Is It Just Me?

To The Person Who Keeps Telling Me To Think Positive:

Just for today, I'd like to sit you down, tie you to a chair, gag you, and make you listen to me. Really listen to me. What do you say? Are you game? Come on, now. Just give it a try. Think positive. This could be a good thing for you. Just relax. Breathe. There's nothing you can do anyway. You're tied to a chair. Here we go...

1. You are NOT helping me! Your words ignite deep feelings of shame and inadequacy.

2. Do you realize a thought is different from a belief?

3. Do you really believe that by instructing me to think positive, you are absolved of any feelings of guilt you may be experiening? Further, do you believe that once absolved of your guilt, any potential responsibility you may have is also null and void because apparently my predicament is solely due to my own stubborn unwillingness to think positive? (If your answer is yes or might be yes or you are uncertain of your answer, go back to #2.)

4. Sometimes good things happen to bad people and vice versa.

5. Hey! Here's a suggestion! Next time, why not tell me to go jump off a cliff or go play in traffic instead?

6. Hey! Here's another suggestion! Try being creative in your responses to me.

7. I'm reasonably certain your grasp of English grammar is poor. I believe the correct phrase should be, "Think positively." I could be wrong. (And if I am wrong, I'm sure I will be hearing from you.)

Well, that's all the time I have today. Thanks for listening to me. I guess I'll see you around. What? Did you say something? I'm sorry, but I can't understand you. What's that? Are you saying "oil can"? No. That doesn't make any sense. Oh... I get it. You want me to untie you? Yes. Untie you... Hmmm... You know what? I'm going to have to say no. But don't worry. You'll be fine. Just think positive...

Excuse Me... Mr. Campbell? Do You Etch-A-Sketch?

I've dedicated my life to following my inner guidance. I call it my little voice. It's not that I literally hear a voice; rather, I get a sense of what I'm supposed to do in my life. Sometimes it's just the sense that I'm no longer supposed to be doing what I'm doing, that it's time to move on.

A few years ago, I got the sense that it was time to move on. In fact, the feeling was so intense I thought I was either going to die (I did become quite ill.) or physically move to a new locale. (I have more than a few half-packed boxes stuffed in my closet.) The problem is even now I still have no sense of direction. Though my little voice has made it clear it's time for me to pack up and go, she has yet to provide me with a destination.

If I was having this chat with Joseph Campbell, I'm more than certain he would advise me to follow my bliss. Well, Mr. Campbell, first I have to find it! My personal experience with bliss is that it can be a state of consciousness (which I have witnessed in others but have been unable to maintain in myself) or it can be a transitory elusive sudden sky-opens-up-light-streams-through-bells-ring-everything-is-beautiful-in-this-moment sort of thing. I have had those moments. Many times. Lots of them. Here's my problem, Mr. Campbell: When I take all these blissful moments and add them together, they don't seem to equal anything; they don't appear to illuminate any sort of path.

I used to have a life, a path, a direction. (I did.) And now I don't.

Remember Etch-A-Sketch? Life seemed more simple then. A few turns of the knobs this way and that and you created a picture. If you didn't like the picture, you simply shook the screen and it was blank again. I have done that with my life over and over. But now... Now I sit and stare at the blank screen that is me. Perhaps it sounds cool to some. I suppose, in a way, it is cool. I AM FREE TO CHOOSE! [Insert image of me standing on top of a mountain shouting and listening to my words echoing back at me.] But choosing can be difficult. And I find myself waiting. Just waiting. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for inspiration. Waiting for the sound of my little voice. Waiting to be sure. And then? And nothing. Nothing except Joseph Campbell, "Follow your bliss." Nothing except the blank screen and the waiting and the sense that it is time. (And of course the urge to pack more boxes.)

Yesterday I was a college professor. (Shake the screen.) Today I am not.

Yesterday I was a day younger. Today I am not.

Yesterday an Etch-A-Sketch life seemed possible. Today? Well, Mr. Campbell, today is a different day.

The Dog Days Of Summer Are Here!

MY THREE DOGS

[Insert theme music for classic television show "My Three Sons" here. Now continue reading or tap your toes and reminisce. Either way, it's all good.]

SOPHIE: (aka Buddah, Buddah-Bay, Baby Girl) She's a vivacious, competitive, fun-loving Red-nose Pit who enjoys kissing on the mouth, ripping apart stuffed toys, playing tug-of-war, handing any visitor a towel when they walk through the door, drinking running water from the bathroom sink, cuddling during thunderstorms, and biting at the hose. Someone found her abandoned in a parking lot seven years ago, most likely left for dead. Sophie was not expected to live more than a few days. But with a little food and water and a lot of love and care, she is alive and well and kicking my ass daily!!

JOSEPH: (aka MoMo, MoMo Man and Little Bastard) He's an adorable American Pit. I call him a tuxedo Pit because of his white markings against what initially appears to be a black coat. Joe LOVES cuddling, plush squeaky toys, classical piano, drinking running water from the bathroom sink, pulling his best friend Todd on a skateboard, hamburger night, spaghetti, and Jumbones. He was abandoned by his owners after having "accidentally" eaten poison. Now, five years later, he is fat and happy!

PABLO: (aka Snow Baby, Pabby, Pablito, Papa, Bulldozer) Pablo is a handsome American Staffordshire Terrier. My father told me that there was a dog who had been living at a vet clinic for almost a year just waiting to be adopted. Apparently, Pablo was found in an apartment after some tenants moved out. The night before I met him I had a dream. In my dream I am outside and the ground is covered with several feet of snow. I notice a litter of puppies buried in the snow and I try frantically to dig them out. One puppy pokes his head up out of the snow and says, "You can't save all of us, but you can save me." I knew the instant I awoke I was going to have to adopt Pablo. And when I met him, it was love at first sight! Pablo LOVES attention. He literally bull-dozes the other dogs out of the way to get it. I am still trying to help him understand that I have enough love for all of my babies! Pablo loves plush squeaky toys, over-sized tennis balls, Cheetos, running into walls (or so it seems), having his butt rubbed, and having his face licked by Sophie!

Forwards & Backwards

I went swimming today with my nieces in my mother's pool. What an amazing feeling to watch a six-year-old doing forward and backward sommersaults in the water when only minutes before she could do neither! Yeah today! (Just when I thought I was getting nowhere and doing nothing with my life!)

Nickname: "Hollywood"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Private message for Laruegush:

Just 'cause my phone rings every time you're here...

it don't mean a thing.

The hat is yours, baby, whenever you want it...

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

P.I.D.

Playing In Dirt...


Yes, it is still a BLAST!

Does An Oak Wish It Was A Willow?

Some mornings I wish I was someone else. Okay, many mornings I wish I was someone else. Or at least a different version of myself.

Suppose there are parallel universes. Suppose I am living many lives at once, each life intricately carved out of different choices. Imagine there is a specific spot on which I can stand that overlooks all of these lives. I want to stand there, to see the lives radiating out from me. I want to take myselves in. All of me. I want to leap from myself to myself. I want the freedom to choose, to leave, to shed my skin when it is time.

And suddenly I am standing once again on that specific spot knowing I have already chosen all of this. Even the wish to be someone else. In this moment I see that I have always had the freedom to choose, to leave, to shed my skin when it is time. In this moment I am oak, willow, me.

Viva! Lords & Ladies Of The Dance!

Today I received an e-mail from my Czech friend, Honza. I met Honza a little over a month ago at the Holzhausen international fringe festival in Austria. Theater groups from four countries performed in the festival: Switzerland, Lithuania, USA, and the Czech Republic. After each performance, there was a party. We drank and laughed and danced... On the first night, I asked Honza to dance. He couldn't speak much English at all, but he was able to communicate clearly that he did not dance. I ignored his refusal, pretended not to understand him, and dragged his Czech Republic ass off his chair and made him dance. (And by made, I mean I literally moved his arms around in the air while simultaneously shaking my ass and instructing him to shake his.) "Just have fun!" I shouted -- not sure if he understood... By the last night of the festival, he was dancing... On his own!! Since then we have become friends. We communicate via e-mail. He recently e-mailed me to (proudly, excitedly) report that he had danced at a concert he attended! Viva Honza! Lord of The Dance!

Recently I was in the car with my nine year old niece. One of our favorite dance songs came on the radio. Being the way cool aunt I am, I turned up the volume and started dancing. My niece didn't move. In fact, she refused to dance and looked away from me. "Come on! Let's dance." She looked nervous, tense. We were stopped at a light. She looked at the people in the cars stopped around us. "Come on! Let's dance! It's fun!" "No, that's okay..." My heart sank. At nine years old she has become self-conscious; the magic is gone for her. At four years old, five, six, seven, eight years old, the magic was still there. I remember. She was free to express herself. Now, at nine years old, she refuses to dance. Why? Because she fears what other people will think when she does. Because she fears she will not be good enough. And it's not just the dancing. There are a lot of things she no longer does or tries. Now her fear outweighs her potential joy.

My friend Honza is 27 years old. I wonder about him. Does he dance whenever he wants now? Does he worry about what others think? About whether or not he is good enough at something to be doing it? I hope it won't take my niece 20 years to understand that life is WAY too short NOT to dance -- WAY too short to let fear outweigh JOY!! I hope she will one day remember the magic, throw off her shackles of self-consciousness, turn up the volume, and DANCE!! I look forward to the day when I can say: Viva Bailey! Lady of The Dance!

Thanks To The Guy Who Invented Indoor Plumbing

I get some of my best ideas in the bathroom. It's true. I'm more than certain that this is in part due to indoor plumbing. I can't say for sure exactly what it is... Indoor plumbing just eases my mind. Perhaps it's the hot and cold running water, flushing toilets, showers, tubs. Perhaps it's the fact that I don't have to wander through the wilderness to find the perfect spot to dig my own hole in the dirt and do my business and pray some wild animal is not lurking just waiting for someone like me... or even bag up my stuff to dispose of later... or go outside in the middle of the night and find my way to some outhouse where who knows who or what will be waiting to grab me not to mention the fact that maybe it's Winter and freezing or Spring and raining or Summer and well, you get the picture. And of course, as you can imagine by now, I'm most comfortable and creative in my own bathroom. But as long as I'm being honest, even in such a relatively stress-free environment, I do worry. Occasionally...

(1) What if the toilet backs up?
(2) What if a snake slithers up the pipes into my toilet?
(3) What if an alligator crawls up the pipes into my toilet?
(4) Is someone hiding in my shower?
(5) Did someone sneak into my house into my bathroom and poison my toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, lotion, deoderant, shampoo, conditioner, powder, blush, eye-liner, mascara, eye shadow, lipstick?
(6) There could be a hidden camera or microphone in here and I would never know...
(7) Is that a two-way mirror?
(8) Spiders. (I worry about them everywhere. Once, when I was 11 years old, I found one in my shoe. Now I always check my shoes for spiders.)
(9) Am I eating enough fiber?
(10) Is my poop the right color? size? consistency? texture? shape?
(11) I hope my cell phone gets good reception in here. I don't want to miss a call from my agent.

Yes, this (virtually) stress-free environment allows my ideas to flow...