Posts Tagged ‘wealth’

All Systems Go

August 22, 2017

Fuck.

It was a busy, full, going on all four cylinders from the moment I got up, day, from early morning until.

Well.

Until.

Right about now.

I just got off an email back and forth with director of my internship, did a bunch of e-mails with some clients, booked some sessions, logged my hours for today in Track My Hours, and whew.

It’s like um, 10p.m.

I got up at 6:30 a.m.

That’s a full day.

I got some writing in today though, I hadn’t gotten as much morning page writing in the last week or so and it was really good to just let go on the page and scrawl away.

I also showered yesterday so I skipped it this morning, giving me a little more time to process all the junk in my head.

I don’t even know what I wrote, only that it felt good to write.

And.

I did a written gratitude list and sent another out to a friend via text.

I’m on a list he sends it to and I like getting it.

Not just because it reminds me to be grateful, it definitely does that, but to see what other people are grateful for.

I am grateful for everything.

My life is beyond my wildest dreams.

Sometimes it is strange and I wonder, how did I get here, but I know there are no mistakes in God’s world and I am being taken care of and having all the experiences I am supposed to be having.

Like being of service to the woman I am traveling with to Burning Man.

I am still having some trepidations about going with someone who is 74 years old, but I also am happy that I get to be of service to her.

It’s a nice to be of service to others, it gets me out of my head, and if you’ve never been to Burning Man it is super hard to imagine and of course, if you’re 74 there’s a different approach you’re going to make than if you are 24 or my age, 44.

How did I get to be 44?

Fuck.

Time flies.

I suppose I will look back in 30 years and wonder how it is that I got to be 74.

I’m going to be old.

I know it.

I also hope to be of service all the way to the end of my life.

I believe that’s the only way that I am going to be happy, by having a useful life, by helping others, it gives me happiness, it gets me out of my own head and I got to do a lot of it today.

I had a few phone check ins, one lady who I just recently met, and got to share some experience, strength and hope with her and although we are vastly different, we are the same person and it was good to hear how relieved she was to know that she’s not alone in her journey.

I got to talk with one of the other women I work with in recovery and I also got to see clients tonight.

And.

I worked with my supervisor.

I also got to go over my review with him, which was really enlightening and I got a better idea of how he thinks of me and what I am doing and that he also, although he didn’t exactly say it, likes me.

We had a great session and I learned a ton from him today.

I often feel as though I am taking a solo masters class in psychoanalytic theory when I am working with him.

I write a ton of notes and I can hear him in my head sometimes when I am with a client.

It’s exciting to work with him, he pushes me, he’s extraordinarily smart and intelligent, and I feel smart when I am working with him.

I like feeling smart.

I have always understood that I was intelligent, but the smart part of that eludes me, I have been mystified most of my life as to what people meant when they say, “you are so smart.”

I haven’t always felt that way.

Smart.

In fact.

I have often felt rather stupid, stupid in love, stupid in my life choices, idiotic some of the decisions I have made, or so I tell myself, but oh, the learning, the learning is so much.

I have such a wealth of experiences.

Mostly because I try to say yes to doing things.

Sometimes to my detriment, I’ll get too busy, I will get to wrapped up with my schedule and I won’t have the time to appreciate what is happening.

I try to find balance.

I don’t often succeed, but I try.

And I’m ok with failing.

Ah.

Who the fuck am I kidding.

I am never ok with failing, but I recognize that I am going to fail and that I will try again and again until it works its way out, whatever it is.

I guess what I am saying is that I live.

I am not sitting on the bleachers, I am in the game.

I am hustling.

Sometimes perhaps a little too much, but I know that it’s what it is right now.

And that all the things I did, mistakes, which were not mistakes, life experiences, travels, moving to Paris, moving back from Paris, trying things out, has led me here.

Right where I am supposed to be.

With the people in my life with whom I am supposed to be with.

Such gifts.

Such grace.

I didn’t expect it to look like this.

But.

I have to say.

It is a beautiful thing.

My life.

So beautiful.

My heart aches with it.

Grateful beyond words.

And now.

One more gratitude list before I retire.

Because.

Truly.

There is that much to be grateful for.

Every day.

Grateful.

Every damn day.

God Damn!

June 6, 2016

She shouted as she got onto the beach.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” she squealed wrapping her bare arms around herself.

I chuckled inside.

I was wearing leggings, a long sleeve shirt dress, cardigan, and my hoodie, one of the four in my closet, yo.

Yeah.

I was rocking the flip flops, but I don’t like sand in my shoes, I get that enough at work with the boys when we go to the playground.

This is not, of course, the first time I have heard such an exclamation from some one getting off the N-Judah at the end of the line.

Welcome to the Sunset.

It’s fucking cold out here.

My heater is on.

Not on high, but it’s on.

I just got back in from my second, yes, second, bike ride of the day.

Neither one of them was real long, but they both got my heart rate up, and it was quite nice to come home to my cozy, good smelling, little home and turn up the heat a little to warm up the studio.

I was thinking today, why hasn’t some one started a sweatshirt stand out here?

I mean, seriously, I might make a mint.

Or you’d think San Fran Psycho would open a pop up or something at the end of the train line, just would hoodies and hats and probably some scarves.

They’d make bank.

I saw another gaggle of girls, who from the talk sounded like they were coming from the sacred inner city warmth of the Mission district, bleat like small lambs to the slaughter as the minced up the dunes toward the beach in bikinis and cut off shorts.

“It’s so cold!”

And repeat.

I had a nice little day in my neighborhood.

Despite waking up with dread on my chest like a weight of demise and ruin.

What the fuck?

I had a fantastic night last night, why the anxiety, the dread?

Well I know.

I have that thing upstairs that likes to ruin shit for me, my brain, that is.

So.

I just did what I do best.

The next thing in front of me.

And a lot of writing this morning.

I finished up my notebook that I bought in Paris at the Palais de Tokyo over Christmas when I was there visiting.

I opened up my Brooklyn notebook.

Or I suppose, I should say, my New York notebook.

Which I had bought when my friend and I hit the Strand.

A very dangerous place for me to be considering my fondness for the written word.

I did get sucked in, I did, until I realized that I could buy any and all of the books that I had in my hand in San Francisco, and that the weight of the books would not be fun in my suitcase on the way home.

I bought, rather, notebooks, some stickers, a magnet, and today I opened up one of those notebooks.

It was the one I had started when I was staying at the Air BnB in Clinton Hill.

The one that I slapped the Gorilla Coffee sticker on.

I also, happily, glue sticked my Paul Simon ticket from last night’s show in there too.

I have ticket stubs from the Brooklyn Museum, the MOMA, the New Whitney.

A postcard I got at the MOMA of a Warhol Marilyn with a pink background.

Stickers from the Brooklyn Museum.

The business card, which was really a clever word balloon cut from a book, from the art studio I got the private tour of, Doug Beube, as well as the business card from Mat Moreno [sic] which looks like a Metro card, who gave me the tattoo at Three Kings Tattoo in Green Pointe.

I also have their sticker.

There’s a few other things in there and I am always so grateful that I do that, scrap book a little, they are sweet, small tokens of my time.

So.

Yes.

Lots of writing.

Then some phone calls to my people.

It always helps to just drop a message and say, I know I’m being crazy, my brain wants me to have things to do, stuff to ruminate on, all I have to do today is show up to the 7:30 p.m. thing up at St. Gabe’s and just take the rest of the day as it comes.

One moment at at time.

And it all works out.

I think, no, I know, God damn it, I am getting old, that part of my unease was sleeping in as “late” as I did.

Gah.

I remember sleeping until 5p.m. before and rushing to get myself to the bar to work by 6p.m.

Not any more.

10 a.m. is sleeping in.

10:30 a.m.

Fuck.

That’s heresy.

I screwed my whole day.

That was the story, oh fuck off narrative, I was telling myself, I had wasted the day already, even before it had begun.

Might as well just make it a rotten one.

Wait.

Stop.

Pause.

Breathe.

Pray.

Try again.

Call another person.

Ask how they are doing.

Go buy some groceries up the street.

Then.

Oh.

Novel idea.

Cook the food.

Ha.

I actually made a really fucking delicious dish today, I haven’t made it in a long time and I must be craving something, because it was calling.

Basically I made a sort of stew.

Turmeric seasoned brown rice with a little olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper.

And.

Chicken, shrimp, and mussels sauteed in their own juices with a little garlic, chopped onion, Basil, Oregano, Parsley, lots of sea salt, I like things salty, ahem.

Then I threw in four green zucchinis chopped up with a can of black olives and some crushed tomatoes and let it simmer in the pot on the stove.

It was hella good.

I froze some and put up the rest for meals at work this week.

Love taking care of myself.

Although.

There, it snuck in, for just a moment, man I wish I was cooking for someone.

Ok now.

Stop it.

I hate this trope my disease likes to throw out.

It has not been working for me lately though, I’m like, over you, shut up, move on, been there, done that.

I recalled my conversation with my friend last night after the Paul Simon show and how sometimes the solution is just to do some fucking exercise.

Yes.

Hop on the bike.

I took a short bicycle ride and felt much better.

And.

Yes.

There is an afternoon yoga class.

Sign up for it.

Ok.

And fuck it.

So what if it’s grey, take a walk to the beach.

I was on the beach for an hour, talked with the moms for a half hour, did my daughterly duties, and then I collect sand dollars like pennies from heaven.

Seriously.

I have never found so many whole sand dollars on a walk on the beach.

I could set up a sand dollar and sweat shirt shop on the beach if I don’t make it through grad school.

She sells seashells by the seashore.

I found nine or ten and some pretty stones and sea glass.

I picked out the ones that pleased me the most and put the rest back for some one else to happily discover.

I got back here.

Hopped into my yoga clothes.

Got on the mat and got happy.

Then a hot shower, God, I swear, is a hot shower.

And.

Dinner was a repeat of the delicious.

Then, yeah, fuck it, ride the bike up to St. Gabe’s.

And like that.

My day.

Two bike rides, cooking, writing, long walk on the beach, ahem, collecting shells (yeah, I am a girl like that, shut up), yoga, and doing the deal.

Even when my head tells me, lies to me really, that my life is not enough.

It so obviously is.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

Warm and cozy.

Down by the sea.

Wrapped up in my music and the love of the day.

Nigh y’all.

Happy Sunday.

It was smashing.

Seriously.

And More of This

June 9, 2014

More sitting with my leg elevated.

More frozen peas draped across the ankle.

More ibuprofen.

More needing and accepting help.

I got two phone calls nearly back to back this morning about going to an event.

One to see if I was going and the other to see if I wanted a ride.

I said no, I don’t think so, I think I won’t, I don’t think I will, thanks for the offer, I will let you know if I should change my mind.

Then I listened to the voicemail that was on my phone while I had been engaged in the other conversation, realized I did need to go to said event, show up, smile, be happy, participate in another’s joyful experience, bear witness to the struggles and victories of the journey.

Plus, I was just a soupcon away from the self-pity party and I knew it would help get me out of it.

I returned the phone call, said, yes, of course I will be there, love you.

Then got back on the horn and called my first gal back and said, I changed my mind, yes, please, I would love a ride, thank you.

Duh.

That’s what this is about, getting and being connected and not isolating.

Though truth be told I have been isolating the injury from one person;  it was a challenge to tell my mom, I hadn’t told her until today.

Something challenging about being 41 and for a brief moment, just wanting to have the comfort of mom, but that’s a fantasy comfort and I knew it.

I also knew mom’s got her own deal going on and she’s not really capable of helping, so accepting that, but not withholding information, which I have been doing, was one of the many thoughts that went through my mind before I called.

It was the scenario I expected.

“No worries mom,” I said, “should you suddenly have bag loads of cash, you send some my way, but until then just take good care of yourself, and I will take care of myself.”

I mean, I am 41 after.

And though my severe sprain has me scared and a bit more needy and vulnerable that I should like, it’s got nothing on the double knee and double hip replacement surgeries my mom has to have.

Let me have some perspective.

She was concerned though about me missing work.

You and me both, mom.

Today, though, I am still in the not worrying about it mode.

I heard that I will still have financial insecurities, but that I won’t have the fear of financial insecurities.

I like that.

I am having some financial insecurity, but the fear is not as bad as it’s been in the past.

I also recall a time, about nine years ago, when I had absolutely nothing and I had a bad lower back injury that led me to being out of work for five months, when I had the tiniest amount of workman’s comp coming to me.

When I didn’t have rent paid or food or MUNI passes or money to put in the bus fare slot.

I was still taken care of.

Things happened.

I got asked to edit a book on Russian politics by a professor at Berkeley, and was written a check for $500, which (sigh, not any longer, but it was enough then) covered my rent, the day before it was due.

The places I went that had free cookies and coffee, I relied on that for some time.

The money always came.

The help always arrived.

I was taken care of.

I was taken care of when I got hit walking across the street at Valencia and Market and was already on a leave of absence from work that was not covered by my health insurance.

Or so I thought.

There had been a mistake in closing down my Cobra and I was accidentally assigned insurance for another month.

The bill from the emergency room visit, ambulance ride, and MRI was $10,000.

I ended up paying $100.

The only difference between then and now is that I can look back and see I was carried.

What I have to, let me re-phrase, what I get to do, is continue to ask for help.

“You are really helping me, by letting me help you,” my friend told me last night.

I believe her, I know how good an altruistic turn can make me feel.

I know when my friend down the block needed some things taken care of, how good it felt to lend a hand.

I know that.

Still I struggle to let go the reins of “I’ve got this” and surrender to the idea that maybe, well, not even maybe, it’s a complete affirmative, “I don’t got this”.

I really can’t do this without help.

My ride picked me up today and took me to the event.

I saw wonderful, sweet people who I don’t often get to see, got to sing a great big happy birthday to the celebrant and give her a huge hug and thank her for being in my life and letting me witness her growth.

I got to shut up about myself for a moment.

I also got to admit when I was done, when the ibuprofen wore off and I needed to come home and ice it down with more frozen peas.

I made it two hours.

Getting up the steps nearly did me in.

I laughed as I was struggling up that had I known I would have not come.

Funny that, I have been to the house before and knew she had stairs, I had forgotten, and I am glad I did.  It was good to see and be seen.

Tomorrow I will do the same.

Accept help and be picked up and carried over to 7th and Irving for an hour.

I got to keep letting people help.

Even if it’s by telling myself that I am helping them by letting them help me.

It’s convoluted.

But so simple, really.

And I will play it forward.

I will.

I have to, my experience getting through this will help someone else doing the same thing and my experience is where my true wealth is.

I need not be in fear of not having enough.

I have great abundance in my life.

My experience tells me so.

 

 

And I’m In

March 14, 2014

Yay.

The interwebs are now accessible to me in my own home.

First world problems.

I had started a blog in my MacWord application on my laptop, as I was not getting in, oh, my computer said I had access, the little doohickey at the top said I had all access, but no, I still couldn’t log into my OkStupid profile.

Just kidding.

It was a bit frustrating, then, bingo, I’m in.

Sigh.

It’s nice to be back home doing my writing, doing my blogging, doing that thing that straightens me out.

I have to do this because I realize that I need a daily reprieve from the idiocy of my thoughts, which last night launched into a litany of “you’re losing your looks and going to be alone forever”.

First off, head full of garbage, anyone who is in it with you solely for your looks is going to be really boring after oh, 30 minutes.  I don’t want someone who is in it only for how I look.

I offer a whole lot more than that.

And my looks, why, yes, they are going to fade and that’s not a bad thing, I could use a little softening, a little wearing down of the edge.

Anyway, what the blog does is help me get it out of my head and when I see it in a straight line, the thinking, the thought patterns, it helps me to break them down and see the fallacy of the thoughts.

I am not my thinking.

I am my actions.

I remind myself of this yet again and thank God that I have this outlet.

Even when no one is reading them.

My blog stats went way down again.

Why of course, it’s been sexy sexy weather in San Francisco, everyone is at the park making out.

It’s spring and it’s nice.

I saw a quartet of hipsters in the park today as I took my little girl Thursday to the playground at Alamo Square, and thought, how cute, one six-pack for four guys.

Hello.

Are you kidding me, where’s the rest?

One six-pack.

Four guys.

Does not compute.

At least for me.

They’re just normal dudes out sunning their well manicured facial hair on the hillsides of San Francisco with their Pacifico six-pack and casual air of nonchalant, what work ma?  We’re just hanging out waiting to inspire folks to buy our app.

Ah San Francisco.

You’re still home to a lot of weirdo’s, I see more than my fair share of them due to circumstances beyond my control, but they seem to be edging out further and further.

“Do you live out here?” She asked me at the cafe.

I nodded affirmatively, “46th between Judah and Irving, inlaw studio I rent from a friend.”

“I can’t afford to live anywhere else,” she said, “I’m afraid to move.”

Aren’t we all?

You got a place that has decent to tolerable rent, you are staying.

I know a lot of folks getting creative about their living situation and I just thank my lucky stars that I get to be here, now with internet, safe and sound, with the sea down the road and the city as my back drop.

I do sometimes think it would be nice to be somewhere that gets more sunshine, there’s not a lot of natural light in here, but it’s not bad and there is some and it’s not the dark little space I had when I was in Paris.

Last night I was waxing a bit nostalgic about my time in Paris, flipping through some photographs on my laptop before bed time, I ran out of reading material, I need to go to the library post-haste or to the book store, and with no internet I was browsing through the photos.

I suddenly forgot the cold, the dreary, the dark, and the wet and was romantically swept away into fantasy about when I move back.

And I might.

You never know.

But I will always, no matter what, keep a home in San Francisco.

I don’t foresee moving anytime soon, either, it was more than thought of, I could see doing some retirement time there, with a long stay visa, and no money worries.

That really is the only way I want to experience Paris again.

I mean, yeah, there’s a certain romance to the starving artist thing, but the reality of living on apples and packets of peanuts is not how I want to go again.

I can say I was a writer in Paris living on a shoe string, hopes, and dreams, and have a plethora of experience to back it up.

And now,  can see how I want to move forward into whatever incarnation of myself is next.

Frankly I would like to make some money.

I would like to not only have a scooter, but, yes, a car.

I want to take road trips–Utah, Wyoming, Montana, camping out under the stars, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, a drive up to Alaska–and one needs a car for that.

Preferably a Jeep Wrangler 4.0 Sport in Midnight Blue.

Just saying.

I am not dissatisfied with what I have at all.

I am just ready for the next move forward.

I see it all around me and despite my disdain of certain attitudes and lifestyles, I do want to partake of the abundance that is here.

I mean if the dudes in the park with their Pacifico can make it work, why the hell not I?

Then again, I have a purpose, and I know what that purpose is and I suspect that as long as I keep that close to my heart and deep in my routine, I won’t be dropped.

I shall always be taken care of.

I will always have wealth, prosperity, love.

Of self.

Of fellows.

This, my true blessing, internet or no, blog or no, money or no money, there’ s a reason for me, I have a purpose.

That’s why I blog.

Right there.

To remember that.

I have purpose.


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