YOUTH: You're probably fucking up, but don't worry about, you've got time.

There's something about the smell of the air at 10pm in Hollywood, when the sky doesn't give you the privilege of seeing the stars that makes you feel like you're eighteen again.

...tugging at your clothes wondering if you look pretty, if people will think you're funny, or if they're feigning interest... or if people can tell you've been eating peanut butter for dinner for like, a month straight, while piling into a car with a person you barely know, wondering if they're going to remember your name when you run into them at Gelson's in a week.

There's something about that smell. 10pm, right before summer comes full force, that reminds me of all those weird insecurities that you hope you've masked enough for functionality sake...now that you're 25 and all. You'll put this mask on autopilot. Chipping away at truths, layers trailing behind you, reminding you of what you're desperately trying to shed.

But here's the thing about youth. Right? YOUTH. Isn't it equally magic and horrendous at once?

The thing is this; sometimes, when you're 25, you'll end up cuddling with someone you shouldn't and you'll feel terrible the next morning and think, "when in the fucking, FUCK am I going to get it right?" then, you'll remember that sometimes, a warm bicep feels better than a pillow.

That sometimes, you'll isolate yourself and then you'll spread yourself thin. Sometimes, you'll be in the middle of the desert, with your arms in the sky, fingers splayed, tips touching the smoky dome of the Universe and you'll think, "Am I experiencing the actual best moment of my life right this second?" Then you'll fist your hands back up, the lights will turn off and you'll worry about your taxes. Or if you're eating enough greens.

Sometimes, you'll play Tetris with your plans and awkwardly dance atop the teeter totter like a lost puppy with a smile on their face while repeating, "I got this... I think? I got this... i think?" and like a charged game of Russian Roulette you'll hope you land on "GOT THIS SHIT." Then of course, you won't land there and you'll make yourself a quesadilla. And hopefully, play another game.

Sometimes, you'll have all the feelings and feel nothing at the exact same time and you'll think, "oh my god...is THIS the undiscovered dimension all humans throughout time have been feeling?" Then, you'll crawl into your bed all charged and "wise" and suddenly, you're on your phone debating ordering a pizza or calling your Mom, pretending that you have your shit together. Then you'll meditate, do some yoga, talk to God and feel "okay" again, until you wake up and have to relearn the epiphanies you had the night before and then, you'll feel bad for forgetting them. For not taking them seriously enough. For not making significant life-altering changes on your way to Starbucks, interspersed into your Daily Routine.

SOMETIMES, while you're mid-hangover, you'll be sitting alone at a café and the most beautiful family will be sitting in front of you and you'll be like, "THAT'S ALL I WANT." Then, you'll proceed to text that person who makes you feel like a Douchebag to see if they'll acknowledge your existence, by which the following steps occurs- Step 1. If so, they give you one word. You do a cartwheel. You project progress. Step 2. you'll try to hang out with them, which obviously won't happen... Step 3. You actually give up. A month later, you're back at the same café, staring creepily at a family coveting their life and thinking, "I'm lonely. No, I'm not, I'm awesome?... But still, I'm here creepily envying you? " thus, back to feeling all the things at once.

Sometimes, you'll collect all the wrong people and place them behind your fancy Windex-assaulted hutch, shiny glass and all and then at some unexpected point, you'll be forced to reevaluate their worth and realize you have to make a painful trade. You'll give up and then you'll take up. Then, you'll repeat it all again.

Sometimes, you'll have everything you want right in front of you, but you won't give it the time of day because you're too afraid to let go of the things that validate you just enough to survive, while counteracting your true desires at the same time. Because, obviously, it's too risky to flee. If you let go of one, what if nothing becomes of the other? Then you'll wonder why you're still hungry, clutching to the familiar.

Sometimes, you'll wake up. And each time, you hope you'll stay awake. Until you accidentally fall asleep again...

Sometimes you'll make a thousand excuses as to why you can't. Why you can't find love, why you can't pursue your dreams, why you can't find the time...then, while you're surrendered, empty and ready to be filled again you'll hear this strained voice tell you;

"Move out of your own way."

What they were really trying to say when they were telling you to "let go," was "...kindly unclench your tiny fists that are holding that "thing" that you so want to get rid of, move out of your own way."

It isn't that you're "too busy," or that you don't know what to do, it's that you've decided to know the answers before living through the answers, move your stubbornness aside. Then see the result. In fact, don't just move out of your own way... keep moving, in general. Move. Shift. Take steps.

Sometimes, you'll be like an elephant who just wants to plant a pretty daisy amidst the rose garden and proceeds to fuck the whole operation up.

What are you learning about YOUTH....what do you acknowledge to be true?

It's okay to ASK. For more PARMESAN. For more cuddles. For help. ASK, ASK. ASK.

I lifted my heart to the heavens and asked that it be filled.

Ah, isn't that such a vulnerable moment, the ASKING.

...The asking of anything, really; permission, grace, advice, guidance.... ten more minutes, unapologetically declaring the need for more pleasure, or some damn directions. Extra cheese. Real answers. Proof. A little more time. There's great confession is ASKING and when there's a confession, you also reveal a wound or a "heart-piece." A, "hey, I trust you enough to tell you what I need right now." Asking is RAW and when something is raw, it is tender and when something is tender, it is delicate...so when we are in the place of asking we're admitting that we ourselves are fragile and that no matter what emotional facade we may build up around us, we are not made to be emotionally, physically or spiritually bulletproof.

Almost two years ago I went through what is my deepest ache-the one that left the floor and Iintimately familiar. Yes, while seemingly trite it was my first, real, true love heartbreak. See, I'm acutely aware that a breakup isn't an ounce of the pain or heaviness that people struggle with in the larger scheme of life, however, the dark hours that followed for me were as a result of this experience. The point isn't that specific experience but the things that I carried from it as a result; you will not feel this depth of pain, to this capacity forever. Even when it feels like it now, the Gods above will grant you some respite before you crumble. And, the most important one was this;

It is our job to lift people up.

Caring, is not a "special personality trait" it is what we are here to do. If we aren't genuinely caring, unconditionally loving, connecting- holding and selflessly giving to those around us, what matters?

.... remember how supportive all of you were, when I was revealing my cringeworthy pain to you?

When I was heaving in a ball, clutching my heart and a pack of cigarettes, you were planning, scheming, sending prayers and notes. With no expectation, just to 'wave hello' that you were out there, thinking of me. I didn't realize the expansiveness of what it felt like to be HELD until I went through that. But, the thing I also didn't prepare for was; In order for me to heal, part of what I needed to do was reveal to those dear the parts of me that were still aching.

While, I see infinite magic, miracles and awe in this singular precious life that we're living, I recognize and acknowledge that there is true pain and heartbreak happening. That we're all surviving and navigating through our own suffering. We're experiencing loss of our loved ones, our visions, our self-control, our fortitude. Our minds. We're hurting. We each have different degrees of pain, on different timelines, wearing different outfits. But all of us have it. Which makes this whole COMPASSION thing, pretty essential.

Be there before someone needs to ask. Rush to their side. Assume they need tequila. Assume they need you to listen. Assume they need a bowl of spaghetti. Be still and silent. Expand your own heart and test your humanity by beving brave enough to truly comprehend what they must be feeling. When the words on the tip of your tongue are just answers for YOU, reevaluate them and give words made for who's in front of you. Take yourself out of the picture. Reserve your need to find a solution, or be right, or make a judgment and realize that by presently being with someone the answers you thought you had for them, actually work both ways and that there's something they're teaching you too. Make a little more space in your heart.

Pour one out for the homie. Dedicate a prayer, mindfully.

Send out a practice. A poem. A card that says, "...we'll find our 'happy.'" Send pears, or cabernet, bad chick flicks, or text messages full of emoticons.

Feed. Nurture. Nap with. Peel. DO THE HEAVY LIFTING. All for someone else.

...and if you are in the place of asking; it's okay.

Declare what you are and what you are not. What can be and what you need a little help with for awhile.

Give your pain a name and let the people who love you, snuggle up next to that distinct, bitter anguish and let them endure the thing with you. When you feel stale and vacuous, ask for a sip of their light to start the engines again. Then let them sweep you away from the ache, if even for a moment and make you smile again. Let them distract you. Take you on an adventure. Stimulate your senses, through food and music and newness. Let those around you make you feel alive again, when you're enduring the deepest opaque moments, when you think it isn't possible- feel. alive.

There's a reason we have the ability to hold each other. So keep your arms open.

If sleep, or the night. If food, or the mirror. If loneliness, or the silence. If unanswerable questions, or the confusion. If the ability to make a five minute plan, let alone a 5 year plan is plaguing you, we're here.

When you need a ride. Someone to tell you a story. A partner in crime. Physical presence. A light. Someone to count to three for you so you can scream on four. A person to look you in the eyes and say, "...you're going to be okay." When you need these things, ASK. But more than asking, be these things. This is our job, it is part of the human condition to take care of one another.

Let's stick together shall we? I got you.

How can you OPEN YOUR ARMS TO SOMEONE TODAY?

My idea of balance is like.... eat broccoli all week, or live on cheese plates and whiskey. ALSO TITLED: The blog about Self Awareness.

"Something hit me in the stomach today; he could, can, will move on and be with someone else eventually. Then, I got really sick. So there's that. It's distant enough at this point that I recognize that statement as a reality. And... my ego doesn't like the idea of him getting to move on before me......wow, that was honest."

I typed these words to a dear friend yesterday. And while I don't generally lack the ability to be forthcoming, I momentarily, somewhat unknowingly, admitted a subconscious fear.

The way friends always seem to know how, she said the thing that is a truth but one I hadn't quite pinpointed.

"I appreciate your self awareness."

I appreciate your self awareness. The words turned around in my mind. Somersaults. Up and over.

The thing is, are any of our fears really subconscious? Or are we blindly turning our head towards a different view, because we just aren't ready..... there's a difference between being unaware and between being unprepared to handle a truth.

Often, the moments we have an "AHA!" we're really just finding the lock that fits the key, we knew there was a key. We knew there was a lock. They just existed in different places in our lives. Whatever was behind the door was maybe, something we weren't prepared to handle. Something we weren't ready to accept into our lives... to let assist in our evolution of spirit, self, movement.

The answer doesn't always present itself in one conspicuous gesture. The answer is a riddle.

The answer is a journey, that involves a lot of mini-answers along the way. Yes, no. Mhm-yeah-baby-more-please and hell-to-the-never-ever-fuck-that-shit.

EVERYTHING we are doing is honing our self awareness. Polishing it, so the "Yes" feels more effortless and the "No," is less frequent- there's less to say No to, when we start dancing with the things that we know are parallel with our Yes.

I'm a big believer in making friends with your fears. Letting them live on the surface so you can become familiar with the things that feed their hungers in a positive way and that feed them in a negative way. A precautionary step to avoid any sneak attacks, if you will. "Why hello little fear, you little punk, stop ruining my day- shall we have a cookie and hash it out?" That's more my approach.

::disclaimer, hippie shit is about to happen:: Click to Pinterest, Facebook, etc. now if you aren't down. Ok. Back::

The other day while I was on my yoga mat, surrendered, my thumbs at my Third Eye a voice said, "Hey.... I'm always here. You just have to ask me to wake up." What parts of yourself need to wake up.... it's already there. We may not hibernate, but parts of our spirit do if we don't urge them to stay awake.

I am intimately aware that:

My idea of nurturing myself is often counter intuitive. Sometimes, the things I do to "nurture" myself, are things that feed the wrong beast. I am aware that, while I may resist certain cravings, they are almost always right and if I ignore them, it only perpetuates their eagerness and deprivation. I am aware that truth rises to the surface, always.

I am aware that my idea of "being an adult," is skewed. I am aware that I will never, probably ever, be comfortable with making plans two weeks in advance and not being tempted to break them. Or, having to answer to authority. Or remember which bills I paid on time. Or having a well balanced fridge. Lucky Charms? Modelo? Broccoli? Marinara? Almond butter? Done. I am aware that I will have to work around my "imperfections," but that it also makes me keen on improvising and that, just like Truth I rise under pressure.

I am aware that I could use some work in the laundry department. That my friends are better at sending gift baskets than I'll ever be. That I go cross eyed when you talk about numbers and that I fear my relationship with money is a long road.... but one I don't want to admit, out of fear that it will keep me from embracing it. I am aware that at the core of everything, I'm actually a performer. That I'm happiest on stage. Or in front of a camera. Or a microphone. That I'm afraid I'll be chained to a chair forever and ever while my Gypsy implodes. I'm aware that I am fearful of imploding.

That I kind of have a temper. That I'm terrible at not getting my way. (that I usually find a way to get ' my way' and that, that particular conquest drives to the edge of insanity.)

That my two things are; love and significance. That when I'm in love my need to feel "significant" lessens, to the point of extinction. That there's a reason one was taken from me. That these two things need to find a way to live beside one another, eventually. I am aware that I like to fucking GO THERE, let's get our hands dirty. Bullshit meter, on high.

That sometimes self awareness is a rabbit hole. Which makes me weirdly insecure. That I want to lift people's consciousness, but that starts with lifting my own first. Through art. Through words. Through action.

I am aware that this blog is too long. Hi.

What are you SELF AWARE about? Good, bad, in between.

These are the ways you can love yourself.....

I'll sleep in. Just one more hour.... snooze button pressed. I can skip yoga for the day, I said. Heart heaving. Bad decisions. Raw text messages. Lifted the veil, to reveal the tawdry parts that embarrassed me. Guilt, thick and distinct like gasoline at the pit of my stomach... why did you do that, why did you do that....

Reluctantly, I pulled myself up, imaginary strings attached to my shoulders, lifting me out from my lackluster. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Release it and move on. Thirty minutes later, on my mat, staring down at my newly manicured sparkling turquoise toes (a color chosen for the very specific reason that it was a silly color), I said.... see, this is how you love yourself.

Feeling anxious, letting my unnecessary panic decide the course of my day is not an option. Getting up and going anyway, while your insides spin out of control. Holding the pose all the way through, when your mind teases you, telling you you can't. Staying when you want to run somewhere called "safe," but really it's just somewhere hidden. These are the ways you can love yourself.

I stared at the list, of my "to-dos" none of which included my "to-enjoys," and while en route to check off the items, I found myself instead in a bookstore, cranking my neck up to the ceiling seeking Hafiz, words that would ground me. I walked away with Rilke, anthologies and a cappuccino. These are the ways you can love yourself.

I told the cute boy at the check out who never smiles back, that I had spent most of the day laying on the floor painting a brown jewelry box pink and writing myself Valentine's Cards with crayons.... he cracked a smile and said he didn't like Tuesdays. Not a total success, but at the very least I had now revealed that I was a little odd, which is, I like to think...a little charming and truthfully, I just wanted to talk to someone. When you want to talk, talk. Tell people stories, without them asking first. When you have extra sequins, make Valentine's. Have sequins, in fucking general. Smile at the stranger who never smiles back anyway, these are the ways you can love yourself.

Not checking the time, or worrying about email. I sat outside and I listened. I paid attention to where I was. To the man that was reading an article about tacos for a solid 45 minutes, which meant he wasn't reading at all but that was probably listening too. I listened with him, I wonder if we heard the same things? Ask yourself questions. Eat tacos. Wonder what a 60 year old man wearing White Converse sneakers does with his days? Imagine that he's a cartoonist, with a propensity for Pez and a collection of rare flutes. Make up funny images in your head. These are the ways you can love yourself.

I watched the couple that walked holding hands, buzzed from bottomless mimosas, still fluttering, they kissed by the car. Innocent, sweet. She left. He walked back, holding a bag of oranges and bundles of greens. I watched him smile and thought, how lovely that I got to witness how happy he is... I wonder if she can feel him smiling. Ten minutes later he walked back the other direction, this time with a friend, retelling his day, erupting with optimism. "We went to the market, then we had lunch...it was a five. hour. date." He was beaming. A lucky moment to observe, that I would have missed had I been texting. Or checking Twitter.

Tell your friends the details. Grin that kinda silly grin. Feel insanely thrown off your game, then let the amount that you keep it cool be ZERO, let someone in and let them make you feel completely exhilarated, these are the ways you can love yourself.

When you can walk, but feel like driving.....walk. When you have lingerie, wear it. When you find your favorite poem, read it four times in a row out loud....record yourself reciting it and listen to your pretty feminine voice. Hear yourself the way other people do. Eat a spoonful of frosting, test your guilt meter and tell it actually fuck off. Make a purchase in anticipation for something....for instance, I bought a full length beaded gown. Yes, beaded. gown. With no where to wear it.... I anticipate that won't be the case for long.

When you want to look soft, like the girl who wants to open her heart to you....the girl who wants to stay up late and tell you about the recurring dream of her and the moon, then whisper to you some of her most tender admissions.... be that girl now, you don't have to wait for someones acknowledgment to unfold. Unfold. These are the way you can love yourself.

When you feel like life is wrapping its fingers around your spirit, clenching its fists around you energetically, placing its strong hands on top of your head in an attempt to say, "stop. growing." push back. It's a test. When you wonder if you're invisible, or perhaps no one will love you or see you, or that you may have to compromise your spirit because, "that's just life".... remember that the ground beneath you will always support you, that the heart that's beating inside of your chest is always your steady companion and that your life is YOURS, that you decide your shine, the only person who can switch on/off INNER LIGHT, is you. These are the ways you can love yourself. Light, on.

Listen to Joni and Whitney, Carole and Patty. Sing out loud. Create for the sake of creating, whether anyone sees it or not. Dance naked, feel ridiculous and awesome at the same time. Admit you need to be held and touched and don't feel sorry about it. Tell your friends you need alone time, make less excuses and make more truthful declarations. Tell yourself you look nice today. Spend an extra ten minutes on something. Wave at a baby. Tell someone ELSE that you think they're beautiful if you're thinking it, even if you're out at a loud bar where everyone is trying to act cool, but everyone really needs someone to tell them, "you already are." Read people's name tags, look them in the eye. Dorothy, at Gelson's made my day. What a great name.... follow the yellow brick road.

Remember that the judgements you make towards yourself are harsh, unnecessary and tactless. That you pretty bird are a delicate, extraordinary miracle. Speak accordingly.

...these are the ways you can love yourself.

How will YOU love yourself?

The things I'm saying to myself..... minus all of the things I say to myself about Beyonce. That's another blog post.

You will be compelled to act, when you are meant to.

The nudge, the "go on now...." the stumble into action, the 1. 2. and jump before you can reach 3.... you know the difference between the times you've made calculated decisions and the times a seemingly imaginary force shoves you..... you will be. compelled act, when you are meant to.

.... so give yourself a little bit of a break, really. Conserve your brain fuel, it is a precious.

This moment, is just that- a moment in your life, it isn't your WHOLE LIFE so all the over generalizing and dramatic statements about what this moment means for your future are probably premature, this. moment. is a screen cap, a blip, a 3 minutes in a 90minute picture.... even if it isn't the moment you want to be IN, you're in it, so savor it. Chew on it. Wring it dry.

Pick up every crumb with the tip of your index finger, because after THIS moment, you'll be wrapped up in another one and I can almost guarantee you'll have a bought of amnesia and romanticize what it is you're so desperately trying to run away from right this second.

They're all good. Minute 6, minutes 9-15... there's all different pictures though, right? With different angles and different lighting, making one. whole. So like the frame you're in...even if you're discouraged by it, because it's a part of your whole story and this is YOUR STORY. It would be helpful for you to stop pretending that you get a take two.... within the same lifetime, anyway.

Where you're at right now is preparing you, polishing you. Causing friction so that you are fucking. smooth. when it's showtime. In fact, you're studying for something and you don't even know what yet, find odd comfort in that. The surrender. The, "ah...I remember seeing that somewhere..." or "that's so funny, because I was just reading about that..." Nothing is coincidence. No thang.

Sometimes, it's as simple as this- you're just feeling a little blue. When you give it a name, "I'm having a Sad Balloon kind of day," it's a lot easier to let go of. But, I promise, it's easy to make feeling a little blue, feel like a whole fucking monsoon of gray, gray, gray has attacked you.... just keep talking about it. If you really need to go there. Or hey, maybe don't.

Oh and you should know this, but for the record, you should probably stop giving a shit about that guy. You know why? Because you're really fantastic and you should never need to convince someone of it. Bye. bye.

You're a dime plus ninety nine.

Forgive yourself. Stop feeling guilty about feeling guilty.

Smile inwardly, at yourself and then out to Universe.

There isn't anyone reminding you to take care of yourself anymore... so, set your boundaries- what do you need? What do you NEED? Fuck what everyone is saying you can/can't do; peers, family, friends, work... do what you know will make you FEEL GOOD. Look out for yourself.

Leave earlier. Leave later. Operate from that which you KNOW, that soul stuff, even if it isn't fast or convenient enough for your current circumstances.

Take space. Have another. Refrain. Slow down. Ask. Confess. Save some of what's left over for your own little feast.

Don't let them convince you otherwise. Honor your intentions. Don't make excuses just to be nice, it isn't nice if it isn't truthful. To yourself, or to anyone else. Spend time feeling insanely sexy, even if no one is around to see it. Especially then.

Do you. Repeat times ten.

It's all okay.

How do you take CARE of your spirit? What do you tell yourself?

Familiar things. Insomnia and....where are all the men in this town?

“Can we take a nap?”

They were the first words that spilled out of my mouth when we saw each other, in our comfortable familiar place, with familiar sounds, of puppies nails on the kitchen floor scurrying to give me a nuzzle around my ankles. It was a home where I’d spent days and hours working from the study, digging into the homemade granola that tasted different because they kept it in the fridge (and I liked it that way, because it was how they did it) making myself egg sandwiches and sifting through pictures of him as a little boy.

It was a home where I’d fallen in love with his family, where we’d had our first fight, where I napped. Because I felt safe enough there.

The energy I’d exerted, working myself up to be in his presence again without falling to pieces was enough to take me out for a week. With his basement windows, covered, 2pm sunlight aching to break through…. I could’ve hibernated there for the rest of the year. A year that I was so terrified of letting go of, because I knew that what was to come would be new and different and perfect, but every event, every holiday, every weekend and milestone would occur without him in it, or with him but a different "him." Valentines day would come again, as would summer, BBQ’s and St. Patty’s Day… Monday afternoon and Friday morning and all of them, unlike the memories before would be missing something familiar.

“Yes, we can do that….” He said, the outline of his shape so acquainted with the outline of mine and how we fit. I wanted him somewhere familiar. Somewhere that I was used to having him. In bed. Comfortably. Guards down. Equal playing field.

So we napped. We napped, because I wanted to trick myself for an hour, or two, or however long I could stay asleep- into thinking that we were “Us” and that life would SLOW for me. Those two seconds when you open your eyes and forget that the landscape has shifted. I wanted two seconds.

See, I have trouble sleeping a lot of time, he was always sort of my, “Sleep Whisperer” he told me stories, or he talked me out of nightmares- often, ones that I had about him- when I was asleep I was safe. Just the presence of him, the rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his body was enough to lull me….somewhere else. Somewhere cosmic and uninterrupted. It was the time that I trusted him the most, because he wasn’t meddling, or planning, or seeking someone different.

We were Us and we were simple. Sleeping.

Often holding hands, on our backs. Our different languages didn't get in the way and fuss with things, there.

I hadn’t seen him in months and we complicated things by using too many words anyway (something I'm guilty of more often than not), conversation could wait... I just wanted to nap. So we did.

It's odd, actually- It’s been surprisingly easy and uncomplicated- but quite possibly the most profound and complex situation I’ve ever found myself in all at once. It’s like, centuries ago in different lives when we were both kings and queens, paupers and peasants, we fulfilled our promise to one another, to love forever and ever and ever….and this time around, it just wasn’t in the cards. But, our souls still know the difference….

When he’s in trouble, on some Greyhound, on some quest for his Higher Self through alchemy and crystals, meditation circles and smoke signals, in the middle of the desert, running away….I text, “Are you okay?”

When I’m looking at the pack of cigarettes on my kitchen table, a nasty habit we formed together, my phone buzzes and says, “….Don’t smoke cigarettes ☺….”

When my heart is so full, so aching, so overwhelmed- he says, “I’m going to shine 33 seconds of light on you….” and for 33 seconds I feel just a little bit better.

We’re so obviously not meant to be with one another- but we still….just. love. So much.

He knows, he KNOWS how much I want the whole “dream.” I want a partner. I want an equal. I want my prince to look me in the eye and say, “let’s do this THING.”

Enough time has gone by now that I see what it is that I want. The problem is, I can easily find men who fill in categories where he was lacking…. I can find missing “pieces”- but it isn’t “missing pieces” that’s the goal. It’s the whole thing.

He knew…that I was shiny. He saw that I shined. While, now…. I can barely get a boy who I have a crush on to return a text message?

He knew that I existed in both simple and complicated frames of mind at the same time, that I was equal parts ambition and dedicated lover. That I was lay-down-in-the-middle-of-the-mother-fucking-train-tracks for you, loyal, but never. Ever. A doormat.

That I was worth being treated like a fucking goddess, but not to feed ego, or pride or some chicky insecurity, but because I would treat HIM like a my counterpart and that together we were celestial, powerful and treasured, because WE valued each other. We said without saying, “I see you.” Soul understanding, ya see?

He knew that I would be a mother who picked two books every night, acted out ALL THE VOICES…. and always stretched “bedtime” with room for two more…..

He knew that I was “too much…” but he would never want me to operate and FEEL like I was. LIGHT IS NOT MEANT TO BE DIMMED DOWN OR DIMINISHED.

So, while we can nap and love one another, in different times and spaces, presently and nostalgically- he’s still a boy. On a journey, one different than mine. We were a We once, but now we aren’t and the times that I want to say, “I wish you were here…” and he says, “I’m exactly where I need to be.” I know that he’s right.

….and I guess, so am I. Exactly where I need to be.

I just wonder, will anyone else ever see me… through a lens as transparent as his….or, will they even try?

WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT TODAY.....?

Look around Little Dreamer......

It's interesting what you see when you decide to view it from another angle.

...Like, right now- I'm sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom, a floor I've cried on, meditated on, made love on (sorry Mom, Hi Dad, sorry.) On this floor, I'm usually facing one direction- towards where the door is, but tonight- I'm facing another wall.... again, a wall I've stared at a million times- I see different parts of Me from here.

There's a stack of sheet music under my bed, for instance- one book has a 100 songs, the other about fifty plus. I've only sang, mmm, 25? There's a birdhouse, an unpainted one. Some dried up paints.... one of my Great Grandmother's vintage feathered hats....

There are two canvases hanging on the wall, from when I went through the inescapable "painting phase," that us adolescent creative-types experience, despite actual talent for it. On them are pictures of Janis, Jimmy, Mick and lyrics from soul songs.

...To my left, a present from last Christmas that I never took out of the box, it feels like I received it yesterday. Apparently, "I'll do it later..." i.e. take-present-out-of-box, never happened- just like a lot of the things I say I'll "do later..." don't happen, not out of lack of caring, but out lack of attention to what you know matters to you. Painting silly futile bird houses. Singing all 100 of those songs. Caring for your gifts, pun intended and not intended, I suppose.

A guitar case. A portfolio from an old flame. Bunnies. Records. A painting of a little pixie girl blowing kisses to a group of canaries. A Writers Market book. Lanyards. A dreamcatcher. TREASURES AND PROJECTS...always projects, only treasures. Shall we go on a treasure hunt?

A vintage camera. Folders upon folders of poems and scripts, monologues, essays- most of which I've written, or studied and fell in LOVE WITH. Words and stories that nursed me, that I wanted to tell and live through.

An Andy Warhol wig. A bulletin board covered in mini-accomplishments; show fliers, ticket stubs, postcards and a little painting of a field full of poppies given to me from a painter in Florence. A room painted crimson red and beige, with obnoxious red splotches on the ceiling from stubbornly deciding to paint the room myself, damnit. A reminder of determination and brave choices.

See, when you forget who you are....you just have to look around.

I never know how to handle New Year's. It's always a little melancholy to me. I don't want to let go of the things that morphed me through the year, the people and the experiences that GREW ME.

For being a Gypsy you think I'd be better at Goodbyes.

I put an incredible amount of pressure on myself, where I'm going, where I've been...if I'm "on the right track." Peering too far ahead makes me all... disappointed in myself. No matter my accomplishments and that has to stop. This is my dream, why wouldn't the things I dream within it be a reality....if it's all the same thing?

This last year was so full, to the brim and while I've been home all of that unsettled stuff has tapped gently on my shoulder and reminded me that it still has a presence, that it lingers. That sometimes all you need is to see a glimpse of what "was" and all the dots connect again. The familiarity rushes back, the shape and structure of him, of it, of us and me, of hoping. They all... fit, still.

A reminder that the past and the present aren't separate from one another and that what I WENT through is still what I'm going through and most importantly that who I was, is who I AM, even when I am changing.

I'm not one for resolutions, because I like to actively remind myself, daily to find RESOLVE, FORTITUDE AND INTENTION. So, I'll say this much... look around when you feel off track. Look, Chels. Do you see yourself?

Do it often. Be picky about the things and the people that you keep because they will be your reminders. Light and dark exist at once. Bitter and sweet, are sometimes the most delicious combo. That all of it- the dreams, the past, the future are one. thing. Nothing is separate.

Make more time to let things sink in. Demand it. To really chew on something for awhile. To give attention and to make solid. REAL time for shenanigans and trifling.

..For Real Talk with your kaleidoscope mind and your little, little voice inside that big, big soul.

....find resolve in being GENTLE, in being kind. In being patient with your mishaps and your uneasy footing. Change is a graceful and clumsy dance, let it sweep you.

When I think from the beginning to end of where I started last year, when the clock struck midnight to where I'll end up at midnight, this year, I can say this- it's been more and it's been less, it's been unexpected in both good and bad ways, all of that existing within the same perfect whole. I've had dreams all year that I'm going to the moon, must mean that's exactly where I am.

This is your dream. Look around.