Choice

In the end, there is always choice.

It is the stripping away of non-essentials that allows this truth to be revealed. Once the “problem” of choosing what clothes to wear to work has been resolved because there no longer is a job to go to, what remains is the choice of how to live each moment of one’s life, especially when snowbound in a little cabin with only two cats for company.

Remove the reason for a choice and all that is left is the meaning of it. That is when choosing becomes glorious.

One liners

I used to think that my son carried my salvation in his back-pocket like the long lost key to my front door that he found one day while rummaging through the junk drawer for a rubber band to keep his hair out of his face.

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True self-expression was once reserved for times when I’ve needed to save myself, when it was better to be wrong than obliterated.

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We glide beneath the surface of the water, like ancient sea serpents daring only on rare occasions to lift our eyes above the glassy barrier, and then only when we cannot stand the loneliness any longer.

Living Alone, Chapter 2

The trouble with living alone is that there's no one to stand between you and your loneliness - it must be confronted. Time and again I ask myself, What am I making this mean, that I sleep alone every night, that I watch romantic movies with no one's arms around me, that I feel this deep longing for a man's touch, a strong hand to simply brush the hair out of my eyes?

I'll tell you what it does not mean. It does not mean that I am unworthy or unlovable. It does not mean that there is something wrong with me or that I will be alone for the rest of my life. It doesn't even mean that I must change in order to be desirable, yet my fear makes me believe all those things and more. I stumble on the lies of a child too often made the scapegoat for a parent's misery.

I have spent the better part of 54 years polishing myself up that I might be acceptable, that I might be judged as worthy of love. Both of my parents have long been dead so there is no one to tell me if I'm shiny enough. No one but me. But, it isn't a matter of assessing whether or not I've proven myself, whether or not I've used enough elbow grease in my polishing. What is needed is simply the truth: I have only ever been human.

So, I will put down the jeweler's rouge and take a good look in the mirror. I will tell the truth about the woman I see there; I will say that she is an honest and caring soul. I will see and say that she is someone I appreciate, someone I want to listen to and walk beside. And when I do, I will know that it is enough just to be with myself.

Living Alone, Chapter 1

As of Sept. 27 I've been living alone for the very first time in my life. There's certainly a lot to like about it: no one sitting in my favorite chair or turning off my music or eating the chicken I was saving for lunch. But, these are just the petty annoyances of living with another (a teenage child to be specific). The real joys of living alone for me are found in moments of deep thought and self-reflection, in blissful endorphin baths that I seem to experience only when perfectly and utterly in communion with myself, my whole self and nothing but myself.

I've made discoveries within and embraced new ways of being in the world at large. I've learned that in seeing and knowing myself I have also experienced loving myself, something that has eluded me for years. You can't just say, "I love myself," and have it be true. And it isn't enough to take good care of myself, to have strong boundaries, or to put myself first even; none of those things have ever made a difference for me. But, rather it was opening my eyes to see the woman I am, allowing my heart to acknowledge the truth, understanding that it is neither ego to know one's goodness nor humility to deny it - these are the changes I've made in myself.

These are my new choices and they have delivered the sweetest love I could ever hope to know.

Touch

I don't mind admitting that it's been a very long time since I've had a significant romantic relationship. Sure, I've dated guys for three, maybe four months, but nothing compelling has ever developed. And while I could easily ponder the reasons for this lack of noteworthy relationship over the past, oh, twelve years, that wasn't what sent me to my blog page this evening. It was touch … or, more specifically, the lack of it … the lack of the simple sensation of skin on skin. Fingertips, arms, toes, lips, heads on shoulders, cheeks on chests, leaning, grazing, caressing.

It's all too easy for me to complain about the ways I suffer from lack of sex, and I have, believe me (and just for the record, no sex is infinitely more tolerable than bad sex). But, tonight my mind was recalling how the simple trailing of a finger inside the palm of my hand would easily and quickly flood my brain with endorphins and how a simple shoulder to shoulder lean could relax my body from head to toe.

It just feels good to touch, and be touched by, another human being.

I pet my cat, but it's not the same.

Trust

Trust is such a challenge for me. I go along believing that I'm trusting someone or something only to find out that I never really did, that I had been silently waiting for the inevitable let down.

I want to trust, really I do. And I try to be open and friendly and even vulnerable. It doesn't require any courage at all for me to bare my soul to others; I can do it without blinking an eye. It's believing that it will make any difference in how open and vulnerable they are in return that is the problem here. And ultimately it's about trusting that they won't betray me in their effort to protect themselves from harm, real or imagined.

It doesn't feel good to admit that I don't have faith in very many people, but there it is. Maybe people are afraid to risk being themselves, afraid of being judged, rejected, belittled. I am, too, but every once in a while I try - I reach out my hand, my heart, my hope. Knowing how satisfying it is to connect with another human being on a truly intimate level, I cannot give up completely.

I know that to be accepted one must be accepting, to be loved one must be loving. Could it be that in my not trusting, I am not trusted? Is it true that my waiting for the let down actually precipitates it?

Have I not inspired faith that I can and will love you when you bare your own soul to me? Can I tell you now that I will, I really will? Is that enough for us to try?

Photography Show!

You are cordially invited!! There will be two distinct bodies of work being exhibited, "Light" and "Shadows."

Artist's Statement for "Light"

My photographic art allows me to indulge my love of bold color while pushing the envelope of realism. I am motivated to repaint my world in new shades through the interplay of natural subjects clothed in unnatural hues. In this series, the colors of my digital photographs are enriched to produce images which reveal the dynamic of nature’s intensity, otherwise lost to the casual observer. In creating art that requires the viewer to interact with the work, I force the eye to search for value and definition thereby discovering my subject’s secret life as art.

Artist's Statement for "Shadows"

Think of all the descriptive labels you may have ever used to identify a teenager, perhaps someone you knew or simply saw hanging out downtown: punk, freak, slacker, druggie, jock, goth, slut, bitch, flake, etc., labels you‘ve used in thinking and speaking of them; labels that may have served as barriers to keep you safe from them, which may have identified you as superior to them or at least as being different from them and they from you.

Now recall the labels that were used on you as a teenager: weirdo, jock, brain, egghead, momma’s boy, juvenile delinquent, teacher’s pet, bum, stuck-up, whatever it was – we all had them.

As you stand before these images fill your mind with all of these limiting labels … then look into their faces. Do you see an emotion you’ve felt, a pain you’ve carried, a freedom you’ve longed to know? Can you bridge the gap between you and them?

PS: This is one of the reasons I haven't posted a blog for a while.

Hot Stuff

Another RISD alum, Preston Hubbard was part of The Fabulous Thunderbirds (bass) in the '80's . This video also features Duke Robillard on rythm, who founded Roomful of Blues (of which Hubbard was also a member at one time) in my home state of Rhode Island. Duke is, in my opinion, one of the best guitarists I have ever seen. I fondly recall the bad ol' days when I used to go down to Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel in Providence to listen and dance to some of the hottest blues around.

Life During Wartime

Fellow RISD alums.

The Gift of Kimbo

I spent the better part of this morning with a good friend, someone with whom I can be myself, for better or worse. Kim is a delightful and nurturing woman, dedicated to her own growth and a light-bearer for others who are fortunate enough to find themselves within her sphere of influence.

She came to me from Oregon two years ago, an art educator who made the courageous decision to return to school in order to pursue a doctorate degree at Montana State University. We connected immediately, being of like mind and temperament, and have become oases for one another. This weekend it was I who made the call, in the hopes of fending off an incapacitating vegetative state and, as luck and friendship would have it, she was eager and willing to meet for morning tea.

Conversations between Kim and I are always meaningful and restorative; we openly share ourselves and gratefully receive the other. It is with this dear friend that I can safely shine a light on the darkened corners of myself and with whom I feel more beautiful and ageless than a starry Montana sky. Today was no different: I started out confessing over chai in a coffee shop and ended up rejoicing on top of Peet’s Hill, basking in the warmth of sunlight and unconditional friendship.

I wish I had more friends like Kim; she is a kind and loving soul who affords me occasions to be kind and loving in return. These are the marks of a true friend, I think, to bring out the best in us and then to hold the mirror that we may see our own beauty and light.