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Best of luck, and thank you for reading. :)
Sara
My uterus is tilted. But, my chakra is awesome.
Today was one of those days where something weird happened, then something so unexpected and cool happened, that I almost forgot about the pelvic exam and sonogram to determine, “you’re just a little tilted in there.”
I had my annual lady-parts exam, and all is well, except - the plumbing is off a bit. I’m not the least bit surprised. Sometimes I couldn’t feel more abnormal. But, hey, as long as it works - who cares? On the other hand, having jelly smeared across your belly and being probed with a sonar stick inside and out doesn’t really make you feel too hot.
I left the clinic, violated, yet relieved, and headed to this swanky spa grand opening that a friend asked me to attend. Some pampering at “Hiatus” sounded good, but I wasn’t prepared for the ego high-five I was about to receive. “Christian”, the well-groomed, middle-aged masseuse urged me into his low-lit room soon after I’d arrived to introduce me to his Chakra Massage. He took my vest and purse and asked, “When was the last time you had a massage?”
“I guess it was about six years ago,” I said.
Balance
Procrastination.
Hesitation.
Fear?
Lack of time.
Lethargy.
These are some of the reasons I didn’t write much in 2011. Very different words and phrases from the more positive notes I’ve been half-scribbling down for the last few days in hopes of finally putting together an honest recap of my life in 2011, and here it begins 16 days into 2012, a really different story from the one I had in mind.
*Add “Lame” to that list.
The truth is, last year deserved so much more from me. 2011 swept me off my feet and picked me up and spun me around. 2011 opened doors for me, didn’t let me doubt that I’m smart and deserving, and it left sweet surprises in unexpected places. 2011 kissed my face and made me feel beautiful, right in front of everyone! It whispered encouragement in my ears more times than I can remember. I was insanely blessed, and it’s with a sense of shame that I realize the greatest show of gratitude I have was withheld for dumb reasons. I never feel better than I do when I have the sense of completeness that comes with creating something, in this case - with simply writing. Oh, the stories! Most you wouldn’t believe, even if I told you… but I didn’t even bother to document the journey. (see list above)
You can’t be thirsty with a fridge full of weird hippie food.
“To cure disease after it has appeared is like digging a well when one is already thirsty or forging weapons after the war has already begun,” is a famous text from second century BCE, quoted in CLEAN: The Revolutionary Program to Restore the Body’s Natural Ability to Heal Itself.
After months of hardly writing, the idea of digging a well before thirsty strikes me. It’s no joke - I need to write more, before I’m creatively parched, maybe dead. It absolutely sucks that the best time to write is in times of great suffering or times of elation. Mostly, I fall somewhere between. Lately, I’ve been on the brighter end, and it’s a strange and awesome place - pieces fitting… sense making… clarity.
Twenty-Ten, Where To Begin
“Lonely Crowded Space”
That’s the name of my first album when I play bass in my imagined, hauntingly beautiful and otherworldly band with pianos like waterfalls and mysterious drumbeats where I tell you everything I want to, just as it feels. And I feel good, because I know you got the message, just as it was delivered - warmly, you feel it too. You walk away, changed somehow. (“Letters Not Sent” - that’s track three. Nine, maybe.)
But I’m afraid to play music. I love it too much to attempt to create something that inspires me so intensely, that might come across in a less than inspiring way for someone else. Unfortunately, I’m my meanest critic when it comes to writing too, and it’s something that I dream of doing meaningfully, and always better. I’m excited by the idea of mastering our language, because it is unattainable for anyone.
It’s beautiful when someone comes close. And, it’s so frustrating when I don’t, can’t,… won’t? But, it’s also a really uplifting challenge. There’s a strange and exciting, natural high in completing a thought for someone else to think on.
That’s why these thoughts on 2010 have been killing me for a while. Four? Five days into 2011 now, it’s a little late. Is this what writers do? Take half-assed notes on things that seem interesting or relevant and then toss it all at the end out of frustration? Drugs? Alcohol? Sleepless nights? Nightmares? How do I say IT, and what does IT mean? (Unintentional 2010 Double-Rainbow reference) Why do I have to? I don’t. I need to. Who’s gonna read it? Who cares? I care. Why?…
Writing’s become something that is ever-interesting for me. The only other thing I feel I’ve ever been pretty good at was school. So, I can “sponge” - big fucking deal. What do you do with that? I haven’t figured that out. In the last year, I’ve applied some of my expensive college sponging and brain practice into writing some product scripts for a video production company. Hardly the creative career that I want, but I’m constantly scrambling for the right words and the write words, which keeps me in the writing zone, at least somehow. I’m happy for it.
What I consider to be a personal failure, and motivator, is the lack of time I’ve spent writing for me, submitting things, applying an ability to convey ideas for a purpose that is more fulfilling. I want to change that. That’d be something! Like Letterman to Paul Shaffer, “I don’t know, is that something, Paul?” “You know, I think that’s something, Dave.” - Confirmed.
I want to write. I want to write until my fingers are numb and my heart isn’t.
That’s my 2011 resolution, if only one. Write a childrens’ book. Write a blog. Write song lyrics. Write on napkins. Bathroom walls. Write morning and night. When elated, when depressed. Because I have to, like Bukoski. Bird by Bird, like Anne Lamott. About people, like Stephen King, where monsters are made real by the realness of the characters they torment. Poetically, like so many… artists, musicians, dreamers - effortlessly, organically, wholeheartedly, and honestly.
And I don’t care if you like it. This is my band. My “fictional” band.
We play on until almost everyone’s left, finally getting to the truth, amidst all the smoke and a few lingering listeners still eager to take something more away. We have one more song. Thank you, and goodnight.
So, 2010. Last year was insane like the one before. At least that’s how it FELT, and how I’d like to tell it. More change, more uncertainty, more creative need, a ravenous lust for passion, and a growing intolerance for settling for any sort of conventional lifestyle, just for the sake of doing so, or because I’m at an age where I’m “supposed to”.
Things happened in the world, for sure. Global, worldly things that affected all of us, and I made a list of things to mention here. But, I tossed it. You were there - on TV, on CNN.com, on FaceBook, and you heard about Haiti, the jobless rate, the deaths, the new technologies, the divorces, the YouTube videos, the cat memes and all of those big things.
Those things didn’t seem as real to me this year, while the events of my life and my friends’ lives seem surreal, relevant and worth talking about.
My grandmother Hazel died in October. There’s Haiti, and then, there’s Hazel. See what I mean? Hazel was bigger. She was my dad’s mother, an amazing woman with a beautiful heart. My dad is heroic to me, and Hazel was “home” for him. He’s never known a world without his mom, and that’s a strange and lonesome thought I think. (This is where I hit a wall. These subjects. You can’t possibly convey that strangeness in words, can you? In music? In art?)
My loving friend, graphic designer extraordinaire, photographer, and all-around beautiful soul, Briana, called me one night with the news that she’s having a baby. Here’s another soul-shaking, wordless moment. I felt the way I did when my good friend Nicole broke this news to me years before. I could hardly speak - only cry and giggle, at the same time, and say “Really?” a whole bunch. I generally cringe at the news of pregnancy or marriage among friends my age, but in this case, all the world is right. Some people deserve the privilege of creating a life, and these women are those women. My friends are mothers, and that’s exciting and mind-blowing. Are we really old enough? Ready enough? It overwhelms me at this point in life to think of what it must be like to be responsible for someone else, too.
I may have confused infatuation with love more than once, left to dream impossible things. But I’ve never settled for anyone or anything that hasn’t made life feel more alive. Matters of my heart are still mindless.
A friend quit smoking, and I’m proud of her.
In 2010, I met and enjoyed some of the best friendships of my life. That’s solid. No writer’s block. I’ve felt more at peace and at home in my life in Austin than before, happy and blessed to be here with like-minded friends who inspire me with your interests, talents and passion. Thanks for sharing those with me. I feel less concerned by the time that’s passed and anxious to explore what’s next, because you’re all smiling and dancing, crying, lost and laughing too.
Now if we can just figure out where we parked.
Love and best wishes to you in twenty-eleven,
Sara Eleta
art: Dave McKean
