Natural blueprint

Throughout history, nature has been man's blueprint and inspiration for progress and invention, even art. Her birds taught us how to fly, her wondrous diverse palette of colors and textures inspired great canvases and landscapes. The list is nearly infinite for the gratitude we have to nature for improving 'man.'

Yet, we take nature, or Mother Nature, for granted. It's just there. The leaves, the birds, the sunshine and rain. The oceans, the trees, the deserts. Grass, flower petals. Animals, furry and scaled and blubbery. It's just there.We see it everyday, in some way or another. Even in the most concrete, dreary cities, there is still nature.

What if nature was not the rich, kaleidoscopic thing we have come to expect. What if every plant bore the same leaves, in the same staid green? Flowers, though abundant, sprung in the equal shape and color. Then what? Wouldn't our lives be just as uninspired? Monotonous?

What about us? We get up. We get ready for work. We go to work. We come home. We spend our time with our significant other, families and the same circle of friends, whether few or several. We eat dinner. Maybe work some more. We sleep. It's a routine mostly all of us are familiar with.  If we're lucky, a weekend getaway or even a vacation. Then what.



I have decided to quit this blog. It no longer serves my purpose in life or the direction I wish to go.

I am not a Middle Class Socialite, nor do I wish to be.

I wish to be a gardener. Cultivating my own life. Watering it, watching it flourish and blossom.

Nature is going to be my blueprint for joy. 

growforjoy.blogspot.com

The freedom of Anger (and finding out who you're really supposed to be)

This past weekend I hit a wall. A wall of anger.

I became angry at my grandmother for not understanding that I can't be her entire life. I was angry at my godmother, pretty much my only family, for not at all understanding my situation and for being the type of person who believes you are supposed to live your life for everyone else. And I was angry at myself.  Angry for allowing the boundaries of my life and who I am get flattened like wimpy blades of grass.

I am so burnt out. I am so frustrated. I am so tired of what feels like near daily trips to the guilt guillotine, whenever I talk to my grandmother.  It's my fault that's she no longer 25 years old and can not do the things she used to do. It's my fault that she's outlived her husband and two kids. It's my fault that she has severe anxiety and worries if I don't call her every single day to tell her I'm okay.
It's my fault that her other white-trash grandchildren don't keep in touch with her. And of course, it's my fault that I am an adult and do not need her to take care of me.

And facing that anger (finally) made me realize this has gone too far.

It wasn't the frustration, or the fear of yet another looming, lonely birthday staring me in the face. It wasn't the fact that since my dad passed eight years ago and I stepped in to take care of my grandmother, I have not been able to sustain a permanent job or relationship. It was the anger of it all that hit me like a sack filled with bricks. The anger of feeling controlled and being a bucket for which my grandma throws all of her dirty, sorrow-filled blame rags into. And with an open mouth, I kept gobbling it up. For eight years.

This blog was supposed to be about being a middle-class socialite. About living a somewhat free journey of transformation. But I don't have that freedom.
I am not who I am supposed to be. Then again, I don't even know who I am supposed to be.

I've always been fascinated by those women who led glorious, fantastic, unapologetic lives. Tied down by no one, bursting with talent and personality and passion. Their lives filled with interesting people. Maybe it's a fantasy, and like facebook happy details were highlighted. And mostly these women I admire lived during the 20's and 30's, but whatever. Diana Vreeland. I love her 'I'm who I am and don't care what you think' approach to anything and everything. And whatever wasn't entertaining or over-the-top about her life, she made up.
These women traveled everywhere. Lived every breath good and bad, with adventure. Even if those adventures weren't daily, they were there lurking around the corner, ready for the taking.

That's what I want.

Instead, yesterday I had to listen to my grandma chide me for not calling her back right away.  I was really busy that day with job interviews and phone calls, and had intended to call her later in the afternoon.

She was upset because I ordered several things off Amazon and had them delivered to her house. She was upset because the box was large and she had to struggle to push it into the other room (which I did not expect and felt bad). But, I think she was most upset because I took away yet another excuse for her to ask me to do something for her. Her way of pulling me to come visit her.


Now, I'm struggling to find a caregiver for her, and she's of course resistant to that idea. God-forbid I should live my own life.

Hopefully when all of this is over there will be a sliver left of being able to live my life. After all, since the day I was born, I've had to be the blame bucket for all of my mother's insecurities as well .

I am so done. That box of sleeping pills looks more and more delicious every day.

Everything

She needs me to be her everything. Because her everything died twenty-some years ago.
And again, thirteen years ago.  And yet again, eight years ago.
Somehow along the way, I've made myself responsible for her tragic circumstances. Because my heart bled for my poor, aging grandma. Because she's family. Because I love her. And because there is no one else.

She needs me to be her companion, her cook, her chauffeur, her therapist, her friend, her granddaughter, her caretaker. For 8 years, in some way, shape or form I have been.

It's the 'need' that is suffocating me. The 'need' is a vampire sucking the life from my soul.
The guilt of feeling suffocated is crushing me.

Yesterday she called me. "I'm sick," her voice cracked over the phone, sounding like someone trying to play hooky from work on a warm, sunny day.
Her ailment was not illness, it was loneliness. And I am her panacea.

Her doctor suggested, multiple times, a therapist to deal with the anxiety.         She said no.
I suggested living in the same active senior community with her sister.             She said no.
The adult center, where seniors play games and enjoy luncheons is nearby.      She said no.
Repeatedly, I brought up the idea of a part-time caregiver.                                She said No.

Why should she. She has me.

I am not in my 60's and retired. I'm not even 40, yet. And because I'm an independent woman, The guilt swallows me for being busy. For her self-pity. No time for the woman who's not busy at all.  "I don't call to say hi because I know you're busy. I don't want to bother you."

My mother used to do the same thing. When I decided I didn't want to be her therapist anymore,
I was made to feel guilty.  "I don't talk to you anymore, because I know you don't like it."

No relationship can survive when one person is wholly dependent on the other.  Its a simple fact.

She needs a life outside of me. Despite her advancing age, her mind is still pretty sharp, sharper than her slowly, crumbling body.

Now after 8 years, I realize I can no longer be responsible for the obstacles she puts in her own way.
I have my own obstacles to deal with.

All I want is to just be her granddaughter.

Not her her everything.

Modern Clutter or Distractions, Distractions, Distractions

Busy, busy, busy, busy.

Everyday, all day, every second, every minute. Busy.  Text messages, emails, it's your turn to play a game, someone's calling (I forget that's the primary purpose of a phone these days), all this just from the phone that's attached to you more than your wallet and your own life.
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Tumblr
Blogs
Advertisements/ commercials
Buy this, read that
News
Jobs
Money
Busy, busy, busy, busy. We're so distracted and busy that we need to schedule time for relaxation.
Vacations are no longer that. Even then you are expected to be reachable.

No time for this, no time for that, no time for sleep, no time for relationships, no time for love, no time to breathe, no time to listen, no time to see, no time to feel. Strive, be successful, grow, climb, cultivate, squeeze more blood. Earn more to buy more.

Juggle, juggle, juggle. Much like the circus performer in the middle of the ring. All eyes on me. Don't drop anything, display perfectionism.

How many times do we pick up our phone in one day, one hour? Probably more times than we pick up our own child or pet a dog or smell a flower.

Control, choices. Are they ours? Perhaps my musings are all the same.

But what if....

You're not busy? What's wrong with you? You're weird! Simpleton.

 Unplug. Turn off the TV. Experience life. Focus on the patterns created by light and shadow.

Experiencing life, has now become a luxury, when it should be as involuntary as the breaths you take.  It's all in your hands, your eyes, your ears, your touch. It's all there.

Everyone is agitated, unhappy and ungrateful for everything they themselves worked for.
I will probably find a job, sell my soul to a boss or company to whom you are just a drone. Expected to give my time. more than I choose because there is too much work and not enough people to fulfill it, for pay that is not worth my time or experience or knowledge. Then what.  It's up to me.

And yes, I own an iphone. No, I do not have cable (I have netflix!).

The Dashed - - - - - - - - Life

How to stave off the holiday doldrums? Wander the malls and window shop without hardly an extra dollar to snatch up that oh-so-not really, but-it-is-necessary-super-cheap-purchase.

I've begun to notice that I live my life, when not working or even when I am, in a sort of dashed sequence of existence. Start, stop, start, stop, start again, and so on. Is this normal for everyone? I feel like an old person who after years of driving still feels the need to hit the breaks every few feet, but maybe for different reasons. Yoga, as much as I enjoy it and feel the wash of positive effects, lose interest. My writers group which met only twice a month and gave me joy to be in the company of such a great group of intelligent people, has faded like an overused battery in a....well, never mind.

Maybe it's the murkiness of the shorter and colder days that has seeped in pulling me into the cozy trenches of a fuzzy blanketed winter rut. If I could've met the 20-year old me, I would've told her - look you're not cut out for the conventional 9-5 life. You get too easily bored. Face it. And look for a career that is not the 9-5, so you can thrive.

And now the electricity is once again waning, the restlessness is setting in. I need to be recharged.

My relationships even all have had a short shelf-life, though not at my voluntary choice. At least not consciously. I still think about the last guy I was dating. He too disappeared after about 3 months. Just stopped calling. Bam, cold-turkey. Of course I chose to date someone who wasn't ready for a relationship. But I still think about him and miss him, even through the haze of anger for his completely disrespecting behavior, of course I still want him to call me.

I just realized, I stopped in the middle of writing this post to make a call, turn on my air freshener....I think there's a term for that - A.D.D.

What would happen if I actually stuck to something. Can I stick to something?
It may not be in my DNA. The answer to be revealed.....next year?

Indulge!

As the months flip by ever faster and we are on that speeding trajectory straight toward the end of the year, I have to remind myself to stop and stand still and simply look around.

Indulge. Indulge yourself in life. Experience. Experience it all in real life.  Indulge your senses, all 5 of them. That's what they are there for, that's what they want.

Pleasure. It's such a great word. One that, I think, unfortunately conjures images of debauchery and sin, these days. But without pleasure, we are only drowned in a world of pain. Pleasure, delights. 

Sure, we can listen to songs on the radio or our devices, but there is no substitute for hearing that music, or your favorite song, live. To actually feel the music, the melody reverberate through our core as it seeps through our skin.

Taste the sweetness of life. Your favorite food or dessert. Indulge in a little treat for yourself, once a day, and savor it without guilt only pleasure. It will be but a small but significant reminder in the spinning chaos of life to smile and be grateful - for the little things.

Touch life. Feel the skin and warmth of your beloved or loved ones. Find that perfect smoothness of silk or the comfort of warm cotton sheets.

See the golden sun drip around you. Or the thick green leaves of trees against that perfect blue of the flat clear sky. Find that little green plant defiantly sticking up between the harsh square of cement on the sidewalk.

And lastly, stop and smell the roses.

It's all around you. Every minute of every day. You just need to see it. Or learn to see it. 

Not everything is as it seems.

Patience leads to a rational tomorrow

This morning I woke exhausted, restless, and hot and sticky under the growing humidity.  My alarm sounded off reminding me that I had just drifted off to sleep only a few hours prior. My mind was on overdrive, not allowing me to sleep. Again.


 In trying to sift through the gaggle of thoughts flying through my head the night before, I realized something.  My thoughts are forcing impatience. I know I have made decisions simply to shut my mind up. Under the guise that if I find some kind of closure to the relentless march in my head, and to quite possibly bring that future scenario (no matter how realistic or not) I've conjured in my head to fruition sooner rather than later, then I'll be free. At least free to be filled up with the next unrelenting march of a new topic. Unfortunately these decisions tend to be rash and the next day or even the next hour I question and fret about the decision of closure I just made. Fueling the never-ending cycle.

 I started questioning what life is. What it means for me, what I want out of it and do we really have any clue what life is about.  Of course the answer is as unique to each individual as the individual themselves. But, I think the bottom line is that life is about happiness. Do what makes you happy. Of course I could say, what would make me happy is to hop on a plane and fly to Paris tonight. But I think, like a designer who is working within given parameters, it's about designing that happiness to fit within your own unique parameters. Money doesn't always equate happiness, although I think it can sometimes if it's not taken for granted. We all need to live a little comfortably to afford that vacation or occasional splurge. But paramount to finding happiness is to do everyday what you love, what awakens your passion, even if it's just for a little bit. Be inspired to want to get out of bed in the morning to indulge your sense of sight, sound, taste, and touch a little everyday.Those senses should be appreciated because that's what makes the world come alive. Stare at the sky, listen to music, smell a rose, run your finger's down a piece of silk. Collect experiences like a stamp collection. Just do something. Other than work to live. And remember to breathe and believe.

The party begins - again!

Okay. How many times have I started and stopped blogs? Too many to count. I'm not consistent. I try. I really do. Hopefully this will be different. And by this, perhaps I mean, my life.

I have been out of work for nearly 6 months (again). This time I have filled my time with yoga and writing and other various adventures and positive experiences. Oh and looking for work, of course.

Having this free time shouldn't mean moping around and wallowing in the "I'm a loser" pool. Especially at my age. It should be an opportunity that few have to explore. Explore the city you live in - in my case Los Angeles. To explore who you are. To feel the sunshine dripping on your face, not just to see what it looks like from outside your office window (if you are lucky enough to have a window).

So, once again here I am. Shining or at least trying to. The year is over in less than 6 months.
Where will I be? Will I be in love? Employed? Will my book be launched to great success? Will my passion truly be my surfboard carrying through this tidal wave? (yes, that cheesy). But, seriously? Will it?

The countdown is on.