I think I have it.

I don’t know what it is, but there is something lighting a fire under my butt and making me feel like my old self again.

It has been super nice and warm for the past couple weeks, and it smells like spring outside. It’s that wet, flowery, earthy smell that comes across the breeze at twilight and drives me crazy. When I get a whiff of it, I’m immediately free, driving in a car, windows rolled down, no shoes, listening to some wicked tunes, with all my best friends. It seriously gets me high. I feel a euphoric rush and it makes me feel like a strong fierce lady. Powerful. Like I can do anything. Like life is amazing and wonderful and everything is happy. And pretty much, it is.

Maybe it’s the infusions. I found this amazing crazy hippie herbalist lady who makes these nourishing infusions from nettle, red clover, oatstraw, and comfrey. I started drinking them, mixing up the herbs in glass jars and steeping them overnight.

T and I stopped smoking cigs. Not like we were super heavy smokers, but every bit counts! It has been almost two weeks and not a puff. Feeling pretty happy about that. You hear a lot less sneezing and coughing out of both of us.. and I know we’re saving money!

We’ve started eating much better. More fresh vegetables, less white powders. It takes a little more time, but I enjoy the whole cooking and eating process a lot more. And I know I’m getting better nutrition out of it.

I don’t know why this all happened. It seemed to just happen naturally. Like a switch got flipped in my head and I am now ready to all the things I used to think were impossible. I feel so motivated to work towards something, to have goals and try to attain them, to better my circumstances and do things that I really love. To get our lives organized so we don’t have to worry so much.

It’s like suddenly, the window opened. Suddenly everything seems a little easier. Suddenly. Suddenly, I’m capable of more. And so I am actively requiring more from myself.

I’m ironing out my life.

I guess this is why spring brings so much renewal and growth and resolutions and cleaning and stuff. It must be instinct. Something in the air tells me, it’s time to get things started.

There is a lot to do, and it’s overwhelming, but I’m trying to make baby steps, keep my head down, focus on what’s right in front of me, and just let things happen.

So there. Blog update. More stranger dinners coming soon. Join the list.

I’m getting out of this funk I’ve been in for a long time. I’m starting to see through the fog in my head that has made everything seem lame or impossible or scary. A couple weeks ago, my heart was crying out for a change, for something that would release me from one mind to the next. I missed my BFF, who always pushes me to see and experience and learn something new. I called and said I needed him to appear, and he did!

I remember him saying, sometime this week during our shenanigans, that even when you just want to stay home and hide under the covers, you have to make yourself go out and do things. Now I’m ready and have so many plans! Sometimes you just need to know that there’s someone there to hold your hand when you get ready to take the plunge.

I bought a planner yesterday, which is helping me keep track and get excited about everything I want to do. And when I get stuck, I’m turning to John Cage for some inspiration to keep going, keep working, keep learning and connecting and giving and taking–mining all I can get out of this city.

Reading:
The Gift: How the Creative Spirit Transforms the World by Lewis Hyde
Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell
The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano

Listening:
Hot Chip – One Life Stand
Florence and the Machine

Watching:
Burn After Reading – Coen Bros.

——-

john cage: some rules for students and teachers or anyone else

RULE ONE: Find a place you trust, and then try trusting it for awhile.

RULE TWO: General duties of a student – pull everything out of your teacher; pull everything out of your fellow students.

RULE THREE: General duties of a teacher – pull everything out of your students.

RULE FOUR: Consider everything an experiment.

RULE FIVE: be self-disciplined – this means finding someone wise or smart and choosing to follow them. To be disciplined is to follow in a good way. To be self-disciplined is to follow in a better way.

RULE SIX: Nothing is a mistake. There’s no win and no fail, there’s only make.

RULE SEVEN: The only rule is work. If you work it will lead to something. It’s the people who do all of the work all of the time who eventually catch on to things.

RULE EIGHT: Don’t try to create and analyze at the same time. They’re different processes.

RULE NINE: Be happy whenever you can manage it. Enjoy yourself. It’s lighter than you think.

RULE TEN: “We’re breaking all the rules. Even our own rules. And how do we do that? By leaving plenty of room for X quantities.” (John Cage)

HINTS: Always be around. Come or go to everything. Always go to classes. Read anything you can get your hands on. Look at movies carefully, often. Save everything – it might come in handy later.

Don't you wish you could be in your bathrobe at noon?

This morning, the brand new used coffee maker I bought yesterday at Goodwill kicked off at 7am. T’s alarm started going off soon after, every five minutes. At 9am, the jackhammer started. I think the universe was trying to tell me something.

Yesterday I spent all day feeling guilty that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing. I’m not good at getting things done when I don’t have that much to do and I’m working with vague deadlines. I need pressure, a deadline, fear of God or something like that to get things done.

I ended up torturing myself most of the day until the afternoon, when I said to myself. Self, if you’re not going to do it, just don’t do it. Why do you gotta be a martyr about it? Why don’t you just do whatever you want all the time?

Whatever I want all the time is my prime motivation in life. When I grow up, I want to be able to do that. Flow easily through most things, have sparkles come out of my fingertips and leave a trail of pretty flowers and magic blooming in my wake, like in Fern Gully when the forest starts healing itself or some shit.

I think the only thing that’s really blocking me is my thoughts. My thoughts tell me I have to be really awesome and amazing and smart and beautiful to do anything. It says I can’t to anything I want until I do all the things I have to do, like becoming really awesome and amazing and smart and beautiful.

But I have found a solution! Shut those thoughts down! Just stop thinking them. Just think… I’m thinking evil thoughts.. don’t think about that anymore! Think about what’s for dinner and what delicious cocktails you will make and listen to some music and dance around.

Yesterday, after I killed those thoughts, I went to the farmer’s market, got a coffee maker, found some cheese, made some delicious dinner that was lit by candlelight, made some muffins, and listened to music. It was fuckin’ bad ass. Life is more fun if you’re not berating yourself in your head and feeling guilty all the time.

And I’m starting to realize that if I just shut up those thoughts in my head pressuring me to be really cool and awesome (and successful and rich and popular), I can finally have the breathing room to be really cool and awesome, because that’s what I am naturally. COOL AND AWESOME. And hot. Yeah.

Also, I’m starting a salon (not like hair, like intellectuals and booze), because I want to feel like I’m in France all the time. ALL THE TIME. If you miss living in Europe you may know what I’m talking about: late nights, consuming things that are bad for you, long walks, and philosophical conversations over 3-6 hour drinking and eating sessions. It’s going to be fun and you wish you could be part of it.

I’ve been watching a lot of trash TV this week. We are house sitting at a place in a super residential district with no internet, a big flat sceen, and Direct TV. I never watch broadcast TV, but every so often it’s nice to experience. I like to think of it as a sociological study about American Society and Pop Culture. Mostly, my conclusion is that it’s really fucked up. There are some quality shows, but I would say 99% of television tells you how to be, who to be, how to fix all that is wrong with you, and be as beautiful as the skinny bitches strolling happily along Caribbean beaches in bikinis with hot guys. THIS IS LASTING FULFILLMENT.

So last night I flipped on the Boob Tube and my boo, T, and I started watching Phat Girlz on Oxygen. Intrigued, and yet, also slightly put off by the movie’s title, I thought it would be a hot minute before I turned the channel, but something stopped me. I got sucked in.

For all of you in the dark, Phat Girlz is about three ladies who go on vacation, two of whom are lovely thick women, and one of whom is a tight assed aerobic instructor. They are all surprised when a group of Nigerian doctors at the hotel for a conference introduce them to a different point of view. In Nigeria, they say, the thicker the woman, the richer and more attractive she is thought to be. The aerobic instructor, thong and all, starts getting treated like the ugly chick while the other two are swept off their feet, at which point one of them can’t believe that this hot guy actually likes her and freaks out, sure that his affections are dishonest, and bails.

I related to this movie in two ways:

1. I once had a Nigerian boyfriend too!

And when I told him that usually thick girls are treated like lepers, he didn’t know what I was talking about. He could hardly conceptualize the idea that people would prefer skin and bones to hips and boobs and butts. He thought I was hecka sexy and it felt really good.

2. I still ask my boo, T, if he thinks I’m attractive.

I think he’s super hot, and I often wonder how I get to be with such a beautiful guy. I have never, in my whole life, been skinny. Add to that bad skin when I was a teenager, a few stupid boys treating me awful,  many years being single, jerky comments from jerky jerks every so often, and you know, 24 hour media messages telling me that I am ugly, unhealthy, unattractive, not sexy, and not rich enough, dirty, slobby, unfashionable and pathetic, and you have my crippled self-image. For the longest time I thought I’d never have a date, that no one would ever in a million years want to sleep with me, and I would just be alone and live with my best friend and his lover and whoever else and we’d be like Full House only queer and without any widows. And I was okay with that.

The point I’m dancing around is this. ISN’T THIS FUCKED UP?

It’s fucked that I have spent so many years feeling all these inadequate feelings about myself because this society is so obsessed with LIES! Just looking at the other channels, most of them are dedicated to making yourself feel shitty about yourself, and then trying to sell you something that will make you better. Or trying to make you jealous of a lifestyle you will never have. Or making you buy crap you don’t need because it will lead you to a more fulfilled and happy life.

Lies!

We are all insecure humans, and lots of business feeds off our insecurities. From now on, I’m going to make a dedicated effort to not give a shit how ugly I might seem to some people. I’m going to look in the mirror, say “Hot.” and call it good. I’m also going to tell everyone beautiful I see that they are beautiful, and why. I mean, doesn’t it feel good when someone gives you props? Sometimes it can change my whole mood for a whole day or longer. Why don’t we do this all the time? Why do we have to be jealous and compete and try to bring each other down when we can drive around the city yelling “Hot Stuff!” to people on the street? I think the latter would definitely be more fun. And it would be time spent having fun, instead of just sitting around thinking about all the things that are so wrong about you.

*Not actual tilt-a-whirls, but like, brain spinning media messages and stuff. And it rhymes.

My boo and I went out last night. We drove through dark residential neighborhoods, looking into the lit windows of people’s houses. We drank tall boys on the sidewalk, listening to hipsters name drop and out-cool each other. We drank coffee at our favorite cafe, listening to a lady sing and a man strum his guitar. We listened to Journey in the car and when we got home we watched a movie about an epidemic wiping out 90% of the population of Earth.

I love my boo and I love the apocalypse.

A few months before I met him I was writing a column for  Sustainable Style. I had been watching all these documentaries about peak oil and energy and 2012 Mayan Calendar end of times junk. Sometimes I like to fantasize about the apocalypse. Usually I skip the bad stuff and end up somewhere safe with everyone I love. We build shanties and cabins and grow gardens and live this amazing communal-hippie anarchist-back-to-the-land existence where it’s always spring and everything is wonderful. When I think about all this I look forward to is as a time where I will be released from the confines of having to actually work for money and instead I can just build and grow things and do that whole mutual aid thing, which I’m totally into.

Then I met my boo, T. When he asked me out I invited him to this potluck series I was doing. Every month I would find 6 strangers and invite them to a potluck at my house. I’d sit in the kitchen, serve their courses one by one, and record the conversation they had. So our first date was really me listening to him relate to 5 other complete strangers about life, existence, humanity, philosophy, and experience. At this point, T was a stranger to me. He worked across the street from my shop, and whenever I saw him I got totally drunk by his charisma. Not that he really did anything special, but to me being in his presence was like being next to a pop star I was really into. Like Billy Corgan when I was 13.

In the kitchen, I heard him talk about jumping out of planes, traveling the world, talking to shamans. He whistled the sound of a hawk. He spoke of seeing visions while sick with ameobic dysentary. He talked about the philosophy of the Tao and traded lessons he’s learned about society and human nature with those around the table. It wasn’t just him, everyone at the table had their own piece to add to this night. At the end of the evening a pipe was brought out, all the wine was drunk, and people sat on the stoop smoking and literally singing with each other. It was the best potluck of the summer.

He stood out. We moved in together after a month. It was magic. He would bring me wild flowers and we would sit on the porch for hours looking at the stars and talking about the dragon that appeared every night in the bush across the street, under the streetlamp. He told me about all the different lives he has had, all the things he’s learned and seen and suffered. He even helped me build a shanty in the backyard one Sunday, and we spent the summer living in the backyard, watching movies, eating, sleeping, listening to music. When we didn’t have a barbecue, he made one using a pitchfork, a few bricks, and the rack from the oven. When we got locked into a park all night, he built a big fire and we spent the night talking and watching the trains go by. And when it came time to move, he spent the day cleaning the gutters, washing all the windows, and loaded the truck down the windy staircase all by himself.

And in the back of my mind, I knew. He was the person I wanted with me when the shit hit the fan.

Right now, we live in the city, struggling to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. We spend days in front of our computers, learning, stressing, dealing with clients, and reading. But I dream of the day when the population is wiped out and we are stuck on our own, surviving on what we can do with our two hands.We will be the ones to build a safe haven for those we love. We’ll be really buff from chopping wood and gathering wildflowers and swimming in creeks. We will have an amazing hand built house, delicious hand-grown and gathered food, and all our friends will finally be in bucolic harmony.

But even if that day never comes when the apocalypse strikes, there is still the catastrophe of everyday to manage. And it’s so nice to know that no matter how little or big it is, he is always there, making it a little easier.

Life is definitely more exciting in movies.

There are plots. A developing story. Obstacles that are overcome. Interesting characters. Magical items.

Sometimes my life comes close. There are many times in my life, days where I look at whoever I’m with and say, “Did that really just happen?”

And then there are times in my life when my dreams are far more interesting.

Sometimes there are places I want to be and things I want to do that are just out of my reach. Last October, for my best friend’s birthday, I couldn’t go celebrate with him because he lives in Tokyo and the taxi fare would have been just a little too much. But I was there in spirit. And in my imagination, we went out and had an amazing night.

In Tokyo there is no crime. You can walk around at any time of night and feel completely safe. No one locks their bikes. It’s amazing.

On the night of Justin’s birthday, we woke up and the sun was shining. He lives in this amazing apartment with a sportswear designer roommate, big picture windows, and a tiny back garden with a mini fire pit and a fountain. I sabered open a bottle of champagne and made chocolate chip pancakes and we sat around the garden drinking mimosas and discussing our plan of attack for the day. I promised I would help him spruce up his pad right, so after breakfast we got our goggles and suited up in our white painter jumpsuits before gathering all the paint in the house and starting in.

There’s this great side room in his apartment that opens onto the garden. It’s southfacing, so it gets amazing light all day and we wanted to trap it in and magnify it so got some metallic gold paint and went to work. Before long we got all the ceiling and the walls completely covered in it and it started to look like some crazy egyptian tomb and we had to put on out sunglasses to finish it.

I had made this big drawing of mountains and the sea cascading into this giant pile of brightly colored shapes that were supposed to climb up the walls. We set up the projector and Justin made shadow puppets and danced around to some great funk records while I outlined everything. He started on a ladder at the sky and I started on the floor to paint the ocean and before long we had met on the mountain and climbed up to the crazy shapes. By then it was late and we were exhausted, but we had a ton of stuff to do, so we drank some crazy ass Japanese energy drinks that I swear should have been illegal and I clicked my heels three times and we were on our bikes, flying kites off the back of them through the streets with Justin’s mini ghetto blaster blasting from his basket.

This kind of thing, plus not being Japanese tends to get some attention in Tokyo, and we stopped at lights and struck poses while people on the sidewalk took surreptitious photos on their smartphones.

We went to a friend’s house and she made us some cold noodles and we slurped and slurped while she got ready to go out. This girl is amazing. She has a closet full of wigs and ended up wearing a giant blond beehive with seriously fake lashes and a blue metallic bodysock with platforms built in. She took us to this crazy club that was built to look like a treehouse. You could climb and climb into these little platform rooms and every room had a different drink special. At the top of the fake treehouse was this room that mimicked dawn every 45 minutes and had this infinity pool with, I kid you not, japanese mermaids swimming in it. If you dove in and held your breath, you could go to this totally awesome secret room with one glass wall where you could watch the mermaids swimming, and a deck with a sauna  and a ton of plants that looked out across the city. It was unreal, some weird gateway between jungle and metropolis that totally looked like one of those portals in sci-fi movies to a different universe.

We got lost in the treehouse, and by then we were a little less than coherent, but somehow I remember finding a tiny little door, like in Alice in Wonderland, that set you out into the street. By then we had somehow collected more people and we stopped at a karaoke bar, but after the treehouse club it seemed kind of lame, so we came home instead and put on an impromtu shadow puppet opera with our new friends and a bunch of random japanese opera records we had found mixed with Sun Ra samples before watching the sunrise in the golden room, which was totally bad ass and actually felt like a womb it was so warm from the light.

It was a totally bad ass birthday, even without a birthday cake. It was okay though, because when we finally woke up there was a giant mountain of strawberry cupcakes being carefully constructed in the kitchen. It was almost too beautiful to eat, but then we ate it and omg it was even better.

Birthdays like this are definitely too awesome to not come true sometime soon. I swear. My life is like a movie.

Cindy Crabb's desk

I don’t remember when I got my first issue of Doris zine. I was in high school, and had started going to punk shows at Gilman St. with my sister’s best friend from high school. There were ripped up couches and graffiti all over the walls and people yelling and dancing and smashing into each other. There were little booklets in the shop and my surrogate older sister gave me a bunch of zines, these magazines that real people like me wrote and glued together and photocopied late at night at Kinko’s. I started reading about all these people who did things differently with their lives. They didn’t grow up and buy a house and have kids in the suburbs. They traveled on cheap greyhound bus tickets, putting their fate in the hands of strangers, doing things you weren’t supposed to do like jumping trains and living in tree houses and reading books and planting gardens instead of working. I learned to dance like those kids in the clubs. I learned to yell my heart out and make out on the sidewalk. I learned to cut my own hair and I learned that I didn’t need anyone to tell me that I was good at something to do it. This is what I liked most about punks: they just did what they wanted and made art and music and culture themselves without waiting for permission or approval from anyone.

Somewhere along this path I found Doris zine at the anarchist bookstore by my school. I’d read it on the bus, and it was like I had a new secret best friend. Cindy, who started writing Doris in the early 90s spoke about her adventures. Traveling, running away, reading and trying to teach herself how to do things. She built boats that sank and danced in the rain and bailed water from her flooded tents. She taught me about things I never thought or knew about before, like herbal abortion, learning about your body, questioning society, living outside of meritocracy, anarchism, learning on your own, and doing things for for the sake of doing them instead of waiting or working for praise. Her writing reaches directly from her heart to mine, as she works through all the things good and bad and heartbreaking that happen when you live. She is my greatest role model. I want to be like her, making things with my own two hands, trying to learn even when I think it’s impossible, have courage against any fear to create and make things grow and learn about truth and community and being yourself and healing yourself and understanding other people. Cindy sees the world I see and her writings are a window into this universe I’m always trying to find.

By now, I’ve been reading this zine for 10 years and she has managed still to write in a way that’s so close to my heart I sometimes mistake her for myself.

“I used to worry about – what does it mean to be a real writer? Was I one? Was it good or did it suck? What if I didn’t spend enough time writing? Was I a fake? What if I was stuck? What was the point? I thought there had to be an answer, a key. I read books about writing and books about creating a writer’s life … and I couldn’t figure out, was I real. Was I a real writer or just a fake. Eventually I figured out that the whole question was bullshit. The question “was I a real writer” was part of the competative system I wanted to destroy, where everyone is suppose to strive to do something brand new that’s never been done, to make a mark on history, to be better than everyone else. I didn’t want that shit, so why was I looking to those models for legitimacy. I had to ask questions like – why did I write. and then hold myself accountable to my own reasons and standards.” excerpt from Doris #27 “Writing”

Her words have had such unknowable impact on my growing brain. I probably wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t found her zine. You should read it to, it may change you’re life. Get Doris zines and Anthology here. Buy some for your friends too. And she makes cute skirts you can buy too. And read her blog. She is amazing and has tons of awesome stuff she does.

Carolina Caycedo Bartering out of her Van

This might be kind of convoluted, so just try and stay with me here…

The other day, my mom was having tea with a friend of hers and talking about her recent furniture facelifts. Her couch which she loved so much was getting lumpy looking. My mom works producing instructional sewing videos with this amazing lady Sandra Betzina. Sandra came over one day and said “I must fix your lumpy couch!”. My mom had recently been trading videos with Sandra’s daughter for interior decorating tips. Sandra knew someone who needed an industrial sewing machine, and someone else who had one she wasn’t using.. With the new industrial sewing machine, this lady (who was taking upholstery classes) restuffed and trimmed my mom’s couch to repay Sandra! It was a complete network of goodwill bartering and trading amongst a chain of friends.Now whenever I visit my mom there’s a new pillow or facelifted piece of furniture in her living room.

This bartering idea has always been around in little pockets, but with the economy like it is, it has been gaining steam. That day, as my mom was walking her friend to her car, when she offered the giant refinished room in her basement for me and my boo to live in. We made a big list of all of our skills, and in exchange for helping her however we can, we get an amazing place to be in an amazing location for a ridiculously low rent.

I just read this amazing article about this art project about bartering. Carolina Caycedo drove her van across the country, bartering goods and services for goods and services, and using art galleries as venues for initiating this process. Weeks went by where she did not have to use money, and she met tons of people and had many noteworthy and enlightening experiences. Bartering builds community and helps everyone get what they need. A world with more bartering means that you don’t have to spend all your time working at a job to make money to buy what you like. Instead, you form relationships, do what you love and what you’re good at, and you receive what you need at little expense to those around you. You avoid stressful boss/client/money issues, and you use resources more efficiently.

I think we have to learn to barter more. Craigslist has a barter section. Talk to your friends about what they need. Connect people you know. Look into three way trades. Make a list of skills you have. Be open. Listen. When you’re walking down the street, don’t be so blind about the needs of others around you. This morning, we walked into a coffee shop where the owner and someone else were trying to figure out what was wrong with the front door. My handyman boo, without hesitation, jumped on a chair, evaluated the situation, went and got a tool from our place, made some adjustments, and even started looking up places that would get the door fixed for cheap. By the time we left, the owner had talked my ear off about how amazing he was, gave him a free cookie, and told us that if we ever needed anything we should come to her. On the way to work we saw someone fixing the front door of the building, asked him if he could help and got his card. Now she can hopefully replace a part that costs $10 instead of spending 2k on new doors for her storefront.

The universe flows, and if you open your eyes you can flow along with it. Don’t just take care of you and yours, let’s take care of everyone. Take care of the village.

With that, here is a list of skills we have to barter. If you’re interested, you can contact me at arianna [dot] davalos [at] gmail [dot] com, or comment here. I’m located in San Francisco, and am open to what might come my way.

From Us to You:

Gutters
Window Washing
Painting
Mr. Fix-It
Fix Up Garage
Vehicle Maintenance/Repair
Website Design
Graphic Artist
Online Research
Housesitting
Pet sitting
Administrative Assistant
Copywriter
Video Editing
Video Production
Online Business Strategies
Website Analytics
Cooking
Baking
Art- Painting, Sculpture and Printmaking, Happenings
Decorating
Party Planning
Event Decor
Bad Jokes
Shenanigans
Plant Care
Trained Listener
Music Mixes
Writing

Ideas for From You To Me:

Meals
Muni Fast Passes
Food
Fresh fruit
Tattoo
Massage
Movie, concert or theater tickets
Wine
Books
Invite to a party
Artwork

New Years has come and gone, people have made their resolutions, but today is the real beginning of the year. Today is the first day back from the holidays. The day when everything returns back to normal, you get your ass back in gear, and really put your nose to the grindstone.

I’ve been thinking about resolutions lately. Not really making any myself, but thinking of the ones I’d make if I were to do that sort of thing. There are too many. I want to be healthier, smarter, more beautiful, richer, more productive. I want more friends and more traveling and carousing and more making art and music and movies. But when I start thinking about all the things I’d have to do to make that happen, I feel like I have to change into a totally different person. Then I get self-righteous and tell myself I’m just fine the way I am and there’s no reason I should change, even though I know it might help me somehow. It’s not easy to convince myself to do stuff I don’t want to do. Practically impossible. So I’m trying to think of a way to have resolutions without having resolutions. If there was some way to trick myself into changing, without me knowing, I’d definitely be more successful at it.

Then I started thinking, why do we have to have all these resolutions go into effect at the same time anyway? What if we just chose alternate weeks for the resolutions that we really want to do but are too hard? This week I’ll work out a bunch. Next week I’ll eat healthier, the week after that, no TV! But then that starts to seem like I’m punishing myself for not finishing my homework or something.

I think the real problem lies in blaming oneself for the things that are undone, or the ways in which we are lacking. I am not perfect, but I’m tired of thinking about all the ways in which I’m not perfect. I’m tired of the anxiety that makes me feel like people are judging me, and makes me give up to quickly. I’m tired of never believing that I’m moving forward. I’m tired of feeling ho-hum.

So. I think my New Years Resolution has to be to be really lovely to myself. To treat myself like a hot broad on a first date. To pamper and care for and love and treasure myself so I feel like I’m worth something, and can do whatever I want, no guilt, no judgments.

Song of the Day: Whole Wide World – Wreckless Eric

No one needs me to tell them that friends are amazing. The best ones are those that you can call out of the blue, reach out across miles of mountains and ocean, across years of silence or sporadic conversation, to be right back where you once were. Comfortable and easy, safe, excited, relieved.

These last few years have been hard on my psyche. Thought-worms carved villages in my brains, keeping me scared, confused, angry, anxious, and frenzied. Amidst the ongoing fight to wrest my brain from the grips of my trampled, aching ego, a miracle happens.

She: I have a favor to ask you. It’s really big.

Me: Anything you want.

She: I’m starting a goat farm co-op. I just rented a cottage in the middle of nowhere. My house needs to be blue and I need a place to put the goats. Wanna come help me?

Me: (is on her way to the airport)

Shall I mention that this sunchild’s cottage in the middle of nowhere is also on an island (one of a grouping) that is the furthest place from any other landmass you can go to? If I needed to get away (which I definitely did), this is the furthest from everywhere that I could get. Maui.

I left in time to watch the sun setting over the ocean on the way to LA, and arrived at the island in pitch darkness before making the long drive along unlit expanses of highway. It felt like some surreal universe-transportation journey. Enter darkness. Add time and wind and when you wake up, you will be in paradise.

In paradise you can lounge. You can eat ice cream any time you want, and siesta time is whenever you choose. There is a universal whirlpool bath that tumbles you around, with built in bath salts and natural foot pumice. The sun seeps through your pores like syrup and turns your skin the color of glowing. The wind sings to you wherever you go and braids your hair and blows you home again.

We would wake up at dawn, our most productive time of day, and be done with all our work and at the beach by brunch time. We ate when we wanted, slept when we were tired, talked when we felt like talking, and kept silent when our thoughts started to flow. There were happy days and bad days and it wasn’t until the last few days that I felt something inside start to change.

All that chatter, the anxiety. The what, how, when, who, by what means. The “am I happy now? how about now? how about now?” started to fade away. I started to feel more at home in my body. I started to feel like there was something in this world I could enjoy. I started to feel like I could do anything again. Because I could.

We didn’t work a lot. But we pounded posts. We planted seeds. We made a home. We cooked and cleaned and hung out laundry to dry in the sun. We made green smoothies. We listened to our hearts. We were honest. We rested. We recognized what was coming in and what was coming out. We talked and realized we were both equally crazy. And in that realization, it had less power.

Sometimes friends can save your life, but it’s much better when you can save each other.

And now I feel excited. Relaxed. Optimistic, but mostly just open. Free. The chatter is gone and I am so thankful. For you and me, for everyone, for time, for place, for nothing and everything all at once.