My neighbor and I have coffee. Together, but on our separate porches. An introvert's dream. Today, it is a foggy, misty morning. He coughs, I sip. His keys jangle as he sits in his chair while he simultaneously shuffles his feet, his shoes squeaking on the wet wood. And, I read about ancient cave paintings in Paris writing feverishly in the margins about human existence.
We do this dance. He and I. Every. Day. Yet, we do not speak. Does he notice me? As Walt Whitman once wondered in my favorite poem "To You," does he "desire to speak to me," ? Do I, too, make noises that I am unaware of that become apart of his morning song?
It's a curious concept. Neighbors. It implies a familiarity, a kinship, yet we have never spoken a single word. But, we have our coffee every morning. Maybe that silence is in itself kinship.
People will perceive you through their own lense always. For years, I killed myself trying to project "perfectness" on social media, in my personal relationships, through private messages, etc. It was exhausting. And I still find myself doing it sometimes.
But, life isn't perfect. Nor am I. Or my family for that matter. When, the eyes of others are opened to the raw reality of my messy life, or the messiness of human existence, it can be disorienting. Because, we have become a surface level society. We have perfectly curated self images that are nothing like our real selves. Or, at least, I have for as long as I can remember.
When confronted with my reality, and not the mask, people have become so disoriented. Stating things like:
"Why did you change?"
"Are you okay?"
"I'll talk to you when things calm down."
This messiness is jarring, ugly, and completely necessary. But, it makes others uncomfortable. Why? After all, we are not allowed to be messy. We are supposed to be perfectly aesthetically pleasing squares on Instagram.
But, that's not HUMAN. And I'm not perfect-- I never was. No one is. I would rather be messy, real, or honest than a projection of false perfection. Because, perfection doesn't exist. And when I fake it, I don't exist either. I want to be loud and messy if that's what it takes to get back to who I once was when I still liked being me.
So, find your people. The ones who can sit with the uncomfortable feelings. The ugly days or weeks. The ones who don't judge your imperfectness, but rather see it as a rally cry for help. Those who uplift you and try. They won't always be able to. But, maybe you can help them when they are in the thick of their own mess.
Somewhere along the way, humanity became so self engrossed that we forgot the basic foundation of existing. Real, human connection. Friends and mess go hand in hand. Check in. Check in. Check in. We all exist in this vast messy world for such a short time. We might as well be kind and understanding while we are here.
Remember, you can't be everything to everyone. Especially if you ignore your own mess.
I'll leave you with a song: https://youtu.be/vymKbLGKFUM
I've been called the following in the past few weeks:
"self centered"
"an ass"
"narcissist"
"manic"
"lazy"
"not the same."
Though these words hurt, in fact, they sting like wasps in my brain over and over, I know they are true. At least, somewhat. But I don't want to be THAT person. Or even THIS person. I WANT to be balanced. Someone who helps. Who is happy. Who is present.
I want to be someone who maintains healthy relationships with clearly established boundaries and good communication. Communication free of name calling, festered feelings, and judgment.
I want to be the person who fondly remembers all of her favorite songs without ruminating in the past. I don't want to make camp in the sadness and live there anymore. I want to know when to put the campfire out, pack up, leave my surroundings better than I found them, and go home.
I want be in the present moment. I want to actively listen. And I want to SHOW that I am by engaging in conversations with my full attention. I want to ask the right questions to keep a conversation flowing. Or know when a conversation has reached it's end. And I don't know how to do that--yet.
But, hopefully, I will get there one day. It won't happen alone. I am so grateful for the support I have been given in the past, present, and future. It means more to me than words could ever express. And I know, I spiral, and it is exhausting, and I am so sorry for draining my loved ones.
Don't forget. Please, don't forget to "gas up all of your homies" like the band CLIFFDIVER says. They have their own shit too. And they are trying THEIR BEST. We all are trying our hardest to survive, grow, and be content in a world that is frankly, royally fucked. And, I wouldn't have it any other way. Because, there will be better days. I know that for sure.
I'll leave you with this song: https://youtu.be/gNF_ZUAxtmA
"You can't keep dwelling." "You have to get over it." "He's in a better place."
These words like knives slice open my grieving, aching, screaming heart.
"How many kids do you have?" "Don't your other two children make up for the loss?"
These questions like swift kicks to my empty, hollow, scarred womb attempt to erase the sweet, fading memory, to silence the suffering of a mother whose child never took his first breath.
"Why didn't you go to the hospital sooner?" "Maybe he would still be alive if you would have just gone in." "It should have been you."
These words like bees with stingers at the ready sworm every inch of my mind, creating a colony, expanding--ever expanding, their buzz at all consuming, inhumane decibels reverberates.
"What is wrong with you?" "Why can't you be stronger?" "Why aren't you better yet?"
These thoughts like a fatal cancer attack each of my cells making me violently sick, debilitating me entirely--till I give up.
Before this past year, I wouldn't have seconded guessed my Halloween costume. If I am being honest, I probably wouldn't have even worn one, because of my lack of self-confidence. But this year, I went for it. I transformed myself into the iconic Mexican artist, Frida Khalo.
Scrolling through the Frida tag on Instagram proved to be conflicting for me on Halloween day. As I swiped through the various pictures, I reflected on my own cultural identity. I also questioned whether or not just anyone should be able to dress up as Frida. Should ANYONE be able to apply fake bold eyebrows and don over-sized jewelry and floral crowns? OR Does dressing as Frida with no personal connection to her culture turn her image into caricature?
I think it does. It is important to ask yourself questions like these when deciding if you should dress up as a certain person or character. Cultural appropriation is an overt problem especially on Halloween. Don't try on someone else's culture as your own even if "it is just for fun." It's not fun or cute. It's demeaning. Celebrate someone from your own culture instead.
Celebrating Frida on Tuesday was something that I have been talking about for years. I felt proud to step into her shoes for just one night. Though I will never truly know how her personal struggles affected her mentally and physically, I can say that she was a powerful woman and artist who overcame her inopportune circumstances. For that, she is an inspiration. Frida Khalo is the embodiment of the phrase "she believed she could, so she did." I hope to keep persevering through my life's struggles with a even just a shred of her grace and badassery. Her work and memory inspire me to do so every day of the year.
If you're a Doctor Who or a sci-fi fan, then you have probably seen this video blowing up the
nerdosphere over the past two days:
If you haven't, then give it a watch before reading further!
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There is insurmountable criticism and just really horrific displays of misogyny surrounding the above video's reveal of the 13th Doctor. Who knew a minute long video could incite so much hate and divide a fandom in the span of 48 hours?
You may or may not be familiar with Doctor Who, so let me break it down for you. Doctor Who is a show that has been running for a little over a half a century on the BBC. The Doctor is a time traveling alien part of the "Time Lord" race from the planet Gallifray who travels around in a stolen time machine that appears to be a cobalt blue police box known as the T.A.R.D.I.S (Time and Relative Dimension in Space). The T.A.R.D.I.S. takes the wacky and lovable Time Lord where the Doctor wants and needs to go. It wooshes it's way through the wibbly wobbly mess of space and time, and it is fantastic to watch!
During all this gallivanting, the viewers have seen the Doctor encounter many enemies such as: the Cybermen, the Master, the Daleks, the Silence, the Vashta Nerada, etc. With a countless stream of enemies, the Doctor is bound to get hurt. So to keep the show going (most likely when an actor tired of the role), the creators/writers gave the Doctor's race the ability to "regenerate." In other words, the Doctor takes on a new face, dress, and personality when gravely harmed by his enemies during the course of events that would typically cause a human to die. But most recently, some Whovians have become the Doctor's enemies. For the first time in fifty years, the Doctor has regenerated into a woman, played by Jodie Whittaker. Fans always knew this was a possibility, and for many it is a dream that has come to fruition. Personally, I am still waiting for the Doctor to be ginger. I wonder what River would say about this exciting change?
The Thirteenth Doctor
All jokes aside, the issue is that the fandom is split. We have one side who is ecstatic to see a woman FINALLY take on the role. And we have the camp that is infuriated that the Doctor is now a woman. To recap, we are discussing a show about a regenerating space alien who travels around in a blue box through space and time, and the thing that is driving away fans is the new GENDER of said space alien! If you can suspend your disbelief for the show's extraordinary cast of characters, events, and loopholes, but you can't accept the Doctor as woman, then you should probably tuck your misogyny back in. It's showing!
I'm excited for my children to watch the first ever female Doctor explore space and time while having grand adventures. And I am so so happy for all of the young girls and female fans that love Doctor Who or look up to the Doctor that now have Whittaker's character to admire as a strong female lead. I hope the writers do her justice. I can promise all of you trolls or "loyal fans" out there who are upset about this that the true fandom will not miss you.
Here are just a few comments that I mentioned above for you to peruse:
Can't wait to see her shine despite the trolls! Welcome, Jodie!
My neighbor and I have coffee. Together, but on our separate porches. An introvert's dream. Today, it is a foggy, misty morning. He coughs, I sip. His keys jangle as he sits in his chair while he simultaneously shuffles his feet, his shoes squeaking on the wet wood. And, I read about ancient cave paintings in Paris writing feverishly in the margins about human existence. 
