Hatching Plans

by

Now, when I say making plans, I hear in my own head, trying to figure it out.

Thus, in an effort to shake the crazy out my head I offer them here to you, my loyal readers and friends.  Here are all my kookoo ideas for Paris, travel, my life and beyond.

First, enter every single contest out there.  I mean, why can’t I be the next Publisher’s Clearing House winner?

Wouldn’t that be a fucking hoot?  Except they would probably get lost on the way to finding my entrance to the room.  They would show up at my front door and hand over some big over sized check and some one would take it (like my shoes that I mysteriously never got) and then, they would have a big party and I would be ducking out in the middle of it annoyed with the noise, to ride my bike to work ignorant of having just won 10 MILLION DOLLARS!

I also briefly considered offering to nanny at Burning Man for frequent flyer miles.  I do not honestly know where the hell this idea came from, I have a fount of them, but while it was happening, I got really excited.  Really, really excited.

“Really excited” has begun to be a cue for me.  Really excited means not really realistic.

I explained to some one last night, when they upon being asked how they were doing responded pretty happy, that it was “awesome”.

He replied by saying that he was” happy,” not awesome, and wanted some excitement, some more awesome.

Ah, not I said the fly, I associate happy with quiet and serene now.  I can get the same exact feeling from excitement as I do from anxiety.  Or for that matter adrenaline.  These are not always actually the kinds of states I want to be in.

I had this gorgeously exquisite series of moments walking up 24th street toward Diamond, noticing the scents of flowers, the feel of leaves as I brushed my hands over them, the textures of the walls, the coolness of the wind as it scattered before me brisk with that first edging taste of fog.

There was no excitement in these moments, but there was a gentle sonorous quality to my thoughts and my movement.  I felt awake and present and delicious with the sensory awareness of the moment.

This is happiness.

Another idea I had been to couch surf again for the last few months I would be in San Francisco.  I mean I did it for months already, why not again.

But it seems manipulative, petty, and tawdry.  Like, hey, friends, I want to save some money before my big move, so put me up on the cheap, ok?

Ah, not so much.

Another idea: be an in-house nanny for some family that will put me up.  I would be a night and weekend care taker in exchange for board.  Then I would not have to pay rent for the last couple months either.

That also feels weird, hey, put me up and I’ll watch your kid for rent.  I don’t know so much about that one either.

Throw a going away party and set up a donation jar.

E-mail every single person I know and give them my Pay pal account and say “surprise me”.

Every single “idea” comes down to asking for money and not doing shit for it.

Hey, look at me, I’m following my dream, now pay for it, will you?

I briefly went and priced out a round trip ticket to Paris as per  Barnaby’s suggestion.  I got a decent look-see around $976.  I don’t want to spend that much.

Yeah, well, no shit, no body wants to pay to travel, but ultimately that is what we do.

Unless I decide, as I heard discussed this evening, to hook up with some guy that has a lot of money and wants to fly me about, and I’m not attractive to him, what harm could that really do?

I look at her and said, “sounds like prostitution, but hey, if you’re down with that, hit it.” I know this, because I have had those same thoughts, and have had some one point them out for the bull shit it was.

Which is actually the reason behind throwing all these garbage thoughts out of my head and onto the “page”.  Some times just writing it out and seeing it helps get the frivolous out of my brain.

It also shows me that I am having a lack faith when I resort to these flights of fancy.  Magical thinking and fear, linked hand in hand.

Fantasy.

Fact is, I don’t want to live in fantasy.  Fantasy won’t get me to Paris.  Doing the foot work will.

One small step, finding out how much a round trip ticket costs.

Another small step, making the decision to buy that ticket with my next paycheck.  I can do that.

It will help me with two things.  First it will entirely slay the fantasy magic candyland crap I got going on in my reptilian brain about going to Burning Man.  Having dropped a grand on a ticket will definitely take any of the possibility of going to the playa out of my hands.

Oh, yeah, and a ticket will also mean I am going to Paris.

Holy shit.

I am going to Paris.

I noticed a subtle shift recently, when I write my morning pages I add affirmations, shut it Stuart Smiley, and I started writing I am moving to Paris as opposed to I am going to move to Paris.

I believe in affirmations and I believe in visualizations.

These are distinctly different from magical thinking, fantasy thinking, slot coin lotto jackpot delusions.  The affirmations are a constant and steady reminder that I have goals and that goals involve step work and doing the deal.

The problem and the solution are completely separate.

I want to be a brilliant, prolific, well paid writer.

I don’t just get offered a book contract because I am cute?  I mean I should, shouldn’t I?

Nope.

I do the god damn writing.  I write when I am tired.  I write when it’s raining, when it’s sunny, when I have a lover, when I don’t have a lover.  The writing must be the action and some point will come, generally when I am not paying attention, because I am enjoying the process when I realize–oh hey, look at that, I am prolific.

I am brilliant.

In my own mind, but hey, that’s a start.

I am published.

Even if it’s just a blog.

And the well paid?

That is the kicker.  I am so well paid I almost cannot stand it.  I am paid with the serene, quiet moments when I am in the flow and I my fingers seem to fly of their own accord over the keyboard and I become a channel for thoughts and ideas and words that I don’t even know I know–the tumultuous overflow of poetry and windfall of luscious words.  I am paid with the peace that comes in between the spaces of each word, the indents in the paragraphs.  I am paid with each complete line and sentence.

I am paid.

Paid well.

I am abundant and prosperous and taken care of.

I get to drop the plans and move on doing just this–writing, living, sleeping, breathing, dancing, moving to Paris.

One paycheck at a time.

Faith.

It means walking through the figuring it out baloney and having the experience of really doing something even when it does not feel like those actions will pan out.

I do it any way and I always discover, always, that the plans I have made are not nearly as amazing as what actually happens when I show up and do the work instead of pandering to the fantasy.

No pander, no prostitution, no self-propulsion.

Hell, what do I have left after that?

I don’t know, but I know this, the best is yet to come.

God damn that is good.

The best is yet to come.

AWESOME.

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