in their version of truth, however sloppily they arrived there. However, I also think more truth seekers are emerging. If this were not so, why do you suppose "fact checking" has become such a thing? People do want truth, but they're still learning that it takes a view from more than one angle to see the whole picture. I've seen people speak about subjects and base their opinions solely on what they, alone, have seen or not seen. And that's no way to get at truth. Seeking truth means getting out of the comfort zone of your own thoughts and critically considering them in the light of other opinions, the facts as far as they can be researched, and then weighing them against some moral code of right and wrong. And by doing that, one still manages to have an edge of bias, because not every person gets their moral code from the same place. Also, our personal experiences resonate so loudly, so skew our perceptions, that it is extremely hard to try and cut them away from the issue at hand. This week, I watched a female senator told, not asked, to take her seat for violation of a rule that was brought forth for the sole purpose of shutting her up, and forcing through a choice for Attorney General that was being debated. When I first saw the video clip, it sparked an inner rage that I hold from the viewpoint as a woman, and brought to mind every time I have ever been "shushed" by a man simply because he didn't like what I was saying. It was a trigger for many women, not just myself, of times when we have been singled out and reprimanded with a double standard. Senators insult each other all the time, either directly or indirectly, and if the importance of Rule XIX is of such concern to our elected officials, I hope they will begin to invoke it so often that the Senate has to shut down for days at a time because the whole lot of them has been silenced. Maybe then they will all learn how to debate in earnest, without resorting to fingerpointing and theatrical displays of false piety. There are those who will get caught up in the politics of this situation. They don't like one side or the other and they'll start in with the character of every senator involved and that's not my point, so as you read this, I implore you not to go there. I've said before that I read and read about an issue before I write about it. This is no different. I have read both sides - those that created the slogan, "Nevertheless, she persisted."as well those who think it was high time somebody finally told this senator to sit down and shut up. Whether you believe something exists or not, does not mean it isn't real for someone else. The senator in question, right or wrong, had concerns about this appointment of our President, and she was expressing those concerns. Her motives, her opinion - these things are not the point of my post. Because, quite honestly, I don't have the energy go there. And her politics, and those from the other side, are not my real concern in this particular situation. The point of my post is this: What right does anyone else have to silence someone in a quest for truth? Was she holding up the vote? Yes. Was she bringing up potentially damning remarks about the appointee? Yes. But if you think this is the first time that has happened in the history of these types of debate, I sincerely feel sorry for your naivety. And what has many outraged are the facts that there appeared to be a gender double standard that was used against Senator Warren, and that this administration has launched a campaign to silence its critics at every turn. One need only to recognize the malicious contempt that our President has for the "mainstream" media to see that. He would have it that only good things are printed about him. And it's alarming to contemplate just what measures he might pursue to ensure that is the case. Do I like for people to criticize me? Question me? Not particularly, no. But accountability is necessary when you've been elected to a position on the public stage. And whether our president is black or white, liberal or conservative, there MUST be accountability for his decisions, and that is simply common sense. I do not wish to be spoon fed someone else's idea of the truth. I'll spit it out every time. I'm sure that Rule XIX was created for a good reason, and I'm not saying it should never be invoked. But it shouldn't be because someone else can't handle the conversation happening around them. Our senators are in session to do an job. And presenting opposition to nominees that they feel do not represent the best interest of their constituents is part of that job. You can love her or hate her, that is not the point. If the roles were reversed, the outrage from those affected would be palpable. Just as it was this week. The world is not often kind to truth seekers. In particular, politicians and religious leaders and reporters from all angles are not often kind to truth seekers, and probably never will be. The search for truth is to travel a lonely road. I pray we all, whatever our political or religious affiliation, find the strength and courage to continue the journey, the quest for truth, no matter who tries to silence us along the way. No matter the cost, no matter the ridicule, it is our own personal responsibility to find it. And shame on those who would hinder that. May we all persist.

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The Labyrinth and the Shell

I walk in, and feel the familiarity of my surroundings. I know it leads nowhere, and still I enter, as if this will be the time I finally find my way out, on my own, as a conqueror of all the evil that lurks within. But I was not a conqueror today. Nor will I be the next time. There is no conquering the maze, there is only the journey through. There is no conquering. Even though the landmarks are familiar, the path is never twice the same. I travel it. Again and again. Reminders everywhere that the shell is not the real me, only the tamed version that is most often seen. The rest of me, the real me is in the labyrinth. I go back to that place, searching for her, calling out to her. But I cannot tarry long before the shell reminds me that the search must be called off once more. There is both pain and hope in this place of loneliness and shifting shadows. Sometimes there is the glimmer of a light. A brief refraction bouncing off the tangles of roots and branches. I run toward it, calling out. But by the time I have untangled my feet, the glimpse of light is gone once more. Other times, there is no light, no glimmer. And those are the longest journeys. Eventually the shell beckons me, motioning toward another exit only she knows how to find. If I saw light in the labyrinth, I can hold on to that promise for a time. If not, I walk away from the maze once more. Head down, defeated. Empty hands and an empty heart. But I will return. I always return. It is the shell who sends me in, and the shell that draws me out. She needs what is inside the labyrinth, and neither she nor I can rest until it is found.

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The Writing Process: A short summary

When you’re at work all day thinking of nothing but this

But then when you finally get home and it’s nothing but this

So the rest of the night is spent like this

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I'm scared. I dig in my heels. Seeing nothing but what is immediately in front of me. Promises mean something. Mistakes are human. And I'd rather be certain of an uncertain future with you, than one without you.

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Once you break the shell, there's no going back. You can't retreat back into the protective hardness. You are exposed. Vulnerable. And that's kinda the point.

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Coming up for air

I love how, lately, writing is the last thing I do before going to sleep and the first thing I think about when I wake up. Not my dreadful 9-5, not my rocky marriage, not the proverbial hell that is my daughter's junior high experience. It's like I've discovered this oasis from all of the shittiness of life and in that oasis I can have the control that I so desperately wish I had in those other areas of my life. I'm hoping that's a healthy thing. Satisfying my need for control through an artistic outlet. Which is such a contradiction because while I FEEL in control when I write, my writing itself, especially these days, is more free and less restricted than it has ever been. Such a paradox. Last night, I did something I've never done. I finished a chapter of my own fiction story. I've attempted fictional writing before and it would go like this: Write 10 pages Go to bed Re-read it the next morning Delete/throw away/burn that shit This time: Wrote 5 pages Went to bed Re-read it the next morning Said, "huh." Wrote 5 more pages the next night. Progress. Maybe I just wasn't ready to tell this story back then. Maybe I needed to get to this controlled yet free part of my artistic self. In any case, some of the freedom is in knowing that just getting this story OUT is the point. Not so someone else can read it. Not so it will get published. Not for any other reason than my soul needs to write it. To be in that place is like someone cutting cinder blocks off my feet and letting me float to the surface for fresh air that I haven't breathed in years.

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When I started writing for public consumption over 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was doing. I only know slightly better now. I just wrote. I wrote what I thought, what I felt, safe in my anonymity behind the screen. And then I got braver. And then some things happened and I got less brave, and less brave, until I wasn't writing anything anymore. So I started again. And I tried to bridle it. I tried to hold back the poet, the activist, the artist inside me until I could feel my own desperation eating me alive from the inside out. And then something changed. I turned toward those parts of myself that I had restricted. I loosened their chains of conformity, politeness, and fear. I beckoned them to step into the light. They looked at me with hopeful, yet untrusting eyes. "How do we know you won't chain us up again?" they asked. "Because I'm not the same woman who locked you up." I said. "I won't be scared of you, if you won't be scared of me." I told them. And we agreed.

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She found herself when she began to look in unexpected places, in unexpected eyes. On the surface, unfamiliar, but when she looked, really looked, she realized she’d been there all along.

Her inner child laughed with delight. “See?!” she exclaimed, “This is what I’ve been trying to show you!”

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You are the mother, soothing the cries of your children, yet also the one inside yourself.

You are the artist, your creations offend, yet inspire.

You are an unlikely warrior, yet you do not run from battle.

You fear much, yet are unafraid.

You are soft, yet hardened.

You are refined, purified, yet raw and malleable.

You are steadfast, yet ever-changing.

You fear much, yet are unafraid.

You do not recognize a ceiling made of glass.

You do not acknowledge a ceiling at all.

Glass can be shattered. Walls can be torn down.

You fear much, yet are unafraid.

You do not hide your tears or fake your smiles.

Your words speak volumes, but so do your silences.

You remember your place of brokenness, and the Source of your healing.

You fear much, yet are unafraid.

You watch the world with curious eyes, yet guard your heart.

You listen with open ears, yet carefully weigh the sounds.

You trust, but are not led blindly.

You fear much, yet are unafraid.

You are me. I am you.

We are the mothers, daughters, and sisters of earth and time.

We are many. We are one.

We fear much, yet are unafraid.

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Movie Review - La La Land

One of the best things about having a daughter that’s getting older and more mature, is the opportunity to see something other than animated movies at the cinema. Today, per her request (and with her own money!) La niña numero uno treated me to a movie date. She even bought me a frozen Coke, which scored her extra brownie points! Our movie choice today was picked entirely on a whim: La La Land starring Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling.*Spoilers ahead.* I have to say, this is one of THE best films I’ve seen in a long, long time. There was such an “Old Hollywood” feel to this picture and it made me nostalgic for the movies I grew up watching as a kid. I loved musicals when I was growing up, and I now have a new one to add to my list of favorites. The original music and lyrics written for this movie are outstanding, heartfelt, fun, and moving pieces that weave a tapestry for this love story with a bittersweet ending. I love Emma Stone. She’s different, quirky, and absolutely believable in any role she takes on. Her comedic timing is impeccable and her emotion is always palpable. Gosling, while obviously an internet meme sensation is apparently gifted in more ways than for which he usually receives credit. I’ve seen him in some fantastic dramatic roles (The Place Beyond the Pines, for example) and he proved in his performance in La La Land that he is simply good across the board. The dance scenes between Stone and Gosling are probably what reminded me the most of Old Hollywood. They were iconic, graceful and make a person want to take up ballroom dancing just because they made it look so fun, easy, and like something we should do in everyday life. Sometimes in a movie like this, one element or the other is lacking. The music might be great but the story is lacking. Or the cinematography is good but the music is “meh” - after seeing this film, I now understand how it won so many Golden Globes and it was absolutely worthy of every last one of them. The story itself is one that mainly those with an artistic mindset will appreciate. There are so many nuances and subtleties that tell the story, even when the actors aren’t speaking. Details. The details give it richness and substance and keep the artistic elements going when the music stops. Artistic minds and dream chasers will relate to this story because of the very realistic portrayal of what we seek, experience and try to overcome as artists living in a world that often treats us like we’re crazy: authenticity, rejection, belief in ourselves and our passion. If there is a lesson to be learned from the story, it’s that all dreams come at a price and happy endings rarely, if ever, happen on our terms. There are impossible decisions to make when pursuing a dream, and while we might end up with something wonderful, a price is almost always paid in the process. But the journey, the beautiful tapestry that is created along the way, is itself a work of art. I can’t think of a better person to have seen this film with besides my daughter. It was a beautiful experience to share with my kindred spirit, believer-in-dreams, artistic-soul having offspring. The best song of the movie, in my opinion, was “The Fools Who Dream” - the lyrics are below. “My aunt used to live in Paris. I remember, she used to come home and tell us these stories about being abroad and I remember she told us that she jumped into the river once, barefoot.

She smiled…

Leapt, without looking And tumbled into the Seine The water was freezing She spent a month sneezing But said she would do it again

Here’s to the ones who dream Foolish as they may seem Here’s to the hearts that ache Here’s to the mess we make

She captured a feeling Sky with no ceiling The sunset inside a frame

She lived in her liquor And died with a flicker I’ll always remember the flame

Here’s to the ones who dream Foolish as they may seem Here’s to the hearts that ache Here’s to the mess we make

She told me: "A bit of madness is key To give us new colors to see Who knows where it will lead us? And that’s why they need us”

So bring on the rebels The ripples from pebbles The painters, and poets, and plays

And here’s to the fools who dream Crazy as they may seem Here’s to the hearts that break Here’s to the mess we make

I trace it all back to then Her, and the snow, and the Seine Smiling through it She said she’d do it again"