In just one week, we all see, he is getting less and less strong. He is disconnecting from everything.
In just one week, we all see, she is getting more scared, sadder. She is trying to keep it together.
We are spending all of our time together, my sisters, mother and I. Dad is off in the other room, resting and resting and resting.
When he is awake, he’ll watch the home renovations shows on HGTV.
When he is awake, I will sit there and watch it with him, watching him mostly, drift in and out, very few words said. He simply doesn’t have the strength.
My mother goes into the ‘other room’ often.
My mother comes out of the ‘other room’ crying, often.
She is my mother, but she’s also a woman, feeling loss and lost.
We are as strong as we can be but we are all reacting in our own ways.
I see my mother, my friend.
Your parents, whether you live close by to them or far away, they are always there. They are supposed to be there. There is comfort in that.
No one prepares you for the time to let go.
There’s no book on how to behave or what to expect when you’re expecting death.
What do you do?
And we are all so different.
Kathy is angry.
Karin is quiet.
Mom is emotional.
I’m just trying to keep us together in acceptance of all of our feelings. We all have a right to be angry, quiet and emotional. I want everyone to feel the way they should in each moment and let it out. But it’s hard to listen when your feelings are the loudest thing in the room.
Karin, my ‘older by only a year sis’ and I went to the movies.
Movies are Karin’s great escape. TV and movies. She knows movies and TV better than anyone I know and sees everything.
We went to see ‘Marley and Me’. Just the two of us.
So, the movie was good. There were too many children there, laughing and making jokes. I don’t think it’s a kid’s movie ‘cause, spoiler alert, there’s a miscarriage and the dog dies.
Three scenes were ruined for me because a dad behind me was trying to explain the miracle of life to his young son who didn’t know where babies came from.
Not the most appropriate time, but then again, every behavior seems to be acceptable in movie theatres these days.
Anyway, the Searle family is very connected to the family dog, Daisy.
The death of Marley is very sweet and emotional.
However, when it happens, I look over to Karin and see her crying.
She’s sobbing, quietly and I know it’s not about the dog.
She is also the queen of unnecessary touch, which I don’t understand, but I respect.
I reach over and just to squeeze her hand, to let her know that I understood. Then I was going to let go. I thought it would
make her uncomfortable.
But, she kept my hand, for the rest of the movie. I gave her my slightly used tissue.
Then I cried. I had no tissue.
Only sisters could share tears and tissues.
We shared a room for 16 years and I never felt closer to her.
We never said a word about it after.
It was just a moment.
The saddest moment, but the best I’ve ever had with my best friend.
I'm so lucky and grateful.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Chemo Yoga
If you are in the unfortunate position that you have to undergo chemotherapy, the process is long and tedious and will test your strength.
When you go in, treatments can last up to four hours for the medicine, hydration and other shots you might need to keep your system going while fighting the disease.
Sitting for long periods of time can be exhausting.
Busying your mind with friends, visitors, books, music and conversation are all good for passing the time.
Movement is also important.
Please ask your doctor if the following exercises are ok for you to do whilst undergoing treatments.
Ok, you're plugged in. Either your left or right arm will be hooked up to the treatment.
1. Sit back in your chair and relax your arms. Keep your feet open hip distance, feet on the floor.
Inhale and extend your legs straight, engaging your upper thighs and hold for a beat then exhale and release your feet back to the floor.
Repeat several times.
If you can, add a point of the feet when the legs are elevated and inhale, then flex the foot as you exhale. Repeat as much as feels comfortable.
2. Sit on your chair, your back away from the back of the chair. Feet hip distance, knees hip distance. Stand up as you inhale, then sit down as you exhale. Do several times.
3. Sitting straight up on the chair, back away from the back of the chair, take an inhale, then exhale as tilt your pelvis forward, rounding your low back, like you are about to pick something off the floor, then sit up straight as you inhale. Round again then sit up straight.
4. Sitting on the chair, back slightly away from the back of the chair, take your shoulders up towards your ears as you inhale then release them back and down as you exhale. Do several times. Then take the shoulders up towards the ears and forward. Do several times.
5. Sitting on the chair, take an inhale and extend the arms long in front of you like a zombie. Exhale as you bend the elbows and release them back to the arm rest. You should be able to do this while hooked up to the drip. If it's uncomfortable for the arm receiving treatment, just use the other arm. Repeat several times.
6. Sitting on the chair, relax your body and just focus on spreading the fingertips as wide as you can as you breathe in. Relax the fingers as you breathe out. Repeat several times.
7. Still sitting, take your right ear and relax it down toward your right shoulder. Take 5 breaths as deep as you can.
Then return the head to center and do the left side.
8. Still sitting, inhale as you slowly drop your head back like you are looking at something on the ceiling. Exhale as you return your head back to neutral. Repeat a few times if you feel comfortable.
9. Still sitting slightly away from the back of the chair, take both hands to the left arm rest, gently twisting your spine.
Hold for a few breaths. Switch sides.
These are simple, small exercises you can do to keep the joints lubricated, keep the mind busy and work on keeping up your strength.
Walk around a little if you can.
Add a seated forward fold if you can, breathing deeply. You can do it standing as well, but it is very important to move slowly if you add this move and keep the knees slightly bent. When the head is lower than the heart, dizziness and lightheadedness can occur, when returning upright. We want you to feel as good and as comfortable as you can while getting treatment.
If nausea or dizziness follows any of these exercises or deep breathing, stop immediately.
Again, talk to your doctor and go over the above.
Trial and error.
When you go in, treatments can last up to four hours for the medicine, hydration and other shots you might need to keep your system going while fighting the disease.
Sitting for long periods of time can be exhausting.
Busying your mind with friends, visitors, books, music and conversation are all good for passing the time.
Movement is also important.
Please ask your doctor if the following exercises are ok for you to do whilst undergoing treatments.
Ok, you're plugged in. Either your left or right arm will be hooked up to the treatment.
1. Sit back in your chair and relax your arms. Keep your feet open hip distance, feet on the floor.
Inhale and extend your legs straight, engaging your upper thighs and hold for a beat then exhale and release your feet back to the floor.
Repeat several times.
If you can, add a point of the feet when the legs are elevated and inhale, then flex the foot as you exhale. Repeat as much as feels comfortable.
2. Sit on your chair, your back away from the back of the chair. Feet hip distance, knees hip distance. Stand up as you inhale, then sit down as you exhale. Do several times.
3. Sitting straight up on the chair, back away from the back of the chair, take an inhale, then exhale as tilt your pelvis forward, rounding your low back, like you are about to pick something off the floor, then sit up straight as you inhale. Round again then sit up straight.
4. Sitting on the chair, back slightly away from the back of the chair, take your shoulders up towards your ears as you inhale then release them back and down as you exhale. Do several times. Then take the shoulders up towards the ears and forward. Do several times.
5. Sitting on the chair, take an inhale and extend the arms long in front of you like a zombie. Exhale as you bend the elbows and release them back to the arm rest. You should be able to do this while hooked up to the drip. If it's uncomfortable for the arm receiving treatment, just use the other arm. Repeat several times.
6. Sitting on the chair, relax your body and just focus on spreading the fingertips as wide as you can as you breathe in. Relax the fingers as you breathe out. Repeat several times.
7. Still sitting, take your right ear and relax it down toward your right shoulder. Take 5 breaths as deep as you can.
Then return the head to center and do the left side.
8. Still sitting, inhale as you slowly drop your head back like you are looking at something on the ceiling. Exhale as you return your head back to neutral. Repeat a few times if you feel comfortable.
9. Still sitting slightly away from the back of the chair, take both hands to the left arm rest, gently twisting your spine.
Hold for a few breaths. Switch sides.
These are simple, small exercises you can do to keep the joints lubricated, keep the mind busy and work on keeping up your strength.
Walk around a little if you can.
Add a seated forward fold if you can, breathing deeply. You can do it standing as well, but it is very important to move slowly if you add this move and keep the knees slightly bent. When the head is lower than the heart, dizziness and lightheadedness can occur, when returning upright. We want you to feel as good and as comfortable as you can while getting treatment.
If nausea or dizziness follows any of these exercises or deep breathing, stop immediately.
Again, talk to your doctor and go over the above.
Trial and error.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
We don't do Christmas like normal people - Part III
We don’t do Christmas like normal people.
Even the Lifetime movies that attempt to portray the dysfunctional family in a humorous way never really seem to pinpoint exactly how, without fail, we get it wrong every year.
It’s hardest for me because I actually pay to come home and spend hours on an airplane to be right in the thick of it.
But it doesn’t matter how old I get, how many baked breads or cookies get thrown at one another or words get tossed or unsaid, I wouldn’t take a penny to change the way Christmas is at our house.
My sister calls it the Searle Syndrome.
So, coming home is not the relief from the drag on my current life in LA, but it’s just a pause in that chapter and a jump to another, scarier, unresolved plot line I just can’t wrap my head around, words around, emotions around.
I thought this year was filled with emotions I had never felt.
You know when you are a kid and you are screaming to scream, laughing to laugh, crying to cry? You discover - I have power! I can get what I want when I do this screaming thing. I can get food, love AND attention. Then, you discover there is more. Everything you see is new. Everything you feel is new. It’s intense. You fall. Hurt becomes a new feeling, sad and painful but new and interesting. You make a friend and that feels nice. You play and you feel what fun feels like. You fall in love and understand what love and desire feels like. You find things you like to do, painting, singing, running, counting numbers or reading books and you understand what passion feels like.
Feelings, when they are new, are scary and wonderful at the same time.
Why did I think that in my thirties, I would have felt all there was to feel?
I’m sure there are emotions I don’t even know are out there yet to feel. That’s scary.
My younger sister would be angry if she read this, because right now, she’s in denial.
Here’s the deal, we are all, at some point, going to have to deal with the loss of someone we love, to death.
I don’t want to face this now or ever but the truth is so close, it hurts in a way, I’ve never felt but am facing now whether I have to now or twenty years from now.
I hope that my dad has the strength to fight Cancer for the third time.
He had a lot of weight to lose the last time, to cushion and fight the battle when on chemo the first time.
This time, the chemo is a lot stronger and my dad is a quarter of the size he used to be.
He’s emaciated. He doesn’t eat or drink, because it’s painful to do so. He’s tossing food in the garbage, flushing it down the toilet and hiding it under the couch to keep it a secret from my mother.
My mother, desperately trying to help him, serves him and takes care of him.
She is all love. She is all the time.
She is not trained or responsible for keeping him strong and alive. But she tries, like no one I have ever seen.
My mom is my Oprah. She is Saint Elizabeth Seton tirelessly dedicated to her family and faith, convinced that God will show her the way according to the divine plan.
That is her yoga.
And even in the midst of the possibility of losing her life partner, she committed as she does yearly, to adopting a poor family in our city and providing them with food and Christmas gifts so that they can have a Christmas with Santa and joy and celebration.
This is my freekin’ mother.
Christmas eve was Dad’s first chemo treatment. There isn’t a lot of room in the center for all of us to go so my mother decided to go down with my dad. My youngest sister, Kathy went down with them as she had last minute business to take care of before the holiday.
My older sister, Karin and I, stayed at home. We didn’t want to, but we did. We made the best of it. We baked goods for our neighbors and ourselves, chatted and cleaned the place up for Christmas Eve dinner.
My mother was convinced they’d be back in time for her yearly three-course extravaganza and the drop off of toys and gifts to our adopted family.
Being that it was his first treatment and the beginning of a long holiday, there were very few people working. My dad wasn’t seen for an hour and had difficulty getting the proper hydration.
By the time my mom, sister and dad came home it was 5PM. We had missed most of Christmas Eve together. We had so much still to do.
My dad was incredibly weak and tired. It took everything out of him just to get up and go, get the treatment and come back.
Karin and I made everyone a little snack to tide them over.
Kathy and my mom wrapped the gifts for the family. Karin worked out in the basement.
I was alone with my dad. All I wanted was to have time with my dad over this break, but he slept so much and stared the rest of the time that it was impossible to connect.
I was baking a cake.
He was sitting in the chair off the kitchen. He started talking to me.
He told me to tell him what I needed for my new apartment, our new apartment, as he cosigned for it and he would take care of it.
How, I thought.
He was going to be out of work and my mother was going to have to work for the both of them, selling homes in this crazy uncertain economy.
How?
I gratefully accepted his offer, knowing I wouldn’t actually do it when it came to the big move.
This is what he can do right now. He can’t do anything else. He knows I’m having a difficult time and he wants to help. It’s important that he knows I accept it. I know this.
He gets up and goes to the den to rest.
I get up to take the cake out of the oven.
I let it cool.
I start to frost it and realize I’m doing it all wrong.
How can you frost a cake wrong?
I did.
My mother and sister were in the other room and I just stood there with the sweetest frosting melting everywhere including my hands and I sobbed, the quietest, most fierce sobbing I have ever done.
I talked to my dad. He talked to me. We connected.
I had been home for half a week and hadn’t ‘talked’ to him. When I did, it was after four hours of chemo, when he had no strength left, after being micro managed and watched by mom for hours and now finally, for the two minutes he was left alone with me, he offered to help me. “Anything you need, Laur.”
Eventually, my mom and sister could hear me.
They came into the kitchen and saw me in hysterics. They saw the cake and thought I was laughing. I played it off and dried my tears.
The moment was gone and I had to let it go.
My sisters, mother and I packed the car and went off to drop the gifts at our adopted family home.
They lived on Union Avenue in New Rochelle.
Union.
Yoga.
I see it in everything.
The temperature had dipped tremendously and it was very icy.
We got to the address and realized it didn’t exist. The soup kitchen had given us the wrong address.
I called information on the cell phone and was given another address just up the block.
We piled out of the car, slipped and slid our way on the ice and knocked on the door. None of us could see over the bags and baskets in our arms. There was no answer.
They are at church, Karin said.
They are asleep, Kathy said.
My mother just started laughing, because it was cold and because we actually called the phone number and hung up to make sure they were still there.
Everyone was nervous to do anything and I noticed that the door was slightly ajar.
I opened it and noticed it was several apartment homes. The name of the family was not listed on any of the doors so I said; we gotta get out of here.
We turned around and slipped and slid back to the car.
I’m not quite sure how the rest of it went but Kathy started to lose her balance holding the biggest basket of them all. She took one hand and grabbed the top of the car on the passenger side, resting the basket on her chest. Her legs started to spread laterally.
My mom caught sight of this and started to laugh.
Kathy started to laugh and told us to stop laughing or she’d pee her pants.
This is a genetic problem the Searle’s have, laughing till we pee.
My mom crossed her legs, as Kathy’s legs got wider.
I can’t do the splits!!!!!!! Kathy said.
Karin and I just tried to open the doors as fast as we could and pile the presents into the trunk.
My mother exclaimed, I’m just going!! I’m just going!! As she proceeded to pee herself.
Kathy heard this as we all saw the stream of pee coming from between her legs onto the wet dark slush beneath her.
I ran over to get behind her and lost my footing.
My training has come in handy as I saved myself from eating it on the ice and falling into their pool of pee.
I grabbed underneath her arms and pulled her up.
Karin grabbed two towels out of the trunk so they could lay it down on the car seats.
What is my mom doing with towels in the car?
We packed ourselves into the car, crying with laughter.
How did I make it through without peeing? This was supposed to be my recent problem.
I called the number on the sheet and told the guy who answered that we were friends of the family that needed to drop off presents. He told us the address. Very trusting.
Karin, Kathy and I walked up to the tiny one room apartment where 6 people resided.
The grandmother, uncle and four kids came to the door. They saw the presents and jumped up and down.
I told them that Santa had come by and dropped off the presents for them by mistake.
The dad pressed his hands together and thanked us graciously.
The little kids, faces beaming with smiles and joy tore open the gifts immediately.
Mission accomplished.
We got back into the car and told mom what happened.
Then it was quiet.
We gave Christmas to them.
They were so happy.
We were so happy.
My mom and sister were so wet.
How is it, that on Christmas Eve, a day of celebration, we could cry as much as we did and then laugh as much as we did in one day?
It’s like we’re all manic-depressive.
We came home. It was late.
There was not going to be any three-course meal.
The routines and traditions of Christmas past were going to have to be in the past.
We ordered Chinese food and ate till we had to lie down.
We told the story to dad and then we went over the story again and again with each other.
I don’t know if it’s one of those inside jokes or you had to be there kinds of things, but this Christmas Eve, this Christmas, was the best we’ve ever had.
We were connected, unified on Union Avenue in New Rochelle.
Unified in our family and in someone elses.
Yoga. It's in everything.
Merry Christmas!
Even the Lifetime movies that attempt to portray the dysfunctional family in a humorous way never really seem to pinpoint exactly how, without fail, we get it wrong every year.
It’s hardest for me because I actually pay to come home and spend hours on an airplane to be right in the thick of it.
But it doesn’t matter how old I get, how many baked breads or cookies get thrown at one another or words get tossed or unsaid, I wouldn’t take a penny to change the way Christmas is at our house.
My sister calls it the Searle Syndrome.
So, coming home is not the relief from the drag on my current life in LA, but it’s just a pause in that chapter and a jump to another, scarier, unresolved plot line I just can’t wrap my head around, words around, emotions around.
I thought this year was filled with emotions I had never felt.
You know when you are a kid and you are screaming to scream, laughing to laugh, crying to cry? You discover - I have power! I can get what I want when I do this screaming thing. I can get food, love AND attention. Then, you discover there is more. Everything you see is new. Everything you feel is new. It’s intense. You fall. Hurt becomes a new feeling, sad and painful but new and interesting. You make a friend and that feels nice. You play and you feel what fun feels like. You fall in love and understand what love and desire feels like. You find things you like to do, painting, singing, running, counting numbers or reading books and you understand what passion feels like.
Feelings, when they are new, are scary and wonderful at the same time.
Why did I think that in my thirties, I would have felt all there was to feel?
I’m sure there are emotions I don’t even know are out there yet to feel. That’s scary.
My younger sister would be angry if she read this, because right now, she’s in denial.
Here’s the deal, we are all, at some point, going to have to deal with the loss of someone we love, to death.
I don’t want to face this now or ever but the truth is so close, it hurts in a way, I’ve never felt but am facing now whether I have to now or twenty years from now.
I hope that my dad has the strength to fight Cancer for the third time.
He had a lot of weight to lose the last time, to cushion and fight the battle when on chemo the first time.
This time, the chemo is a lot stronger and my dad is a quarter of the size he used to be.
He’s emaciated. He doesn’t eat or drink, because it’s painful to do so. He’s tossing food in the garbage, flushing it down the toilet and hiding it under the couch to keep it a secret from my mother.
My mother, desperately trying to help him, serves him and takes care of him.
She is all love. She is all the time.
She is not trained or responsible for keeping him strong and alive. But she tries, like no one I have ever seen.
My mom is my Oprah. She is Saint Elizabeth Seton tirelessly dedicated to her family and faith, convinced that God will show her the way according to the divine plan.
That is her yoga.
And even in the midst of the possibility of losing her life partner, she committed as she does yearly, to adopting a poor family in our city and providing them with food and Christmas gifts so that they can have a Christmas with Santa and joy and celebration.
This is my freekin’ mother.
Christmas eve was Dad’s first chemo treatment. There isn’t a lot of room in the center for all of us to go so my mother decided to go down with my dad. My youngest sister, Kathy went down with them as she had last minute business to take care of before the holiday.
My older sister, Karin and I, stayed at home. We didn’t want to, but we did. We made the best of it. We baked goods for our neighbors and ourselves, chatted and cleaned the place up for Christmas Eve dinner.
My mother was convinced they’d be back in time for her yearly three-course extravaganza and the drop off of toys and gifts to our adopted family.
Being that it was his first treatment and the beginning of a long holiday, there were very few people working. My dad wasn’t seen for an hour and had difficulty getting the proper hydration.
By the time my mom, sister and dad came home it was 5PM. We had missed most of Christmas Eve together. We had so much still to do.
My dad was incredibly weak and tired. It took everything out of him just to get up and go, get the treatment and come back.
Karin and I made everyone a little snack to tide them over.
Kathy and my mom wrapped the gifts for the family. Karin worked out in the basement.
I was alone with my dad. All I wanted was to have time with my dad over this break, but he slept so much and stared the rest of the time that it was impossible to connect.
I was baking a cake.
He was sitting in the chair off the kitchen. He started talking to me.
He told me to tell him what I needed for my new apartment, our new apartment, as he cosigned for it and he would take care of it.
How, I thought.
He was going to be out of work and my mother was going to have to work for the both of them, selling homes in this crazy uncertain economy.
How?
I gratefully accepted his offer, knowing I wouldn’t actually do it when it came to the big move.
This is what he can do right now. He can’t do anything else. He knows I’m having a difficult time and he wants to help. It’s important that he knows I accept it. I know this.
He gets up and goes to the den to rest.
I get up to take the cake out of the oven.
I let it cool.
I start to frost it and realize I’m doing it all wrong.
How can you frost a cake wrong?
I did.
My mother and sister were in the other room and I just stood there with the sweetest frosting melting everywhere including my hands and I sobbed, the quietest, most fierce sobbing I have ever done.
I talked to my dad. He talked to me. We connected.
I had been home for half a week and hadn’t ‘talked’ to him. When I did, it was after four hours of chemo, when he had no strength left, after being micro managed and watched by mom for hours and now finally, for the two minutes he was left alone with me, he offered to help me. “Anything you need, Laur.”
Eventually, my mom and sister could hear me.
They came into the kitchen and saw me in hysterics. They saw the cake and thought I was laughing. I played it off and dried my tears.
The moment was gone and I had to let it go.
My sisters, mother and I packed the car and went off to drop the gifts at our adopted family home.
They lived on Union Avenue in New Rochelle.
Union.
Yoga.
I see it in everything.
The temperature had dipped tremendously and it was very icy.
We got to the address and realized it didn’t exist. The soup kitchen had given us the wrong address.
I called information on the cell phone and was given another address just up the block.
We piled out of the car, slipped and slid our way on the ice and knocked on the door. None of us could see over the bags and baskets in our arms. There was no answer.
They are at church, Karin said.
They are asleep, Kathy said.
My mother just started laughing, because it was cold and because we actually called the phone number and hung up to make sure they were still there.
Everyone was nervous to do anything and I noticed that the door was slightly ajar.
I opened it and noticed it was several apartment homes. The name of the family was not listed on any of the doors so I said; we gotta get out of here.
We turned around and slipped and slid back to the car.
I’m not quite sure how the rest of it went but Kathy started to lose her balance holding the biggest basket of them all. She took one hand and grabbed the top of the car on the passenger side, resting the basket on her chest. Her legs started to spread laterally.
My mom caught sight of this and started to laugh.
Kathy started to laugh and told us to stop laughing or she’d pee her pants.
This is a genetic problem the Searle’s have, laughing till we pee.
My mom crossed her legs, as Kathy’s legs got wider.
I can’t do the splits!!!!!!! Kathy said.
Karin and I just tried to open the doors as fast as we could and pile the presents into the trunk.
My mother exclaimed, I’m just going!! I’m just going!! As she proceeded to pee herself.
Kathy heard this as we all saw the stream of pee coming from between her legs onto the wet dark slush beneath her.
I ran over to get behind her and lost my footing.
My training has come in handy as I saved myself from eating it on the ice and falling into their pool of pee.
I grabbed underneath her arms and pulled her up.
Karin grabbed two towels out of the trunk so they could lay it down on the car seats.
What is my mom doing with towels in the car?
We packed ourselves into the car, crying with laughter.
How did I make it through without peeing? This was supposed to be my recent problem.
I called the number on the sheet and told the guy who answered that we were friends of the family that needed to drop off presents. He told us the address. Very trusting.
Karin, Kathy and I walked up to the tiny one room apartment where 6 people resided.
The grandmother, uncle and four kids came to the door. They saw the presents and jumped up and down.
I told them that Santa had come by and dropped off the presents for them by mistake.
The dad pressed his hands together and thanked us graciously.
The little kids, faces beaming with smiles and joy tore open the gifts immediately.
Mission accomplished.
We got back into the car and told mom what happened.
Then it was quiet.
We gave Christmas to them.
They were so happy.
We were so happy.
My mom and sister were so wet.
How is it, that on Christmas Eve, a day of celebration, we could cry as much as we did and then laugh as much as we did in one day?
It’s like we’re all manic-depressive.
We came home. It was late.
There was not going to be any three-course meal.
The routines and traditions of Christmas past were going to have to be in the past.
We ordered Chinese food and ate till we had to lie down.
We told the story to dad and then we went over the story again and again with each other.
I don’t know if it’s one of those inside jokes or you had to be there kinds of things, but this Christmas Eve, this Christmas, was the best we’ve ever had.
We were connected, unified on Union Avenue in New Rochelle.
Unified in our family and in someone elses.
Yoga. It's in everything.
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
We don't do Christmas like normal people - Part II
Yoga will never be the same for me after this year. I don’t know how it will effect my teaching, but I know that the practice of yoga means something completely different for me than it did just 365 days ago.
Yoga means union.
For me, yoga, just 10 years ago, meant a whole bunch of poses that made me feel peaceful, breathe deeper and look awesome and strong. Little did I know how yoga would effect, change and mold my life. It really is a style of living in connection with all beings and experiences. I didn’t know that yoga would BE my life and how I see yoga in ALL of life.
The challenges I’ve faced over the last year aren’t more difficult than anyone else’s, but for me, it’s important, now that I’m living the most difficult of my trials to date, to liken and unify the two things in my teaching and writing. To do it in a way that can be useful for me and all the yogis that want to understand how to bring that same peace, deep breathing and strength into all of life’s ups and downs.
In addition to all of our own personal trials and celebrations, we as communities and as a country our transitioning into a new phase, historically speaking. It’s my mission, in my own small way, to unify our yoga and it’s purpose in our daily life, besides getting a great workout and feeling good.
Here’s the deal, life happens in ebbs and flows in order to add perspective like a new ingredient to your tasty dilemmas and delights in life. It’s the only way.
~~
Where am I?
I’m home in LA.
I’m home in NY.
How can you have such a sweet tug to both coasts, loving and feeling so connected to both places.
Home.
I’m at home in my car.
I’m at home in my blog.
Right now, I’m at home at Starbucks in New Rochelle, NY, freezing my bum off and getting caffeinated. I could be anywhere right now. Starbucks, USA. They all look the same and provide the same comfort, of, well, home.
Home is where you are comfortable being yourself.
No matter how long it’s been, NY is home. I’ve forgotten some of the street names. Storefronts are still there, but with different names. Subways are still crowded. The buzz is still the same – intense, alive and remarkable. NY, like LA is always filled with possibility and energy no matter how it changes. I’ve been away from NY longer than when I lived here in my childhood.
Home.
Home, where all my old clothes come to die.
I bring back from LA the things I’m not quite ready to give up but would certainly wear while bumming around the house or working out in the basement gym of my parent’s home.
I always travel light but always bring too much because no matter what, I always end up wearing the same thing, for several days at a time in fact, as I catch up on food and sleep.
I wear a uniform. Snowflake pajama bottoms and my New York Road Runners Club Sweatshirt, cut 80’s style at the neck.
In the summer its shorts and that same sweatshirt.
If I go out, I’ll wear earrings.
I love coming home, where time can stop a bit.
I unpack the bags under my eyes and stop counting calories. The edges of my hips get a little rounder, my cheeks a little pinker and I take care of myself. I indulge. I let go.
NY, where I came to get a reprieve from a difficult year.
NY, home for the holidays.
Holidays, always a time of possibility and magic.
Home, three sisters, a mom, a female dog, a cat and my dad. Poor guy.
So, leave it to my dad to beg for attention and get cancer again.
It’s metastasized to his lung.
His first chemo treatment is on Christmas eve. His second, on New Years eve.
Happy Holidays!
Two weeks on, one week off.
We’ll bring some champagne and fruit cake at the center to celebrate.
We’ll be together.
We don’t know what’s next.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m with them. And I’m home.
Yoga means union.
For me, yoga, just 10 years ago, meant a whole bunch of poses that made me feel peaceful, breathe deeper and look awesome and strong. Little did I know how yoga would effect, change and mold my life. It really is a style of living in connection with all beings and experiences. I didn’t know that yoga would BE my life and how I see yoga in ALL of life.
The challenges I’ve faced over the last year aren’t more difficult than anyone else’s, but for me, it’s important, now that I’m living the most difficult of my trials to date, to liken and unify the two things in my teaching and writing. To do it in a way that can be useful for me and all the yogis that want to understand how to bring that same peace, deep breathing and strength into all of life’s ups and downs.
In addition to all of our own personal trials and celebrations, we as communities and as a country our transitioning into a new phase, historically speaking. It’s my mission, in my own small way, to unify our yoga and it’s purpose in our daily life, besides getting a great workout and feeling good.
Here’s the deal, life happens in ebbs and flows in order to add perspective like a new ingredient to your tasty dilemmas and delights in life. It’s the only way.
~~
Where am I?
I’m home in LA.
I’m home in NY.
How can you have such a sweet tug to both coasts, loving and feeling so connected to both places.
Home.
I’m at home in my car.
I’m at home in my blog.
Right now, I’m at home at Starbucks in New Rochelle, NY, freezing my bum off and getting caffeinated. I could be anywhere right now. Starbucks, USA. They all look the same and provide the same comfort, of, well, home.
Home is where you are comfortable being yourself.
No matter how long it’s been, NY is home. I’ve forgotten some of the street names. Storefronts are still there, but with different names. Subways are still crowded. The buzz is still the same – intense, alive and remarkable. NY, like LA is always filled with possibility and energy no matter how it changes. I’ve been away from NY longer than when I lived here in my childhood.
Home.
Home, where all my old clothes come to die.
I bring back from LA the things I’m not quite ready to give up but would certainly wear while bumming around the house or working out in the basement gym of my parent’s home.
I always travel light but always bring too much because no matter what, I always end up wearing the same thing, for several days at a time in fact, as I catch up on food and sleep.
I wear a uniform. Snowflake pajama bottoms and my New York Road Runners Club Sweatshirt, cut 80’s style at the neck.
In the summer its shorts and that same sweatshirt.
If I go out, I’ll wear earrings.
I love coming home, where time can stop a bit.
I unpack the bags under my eyes and stop counting calories. The edges of my hips get a little rounder, my cheeks a little pinker and I take care of myself. I indulge. I let go.
NY, where I came to get a reprieve from a difficult year.
NY, home for the holidays.
Holidays, always a time of possibility and magic.
Home, three sisters, a mom, a female dog, a cat and my dad. Poor guy.
So, leave it to my dad to beg for attention and get cancer again.
It’s metastasized to his lung.
His first chemo treatment is on Christmas eve. His second, on New Years eve.
Happy Holidays!
Two weeks on, one week off.
We’ll bring some champagne and fruit cake at the center to celebrate.
We’ll be together.
We don’t know what’s next.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m with them. And I’m home.
Monday, December 22, 2008
We don't do Christmas like normal people - Part 1
This blog...
is like an addiction for me…
or a new love.
I love the first feelings of meeting someone new.
Don't you?
I love what happens to the mind - exploring daydreams, seeing yourself in new, fun and different circumstances. You get inspired. You start to get to know yourself again as you teach the other person about yourself.
What about rediscovering the familiar?
Revisiting feelings that are fantastic, romantic and provide that ‘time stood still’ feeling that often gets spent solely on childhood memories.
The first time you ever kiss someone, the first time you fall in love, get your heart broken, accomplish something great, get recognition from a loved one, witness something breathtaking, take part in something amazing, feel beautiful, touch someone's heart.
As we get older, we feel it all again and again, if we are lucky, but sometimes get desensitized to the magic of living with feelings that are no longer new, but just, part of life, happiness, success, pain and failure.
It's been a few weeks that I've been back in NY and I feel like time has paused, there has been no holiday, no one else exists, there is no life in California, there is just my family and the fact we are facing, as a unit, the battle against a disease.
Everything was still up in the air for me before I left LA.
The medical 'band-aid' I was using to substitute for surgery was not the appropriate fit and I was either to live in discomfort for the three weeks I would be in NY with my family or go down to Long Beach and pick up the new prosthetic (see previous blogs for details). Ok, I don’t have the time to go to Long Beach, so I will have to live in discomfort until ’09 when I can get down there and get re-fitted.
Time was still ticking away for my homelessness but I was resigned to let it all go and deal with the greater needs of my family. I’ll still be homeless when I get back.
I was fully riding the crap of my current life and new that better was just around the corner.
Two days before I left for NY, I just so happened to look at the Westside Rentals on line rental list, one more time, to see if they had any new listings. Surely there wouldn't be a new post, with my requirements, in Santa Monica less than a week from Christmas....
But there was.
A single,
with a kitchen and a bath,
in my price range,
in Santa Monica,
with parking,
AND, 1 block from the ocean!!!
This one is mine!!!!!!!
I woke up early the following day so that I could be the first to see the apartment.
It was the one day this year that we had pouring rain alllllllll day.
I recruited Bryan and we went to look at the place together.
He's extremely finicky when it comes to searching for a place to live and since we've had four apartments, two cities and eight years together, I knew he would give me the unedited, crucial opinion I needed to make the decision as to if this would be my next home or not.
I didn't know the area he lived in too well, so after I picked him up; I told him he could drive us back to Santa Monica.
As soon as we got into the car and drove around the corner, with the roads as slick as they were and one LA driver's head in the clouds, we were rear-ended.
One should always be as cool as I was in this accident.
After I told a friend of mine that I was in an accident he said, "Really? What more?"
I said, "Of course!" and, “it’s ok!”
I took it in stride as just another thing to add to the list of voodoo magic making its way like the flu, through my life.
Soup and toast, is right around the corner.
It was a lesson. It is like that thing that happens when you are in love and in the best mood ever.
Then you get a parking ticket.
It just doesn't seem to matter much.
So, we know what its like to feel such happiness that we don't care if little things happen.
The same goes for extreme pain.
Things already suck.
Then we were rear-ended.
Everyone was ok, physically.
The cars would have to be repaired, but it's just another thing to take care of and it will be taken care of.
Besides, I'm on my way to see my new home and nothing, not even a car accident or rain is gonna keep me from seein' it!
There it was.
And there I was.
On the floor, crying with glee and relief.
Bryan, laughing away at me.
This is it.
To save you the details of the rest of this story, it was not, in fact, easy to get this place.
Self-employment aside, they wanted something more and I was rejected.
I got the call that night, as it was still pouring, right before a jeep cut me off on Sunset Boulevard and ricocheted a stone off its wheel and smashed my windshield.
The day before I left, I felt like Kiefer Sutherland AKA Jack Bauer in the critically acclaimed TV show, 24.
I had with a ticking clock in my head.
Six hours before I left for NY, I called the apartment management company and asked them to take a cosigner.
I faxed the paperwork to my mom and she filled out the info.
Only, she was worried that because she was a self employed realtor, that she might also be rejected. She filled out the information for my dad and in his weakened state, he signed his signature and my mom faxed the lease back to the management company.
And I waited.
Five hours before I left for NY, my doctor called. He was driving up to LA. I could meet him to pick it up the new prosthetic, if I want.
I want.
Four hours before I left for NY, I meet my doctor at a Starbucks. It looks like a drug deal, on caffeine, as he takes out his medical bag and hands me the latex insert to help my bladder.
I laughed so hard, I almost peed my pants.
He told me, “well that’s what we want to avoid!”
I gave him a hug and happy holidays.
Three hours before I leave, I get the call from management that my father and I have been approved for my worth the wait, better than all the rest apartments. I need to drop off a very large certified check before the office closes in one hour.
I have the money in the bank from the last apartment I lost so now, all I have to do is get to the bank, get the check, get to the office, sign the lease and it's mine, January 8th. Woo Hoo!!!!
Two hours before I leave for NY. The sun is setting.
Washington Mutual, apartment management 10 minutes before they close.
I see the lease with my name and the name of my dad, Richard Searle. It's sad and sweet. The idea of him, having an apartment in LA, with me,somewhere warm, where he would love to be, where he will never see.
1 hour, get my bag and crawl through traffic to get to the airport.
Crawl.
Be prepared to arrange for another flight.
Get to the airport.
Check in.
Sitting on airplane.
Chatting with make-up artist to the stars.
Cute, but gay as the day is long.
Take my Xanex-like-drug left over from my last medical procedure.
Wake up.
Descending into JFK.
Bag is the 43rd one out.
Sister is around the corner.
Coffee is even closer.
Home is soon.
I've come so far.
We've only just begun.
is like an addiction for me…
or a new love.
I love the first feelings of meeting someone new.
Don't you?
I love what happens to the mind - exploring daydreams, seeing yourself in new, fun and different circumstances. You get inspired. You start to get to know yourself again as you teach the other person about yourself.
What about rediscovering the familiar?
Revisiting feelings that are fantastic, romantic and provide that ‘time stood still’ feeling that often gets spent solely on childhood memories.
The first time you ever kiss someone, the first time you fall in love, get your heart broken, accomplish something great, get recognition from a loved one, witness something breathtaking, take part in something amazing, feel beautiful, touch someone's heart.
As we get older, we feel it all again and again, if we are lucky, but sometimes get desensitized to the magic of living with feelings that are no longer new, but just, part of life, happiness, success, pain and failure.
It's been a few weeks that I've been back in NY and I feel like time has paused, there has been no holiday, no one else exists, there is no life in California, there is just my family and the fact we are facing, as a unit, the battle against a disease.
Everything was still up in the air for me before I left LA.
The medical 'band-aid' I was using to substitute for surgery was not the appropriate fit and I was either to live in discomfort for the three weeks I would be in NY with my family or go down to Long Beach and pick up the new prosthetic (see previous blogs for details). Ok, I don’t have the time to go to Long Beach, so I will have to live in discomfort until ’09 when I can get down there and get re-fitted.
Time was still ticking away for my homelessness but I was resigned to let it all go and deal with the greater needs of my family. I’ll still be homeless when I get back.
I was fully riding the crap of my current life and new that better was just around the corner.
Two days before I left for NY, I just so happened to look at the Westside Rentals on line rental list, one more time, to see if they had any new listings. Surely there wouldn't be a new post, with my requirements, in Santa Monica less than a week from Christmas....
But there was.
A single,
with a kitchen and a bath,
in my price range,
in Santa Monica,
with parking,
AND, 1 block from the ocean!!!
This one is mine!!!!!!!
I woke up early the following day so that I could be the first to see the apartment.
It was the one day this year that we had pouring rain alllllllll day.
I recruited Bryan and we went to look at the place together.
He's extremely finicky when it comes to searching for a place to live and since we've had four apartments, two cities and eight years together, I knew he would give me the unedited, crucial opinion I needed to make the decision as to if this would be my next home or not.
I didn't know the area he lived in too well, so after I picked him up; I told him he could drive us back to Santa Monica.
As soon as we got into the car and drove around the corner, with the roads as slick as they were and one LA driver's head in the clouds, we were rear-ended.
One should always be as cool as I was in this accident.
After I told a friend of mine that I was in an accident he said, "Really? What more?"
I said, "Of course!" and, “it’s ok!”
I took it in stride as just another thing to add to the list of voodoo magic making its way like the flu, through my life.
Soup and toast, is right around the corner.
It was a lesson. It is like that thing that happens when you are in love and in the best mood ever.
Then you get a parking ticket.
It just doesn't seem to matter much.
So, we know what its like to feel such happiness that we don't care if little things happen.
The same goes for extreme pain.
Things already suck.
Then we were rear-ended.
Everyone was ok, physically.
The cars would have to be repaired, but it's just another thing to take care of and it will be taken care of.
Besides, I'm on my way to see my new home and nothing, not even a car accident or rain is gonna keep me from seein' it!
There it was.
And there I was.
On the floor, crying with glee and relief.
Bryan, laughing away at me.
This is it.
To save you the details of the rest of this story, it was not, in fact, easy to get this place.
Self-employment aside, they wanted something more and I was rejected.
I got the call that night, as it was still pouring, right before a jeep cut me off on Sunset Boulevard and ricocheted a stone off its wheel and smashed my windshield.
The day before I left, I felt like Kiefer Sutherland AKA Jack Bauer in the critically acclaimed TV show, 24.
I had with a ticking clock in my head.
Six hours before I left for NY, I called the apartment management company and asked them to take a cosigner.
I faxed the paperwork to my mom and she filled out the info.
Only, she was worried that because she was a self employed realtor, that she might also be rejected. She filled out the information for my dad and in his weakened state, he signed his signature and my mom faxed the lease back to the management company.
And I waited.
Five hours before I left for NY, my doctor called. He was driving up to LA. I could meet him to pick it up the new prosthetic, if I want.
I want.
Four hours before I left for NY, I meet my doctor at a Starbucks. It looks like a drug deal, on caffeine, as he takes out his medical bag and hands me the latex insert to help my bladder.
I laughed so hard, I almost peed my pants.
He told me, “well that’s what we want to avoid!”
I gave him a hug and happy holidays.
Three hours before I leave, I get the call from management that my father and I have been approved for my worth the wait, better than all the rest apartments. I need to drop off a very large certified check before the office closes in one hour.
I have the money in the bank from the last apartment I lost so now, all I have to do is get to the bank, get the check, get to the office, sign the lease and it's mine, January 8th. Woo Hoo!!!!
Two hours before I leave for NY. The sun is setting.
Washington Mutual, apartment management 10 minutes before they close.
I see the lease with my name and the name of my dad, Richard Searle. It's sad and sweet. The idea of him, having an apartment in LA, with me,somewhere warm, where he would love to be, where he will never see.
1 hour, get my bag and crawl through traffic to get to the airport.
Crawl.
Be prepared to arrange for another flight.
Get to the airport.
Check in.
Sitting on airplane.
Chatting with make-up artist to the stars.
Cute, but gay as the day is long.
Take my Xanex-like-drug left over from my last medical procedure.
Wake up.
Descending into JFK.
Bag is the 43rd one out.
Sister is around the corner.
Coffee is even closer.
Home is soon.
I've come so far.
We've only just begun.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Yes, it can get worse...
I thought it couldn't, but alas, I was mistaken.
I love yoga. I don't know what I would be without it. Especially under the circumstances.
I was drugged up for my final 'test' before the surgery that was scheduled for the 10th, this week.
I hate drugs and the idea of surgery. But, I had taken so many tests, I couldn't bare the pain any longer. Bring it on, I told my doctor.
After the test, My doctor tells me that the scheduled surgery would be done with an out of network doctor and would cost me 10K more than I had planned.
Originally, I had this surgery scheduled for August. I had everything planned and prepared with my insurance and another doctor here in LA.
After leaving my class at Liberation Yoga in Hollywood, a particularly blissful and inspired class, I received a message telling me that I was not going to be covered for the procedure under my insurance. But I had done all of the preparation? What the fu? I had dotted the t's and crossed the i's. I had fasted. I did not drink caffeine!!
Many people, including my mother, told me, perhaps I dodged a bullet. Perhaps, I was not meant to have an invasive procedure that may or may not fix the numerous problems that have slain me this past year. Issues that, for months, I had seen acupuncturists, specialists, internists, healers, psychics, cellular empaths and most recently, shamans, anything I could to avoid drugs and surgery.
Nothing helped. Well, sometimes, I felt good, relaxed et al, but only temporarily.
After much insistence, mostly from my mother, of course, I had gotten a second opinion from a doctor in NY who was against surgery, but had no resolve to the problem. He referred me to someone in Long Beach. I had gotten a third opinion from a 'team' of doctors there and a series of frightening and painful tests, scans and retests that all confirmed that surgery was the ultimate option for my issues. But there was one last test to take. A young, very cute doctor told me that perhaps there might be something that I could do, use, that would not cause me issues down the road if I, say, wanted to have children or something, or have a series of side effects that could occur if I were to elect to have the procedure at this time in my life.
Ok, I guess.
I couldn't bare taking another test after the last one (see doctordrama blog - scary, yet humorous, Oct. 08) without drugs.
I actually insisted on being seriously high for this one.
I took two pills, a xanex tranquilizer type concoction. I don't remember much actually. I do remember wildly flirting with my doctor, amidst spread legs and every orifice probed with long sharp objects.
Sorry to be TMI, but this is the reality.
When he brought me into his office, post exam, the nurse came in and told me about the out of network issue that basically told me that I would not be able to have surgery AGAIN despite the preparation I had made with my insurance company and hospital. There is always a glitch. God bless America. Hope.
Perhaps it's still better that I got the info before getting a fat bill in the mail.
My doctor offered me the other 'option', a 'band aid' for the issue until such times as I can afford the time, mental space and finances for a surgery. So I agreed.
What can you do?
I resigned myself, AGAIN, to not go under.
Ok, well I guess I can focus on the next drama...finding an apartment. The lease is up on the apartment I shared with my ex and it's time to move on.
I've been accepted to great apartments that cost a fortune and rejected from the sweet deals I can afford because I am self employed and in this economy, managers are frightened to rent to me.
I have a scarlet letter.
I have a successful business that people would kill or bribe to be able to do in this city. I should be thankful.
And yet, I am shunned.
Rejected, like an actor and their dream role.
But it's not that I'm not tall enough or don't match perfectly with the co-star. It's because I do what I do.
So, nothing is in my control, right now. In the words of Oprah, I surrender all!
I'm a Virgo, type A and a New Yorker. A triple threat of high strung madness. No wonder I found yoga. Or, did yoga find me.
I digress.
I still try to do anything I can to control. Going to CVS, usually alleviates that problem. Looking at the rows of neatly organized items soothes my nervous system in ways that yoga and meditation can't at this point in my trials, immediately!! I am in charge of what I buy and what I don't. But even that doesn't help, today. I buy Alacer Vitamin C packs and a lip gloss I will probably never use. I'm satisfied temporarily. Until Starbucks. No sugar free vanilla, so I opt for cinnamon dolce. A taste of Christmas in small cup. Life is good. Temporarily. Until I listen to my Hang drum music in the car as I dodge traffic. I feel like I'm going to fall asleep so I sing my choir's music and that helps, temporarily. I take a class and I am at peace, temporarily. This crap runs deep and I remain conflicted.
Then I get the phone call. From my older sister. She never calls, so hearing her voice made me feel safe, secure and loved as she informed me that my father was admitted to the emergency room.
I save her message, not to relive the horror, but to hear her sweet soothing voice. I love my sister. I love both my sisters. I talk to them often over the next couple of days. This time is different. This time, we are rehearsed. We have all been here before.
Cancer, has made it's a revival again in my dad's body. Part three for him. After prostate, gastric, we are now taking place in the lung.
He's a heavy smoker, but this time, he isn't overweight. Being overweight helped him the last time he was under chemo and radiation because he could afford to lose the padding under the stress of the treatment. Now, he is frail, small, weak, hollowed, stale, miserable, empty, sad and lost.
I don't know what I did next. I wasn't on any drugs, but whatever I did and without belaboring the issue any further, I f-d up my computer, lost everything I had, contacts, emails, files.
It does get worse.
But, as soon as the 'issues' turned into something out side of me, I became someone else. The tears I shed for my shit, no longer mattered, but they still existed. There was nothing I could do.
It seemed like everyone I met, I couldn't keep it together. The yogi, the teacher, the whatever, I was now anonymous. I was small, weak, frail, stale, miserable, empty, lost and couldn't get found.
By the way, in case I haven't mentioned this before, don't flip the guy off in front of you for cutting you off, or take it personally, for you don't know what his trials are. I cut someone off the other day desperately trying to get to the other side of the street. I didn't mean to do it, but I knew he was pissed. I said sorry inside my car but I know he couldn't hear.
So, I had originally called this Mac genius to help teach me how to use the Mac as a super yogi, online, streaming videos and pod casts, downloading, uploading and super navigating the world of technology that yoga and fitness is riding and that I am trying to hitch onto.
Unfortunately, he called me back right as I lost my entire technological life. The wrong time, but the right time - right after the phone call from my sister, then erasing my computer.
This complete stranger, agrees to meet me in a Mac minute, a computer emergency. I told him my Mac problems and then for some reason, the water works open. All of a sudden, I became the crazy girl at the bus stop on the corner with a cardboard sign that reads, 'I NEED HELP.'
I told him about my dad and sobbed like a freekin' child.
He sat across from me and took it all in.
An angel, also a devout yogi, just morphed right in front of me. He became my teacher. Not in a Mac way, but in a human kindness way.
I have kept it together for my students and clients and here I am, listening to this guy tell me things I have heard a million times before at times I didn't need but need right now, stat.
I'm amazed at how vulnerable I have become. Perhaps it's part of myself I needed to explore. I've always been the one people come to for help. That's how I found myself as a teacher. It was inevitable. I've had it together, been tough skinned, independent, a lone ranger. And now I sit across from a stranger, open to his view on things and I listen and take what he offers.
I think to myself, I cannot afford what he is giving me. What can I give him to repay him for his kindness. I get paid to do something I love so much but I know that if someone needed me, without taking a thing, I would give it all away to make someone feel better.
Yoga. A student can have a horrible experience in one class and be closed off from it forever. One might give it another chance and try different styles until they find the one that speaks to them. Some might take yoga and do yoga and practice yoga and feel yoga but not experience yoga until something clicks and they are hooked. Some might hear and feel the same dang thing over and over and one day, they listen, physically, emotionally, subtly and they shift.
I can't express enough how yoga can save oneself from oneself and their issues, external and internal.
Amidst the mess, I am aware, not escaping the reality (except for the xanex) of the situation that is at present, for my family, for my friends and for myself. I would not be able to get through it if it weren't for the heavy hands of love that surround me. To be able to feel that love now is surreal. To feel it always, when things get brighter and better, well, it's just a priceless joy. I don't know what I do when I teach. I just know it feels good to give. I hope it feels the same for you.
I don't know who this Mac guy is, but he literally snapped me back into reality with a few words. Words I use in my class. Words that I hope help you if you are in a bind. I would be nothing without these little angels I have found around me during this strange time. I'm so grateful and humble by their presences. I feel, sometimes, guilty, because they are so giving. Then I think to myself, if I knew someone going through hard times, I would do what I could to help them. Wouldn't you?
Of course, I haven't received his invoice yet. So, if it's a lot, can I borrow a few bucks. Just kidding.
I don't care about my health, it's not grave.
I don't give a shit about my Mac, it will be obsolete in a day.
I don't care that I will not have a home in two weeks, I'm going home to be with my family in two days.
I don't care that I ended a relationship with my boyfriend of eight years, he's shown himself as a true friend in trying times, even if we couldn't 'make it work' in other ways.
I don't care that as my sisters and mother were in NYC, I was here, just listening to them as they called with updates. With CANCER as the topic, we still laughed maniacally among the tears.
Amidst my own inner chaos, I decided to get my hair cut today, I sat in my hairdresser's chair, shedding tears as Persian and Israeli beauties flurried about. My normally self absorbed hair stylist actually listened as he sheared layer after layer of hair and told me that as long as I kept laughing, I would be ok. For three years, he's only talked about himself and his 'PHENOMENAL' life. Today, he listened and in Gwyneth Paltrow circa Sliding Doors form, I put myself in his hands and let him cut all my hair off. The weight of my life, even a little bit, is gone, but it's super fabulous. And every beauty in there told me so. Even with deep dark circles and bloodshot eyes, I hugged that man, paid him, put on my shades and felt beautiful as I walked back to my car, drove home, strapped on my ipod, went running, listened to A.R. Rahman, ran into the sunset, cried at the beauty of it all, curled every newly and neatly manicured hair into a sweaty mess and didn't give a shit.
I came home and called my mother. She was making cookies.
She said, I'm thinking of you as I make cookies. I always think of you when I make cookies. I said, that was the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. She said she doubted that and we both cried and laughed as we recounted the day. My mom raised holy hell at the hospital my dad was admitted to and not cared for properly. She took my dad home, fed him well and loved him well, even though his misery distanced himself from us all. He showered and is asleep in his own bed...tonight. Next week, he will be at a new hospital, with his old cancer doctors and a brand new regime of chemo. And we will all be together.
It's not what I wanted from Santa this year, but perhaps I should have been more specific. I missed last Christmas at home. It was my first Christmas away from home. Never again. I don't know what any other Christmas will be like, but this Christmas, I am grateful, for I have my mom, my dad, Karin, Kathy, our dog, Daisy, our cat, Chloe and all the little angels around me, Bryan, Beau, Rona, Rashmi, Becky, Carolyn, Patty, Diane, April, Andrea, Molly, Michele, Chris, Susan, Scott, Nathalie, Daniele, Art, Dedi, Christie, Gail, Kyle, Lee, Anna, Gonzalo, my dear students and teachers at Liberation Yoga and the Easton Gym, my cute doctor in Long Beach, this blog, anyone who reads this freekin' blog and my Mac guy, Steve.
There is a debt of gratitude that I owe all of you.
I hope you accept credit, or layaway.
I'm signing off until the new year...I think.
To you, I offer the only gifts I can, which is the same love and support you have given me.
Jai Ho,
Laurie
PS much more instructional fitness and yoga blogs and not so personal in the new year.
I love yoga. I don't know what I would be without it. Especially under the circumstances.
I was drugged up for my final 'test' before the surgery that was scheduled for the 10th, this week.
I hate drugs and the idea of surgery. But, I had taken so many tests, I couldn't bare the pain any longer. Bring it on, I told my doctor.
After the test, My doctor tells me that the scheduled surgery would be done with an out of network doctor and would cost me 10K more than I had planned.
Originally, I had this surgery scheduled for August. I had everything planned and prepared with my insurance and another doctor here in LA.
After leaving my class at Liberation Yoga in Hollywood, a particularly blissful and inspired class, I received a message telling me that I was not going to be covered for the procedure under my insurance. But I had done all of the preparation? What the fu? I had dotted the t's and crossed the i's. I had fasted. I did not drink caffeine!!
Many people, including my mother, told me, perhaps I dodged a bullet. Perhaps, I was not meant to have an invasive procedure that may or may not fix the numerous problems that have slain me this past year. Issues that, for months, I had seen acupuncturists, specialists, internists, healers, psychics, cellular empaths and most recently, shamans, anything I could to avoid drugs and surgery.
Nothing helped. Well, sometimes, I felt good, relaxed et al, but only temporarily.
After much insistence, mostly from my mother, of course, I had gotten a second opinion from a doctor in NY who was against surgery, but had no resolve to the problem. He referred me to someone in Long Beach. I had gotten a third opinion from a 'team' of doctors there and a series of frightening and painful tests, scans and retests that all confirmed that surgery was the ultimate option for my issues. But there was one last test to take. A young, very cute doctor told me that perhaps there might be something that I could do, use, that would not cause me issues down the road if I, say, wanted to have children or something, or have a series of side effects that could occur if I were to elect to have the procedure at this time in my life.
Ok, I guess.
I couldn't bare taking another test after the last one (see doctordrama blog - scary, yet humorous, Oct. 08) without drugs.
I actually insisted on being seriously high for this one.
I took two pills, a xanex tranquilizer type concoction. I don't remember much actually. I do remember wildly flirting with my doctor, amidst spread legs and every orifice probed with long sharp objects.
Sorry to be TMI, but this is the reality.
When he brought me into his office, post exam, the nurse came in and told me about the out of network issue that basically told me that I would not be able to have surgery AGAIN despite the preparation I had made with my insurance company and hospital. There is always a glitch. God bless America. Hope.
Perhaps it's still better that I got the info before getting a fat bill in the mail.
My doctor offered me the other 'option', a 'band aid' for the issue until such times as I can afford the time, mental space and finances for a surgery. So I agreed.
What can you do?
I resigned myself, AGAIN, to not go under.
Ok, well I guess I can focus on the next drama...finding an apartment. The lease is up on the apartment I shared with my ex and it's time to move on.
I've been accepted to great apartments that cost a fortune and rejected from the sweet deals I can afford because I am self employed and in this economy, managers are frightened to rent to me.
I have a scarlet letter.
I have a successful business that people would kill or bribe to be able to do in this city. I should be thankful.
And yet, I am shunned.
Rejected, like an actor and their dream role.
But it's not that I'm not tall enough or don't match perfectly with the co-star. It's because I do what I do.
So, nothing is in my control, right now. In the words of Oprah, I surrender all!
I'm a Virgo, type A and a New Yorker. A triple threat of high strung madness. No wonder I found yoga. Or, did yoga find me.
I digress.
I still try to do anything I can to control. Going to CVS, usually alleviates that problem. Looking at the rows of neatly organized items soothes my nervous system in ways that yoga and meditation can't at this point in my trials, immediately!! I am in charge of what I buy and what I don't. But even that doesn't help, today. I buy Alacer Vitamin C packs and a lip gloss I will probably never use. I'm satisfied temporarily. Until Starbucks. No sugar free vanilla, so I opt for cinnamon dolce. A taste of Christmas in small cup. Life is good. Temporarily. Until I listen to my Hang drum music in the car as I dodge traffic. I feel like I'm going to fall asleep so I sing my choir's music and that helps, temporarily. I take a class and I am at peace, temporarily. This crap runs deep and I remain conflicted.
Then I get the phone call. From my older sister. She never calls, so hearing her voice made me feel safe, secure and loved as she informed me that my father was admitted to the emergency room.
I save her message, not to relive the horror, but to hear her sweet soothing voice. I love my sister. I love both my sisters. I talk to them often over the next couple of days. This time is different. This time, we are rehearsed. We have all been here before.
Cancer, has made it's a revival again in my dad's body. Part three for him. After prostate, gastric, we are now taking place in the lung.
He's a heavy smoker, but this time, he isn't overweight. Being overweight helped him the last time he was under chemo and radiation because he could afford to lose the padding under the stress of the treatment. Now, he is frail, small, weak, hollowed, stale, miserable, empty, sad and lost.
I don't know what I did next. I wasn't on any drugs, but whatever I did and without belaboring the issue any further, I f-d up my computer, lost everything I had, contacts, emails, files.
It does get worse.
But, as soon as the 'issues' turned into something out side of me, I became someone else. The tears I shed for my shit, no longer mattered, but they still existed. There was nothing I could do.
It seemed like everyone I met, I couldn't keep it together. The yogi, the teacher, the whatever, I was now anonymous. I was small, weak, frail, stale, miserable, empty, lost and couldn't get found.
By the way, in case I haven't mentioned this before, don't flip the guy off in front of you for cutting you off, or take it personally, for you don't know what his trials are. I cut someone off the other day desperately trying to get to the other side of the street. I didn't mean to do it, but I knew he was pissed. I said sorry inside my car but I know he couldn't hear.
So, I had originally called this Mac genius to help teach me how to use the Mac as a super yogi, online, streaming videos and pod casts, downloading, uploading and super navigating the world of technology that yoga and fitness is riding and that I am trying to hitch onto.
Unfortunately, he called me back right as I lost my entire technological life. The wrong time, but the right time - right after the phone call from my sister, then erasing my computer.
This complete stranger, agrees to meet me in a Mac minute, a computer emergency. I told him my Mac problems and then for some reason, the water works open. All of a sudden, I became the crazy girl at the bus stop on the corner with a cardboard sign that reads, 'I NEED HELP.'
I told him about my dad and sobbed like a freekin' child.
He sat across from me and took it all in.
An angel, also a devout yogi, just morphed right in front of me. He became my teacher. Not in a Mac way, but in a human kindness way.
I have kept it together for my students and clients and here I am, listening to this guy tell me things I have heard a million times before at times I didn't need but need right now, stat.
I'm amazed at how vulnerable I have become. Perhaps it's part of myself I needed to explore. I've always been the one people come to for help. That's how I found myself as a teacher. It was inevitable. I've had it together, been tough skinned, independent, a lone ranger. And now I sit across from a stranger, open to his view on things and I listen and take what he offers.
I think to myself, I cannot afford what he is giving me. What can I give him to repay him for his kindness. I get paid to do something I love so much but I know that if someone needed me, without taking a thing, I would give it all away to make someone feel better.
Yoga. A student can have a horrible experience in one class and be closed off from it forever. One might give it another chance and try different styles until they find the one that speaks to them. Some might take yoga and do yoga and practice yoga and feel yoga but not experience yoga until something clicks and they are hooked. Some might hear and feel the same dang thing over and over and one day, they listen, physically, emotionally, subtly and they shift.
I can't express enough how yoga can save oneself from oneself and their issues, external and internal.
Amidst the mess, I am aware, not escaping the reality (except for the xanex) of the situation that is at present, for my family, for my friends and for myself. I would not be able to get through it if it weren't for the heavy hands of love that surround me. To be able to feel that love now is surreal. To feel it always, when things get brighter and better, well, it's just a priceless joy. I don't know what I do when I teach. I just know it feels good to give. I hope it feels the same for you.
I don't know who this Mac guy is, but he literally snapped me back into reality with a few words. Words I use in my class. Words that I hope help you if you are in a bind. I would be nothing without these little angels I have found around me during this strange time. I'm so grateful and humble by their presences. I feel, sometimes, guilty, because they are so giving. Then I think to myself, if I knew someone going through hard times, I would do what I could to help them. Wouldn't you?
Of course, I haven't received his invoice yet. So, if it's a lot, can I borrow a few bucks. Just kidding.
I don't care about my health, it's not grave.
I don't give a shit about my Mac, it will be obsolete in a day.
I don't care that I will not have a home in two weeks, I'm going home to be with my family in two days.
I don't care that I ended a relationship with my boyfriend of eight years, he's shown himself as a true friend in trying times, even if we couldn't 'make it work' in other ways.
I don't care that as my sisters and mother were in NYC, I was here, just listening to them as they called with updates. With CANCER as the topic, we still laughed maniacally among the tears.
Amidst my own inner chaos, I decided to get my hair cut today, I sat in my hairdresser's chair, shedding tears as Persian and Israeli beauties flurried about. My normally self absorbed hair stylist actually listened as he sheared layer after layer of hair and told me that as long as I kept laughing, I would be ok. For three years, he's only talked about himself and his 'PHENOMENAL' life. Today, he listened and in Gwyneth Paltrow circa Sliding Doors form, I put myself in his hands and let him cut all my hair off. The weight of my life, even a little bit, is gone, but it's super fabulous. And every beauty in there told me so. Even with deep dark circles and bloodshot eyes, I hugged that man, paid him, put on my shades and felt beautiful as I walked back to my car, drove home, strapped on my ipod, went running, listened to A.R. Rahman, ran into the sunset, cried at the beauty of it all, curled every newly and neatly manicured hair into a sweaty mess and didn't give a shit.
I came home and called my mother. She was making cookies.
She said, I'm thinking of you as I make cookies. I always think of you when I make cookies. I said, that was the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. She said she doubted that and we both cried and laughed as we recounted the day. My mom raised holy hell at the hospital my dad was admitted to and not cared for properly. She took my dad home, fed him well and loved him well, even though his misery distanced himself from us all. He showered and is asleep in his own bed...tonight. Next week, he will be at a new hospital, with his old cancer doctors and a brand new regime of chemo. And we will all be together.
It's not what I wanted from Santa this year, but perhaps I should have been more specific. I missed last Christmas at home. It was my first Christmas away from home. Never again. I don't know what any other Christmas will be like, but this Christmas, I am grateful, for I have my mom, my dad, Karin, Kathy, our dog, Daisy, our cat, Chloe and all the little angels around me, Bryan, Beau, Rona, Rashmi, Becky, Carolyn, Patty, Diane, April, Andrea, Molly, Michele, Chris, Susan, Scott, Nathalie, Daniele, Art, Dedi, Christie, Gail, Kyle, Lee, Anna, Gonzalo, my dear students and teachers at Liberation Yoga and the Easton Gym, my cute doctor in Long Beach, this blog, anyone who reads this freekin' blog and my Mac guy, Steve.
There is a debt of gratitude that I owe all of you.
I hope you accept credit, or layaway.
I'm signing off until the new year...I think.
To you, I offer the only gifts I can, which is the same love and support you have given me.
Jai Ho,
Laurie
PS much more instructional fitness and yoga blogs and not so personal in the new year.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Rungasm part 2
Ok, folks. I'm glad you are reading and I don't mean to be dramatic, but I certainly don't want you to worry.
Here's the deal, I gotta get it out.
Although I started this blog as a resource for my clients and students to come to in order to supplement their practices (fitness and yoga), I feel that life sometimes gets in the way of those things and what does one do when life gets in the way of your practice for fitness, meditation and a healthy lifestyle?
You deal with it.
So, here's my lesson. My freekin' life.
If you can pick up something from the crap I'm dealing with, then I've killed two metaphorical birds with one gentle stone.
We all have our ways of dealing.
Some go towards the dark place, self destruction, emotional eating and the like. I'm not gonna lie and say I haven't taken a visit to the dark side whilst I deal with the challenges of my life but the lesson is in the challenge, so I have to make those mistakes, a little bit and move the frick on.
If I deal with my challenges the best way I know how, working out, connecting with friends and family, watching Hallmark movies and reading Jennifer Weiner books, blogging and venting, that's what I need to do.
We all know things work out the way they are supposed to. The pendulum swings both ways and I'm at the sucky end of the pendulum. If one can remain positive and for the love of all that is good, humorous, then we have won the battle even if we are in the middle of the fight.
I'm so thankful for all of your support but in my heart of hearts, at this point, I just want to make y'all laugh, because I think what I am going through is hellish and hilarious at the same time.
Last night, a boy told me that he thought I had an idealistic view of things. I'm paraphrasing but that's what I took from what he said. I sort of laughed and questioned his comment. I felt a little badly and then I thought, of course I do!
I had an old boss, several years ago who told me I was overzealous. I'm paraphrasing but that's what I took from what she said. I sort of laughed and questioned her comment. I felt a little badly and then I though, of course I am!
What I thought were insults (and I think they were at the time) I have turned into compliments.
Do you remember when Ally McBeal had a theme song?
We all have one. I know you do too. It's the one song that makes everything better. The one song that makes you get up and dance and feel like a superstar.
Well, mine, since I was young, is One, from A Chorus Line.
Right now though, my theme song, without a doubt is from a song I got for free from Starbucks. It's by Amy MacDonald. It's called Run and here are some of the lyrics....
He said I don't know what you're living for
He said I don’t know what you’re living for at all
But I will run until my feet no longer run no more
And I will kiss until my lips no longer feel no more
And I will love until my heart it aches
And I will love until my heart it breaks
And I will love until there’s nothing more to live for
I AM...the most overzealous, idealistic, passionate, stubborn, determined, driven person I know.
I know what I want and I'm gonna get it. And I'm gonna vent and bitch and you can choose to listen, read or move on.
I know what I love and I'm gonna share it, come hell or high water, like my mom always says.
My lesson is that in the midst of challenges, I'm on fire. I'm not afraid. I'm pissed off if things don't go smoothly, but really, in this day and age, when does anything go freekin' smoothly.
I look at things now, with my imaginary machete in hand and slash away at the BS.
I'm angry, frustrated and can't meditate to save my life, but I'm on a freekin' mission.
I have shit I need to do and noone's gonna wait for me to do it so...
I gotta get out there, like a bullet and deal with these people, doctors, apartment managers and crazy drivers to get to my goal.
There has never been more of a time in my life that I've felt more 'on'. Exhausted, but 'on'. Ready to go.
Sad and laughing all the way, right in the middle of it!
In my high school year book we had to put a quote on our photo page. Beneath my horridly teased hair and pore-less skin, my quote was this, at 17, "To run, smile, draw and always fight to the finish."
17 years later, much cuter, better hair and fine lines, I'm still running, smiling, drawing (in words and not charcoal or oils) and fighting to the finish.
I think, we as a population, get so caught up with the minutia of our lives that we lose sight of the bare minimum that we need and want in order to be our best selves. It's just the FEW things in our lives that connect us to ourselves and each other. I don't ask for a lot but what I ask for is very specific. I don't have a dog, husband or kids. My needs are for me in order to be the best person I can be in service to people in my life with my teaching/instruction: loving nothing more than to bring the most fun, informative, safe and educational sessions to anyone that I am blessed to meet and who wants me to take them on that journey.
A writer and performer that speaks from the heart and is not afraid to admit when she is wrong, hurt, confused, sad or grammatically incorrect, but hopes to give 'em a good laugh when I can.
I have the sun, the sand, the ocean, running, yoga, writing and performing. It is my life and inspiration. I don't need furniture for it but I need the place that I can go to and digest it all, create and put it all together. That's here, in Santa Monica. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong, but I sure as hell feel right about this.
I know the universe has it's own plans and challenges for us to endure. Sometimes I don't understand why sir Universe brings all the challenges at once, but who am I to question it. I'm in it and I have to deal.
I long for the peace, balance and calm that one has when they live in say, the Himalayas. But I'm in LA, where finding an apartment and a good doctor are just as hard to find as Waldo or the squirrel in Hilights Magazine.
But, it's my mission.
I love my life and I love what I do and I don't want shit to get in the way of that. Unfortunately, it is. It happens.
But don't worry. Things suck. But there is a tipping point. Once that point is reached, the pendulum swings the other way. It is how we deal with both, suck and soar when we can truly succeed. I've failed in the sucky part before, gone to the dark side, felt bad about myself and thought the world was out to get me. Those days are gone. I was in my twenties. What did I know. I know that in the middle of hell, when everything seems out of ones control, the thing you can control is how you deal with it. I'm a venter. That's all. Get it out and move on.
Just to reiterate, I have no idea what my life is going to turn into over the next two weeks.
I'm hoping for a Hallmark Channel Christmas Miracle.
Idealistic, I know. Overzealous, perhaps.
It's the best way I know how to live. And it's healthy, for me. It makes me feel young. It makes me feel Angelina Jolie. It makes me feel beautiful and childlike and crazy alive even amidst this chaos. So, there.
I'm not homeless and even though my health is questionable, I can still run to my sun everyday and blush in it's glow upon me as I burst onto the esplenade, 180 heart rate and bollywood blasting in my ear and really, there ain't a better feeling in the world. I call it my rungasm. And I can have it all by myself. No apartment manager, even Mr. Scrooge on 4th street can take that away from me. So there.
Enjoy your egg nog, burn it off tomorrow, drink lots of water. Don't worry save for several designated times a day, then move on, call your mother and happy holidays.
Smooches,
Laurie
Here's the deal, I gotta get it out.
Although I started this blog as a resource for my clients and students to come to in order to supplement their practices (fitness and yoga), I feel that life sometimes gets in the way of those things and what does one do when life gets in the way of your practice for fitness, meditation and a healthy lifestyle?
You deal with it.
So, here's my lesson. My freekin' life.
If you can pick up something from the crap I'm dealing with, then I've killed two metaphorical birds with one gentle stone.
We all have our ways of dealing.
Some go towards the dark place, self destruction, emotional eating and the like. I'm not gonna lie and say I haven't taken a visit to the dark side whilst I deal with the challenges of my life but the lesson is in the challenge, so I have to make those mistakes, a little bit and move the frick on.
If I deal with my challenges the best way I know how, working out, connecting with friends and family, watching Hallmark movies and reading Jennifer Weiner books, blogging and venting, that's what I need to do.
We all know things work out the way they are supposed to. The pendulum swings both ways and I'm at the sucky end of the pendulum. If one can remain positive and for the love of all that is good, humorous, then we have won the battle even if we are in the middle of the fight.
I'm so thankful for all of your support but in my heart of hearts, at this point, I just want to make y'all laugh, because I think what I am going through is hellish and hilarious at the same time.
Last night, a boy told me that he thought I had an idealistic view of things. I'm paraphrasing but that's what I took from what he said. I sort of laughed and questioned his comment. I felt a little badly and then I thought, of course I do!
I had an old boss, several years ago who told me I was overzealous. I'm paraphrasing but that's what I took from what she said. I sort of laughed and questioned her comment. I felt a little badly and then I though, of course I am!
What I thought were insults (and I think they were at the time) I have turned into compliments.
Do you remember when Ally McBeal had a theme song?
We all have one. I know you do too. It's the one song that makes everything better. The one song that makes you get up and dance and feel like a superstar.
Well, mine, since I was young, is One, from A Chorus Line.
Right now though, my theme song, without a doubt is from a song I got for free from Starbucks. It's by Amy MacDonald. It's called Run and here are some of the lyrics....
He said I don't know what you're living for
He said I don’t know what you’re living for at all
But I will run until my feet no longer run no more
And I will kiss until my lips no longer feel no more
And I will love until my heart it aches
And I will love until my heart it breaks
And I will love until there’s nothing more to live for
I AM...the most overzealous, idealistic, passionate, stubborn, determined, driven person I know.
I know what I want and I'm gonna get it. And I'm gonna vent and bitch and you can choose to listen, read or move on.
I know what I love and I'm gonna share it, come hell or high water, like my mom always says.
My lesson is that in the midst of challenges, I'm on fire. I'm not afraid. I'm pissed off if things don't go smoothly, but really, in this day and age, when does anything go freekin' smoothly.
I look at things now, with my imaginary machete in hand and slash away at the BS.
I'm angry, frustrated and can't meditate to save my life, but I'm on a freekin' mission.
I have shit I need to do and noone's gonna wait for me to do it so...
I gotta get out there, like a bullet and deal with these people, doctors, apartment managers and crazy drivers to get to my goal.
There has never been more of a time in my life that I've felt more 'on'. Exhausted, but 'on'. Ready to go.
Sad and laughing all the way, right in the middle of it!
In my high school year book we had to put a quote on our photo page. Beneath my horridly teased hair and pore-less skin, my quote was this, at 17, "To run, smile, draw and always fight to the finish."
17 years later, much cuter, better hair and fine lines, I'm still running, smiling, drawing (in words and not charcoal or oils) and fighting to the finish.
I think, we as a population, get so caught up with the minutia of our lives that we lose sight of the bare minimum that we need and want in order to be our best selves. It's just the FEW things in our lives that connect us to ourselves and each other. I don't ask for a lot but what I ask for is very specific. I don't have a dog, husband or kids. My needs are for me in order to be the best person I can be in service to people in my life with my teaching/instruction: loving nothing more than to bring the most fun, informative, safe and educational sessions to anyone that I am blessed to meet and who wants me to take them on that journey.
A writer and performer that speaks from the heart and is not afraid to admit when she is wrong, hurt, confused, sad or grammatically incorrect, but hopes to give 'em a good laugh when I can.
I have the sun, the sand, the ocean, running, yoga, writing and performing. It is my life and inspiration. I don't need furniture for it but I need the place that I can go to and digest it all, create and put it all together. That's here, in Santa Monica. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong, but I sure as hell feel right about this.
I know the universe has it's own plans and challenges for us to endure. Sometimes I don't understand why sir Universe brings all the challenges at once, but who am I to question it. I'm in it and I have to deal.
I long for the peace, balance and calm that one has when they live in say, the Himalayas. But I'm in LA, where finding an apartment and a good doctor are just as hard to find as Waldo or the squirrel in Hilights Magazine.
But, it's my mission.
I love my life and I love what I do and I don't want shit to get in the way of that. Unfortunately, it is. It happens.
But don't worry. Things suck. But there is a tipping point. Once that point is reached, the pendulum swings the other way. It is how we deal with both, suck and soar when we can truly succeed. I've failed in the sucky part before, gone to the dark side, felt bad about myself and thought the world was out to get me. Those days are gone. I was in my twenties. What did I know. I know that in the middle of hell, when everything seems out of ones control, the thing you can control is how you deal with it. I'm a venter. That's all. Get it out and move on.
Just to reiterate, I have no idea what my life is going to turn into over the next two weeks.
I'm hoping for a Hallmark Channel Christmas Miracle.
Idealistic, I know. Overzealous, perhaps.
It's the best way I know how to live. And it's healthy, for me. It makes me feel young. It makes me feel Angelina Jolie. It makes me feel beautiful and childlike and crazy alive even amidst this chaos. So, there.
I'm not homeless and even though my health is questionable, I can still run to my sun everyday and blush in it's glow upon me as I burst onto the esplenade, 180 heart rate and bollywood blasting in my ear and really, there ain't a better feeling in the world. I call it my rungasm. And I can have it all by myself. No apartment manager, even Mr. Scrooge on 4th street can take that away from me. So there.
Enjoy your egg nog, burn it off tomorrow, drink lots of water. Don't worry save for several designated times a day, then move on, call your mother and happy holidays.
Smooches,
Laurie
Waiting for Apt. Right....
When I was 14 I had the maddest crush on MG. I was a freshman and MG was a senior. I walked into my first day of Commercial Art class (comic strips, design etc.) and there he was, all handsome and Jewish with a big toothy smile. And he was talented. I loved the way he drew shoes. Nikes, to be more specific.
It turned me on at 14. I didn't know what that meant yet, but I knew he did it.
I couldn't drive yet but I made my mother, the coolest woman on the planet, drive me past his house.
Many times.
The lights are on, what is he doing?
The lights are off, what is he doing?
I found out he worked at this retail store in the Vernon Hills Shopping Center in Scarsdale.
I wasn't legally allowed to work at that age save for babysitting and lawn-mowing. Children scared me and for that matter, so did lawns. I was a year or two away from when most people started getting summer jobs but I was a zealous creature so I thought, why not, make some dough and get closer to my future husband.
Laurie G.
Mrs. Laurie G.
M and Laurie G.
My mother, the coolest woman on the planet, pulled out the old typewriter and doctored my birth certificate so that I could apply for a job at MG's store.
I knew I was creative and talented too and I loved where my mind went with him in it.
I could see us folding fleeces and laughing, pitching display tents and tumbling over each other under the canopy, labeling and tossing box after box of silk underwear from one end of the store to the other where I would giggle and blush as I stacked the shelves, rolling our eyes when, Paul Simon's Mother And Child Reunion played for the 40th time on our shared shift.
My mother and I got away with our brilliant plan and I was hired as a sales associate. My dream was going to become a reality.
On my first day, I realized that I was hired to replace MG as he got an internship somewhere. The world was a lot more complex and serious for him since he was older and getting ready for college, hence his flee from retail.
My world, was flat.
I understood, but was crushed.
I folded fleece, labeled silk underwear and poked myself in the eye, groin and shoulder with that freekin' tent as I pitched it all by myself. I slowly went crazy, Clockwork Orange insane with Paul Simon and Fleetwood Mac constantly ringing in my ears.
I bagged the job come Summer and became a lifeguard, twirling a whistle around my finger and watching infants drown.
Since then I've crushed on many a man and driven by their family homes, prank called them (miss those days), dreamt of smiling happy memories I would create with them, only to have the shattered by some other girl or some college to take them away.
It's been while since I've been single and here I am again, crushing. But this time, it's waaaaay different.
It has nothing to do with another human being.
It has to do with apartments.
I have applied for, gotten excited pitter pats in the heart for, lost sleep over, shopped on line for furniture for, driven by, walked up, sat by, imagined cooking in, sleeping in, inviting friends over to enjoy, meditated in, practiced yoga in, jetted from and retreated to, blogged in, created in, cried and laugh out loud in and fallen in love.
Then I'm told, I'm just not good enough to be with.
Instead of not being skinny enough, pretty enough or old enough, my credit score is too low. It's good but not great and self employed means you haven't joined the masses of the corporate world, so you are a risk.
I'm crushing on apartments, people. I've sunk to a very odd low. I feel very strange about this and I'm just sharing it. I'll get over it for sure but the feelings. The way I feel, on both sides, the in love and crushed part, I haven't had these emotions since I was young and well, new to those emotions.
It's the only thing I can liken it too and I'm surprised I can still have them. Not thrilled about it, but surprised that I can feel so wonderful then lost in one phone call or drive by or what does that mean.
We are so different, people and apartments. I haven't heard one of them yet say, it's not you, it's me so I guess that's a good thing.
I know there are many apartment fish in the sea and Apt. Right is around the corner somewhere. Literally. I'm only looking in a six block radius.
I went for a walk this morning and went up to my latest crush. I put my little hands on the door and rested my forehead on it's number 14.
Full kitchen, you know just what to say. Carpeting, right there. Parking, that's it!!
4 blocks from the beach, OH YEAH!!!!!!!!!!
It's so right. But maybe it isn't. Maybe the universe knows the right one for me and is offering me side tracking delusions and one night credit checks to keep me on my toes.
But this one, we look so cute together.
When you are in it, you don't see it, you just want it, like that cookie sittin' right in front of you. And you don't believe that there could be anything standing in the way of what you want.
That's life. There are always obstacles to challenge and test your passion for things, to make certain what you want is what you want.
And sometimes an apartment or guy, looks great at first, but then turns bald and fat 15 years later and you thank goodness you didn't end up with that.
I'm just sayin'.
It turned me on at 14. I didn't know what that meant yet, but I knew he did it.
I couldn't drive yet but I made my mother, the coolest woman on the planet, drive me past his house.
Many times.
The lights are on, what is he doing?
The lights are off, what is he doing?
I found out he worked at this retail store in the Vernon Hills Shopping Center in Scarsdale.
I wasn't legally allowed to work at that age save for babysitting and lawn-mowing. Children scared me and for that matter, so did lawns. I was a year or two away from when most people started getting summer jobs but I was a zealous creature so I thought, why not, make some dough and get closer to my future husband.
Laurie G.
Mrs. Laurie G.
M and Laurie G.
My mother, the coolest woman on the planet, pulled out the old typewriter and doctored my birth certificate so that I could apply for a job at MG's store.
I knew I was creative and talented too and I loved where my mind went with him in it.
I could see us folding fleeces and laughing, pitching display tents and tumbling over each other under the canopy, labeling and tossing box after box of silk underwear from one end of the store to the other where I would giggle and blush as I stacked the shelves, rolling our eyes when, Paul Simon's Mother And Child Reunion played for the 40th time on our shared shift.
My mother and I got away with our brilliant plan and I was hired as a sales associate. My dream was going to become a reality.
On my first day, I realized that I was hired to replace MG as he got an internship somewhere. The world was a lot more complex and serious for him since he was older and getting ready for college, hence his flee from retail.
My world, was flat.
I understood, but was crushed.
I folded fleece, labeled silk underwear and poked myself in the eye, groin and shoulder with that freekin' tent as I pitched it all by myself. I slowly went crazy, Clockwork Orange insane with Paul Simon and Fleetwood Mac constantly ringing in my ears.
I bagged the job come Summer and became a lifeguard, twirling a whistle around my finger and watching infants drown.
Since then I've crushed on many a man and driven by their family homes, prank called them (miss those days), dreamt of smiling happy memories I would create with them, only to have the shattered by some other girl or some college to take them away.
It's been while since I've been single and here I am again, crushing. But this time, it's waaaaay different.
It has nothing to do with another human being.
It has to do with apartments.
I have applied for, gotten excited pitter pats in the heart for, lost sleep over, shopped on line for furniture for, driven by, walked up, sat by, imagined cooking in, sleeping in, inviting friends over to enjoy, meditated in, practiced yoga in, jetted from and retreated to, blogged in, created in, cried and laugh out loud in and fallen in love.
Then I'm told, I'm just not good enough to be with.
Instead of not being skinny enough, pretty enough or old enough, my credit score is too low. It's good but not great and self employed means you haven't joined the masses of the corporate world, so you are a risk.
I'm crushing on apartments, people. I've sunk to a very odd low. I feel very strange about this and I'm just sharing it. I'll get over it for sure but the feelings. The way I feel, on both sides, the in love and crushed part, I haven't had these emotions since I was young and well, new to those emotions.
It's the only thing I can liken it too and I'm surprised I can still have them. Not thrilled about it, but surprised that I can feel so wonderful then lost in one phone call or drive by or what does that mean.
We are so different, people and apartments. I haven't heard one of them yet say, it's not you, it's me so I guess that's a good thing.
I know there are many apartment fish in the sea and Apt. Right is around the corner somewhere. Literally. I'm only looking in a six block radius.
I went for a walk this morning and went up to my latest crush. I put my little hands on the door and rested my forehead on it's number 14.
Full kitchen, you know just what to say. Carpeting, right there. Parking, that's it!!
4 blocks from the beach, OH YEAH!!!!!!!!!!
It's so right. But maybe it isn't. Maybe the universe knows the right one for me and is offering me side tracking delusions and one night credit checks to keep me on my toes.
But this one, we look so cute together.
When you are in it, you don't see it, you just want it, like that cookie sittin' right in front of you. And you don't believe that there could be anything standing in the way of what you want.
That's life. There are always obstacles to challenge and test your passion for things, to make certain what you want is what you want.
And sometimes an apartment or guy, looks great at first, but then turns bald and fat 15 years later and you thank goodness you didn't end up with that.
I'm just sayin'.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Big Jumps...
I haven't much to say as I'm taking a bit of a step back from my regular teaching and writing to find and settle into a new place, a new life.
The holiday season has been thrust upon us in full force, lights, extravaganzas et al.
I'm in the spirit and in slight sadness as the struggle for me continues. I know it's not for long and I'm not worried, so you shouldn't be either.
Health problems aside, I take a cue from the Hallmark channel and realize that this is the season of miracles and I have hope and faith that I will find a place to live and finish the tests I need to in order to figure out what is going on with my innards.
I had another doctor's appointment the other day, at 3:30 PM. I thought, if I can just get through this and get to the beach, to the sun, before it sets, I’d be ok.
Besides some slight cursing to the drivers to my left and right, "I need peace, stat, people!!" I calmed myself and my attitude towards the other drivers just long enough to get to my place, with parking, very important, not only in LA, but when you have a daily date with the sun who has no intention of waiting for your sorry ass or appointments to meet with it.
If you are new to my blog, here's the deal.
I haven't a place to live right now and my most favorite thing to do is yoga AND running, on the beach right around sun set. It doesn't matter what is going on in the world or with me, as long as I am there, I am free, to create, to be inspired, to be a better person, teacher, friend, etc. Think of it like a prescription or an AA meeting. For me, running on the beach, jumping hurdles, climbing steps, leaping great strides, watching the sun as it colors the sky so beautifully...people, every time, not kidding, makes me freekin' weep.
It makes me so happy to be alive. It makes me feel so connected to myself, to others, to the earth.
I know it might sound crazy, but I feel complete. It completes me! I'm so Tom Cruise, I know, but really, when I know that I can end my day or pause my day between clients and appointments to go, play, literally like a freekin' kid, by the beach, I have accomplished what I need to.
I go to the beach to work out, but most importantly, that is where I find and create the workouts I do with my clients.
My clients are very busy, type A peeps like me. We get bored easily. I take classes, fitness, Pilates and yoga classes all over the city so I can learn and grow from the great teachers here and bring new stuff to my clients.
When I go to the beach, I do/practice what I have learned in a practical way so that my students can do my workouts wherever and whenever.
I get to play, burn calories and stress, work for others and ALSO, take in the most beautiful site I have ever seen.
Like I said before, I get bored super easy. I NEVER get bored of looking at that beautiful, expansive sea, rolling in and out and the tremendous sun burning bright and subtly making its exit into the evening. It is like watching a great Opera as a piece crescendos, culminates into the full expression of an emotion or feeling.
I feel that. I know that, every single time. It never fails to amaze and inspire me into peace and gratitude.
Nothing makes me smile more.
That is why my mission to stay in Santa Monica is imperative.
Of course, music always accompanies this great experience and I am so thankful for the great resource I have for music. Mostly, I get my inspiration from my old friend, Jason Bentley who is now working mornings at KCRW. But, also from the great teachers who play awesome music in their classes as well as my friend, Becky and my sister, Karin who always supply me with endless music possibilities that I appreciate while running, creating and teaching.
I love music.
Music with the sun is likne an orgasm for me as I run along the Palisades Path. Hate to be graphic, but it's that freekin' good for me.
I can actually attest to a rungasm.
I'm so happy that the Slumdog Millionaire Soundtrack has finally come out.
It's making all this crap a little less crappy as I look for my new place and finish this physical 'testing' for my health.
Perhaps there is nothing here for you in this blog or the past few as I digress.
I hope there is because like I told my mom, in the middle of the freekin' earthquake we had tonight, this is probably the most challenged I've felt. Besides when my dad got sick and when my family was forced out of our childhood home because a toxic mold was growing inside of it for years and making us all sick, this is an all time low.
Sucked, big time, but this sucks a lot more and I promise you, it's a lot better to live with when you have wonderful things to look forward towards. For me that's the sun, running and playing at the beach, music, especially the Slumdog soundtrack and, of course, if I had a place to live that would be superior.
Until that happens, unfortunately, all my blog is going to be is venting.
After that, lessons on yoga/fitness/nutrition and more super cool videos on working out that you can do anywhere on a budget of time and money.
I hope things are blissful for you, but if they aren’t, find the little things that can get you through. Perhaps it’s as easy as the sun set. And I know you don’t have to live at the beach to experience the beauty of it.
It sure makes it better though.
Of course, a glass or two of Ravenswood wine’ll do the trick too.
Enjoy the lights, the parties, the cookies and overindulgence of the holidays.
‘Cause guess what people, you'll need to burn it all off and center yourself for your goals in the New Year. And when that time comes, I will be there, blissed out in my new pad in Santa Monica, healthy and ready to work your butt off and make you relaxed and balanced at the same time.
Have fun, drink lots of water, especially between cocktails, be good to yourselves and call your mother.
Struggling with a spring in my step, smooches and Happy Holidays,
Laurie
PS really enjoying Emiliana Torrini from Iceland. You can find her on iTunes (Big Jumps and Birds are awesome ‘case you need more music for your catalogs and need a little inspiration.)
The holiday season has been thrust upon us in full force, lights, extravaganzas et al.
I'm in the spirit and in slight sadness as the struggle for me continues. I know it's not for long and I'm not worried, so you shouldn't be either.
Health problems aside, I take a cue from the Hallmark channel and realize that this is the season of miracles and I have hope and faith that I will find a place to live and finish the tests I need to in order to figure out what is going on with my innards.
I had another doctor's appointment the other day, at 3:30 PM. I thought, if I can just get through this and get to the beach, to the sun, before it sets, I’d be ok.
Besides some slight cursing to the drivers to my left and right, "I need peace, stat, people!!" I calmed myself and my attitude towards the other drivers just long enough to get to my place, with parking, very important, not only in LA, but when you have a daily date with the sun who has no intention of waiting for your sorry ass or appointments to meet with it.
If you are new to my blog, here's the deal.
I haven't a place to live right now and my most favorite thing to do is yoga AND running, on the beach right around sun set. It doesn't matter what is going on in the world or with me, as long as I am there, I am free, to create, to be inspired, to be a better person, teacher, friend, etc. Think of it like a prescription or an AA meeting. For me, running on the beach, jumping hurdles, climbing steps, leaping great strides, watching the sun as it colors the sky so beautifully...people, every time, not kidding, makes me freekin' weep.
It makes me so happy to be alive. It makes me feel so connected to myself, to others, to the earth.
I know it might sound crazy, but I feel complete. It completes me! I'm so Tom Cruise, I know, but really, when I know that I can end my day or pause my day between clients and appointments to go, play, literally like a freekin' kid, by the beach, I have accomplished what I need to.
I go to the beach to work out, but most importantly, that is where I find and create the workouts I do with my clients.
My clients are very busy, type A peeps like me. We get bored easily. I take classes, fitness, Pilates and yoga classes all over the city so I can learn and grow from the great teachers here and bring new stuff to my clients.
When I go to the beach, I do/practice what I have learned in a practical way so that my students can do my workouts wherever and whenever.
I get to play, burn calories and stress, work for others and ALSO, take in the most beautiful site I have ever seen.
Like I said before, I get bored super easy. I NEVER get bored of looking at that beautiful, expansive sea, rolling in and out and the tremendous sun burning bright and subtly making its exit into the evening. It is like watching a great Opera as a piece crescendos, culminates into the full expression of an emotion or feeling.
I feel that. I know that, every single time. It never fails to amaze and inspire me into peace and gratitude.
Nothing makes me smile more.
That is why my mission to stay in Santa Monica is imperative.
Of course, music always accompanies this great experience and I am so thankful for the great resource I have for music. Mostly, I get my inspiration from my old friend, Jason Bentley who is now working mornings at KCRW. But, also from the great teachers who play awesome music in their classes as well as my friend, Becky and my sister, Karin who always supply me with endless music possibilities that I appreciate while running, creating and teaching.
I love music.
Music with the sun is likne an orgasm for me as I run along the Palisades Path. Hate to be graphic, but it's that freekin' good for me.
I can actually attest to a rungasm.
I'm so happy that the Slumdog Millionaire Soundtrack has finally come out.
It's making all this crap a little less crappy as I look for my new place and finish this physical 'testing' for my health.
Perhaps there is nothing here for you in this blog or the past few as I digress.
I hope there is because like I told my mom, in the middle of the freekin' earthquake we had tonight, this is probably the most challenged I've felt. Besides when my dad got sick and when my family was forced out of our childhood home because a toxic mold was growing inside of it for years and making us all sick, this is an all time low.
Sucked, big time, but this sucks a lot more and I promise you, it's a lot better to live with when you have wonderful things to look forward towards. For me that's the sun, running and playing at the beach, music, especially the Slumdog soundtrack and, of course, if I had a place to live that would be superior.
Until that happens, unfortunately, all my blog is going to be is venting.
After that, lessons on yoga/fitness/nutrition and more super cool videos on working out that you can do anywhere on a budget of time and money.
I hope things are blissful for you, but if they aren’t, find the little things that can get you through. Perhaps it’s as easy as the sun set. And I know you don’t have to live at the beach to experience the beauty of it.
It sure makes it better though.
Of course, a glass or two of Ravenswood wine’ll do the trick too.
Enjoy the lights, the parties, the cookies and overindulgence of the holidays.
‘Cause guess what people, you'll need to burn it all off and center yourself for your goals in the New Year. And when that time comes, I will be there, blissed out in my new pad in Santa Monica, healthy and ready to work your butt off and make you relaxed and balanced at the same time.
Have fun, drink lots of water, especially between cocktails, be good to yourselves and call your mother.
Struggling with a spring in my step, smooches and Happy Holidays,
Laurie
PS really enjoying Emiliana Torrini from Iceland. You can find her on iTunes (Big Jumps and Birds are awesome ‘case you need more music for your catalogs and need a little inspiration.)
Monday, December 1, 2008
Into the white...
Hi.
I know I haven't written many yogic 'lesson's' and 'yogic and fitness things to do' whilst at home or wandering around your neighborhood or at home in a while but, as I am in flux, I feel the need to post my flux on line as I attempt to find the yoga in it all.
I'm still rapidly trying to find a place to call home in Santa Monica. People told me it wouldn't be possible on my budget but I've found little gems, applied for them, imagined my life in them and been rejected from them time and time again.
I know it will happen.
I don't work for a corporation, so that's a big, bad thing. Working for yourself in this economy reeks of bad joo joo to most and I just don't understand it. My credit rating is fantastic, my tax returns and pay stubs support a really great independent business I've created in this city. My volunteer work and all around great personality would assure me a sweet abode for a looooong, loooong time. But alas, I might have been pre-approved for mortgages, home loans or overpriced apartments, but it's the ridiculously inexpensive but unbelievable apartments that I've been denied from. I've made cookies, brought soup, brought famous expensive la di da, Martha Stewart and Oprah mentioned cupcakes and wares to management companies throughout Santa Monica, have charmed them with my wit and spoke of my quiet and supreme lifestyle and how I can see myself in their apartments, being creative, contemplative and happy. I've even picked out furniture on line for some of these places. And then I call them and they tell me that I'm not making 6 figures or that my credit score is too low even when it's in the 'better than good' category with no debt but a school loan and a car loan. I've been paying my bills and acting as a fine member of society then rejected completely because someone else's dad is footing the bill. (At least that was the excuse for the last one.) I'm in my 30's and my dad isn't footing any bill but his own.
It saddens me to think about the lengths one goes to to find the place they want to call home.
I did the same journey in NYC so I know it's not just Los Angeles.
When I found out about this last one, I was so sad. I tore up all my on line furniture dreams and went for a run on the beach.
Today was a great day, because as soon as I got to the beach, all I could see was white. No sun, no sky, no sand even except for the few feet in front of me. I was looking at a blank canvas, a smeared gray where it looked like someone had taken an eraser to the dream in front of me, the thing that keeps me hoping, dreaming, breathing and loving life, my beach. My sun and sky was erased and I ran to the few feet in front of me, then the next few feet in front of me and imagined my life without the beauty. I stopped. I just walked. I breathed in the foggy, salty air.
Today, I stopped by my tailor. The guy that makes beautiful things out of things that don't fit just right. I love him and his wife. They have owned their business in Hancock Park for decades. They love each other. Every time I go there, they give me advice on how to make things work, clothes and love. They know it well. I love them both.
I go to them because I know they will make it work, even when the things around me don't. Sometimes, if I haven't seen them in a while, I will find things in the bowls of my closet that I once found fond and I take it to them to make fond in the present. They do the best work.
Harry, my tailor, he could tell I was down. I told him I was rejected from another apartment.
In this town, rejection is like breathing.
But I never get used to it.
And I'm from NY.
But, my skin is never thick enough to just take it.
He told me to look in other neighborhoods and I told him, NO. Santa Monica, the beach, is like religion to me.
Him, being a very religious person, asked what I meant.
I told him.
Going home, coming home, being home, spending time at home, means Santa Monica. It means the beach for me. It's church. It's communion. It's Thanksgiving. It's birth. It's death. It's all that's in between for me.
I might sound like a freekin' Hallmark card but it doesn't matter what time of the month it is, EVERY time I go to the beach, I feel like weeping from the mass beauty that surrounds me.
Living here, teaches me to be the best person I can be. It makes me a better person.
I am exhausted by the trials of trying to stay here.
I know people have it worse. Things, others are going through, could be worse.
But I have no place to live now and I live for here.
This is my home.
And even if the fog erases the memory of the beauty just behind it, I know it's there and I smile. I suck it in. I grab all I can of it's goodness and I go into the world and teach. I'm a better friend, lover, daughter, writer and person for living here and nothing will take that away from me.
So, I run into the white. My dream is not in front of me but it's there. It's hidden and this mo-fo apt. didn't work out but there will be another one waiting for me to inhabit so that I can create, enjoy, live, breathe, laugh, love and give more than I ever thought was possible.
I'm sad that in this city and country, sometimes, all you are is a number, a credit score or policy holder.
I'm sad that the essence of who you are isn't good enough and what you put into the universe, it just doesn't 'count'.
But I know better and it's ok if they don't.
Sometimes it doesn't work how you see it.
Sometimes how you see it, changes.
I know the sun and sky was there today and it didn't keep me from being happy.
I know I will find a place to live. I don't see it right now, but it's there. And because I don't see it now, it won't keep me from being happy.
A yogic lesson, perhaps.
In flux and still living yoga,
Laurie
I know I haven't written many yogic 'lesson's' and 'yogic and fitness things to do' whilst at home or wandering around your neighborhood or at home in a while but, as I am in flux, I feel the need to post my flux on line as I attempt to find the yoga in it all.
I'm still rapidly trying to find a place to call home in Santa Monica. People told me it wouldn't be possible on my budget but I've found little gems, applied for them, imagined my life in them and been rejected from them time and time again.
I know it will happen.
I don't work for a corporation, so that's a big, bad thing. Working for yourself in this economy reeks of bad joo joo to most and I just don't understand it. My credit rating is fantastic, my tax returns and pay stubs support a really great independent business I've created in this city. My volunteer work and all around great personality would assure me a sweet abode for a looooong, loooong time. But alas, I might have been pre-approved for mortgages, home loans or overpriced apartments, but it's the ridiculously inexpensive but unbelievable apartments that I've been denied from. I've made cookies, brought soup, brought famous expensive la di da, Martha Stewart and Oprah mentioned cupcakes and wares to management companies throughout Santa Monica, have charmed them with my wit and spoke of my quiet and supreme lifestyle and how I can see myself in their apartments, being creative, contemplative and happy. I've even picked out furniture on line for some of these places. And then I call them and they tell me that I'm not making 6 figures or that my credit score is too low even when it's in the 'better than good' category with no debt but a school loan and a car loan. I've been paying my bills and acting as a fine member of society then rejected completely because someone else's dad is footing the bill. (At least that was the excuse for the last one.) I'm in my 30's and my dad isn't footing any bill but his own.
It saddens me to think about the lengths one goes to to find the place they want to call home.
I did the same journey in NYC so I know it's not just Los Angeles.
When I found out about this last one, I was so sad. I tore up all my on line furniture dreams and went for a run on the beach.
Today was a great day, because as soon as I got to the beach, all I could see was white. No sun, no sky, no sand even except for the few feet in front of me. I was looking at a blank canvas, a smeared gray where it looked like someone had taken an eraser to the dream in front of me, the thing that keeps me hoping, dreaming, breathing and loving life, my beach. My sun and sky was erased and I ran to the few feet in front of me, then the next few feet in front of me and imagined my life without the beauty. I stopped. I just walked. I breathed in the foggy, salty air.
Today, I stopped by my tailor. The guy that makes beautiful things out of things that don't fit just right. I love him and his wife. They have owned their business in Hancock Park for decades. They love each other. Every time I go there, they give me advice on how to make things work, clothes and love. They know it well. I love them both.
I go to them because I know they will make it work, even when the things around me don't. Sometimes, if I haven't seen them in a while, I will find things in the bowls of my closet that I once found fond and I take it to them to make fond in the present. They do the best work.
Harry, my tailor, he could tell I was down. I told him I was rejected from another apartment.
In this town, rejection is like breathing.
But I never get used to it.
And I'm from NY.
But, my skin is never thick enough to just take it.
He told me to look in other neighborhoods and I told him, NO. Santa Monica, the beach, is like religion to me.
Him, being a very religious person, asked what I meant.
I told him.
Going home, coming home, being home, spending time at home, means Santa Monica. It means the beach for me. It's church. It's communion. It's Thanksgiving. It's birth. It's death. It's all that's in between for me.
I might sound like a freekin' Hallmark card but it doesn't matter what time of the month it is, EVERY time I go to the beach, I feel like weeping from the mass beauty that surrounds me.
Living here, teaches me to be the best person I can be. It makes me a better person.
I am exhausted by the trials of trying to stay here.
I know people have it worse. Things, others are going through, could be worse.
But I have no place to live now and I live for here.
This is my home.
And even if the fog erases the memory of the beauty just behind it, I know it's there and I smile. I suck it in. I grab all I can of it's goodness and I go into the world and teach. I'm a better friend, lover, daughter, writer and person for living here and nothing will take that away from me.
So, I run into the white. My dream is not in front of me but it's there. It's hidden and this mo-fo apt. didn't work out but there will be another one waiting for me to inhabit so that I can create, enjoy, live, breathe, laugh, love and give more than I ever thought was possible.
I'm sad that in this city and country, sometimes, all you are is a number, a credit score or policy holder.
I'm sad that the essence of who you are isn't good enough and what you put into the universe, it just doesn't 'count'.
But I know better and it's ok if they don't.
Sometimes it doesn't work how you see it.
Sometimes how you see it, changes.
I know the sun and sky was there today and it didn't keep me from being happy.
I know I will find a place to live. I don't see it right now, but it's there. And because I don't see it now, it won't keep me from being happy.
A yogic lesson, perhaps.
In flux and still living yoga,
Laurie
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