Well I’m back. And I've been lying this whole time.

​hi. 

It’s been a long time. Probably because I have spent a great deal of that time avoiding having feelings. All that depression, anxiety, ADHD, codependency, speculation about cyclothymia or even bipolar? Turns out it's just complex PTSD. C-PTSD is a nice term for "really fucked up childhood." The only shocker here is that it took me 34 years to figure it out.

Well... yes and no. One of the hallmarks of C-PTSD is the way it changes your brain into a wily fox that can dodge in and out of your consciousness, and loves to masquerade as, well... all those things I listed above that mental health care providers have suggested might be a problem. Turns out it can even cause autoimmune problems. (Perhaps I'll elaborate when there's an appropriate moment, but I was just diagnosed with Inflammatory Bowel Disease, wherein the immune system attacks your large intestine. Fun!)

Anyway, I've known C-PTSD is a thing for me since my dear sister found Surviving to Thriving a few years ago. Even though I read that and The Body Keeps the Score*, I never really fully grasped just how big a hold this thing has on me, and kind of figured that my journey with my therapist would just work things out. I guess I just expected that, now that I knew what the problem was, it would just go away. 

HAHAHAHAHAHA

A few months ago, Laura, my sister, brought her 12 year old daughter to visit me here. They noted how I was constantly on the move, trying to always do more more more, to squeeze more into their visit and to show my niece every cool thing there was to see here. In fact, since Laura's cancer diagnosis (more on that later too), she can't do as much as she used to, and even though she was doing a bit better than she had been, my drive to be DOING so much became a point of contention between us. A couple months later she told me that my need to be constantly on the move reads to her as inauthentic or desperate, like I can't just sit with myself. 

This is something I've been ruminating on for a couple of months now. It's been floating in the back of my mind while I watched countless episodes of Drag Race and did months of crossword puzzles, avoiding a confrontation with...well..with anything. Meanwhile, I signed up to make Laura's youngest daughter a Halloween costume well beyond the scope of my sewing capabilities, my old clunky SUV died in Pennsylvania, I've been dating again. I've been barely working and thus freaking out about finances constantly, in spite of which I planned a birthday party and made a costume for myself for that, plus I have spent an inordinate amount of time online shopping for....what? I have no idea. I've bought things, but I really could not tell you I needed any of them. I just wanted to spend the time on... something. Anything. Anything but having to confront what's wrong.

Enter Chris. Like I said, I've been dating again, prompted by knowing I had time off of work after finishing the World's Hardest Pilot. Who wants to sit around and deal with themselves when they're not working? Not me! So I got back on the apps and started making a few dates. Then there was Chris--a guy I knew. A really hot guy I knew way back when I was a PA. God knows when I met him or when the last time I'd seen him was, I just knew him. I think maybe I met him in 2010? 2011? Anyway, whenever that was, he immediately registered my crush and I used to get in trouble with the ADs for flirting and chatting with him. I think I used to run away from him a lot because I liked him so much and it scared me.

Anyway, present day! Let's focus on the present. I saw Chris on the app, and I clicked like, because I liked him. It was very pleasing when I saw that he had already clicked on me! Then he wrote me a message. I could kind of hardly believe that. Then he asked me to hang out. I was certain this was not a date, that it was just about catching up. It was a date. He likes me! Turns out Chris likes me, and I like him. Or he liked me... I kind of am not sure if he still does. More on that later. But anyway, liking Chris and trying to date him has backed me into a corner of wondering who the fuck I am and why the fuck he might ever want to be with me. I couldn't figure it out until he told me he believes in aliens. 

I was a little floored by that. He has exhibited much in the way of being susceptible to conspiracy theories, and I had been wary of this, unsure what my feelings were. But when he said he believed in aliens, it was too much confrontation for my unsure-of-its-feelings brain and I shut it down with a lie, paraphrased: "I've never really thought about that. It just isn't something I have wanted to think about." 

Right after I said it, I knew I had lied. I let it go, believing it was a white lie and didn't really matter. But it stuck with me. I could have just told him the truth: I needed more time to find my feelings about it. My sister used to watch things with aliens that scared me when I was little and so I have enjoyed believing that science shows us that sentient beings from outside Earth are not likely to exist. These are innocuous truths; why hadn't I just said them instead?

That same evening I lied some more, although perhaps more to myself. I asked him what he wanted us to be, something amorphous like that. I told myself I was asking the right question, but I was too scared to ask if he felt like we saw enough of each other or too much, if he wanted us to be exclusive or preferred to keep things open and casual. I botched it though. When I clarified I just said I wanted to know what he wants. It blew up in my face, he asked if I was seeing other people. I told him I was, which I had told him up front... and he was incredulous. He obviously had not expected that. I was a little drunk and kind of hoping it would make him laugh told him about a grip I'd gone on a couple coffee dates with. 

And then I wondered why his communication changed with me. Jesus fucking christ.

The lie stuck with me, and slowly it has become apparent to me that I have been lying constantly for the last 35 years. At 7, not knowing how to deal with my dad's suicide (not the worst part), I ate and got obese and my fatness gave me some social anxiety (not the worst part). When I engaged with the kids on my block, they teased me mercilessly (not the worst part). When I went to my mom for help, she continually told me to ignore them or avoid them and left it at that - and THAT is the worst part. That part taught me that I could not count on her for help. My sister didn't help either; in fact, she teased me about my weight too. That taught me I could not count on her for help. I was alone, and the only way to soothe myself was to hide in my books and write my stories (and eat, because food will fix it! And steal, because stuff will fix it!). And if I wanted to do that all the time, I had to get my mom and my sister and my teachers and everyone else out of my way. I had to control the narrative. I had to lie. Constantly. 

And I never learned to stop. I've dealt with negative consequences over and over and over, but never anything so bad as to make me stop. In fact, some of the lighter consequences just made me better at lying, or at least better at convincing myself of things that are not true. Thinking back now, I think I can see where others have seen it in me and decided to disengage with me or stop trusting me...friends, lovers, coworkers, bosses, even Laura. 

For 35 years of my life I have been faking that I'm perfect - and obviously nobody's perfect and obviously my constant inability to be authentic has led to some REALLY imperfect shit (being late because I am dishonest with myself about the amount of time I need to get things done, not following through on things because I convinced myself I'd have more time or energy, failing to ask for help when I was overwhelmed, taking jobs I was not particularly qualified for, getting drunk and saying things--true or false--that conflict with lies I've already told, etc., etc...) Anyway, I have been doing my best to control the narrative of my life so that I look as perfectly imperfect as possible, even down to having a separate blog from this blog back in the day because I was afraid that people who knew about this blog would see certain things that I felt I wanted to write about but was afraid to show them! 

I have lied to my therapist, I have lied to my family, I have lied to my friends and employers and definitely to my lovers, and basically anybody that I care about. In fact, the more I care about someone's opinion, the more I lie to them to try to make myself look better to them. No wonder I keep getting my heart broken! No wonder I have had friction and frustration from Aunt Jude, whose judgement I inexplicably fear above all others! No wonder I barely know what my feelings are or who I am and can't identify what value I bring to this world--I have been lying to myself over and over and over!

I am so, so ashamed of myself. I am ashamed that I have been dishonest with so many people. But I am also ashamed that this fucked up bullshit has robbed years away from a life I wish I could have lived honestly. 

That all ends now. No more lying. No more pretending to be anything other than what I am. I am shooting for radical honesty--Laura made me laugh when she said that if I do that, my tendency to lie will probably help me fall somewhere in the middle. But I really hope not. I really really want to be honest. With you, with myself, with anyone who will listen. I'm not perfect, and I'm exhausted of trying to pretend that I ever could be. I just want to be me. 

The little girl I used to be believed it when bullies told her she was disgusting and unlovable, and she kept lying because she desperately wanted to hide those qualities from other people. But now that I'm a big girl I know that the right thing to do was to tell that little girl that those bullies were wrong, and to show the bullies that they were wrong by being the best person she could be. If I'm going to be my best, I have to let others help me. I have to let people in on who I really am, flaws and all, instead of just trying to control the narrative. 

So. Radical Honesty is the new directive. Let's see where it gets us.

*Since we're being radically honest, I got through about a third of The Body Keeps the Score and was no longer able to pay attention because... Attention is hard for trauma brain that wants to hide from its trauma. Especially attention to subject matter that forces one to see the trauma brain for what it is. I listened to Surviving to Thriving on audiobook, which, since I'm constantly listening to podcasts, means I can tell you some of the highlights but certainly didn't deeply retain a lot of its contents. I just learned that the trauma brain doesn't learn from listening too well, something that I suspect may be covered in the book.

You don't have to forget to forgive.

My grandfather's death a few weeks ago has done something really strange.

I was really close to Grandpa... He was one of the very few people who realized what a big hole my dad left behind and made every effort to fill in as much as he could for us. I always felt like I could tell him anything (really, anything) and he'd never judge me or think poorly of me. He was really good at that, at making you feel welcome and loved and putting a positive spin on things. Sure, there were times when we had disagreements, but not a day went by that I doubted he loved me.

In a way, since he's been with me for so long, I have more of him to miss than I do of my dad. At first I was a little scared that it would be even harder. But somehow it's much, much easier. He was sick and uncomfortable and elderly...when he died it was very much his time. And he was ready. And I saw it coming for a long time, and I shared so much with him and my time with him was so good that I was ready too. This seems to be a common theme--my grandmother, my mom, my sister all say they feel the same way. It's unexpectedly easy to let him go.

The strange thing I mentioned earlier is that this loss has made my dad's death easier. It's like a bookend to years of emptiness and rage and disappointment and frustration. Experiencing the peaceful and completely expected death of someone close to me has really helped me see death with a new perspective. As if Death and I have decided to kiss and make up.

I'm experiencing a new serenity I've never felt before. And it feels good, like I've got a better handle on this life thing than ever. It's like Grandpa's still sneaking presents to me when nobody's looking.

Go Joe!

My little cousin Joe (I say little but he's like...what, 21 now?) is embarking on his quarter life crisis. He sees an amorphous view of a future he's not sure he wants.  He thinks about things he might want to do but feels unable to go for it because "it's too late" and he "doesn't know where to start." Sound familiar?  We've all been there.  That kept me away from New York for so long.  It kept me away from filmmaking for so long.  From pursuing all my goals and hopes and dreams for myself.  It still does. Nary a day goes by that I don't feel daunted by those two doubts in regards to my career, and I've already passed them by!

I mentioned to Joe that I happened to meet with a nice Gestalt therapist in New Orleans who gave me the very simple assignment of writing down the things I want to be.  Put it on paper.  Make a list, a chart, whatever, just do it.

It wound up looking kind of like one of those brainstorm things my teachers always made us do in writing classes.  I used to hate those. I used to just write.  Call me a convert though, because it worked for me! Just simply putting down on paper the things I wanted for myself made me able to create a plan to get where I wanted to be.


Now, my feet set firmly in the direction I need to go to reach my primary goals (being a healthy and fit assistant director who lives in New York City and maintains successful, mutually supportive relationships with friends and family) I find myself wondering about filling in the cracks.  Where does dance fit in? I love it and I want it in my life.  How about Manhattan? Let's not kid ourselves, Brooklyn is nice for now but I want to live in Manhattan.  And I'd like to lose the roommates sooner rather than later.  What about love?  I find myself examining my nascent relationship and getting ahead of myself. What do I really want with Columbia? I mean, I know what my ideal is, but I like taking it a day at a time once a week.

Like I told Joe, it takes a lot of hard work to be who you want to be (and indeed to figure out who that is).

Un Rendez-Vous à Propos

At the cafe where we met I wasn't exactly sure Columbia liked me. I'm still not wholly convinced, but I feel like that somehow makes it better. He's quiet, quieter than me even, which makes for conversations that are full of my inane prattle and punctuated by awkward silences. His thoughtful face is minimally expressive, which causes a little chill of terrible curiosity to run up and down my neck when I catch him looking at me. Every so often though I'd catch him with a look of such affection on his face that I know he enjoyed playing at being in love just as much as I did.

Though I think we're well-matched in intelligence, I find his advanced education intimidating; he's a PhD student at (guess!) Columbia University. I'm impressed that he can be so dedicated to studying just for its own sake. His passion is focused on just this one thing, where mine is divided up willy-nilly between my work, my dance, my running, my writing, my social life...

I may never see him again, and I know it. I'll be sad if I don't, but it was such a nice week that I can't possibly mind. After all, it certainly got my mind off Him, and he reminded me about something Aunt J said to me at New Year's Day brunch. She told me that it's easy to get wrapped up in your future, but the best way to be a successful PA is to work hard at the tasks assigned to you rather than to work hard at becoming an AD. Instead of worrying about the end goal it's far better to focus on where I am.

So again it comes up: focus on today. Enjoy the things I have right now. Stop worrying so much about the things I don't; they'll come in time. Columbia reminded me that it's the journey that teaches you, not the destination.

And he? He begins his semester on Tuesday. He anticipated preparing steadily for the next couple days and throwing himself into his studies for the duration. I'm quite sure that meant he probably doesn't have much, if any, time for a little out-of-work filmmaker begging him to alleviate her unemployment blues.

And I have my second half marathon coming up a week from today. And I'm booked to work on Aunt J's show on Tuesday and Wednesday. And I've no money, as in my bank account is at zero and I have no cash or checks to deposit. So there is plenty to keep me occupied this week, plenty of journey.

I'm in.

I have been hard pressed to have a day off lately, which is great--except for the giant pile of laundry in the corner of the room. I am in total work love with 30 Rock, which is not only a fantastic show but has a fantastic crew and a really fun work atmosphere. Shooting in Queens is forgivable for that combination!

I interviewed for a staff job as a paperwork PA for Damages, but didn't get the gig because they had someone with more set experience. Pfffft. I understand but my sense of personal awesomeness tells me they made a mistake passing me up. I keep thinking though about how it all works out for the best though and hoping I'll A) get hired miraculously by 30 Rock or B) find a nice feature to work on, preferably with...

I also am in work love with a fella who's keying a job I worked on and is ready to move up to 2nd 2nd AD. He works with an intensity that puts my own enthusiasm to shame.

It's not about the boobs.

So I was chatting with my friend T.R. Slyder (go visit his awesome blog, Where Awesome Happens) and somehow the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue came up. Oh wait. Brooke Burke came up in conversation as a hot chick and I said I thought she is a little too cutesy for my taste. And he said she was like one of the only models in SI to ever drop his jaw or whatever. Anyway.

So I was looking at pictures of other SI swimsuit issue models to try and find an example of one *I* thought was hot in response to his contention about Burke, but suddenly I turned into a total blubbering mess of female hormones and I felt like crying. I wasn't sure why.

I told T.R., very honestly and openly that my feelings were bruised: "I hate that fuckin' magazine."

T.R., being the inquisitive fella he is, took the bait and prodded me, asking how I felt about it in relation to Playboy or Maxim. After some debate, it became apparent that my feelings of insecurity weren't about the objectification of women. I then naturally internalized the negativity and proceeded with the assumption that my negative feelings were about how I feel that I can never live up to the standard of 'beauty' the magazine promotes, but then...THEN....T.R. said, "sexy models don't affect people's perceptions about you any more than any other woman."

Without thinking, I retorted, "They do when I feel like I'm competing with them for someone's attention....I always had a hard time with that with my ex. I felt unloved when he'd look at that stuff. Like I wasn't good enough."

The thunder crashed, the lightning struck, and the lightbulb lit up over my head.

After some more discussing it became glaringly obvious to me that I have absolutely no reason to harbor any kind of resentment toward the sexy model magazines, that this was just one more thing I was mad at JH about. T.R. pointed out that if JH hadn't been neglectful I probably wouldn't have felt that way about him looking at the Swimsuit Issue.

Today when I was looking for the picture for this post I felt no kind of resentment at all.

----

PS - T.R., I DEFY you to tell me that the cover picture posted here is not every bit as raunchy and blatantly provocative as the stuff in Maxim. I'm not saying it's bad or anything, just saying it's so.

Burn burn burn burn it to the wick.

My mother sometimes tries my patience, but tonight she really got me riled up in the good way. She talked to me about my intensity, told me that I can be really hard to deal with because I'm not like most people. She told me she's never surprised when she hears that another boy/girl/friend/romantic-interest has fallen off the face of my planet, because she really believes that most people just don't have the strength or drive to keep up with me. Her take is that people are fascinated by my intensity and drawn to it out of curiosity, but that in the end most of them just can't hang. And that's okay...I'd eventually lose patience with them anyway. Because I'm different. Hard to swallow, sure, but still good in my own right.

Yeah. Different. Intense. Powerful. Driven. And I challenge others to be so as well.

I feel agitated and animated. I feel poised to take on the world!

I feel like that glorious moment in the middle of a run, when it's so fucking hot out I can't stand having a watch or water bottle or clothes or even my underwear on my skin when I finally let out a battle cry and tear my shirt off to get as few molecules between me and the precious wind as possible.

I'm running hard. Shedding the layers. Making a break for the future I want. It will be mine, and as long as I stay focused nothing--NOTHING--will get in my way.

I don't need to slow down for anyone--if someone really wants to run the race with me he'll keep up. And if he doesn't no reason to shed tears over it. No reason to be disheartened. This isn't about him. It's about me.

This is my life, nobody else's. And I'm the only one who can make it worthwhile.

Initiatora frustratis

When I was in first grade reading class, Mrs. Bishop told me it was rude to raise my hand for every question, that I should let other children have the chance to answer. Even for a seven-year-old, this seemed like stupid advice in a class full of timid little non-readers who didn't even raise their hands, much less know the answers to the oral quiz at the end of the assignment. I wasn't trying to show off, after all, it's just that nobody else would speak up, and I felt that someone ought to take the initiative.

Flash elevenish years forward to my summer college orientation session. A group of us sat in a lounge playing a game of truth or dare prompted by our orientation "leader," a junior who seemed all-too excited to give up precious time with her sorority sisters to play matchmaker to the freshmen. The "leader" dared Three First Names (who actually did become my boyfriend later) to give one of the girls a lapdance. TFN was a tall, cute hippie and I certainly wasn't the only young lady who noticed his finer features, but nobody volunteered to be the orientation leader's scapegoat. Frustrated that they were taking it too seriously, I opened my mouth and yapped, "Oh for crying out loud, I'll do it!" Until this time I was by far the shyest person in our group (think Ally Sheedy), and a dozen pairs of eyes peered at me incredulously. TFN said that was the moment he decided to pursue me...apparently he liked girls who took initiative with him. Later when we broke up I coldly told him the truth, "it really had nothing to do with you, you know. I just wanted to get the hell away from those obnoxious twits in our group." Hell hath no icy, disdainful fury like the girl you fucked every day for months before calmly telling her you never really cared about her. Lies. So many lies.

Anyway.

I don't mean to take initiative with people, I don't even really like doing it, but I keep doing it out of a lack of patience. I'm always eager to get to the next chapter of a thing, and it drives me crazy when people move at a snails pace on something that I want (see? perfect career choice). Banana Payroll and I had a long chat about initiative over a bottle of Malbec last night, the gist of which was the following:

A) If you want something it is imperative to initiate action, or you will probably not get it.

B) It gets really annoying when you're always initiating to spend time with people and they don't initiate in turn.

C) If someone wants to hang out with you, then that person will in fact initiate, provided you are patient and offer them an opportunity.

D) Patience is not a strong suit for either of us because:

E) (see letter A)


You see, it's a vicious, circular dilemma.

But it's also the entire reason Banana and I became such good friends in the span of about two months. We both agree, it was much better to skip the awkward just-how-good-of-friends-are-we, see-each-other-once-every-three-weeks stage and just jump right in to hanging out once a week at minimum. It was easier this way. There was a total avoidance of having to spend time getting comfortable, and instead we spent our time being comfortable. This works out great, since time is such a valuable commodity for us crazy production people. Initiation was constantly reciprocated, thus our positive inclinations toward one another were validated, thus we became comfortable. It's all about validation.

Hey, validation! Waitaminute... clearly this has something to do with self confidence issues.

Okay, backtrack to the dilemma outline. I think there is a disconnect there. I think the dilemma is not exactly circular. Now that I've identified the way I've been thinking about it, here's another way I could approach it, and maybe change the grabby-whiny-persistent poking of my friends:

A) If I want something of my own it is imperative to take initiative. If I want something shared with someone, like a friendship, it is important to share initiative.

B) Being mindful of others' boundaries and trusting my own awesomeness is just as important as keeping lines of communication open

C) If I am mindful and trusting, rather than egocentric and demanding the resulting patience will enrich time spent with my friends, and quality tops quantity every time.

D) If I find myself impatient or lonely I can spend my time attending to my personal needs, which I often pass over in favor of social time.

E) Hey look, there is no E!


Now I feel better! I'm gonna go do some Letter D and put away my laundry. Or maybe (gasp!) I'll take a little disco nap.

Giant. I said it's GIANT.

So let's talk about the rather large tattoo I got.

I didn't really say anything to people whose opinions I care about, for the most part. Like, for instance, I didn't tell my Mom or my sister (!). I didn't mention it to my aunts or cousins last weekend. I didn't mention it to Cheshire Cat on Sunday, I really did not say anything at work to The President, no notice to Banana Payroll, no mention of it to Redheaded Stepsister.

I DID tell:

A) those whose opinions I care about but who also definitely wouldn't judge me, like Thinky Face and Fancypants and all the Squirrel girls (who mostly have tattoos and some of them very large). I told KTO in Ohio. I may have told Southern Belle in passing. I told the Starlet and Heartwarmer, mostly because they live with me and were probably going to notice one way or another.

B) people whose opinions I couldn't give a damn about. I showed a bunch of people at work who I just met (but have been cautious to avoid the Pres and the cute art director). I told everyone about it at Otto's last Friday, and some of those are people who irritate me on their good days - most of them I don't even really know very well. Since I got it I've been yammering about it nonstop to bank tellers and people on the subway and friends from long ago who I IM out of nowhere just so I can blabber on about my awesome tattoo (not a true story, but I'm considering doing that now so I can make it true, because it's funny).

Okay, now why?

Not so mighty hunter

A few moments ago my cat caught a black bug about as big as my pinky fingernail. Then she let it go and it leapt across the floor at an impossible speed. Then she caught it again. Then she let it go again. You know how it is with cats and their prey.

I freaked out. My heart started racing, I was kind of terrified. I snatched up a shoe with a wooden sole and held it out in front of me defensively. The moment it lay out in the open I shooed Penny away and smashed the thing as hard as I could on the carpeted floor. I was terrified this would not kill it. I was in panic mode as I removed the shoe and jumped back. I whimpered nervously as I approached it to ensure it had died. It wasn't moving so I looked closely at it - it was a fly. It had been scampering because she'd managed to remove its wings somehow. Disgusting, but harmless! I'm not afraid of a common housefly!

If you want to idolize me for any reason, please stop reading now.

I scare pretty easily. My entomophobia aside, I just have two bad habits that line up for the perfect storm: I overthink things and I care very very much about my relationships with my friends. When those relationships are threatened I become upset, terrified of losing someone. Unfortunately a Dr. Scholl's sandal is not an effective defense mechanism for this fear .

Thinky Face has become a good friend of mine. She's a really amazing person, really interesting and funny and sweet and caring and smart--I could go on and on with complimentary adjectives. I think the world of her and love her very dearly. About a month ago we were out at that tiki bar we hang out at and she met some dude. She's been seeing him, even though she yaks on and on about not wanting a boyfriend. Now she's spending time with him and I'm afraid that's going to leave me all lonely and sad. Ouch, my heart hurts. I'm scared!

He's a really nice guy, and I have absolutely no cause to dislike him. He's really sweet, he does nothing but nice things for her, he even does nice things for me. He very clearly wants me to like him. I do like him. But I've gotten pre-emptively angry about losing Thinky to him - and it hasn't even happened. And I really have nothing to lose in the first place! It's not like I have any claim to her or her time.

This is stupid, right?

Helicopter came down for the weekend and she watched my bitter, grumbly, and completely unpleasant behavior. She knew exactly what was happening because A)she's my best friend and of course I told her how much I like Thinky and B)she's watched me do it before--more than once, I am ashamed to admit. Thankfully she has the patience of a saint and talked it out with me today with an admonishment that was far gentler than I deserved. I was a Bitch to that poor guy, with a capital B. Someone really should punch me in the face. Really. I'd feel better.

I think I have identified my biggest flaw. I'm determined now to overcome it.

I like all my friends very much, but because I place so much importance on having those friends my behavior can get possessive and desperate and panicky, and I can't imagine that's very fun to be around. I don't need to worry that people will stop loving me. I don't need to assume someone doesn't like me anymore if I don't hear from him for a few days. I don't need to be so afraid of being alone. Alone is okay. Alone is good and necessary, even! Today I've used my alone time to check Facebook, to text message with some people, to e-mail Aunt J, to call Mom, to blog, knowing other people will read the blog...see a pattern? The alone time is spent seeking out other people to keep me company.

Thinky is very dear to me, but so what if she stops hanging out with me? I don't think she will, but the worst-case scenario is that she does. That's not the dude's fault--she could stop spending time with me anyway. She probably will too, if I keep acting like a spoiled child whose toy has been taken away.

So in the worst-case scenario I start going to the tiki bar by myself. I start having lunch after dance class by myself. I go have antics by myself, I goof around by myself, I take in the sights by myself and probably meet some new people along the way. And if I never hear from those people again I don't panic and worry I'm not cool enough or smart enough or funny enough, I breathe and relax and go do something else by myself. And if I'm lonely it's okay. Nobody can fault me for that, not even me.

I have plenty of friends and they're all really wonderful people; something tells me that they won't let me get too lonely. I like myself a lot, but I think there's definitely some room to improve that particular relationship. I think if I start allowing myself more real alone time I'll get to know me better and get comfortable being with myself and nobody else. And if I start to miss people they'll still be there. No need to panic.

Father's Day

I'm changing a lot lately. Moving furniture, purging from my life things I don't need, getting rid of unwanted baggage and cleaning out the junk. Every time I make a change I gain momentum as if I'm dropping off excess weight during a race. At the finish line is feeling good an happy and whole again. My friends and family are cheering me on along the sidelines. I'm doing it for them.

I want to be better, of course, but it's for them not for me. I would never ever want someone to have to miss me the way I miss you. I couldn't do that to them. It was a really shitty thing to do, Dad, leaving us without you like that. You really fucked up my life and I'm angry about it. It wasn't fair, you had a responsibility, if not to Mom than to us. I know you were sick, but that doesn't make it any less acceptable. I'd rather have a dad in a loony bin or jail or even just out there in the world on his own than no dad at all.

At least maybe you could have waited? Like ten or fifteen years? You could have seen me grow up...didn't you want that? I think you'd be really proud of me. I've worked hard and come a long way...but I wish you'd been there to see it, and maybe to talk me out of some of the dumber things I've done.

I miss you. I've missed you every day since the police came to our little white house and told us you were dead. And as pissed as I am about it all, I still love you. I'm trying really hard to forgive you, but first I think I have to forgive myself for all the time I've spent being angry. I need to let it go.

Stumble stumble fall

I ran today in the park. I fell. I haven't fallen in over a year!

Someone was riding her horse on the running path instead of the bridle path, which made me cut to the side kind of fast to avoid the horse. I startled the horse and it sidestepped, which startled me, and somewhere in the mix my toe caught on a tree root and I stumbled forward about ten feet before losing my balance and tumbling to the ground. I did a tuck-and-roll, like in the movies, which seems to work pretty well for me. I used to fall a lot.

I used to fall often because my knees weren't strong, so I didn't pick up my feet high enough. Combined with the gnarled root systems of the live oak trees in Audubon Park, I got pretty good at falling. Work with the gravity, not against it. Brace with the arm farthest from the ground and curl the other one into your body. Try and distribute the surface area of your body along the ground to better absorb the impact. Roll onto your back. Check for breaks, blood and bruising. If none, refuse help. "Nothing damaged but my pride!" became my cheerful mantra in response to concerns of passers-by.

Never have I been seriously hurt by a fall, other than a minor fracture of the pinky finger during high school (knock on wood). I always get up, dust myself off, laugh a bit and keep running with a big grin on my face. People always seem to be amazed by this, but really what's a few scrapes and bumps? When you're three (or four, or six...) miles away from where you're going you may as well get there as fast as you can anyway, right? Why let a little tumble take the fun out of my workout?

I have a secret.

There is always a delayed reaction.

Today I got up, dusted off, laughed and grinned, then dashed forward. About a mile later I burst into tears. This is totally normal, and it's what I expect when I fall. I couldn't breathe. I had to stop, wheezing and sobbing. I was embarrassed about falling. I was angry at the horse's stupid rider for riding on the wrong trail. I was full of adrenaline, covered in dirt, pigtails all messed up, blinded by tears, unable to breathe and then all the stupid no-good horrible emotions I've been having recently surged up through it all like a shot out of a cannon. I crouched down on the grass, hugging my knees and gasping for air and squeezing my eyes shut, trying desperately to calm down, to get the rhythm of my breathing back to normal. I was far enough off the trail that nobody stopped to bother me. It would have made it worse anyway.

It really only took a minute or two, but after that I was fine. It's just the extra adrenaline that pushes me over the edge, I think. I got back up, dusted off again, wiped the tears from my face and pushed on for another two miles. By the time I dashed through the gate in front of my building I was cheerfully humming to myself. I felt better. Cleansed.

Taking a little tumble isn't really so bad. It reminds me that I'm not invincible and that there's really no point in pretending that I am. It reminds me that difficult things happen as a matter of fact, and that I'm tough enough to come out of it okay. The uncontrollable tears remind me that it's important to deal with the resulting emotions so that I can move on.

So, today's lessons: Tuck and roll - take the bad in stride with the good. Pick myself up and keep going. Sort through my negative feelings before they catch up with me and make things worse. Don't expect horseback riders to use their own goddamn path. Track cinders and sunscreen do not taste good together.

Behold the Turtle.

When I signed up with my bank they charged a monthly fee for overdraft protection, which I thought was bullshit. In lieu of paying six dollars monthly I got in the good habit of checking my account online once every couple of days, figuring if something ever did go wrong the chance of a thirty dollar fee was better than having to pay seventy-two dollars annually guaranteed. The other day I logged in and suddenly I wasn't so sure.

Oops. I overdrafted my checking account because I accidentally scheduled a bill payment a day earlier than I ought to have. The bank charged me thirty bucks. Later that day I deposited money to cover the bill (not knowing it had already been drawn from my account), then because of the fee and because I made my deposit after 5:00 (my budget is tight right now) the account overdrafted again when my other bills went through the next morning. The bank charged me another thirty bucks. When I went to monitor my account I was shocked and upset to see $60 in bank fees! The first time was my mistake, I admit it, but the second time would never have happened without the first fee! Distraught, I called my bank's India office to ask if they could refund the second charge. The nice lady actually refunded ALL the fees and also informed me that overdraft protection no longer comes with a monthly fee, now they only charge if you actually go over. So we got me all signed up and protectified.

The point is that I got sixty bucks back by calling in and asking for thirty. All I had to do was make a tiny effort and show some initiative and not only did I get what I wanted, I got double!

It doesn't always work out to double but I'm finding that the "Just do it" method is the one that has given me the greatest success in my endeavors, whereas trying to take smaller steps to slowly build toward what I want has gotten me diddly. Wanna move to New York City? Don't move somewhere else first just to try your luck at city living, just effing move to New York City. Wanna work in the movies? Don't do other stuff for ten years while you put yourself through film school, just go work in the movies. It's time to apply this principle again, because I'm getting restless with PA life.

I have come to call this way the Bell Method, after the UPM on my current job explained that he became a production manager by just doing it rather than by working his way up the chain. Working with a gaggle of production executives (from the L.A. based company that funded the show) who are barely older than me, his point really hit home. Why resign myself to years of toiling away collecting set days to become an A.D. when ultimately I want to go further than that? If I want to produce a movie, why can't I just produce one?

The first roadblock that pops into my head is money. I don't have the money. Where would I get the money? How do I convince people to trust me with a bucketful of money (yes, I know, don't overdraft my bank account--but that was an isolated incident, I swear!)? How do I distribute the money? How do I make people think I already know the answers to all these questions??

The second roadblock is content. This one is a little easier for me, since I work with dozens of aspiring screenwriters. My daily grind is chock full of people like me who have talents and knacks and know-how but lack opportunity. Nobody, I have come to realize, is going to give any of us an opportunity unless we're supremely lucky. So why not create one out of the resources available to us? If you build it, they will come.

The third roadblock is the nagging insecurity that tells me I have no business trying to make a movie. Who do I think I am, Barbara Broccoli? I don't have the training or preparation. I don't have years of industry knowledge, I have one year of working in production offices and doing other odd jobs on film sets. I have never had a cost report meeting. I've never asked anyone for more than a couple hundred bucks. I've never been responsible for someone else's paycheck. And even if I get past that stuff, so what if I make some dinky little movie? What does it prove to have a DVD Of some video you put together with some friends? What production values can I really expect to achieve that anyone will actually give it a second thought?

Well you don't know unless you try, right? There are people who made it happen who had never set foot on a set before they made their first feature. If they can do it, why not me? And if I try, what's the most I could lose if I fail? Money? I barely have any to lose. Pride? I'm better off without it. Time? Better than losing time any other way. Respect? I respect failures far more than those who lack the mettle to try.

The turtle only makes progress when he sticks his neck out. It's time to be a brave turtle. It's time to try and get somewhere I'd like to be.

kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

Start small

I am indeed feeling much better today. It felt good to write out some of the stuff that's been bothering me. The old 'blowing off steam' metaphor is really accurate, 'cause there was a pressure building inside me that just isn't quite as bad now that I've let it out. I used to do that a lot more with my blog, but now that so many people I know read it I kinda feel like I have to keep my cheery facade here just as much as anywhere else. I think maybe it's better for me if I don't though.

Anyway, I woke up today refreshed and encouraged, so I decided to start my day right. Today I would find some meaning. I like efficiency, so I searched on the Internet for meaning! I went online and read my horoscope! Here, dear reader, is what I found:

"The process of meeting, falling in love and staying together can seem insurmountably complicated. However, it's really just a chain of tiny and very easily accomplished steps. Start small."

Really, Internet astrologer? Of all the ish that's going on in my world you picked love as the thing I ought to deal with today?

(Also, it sounds suspiciously plagiarized.)

At least the 'start small' business is something I can take away. I got all shouty, shook my little fists in the air and cried like a little brat, now it's time to start moving forward on my journey again. I mean, at its core, isn't everything really just a chain of tiny and very easily accomplished steps? Starting small isn't really my style, but since lately I can't seem to muster up the courage or energy for drastic measures like shooting myself out of a cannon, I guess small is a pretty good way to start.


kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

10 good things about size 10

10- more clothing options means less money spent on stuff I'll never wear that I "had to buy" just because it fit me.

9- rediscovering clothes I loved in high school. I wore them fitted then; I wear them baggy now.

8- less weight means less stress on my joints when I run! Yay!

7- increased cat calls are mostly annoying...but a little flattering. It's nice to be noticed more!

6- fitting into my shoes better. Weird since I never thought my feet were particularly fat, but true.

5- less belly, more dance.

4- people should be ashamed of themselves, but I'm definitely getting my way more during business transactions. Bonus.

3- obvious better respiratory health. I attack multiple flights of stairs like I'm Rocky.

2- fitting my butt into smaller parking spaces on the Subway.

1- when I walk by my reflection in a window I recognize myself instead of fleetingly wondering, "whose chins are those?" But seriously, at sizes 12-18 I never used to feel quite like myself. Now I finally look the way I feel on the inside! I finally look like me!

Let the awesomeness flow from within.

Someone smart said to me today, "Stuff is simple if you let it be. Smart people complicate things as an excuse not to act."

Without even knowing it, he boiled down the entire Miss Adventurous philosophy into a sentence and reminded me of who I am.

I'm a smart people. No reason to start complicating things now, right? Right.

Additionally, The Salty One referred me to this Article about Just-In-Time thinking as opposed to Just-In-Case. (It's good. Go read it.)

All this smacks of that whole John Kabat-Zinn Wherever You Go, There You Are sort of mindfulness. I read some of his stuff a little over a year ago, and I still find comfort in closing my eyes and whispering "This is it."

It's three different messages that all express the same thing: instead of worrying so much about what could be, I should really just focus on what is. I'm having a hard time with that right now, perhaps because the job I'm on isn't that awesome, and I'm really wishing to move up to something different, something more challenging. It's hard to stay in the moment when you're not happy in so many of your moments. I've been placing a lot of pressure on myself to make all my moments outside of the job happy to compensate for not being happy in the job, scheduling dates and runs and friend time instead of relaxing and letting things flow. In doing so I'm really just making myself even more miserable. When things just happen organically they always turn out much better than expected anyway.


Well today I give myself a clean slate. Simplicity is my mantra for the week-month-year-life-whatever. Today I will quit putting so much pressure on myself to force awesomeness and just let the awesomeness flow from within.

Today I'm takin' it back...back to when I first got here, before I had my career, before I had any real solid friends, before I had superbly awkward moments in the back of taxicabs, back when I had no complaints because I was experiencing my life as my own for the very first time. Back then I had only three things that made me happy: running, dancing, and tooling around New York with love in my heart and a fool's grin on my face. And that's exactly what I plan to do today.

Trying on clothes

As I mentioned in my last post, I'm getting kinda skinny. I'm a size 10 now; to put that in perspective,, even at my lowest weight (156--I'm an even 160 now! So close!) I was always a solid 12. Maybe it's a change in shape, or maybe a change of mind, but the experience of trying on clothes has changed drastically for me.

It used to be that I'd go into a store and search desperately through racks of clothes I could never wear looking for something that might look good on me and also came in the largest size available. I'd try on every viable option, and it wasn't uncommon for me to purchase an item just because it looked good on me, a practice born from fear that my difficulty in finding clothes that fit would leave me with nothing to wear for X, Y, or Z occasion.

Now, trying on clothes, I find things that are too loose, and tons of options available in my size. Sure, there are things that don't look great on my shape, but I can wear dresses I never could before, and my new shape is suitable for a wider variety of silhouettes and cuts. I no longer feel like I have to dress to slim my figure, I just have to dress pretty, or casual, or funky or whatever.

Instead of buying it all because it looked good on me I found myself swaying in the opposite direction; I became more selective. I only bought what I needed and was more discerning about details. I looked fantastic in a gorgeous and versatile black cocktail dress, but I put it back on the rack, knowing I had nowhere to wear it and, more importantly, that there will be other gorgeous and versatile dresses that fit me. And maybe I'll be even smaller, and maybe they'll hug my curves even better and maybe the straps won't do that thing where I have to lift them off my shoulders every fifteen minutes.

Regardless, my new shape is pretty pleasing to me, and apparently to the men of New York City too. I've definitely noticed that I'm treated differently when I'm almost 30 lbs. lighter. More smiles, more flirtatious banter, more catcalls... and even just flat out better service and treatment during business transactions.

Pigs.

Regardless, just like clothes, the new shape has me checking them out with a more selective eye, going only for the right attitude and style and for things I need, instead of just going with something because it's available and okay for now. I want something that's striking, something that really grabs my attention and fits me perfect in every noticable way. Something I can wear casually for a long time, and that will look better and better on me as time passes. And of it's not right, I won't be afraid to let it go, because there's always another dress. And maybe the next one will fit better and not do that thing where he's got no discernible interests outside his job, or can't put up with me having so little spare time, or doesn't take any initiative with me. So...yeah. Selective.

The analogy is kind of funny, but it really shows how much more comfortable I am in my own skin. I'm just generally happier to be me in a much different way than the manic freedom fighter of a year ago. I've replaced the battle cry of "I'm free!" with a pleasant comfort in having what I have, and confidence that I will get what I wish for, provided I continue my trend of working toward my goals and making myself happy.


kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

Resolute

Over the holidays I got to be closer friends with Philosophy. She's a super gal; we've had similar experiences and we just kind of get each other.

Anyway, Phil is one of the few friends I've made that doesn't think I'm crazy for running. In fact, she's training for a marathon next July in San Francisco. I wanna play!

So yesterday I woke up at 5 am, a good two hours before dawn. I groggily tugged on my tights and sport bra and layers of t-shirts. I tied my shoes. I drank a glass of water. I pinned keys inside my clothes and quietly made my way downstairs. 5:30 on a Saturday...barely anyone on the street except some kids coming home from a night out and a few people unlucky enough to have to leave for work. I jogged down to Grand Army Plaza, met up with Phil, and together we trotted into the park.

It was like being in another world, just the two of us an a precious few other brave pioneers in the dark. We kept the pace light, chatting a bit. It was freezing. It was like the rest of the world didn't exist. For the first time since I lost my job I felt like everything is going to be okay. I felt like I could breathe.

At the end as we raced back out of the park, tents were being set up for the green market and the Christmas Cone lit up in all different colors. Grand Army Plaza felt like a finish line. I felt strong and happy and glad to be alive. We crossed the edge of the park and gave each other a sweaty, breathless hug.

Hopefully it was the first of many.

I'm 1

Happy New Year!

Miss A has been my blog for a whole year. Awesome!

Here's what happened:

• I got on my feet with some temp jobs.
• I got back in the game after leaving JH. It was hard, but good for me.
• Then I got offered a real job on a real movie!
• I realized I loved being an office PA.
• It made me fall in love with New York.
• And I made lots of new friends.
• Then I got offered another job, and a promotion!
• I made more new friends.
• I belly danced -- a lot!
• I moved to a better neighborhood with awesome roommates!
• I got mugged and learned a valuable lesson.
• I started a brunch club.
• I got a nephew. :)
• I decided to really try hard for this AD thing.
• I got canned. It sucked.
• But I started running again!

And now I have come full circle. It's a new year and I have no job. Luckily though this time I have lots of friends, a nice place to live, a small but positive professional reputation, and--most important of all--a new goal! I'm applying for the DGA Training Program and in the meantime I'm hoping to get some set PA gigs to start logging hours toward my AD card.

New year, new adventures! Ready?

A very sticky phoenix

When I was a little kid my mom used to play this little game with me nearly every time she sat or laid down on the floor. When it was time to get up she would claim she was "stuck in the glue" so that I would pull her up by her arms and help her off the floor. The game was always more fun when she resisted as much as possible!

I feel like I really have been stuck in some glue lately. The glue is attached to another person. I like the person very much in that way that I like my most awesome and special of friends. It is in that way that I like my crazy helicopter-pilot-ballerina and PDF and Kelley from New Orleans. I don't just like these people, I absolutely love them. Any of them will tell you I place a very high value on relationships, and that I can be very intense with my friendship. They can also tell you it's because I have a hard time relating to most people that they in particular are so very extra special to me.

The glue went sour with PDF many many years ago. He isn't good at handling my intensity the way Helicopter and Banana are. He's narcissistic, and often forgets the fine line between placating and patronizing, which brings out the down side of my intensity...I get fussy when the objects of my affection disappoint me with things like disregard for my feelings. I don't love him any less but I've definitely learned a lesson or two about pedestals and how I should not put people on them, and I certainly no longer expect him to be anything other than the most generous selfish person I know.

Anyway, back to the present day.

I can see the glue getting sour now. I can see myself putting my new friend on a pedestal and expecting to see greatness shining down on me in the form of respect and understanding. I am expecting that the intensity of my feelings of friendship will be seen for what they are. I am expecting to find returned intensity. And I can also see that I am setting myself up for disappointment!

I fear that my new friend is afraid of my intensity. I fear that my new friend thinks it is something it is assuredly not. I fear that I have allowed myself to feel comforted in the presence of my new friend, as if I can stop my pursuit of new adventures and new friends and new places because I have found one of the things I was looking for. I told myself it was because I started working again. Well if that's not a big pile of garbage, I don't know what is.

It's not like I'm going to detach myself. It's not like I'm going to love my new friend any less. I'm just going to keep on diving down those rabbit holes and living like there's no tomorrow and looking for the next adventure, because that's who I am, and even though I wish that all my best friends were the same way, they just aren't. And that's okay.

In fact, it probably makes me look even cooler. Alright!