Ahhhh, a reprieve from insanity!

I feel so optimistic and light that I don't want anything to disrupt my June zen. Today I ran a couple of miles through the city streets and absolutely absorbed everything around me. So many houses and yards to observe. I literally stopped to smell the masses and masses of roses. It was a sensory explosion.

Perhaps I'm still reeling from my Wednesday concert. It was a first in a very, very long time and it was very, very needed. I saw Danger at the Urban Lounge. Dance floors are such a separate world where one is able to immerse fully into shared feeling and experience. Everyone moves and sways with the beat while closing their eyes to the intangible pulse. I talk a lot about pulses and drums when I write; it's probably because they're such real reverberations. Sometimes they're the only thing that reminds us we're alive.

Whatever the case may be, I feel like everything is ok. I bought this new combination of vitamins and it's ridiculous----ly good. It consists of some B's, some D's and some good ol' fashioned St. John's Wort. I kid you not, I feel a lot of the perks of Adderall without the crazy high (which I love, truly, madly, deeply, but sometimes prefer not to be buzzing all day every day).

But nobody can argue that when life is good, life is GOOD. Sometimes I think about people I've crossed who've turned into jerks, but it takes about 5 seconds to remind myself that I actually need FEWER jerks in my life. More nice people, please. And more guinea pigs. And bunnies named "Puppy." And best friends in the feline form. I love my little animals, oh so much!

Anyway, Topie is wrapping up her year of Kindergarten and as she participates in field days and fun runs, I tell her to live it up, because those 6-year-old memories last a lifetime and you can never do it again. For the most part, I think she listens. She comes home radiating with sunshine and babbles incessantly about her day. Her energy is amusingly exhausting. I want to tell her to sprint a few laps and not come back until she's tired. My friend Rueben used to throw tennis balls up the side of a steep mountain for his Labrador to chase so she'd be mellow at home. I wonder if that works for children...

I have to work in a few minutes after this nice long refreshing day of "me" time, but I'm looking forward to several hours of friendly banter and the happy faces of my coworkers. It's so nice to have a job in such a positive environment. It rubs off on me, for sure.

So as I wrap up this little Saturday blip, I just want to say that life is good. I'm looking forward to a weekend of fun and laughter. Because laughter is always always always the best medicine.

A Saturday Spiel

Luck is such a subjective little token, but when the stars are aligned and the universe gives you a happy week, it's worth ticking off small fortunes on one hand and thanking the gods for summer breezes and enchanting sunsets.

Today's thunderstorm, for example, was riveting with torrential spring downpours and a crackling sky. Dashing into the grocery store for rabbit food and coconut oil, I was immediately soaked and thrilled by a small rainy adventure.

 

Because what is life, if not a series of moments (said so nicely by Matt Damon in Dogma). String them together and you have yourself a story. Throw that story between the folds of a book and you have yourself an autobiography. 

Stamp it, date it, sign it, earn it---just make it count, because that's the only way to wake up each morning and want to see what the next day has in store.

So in trying to live the way I believe we all should live, I've spent the early throes of summer hiking, trail-running, baseball-game-watching, sidewalk-chalking and duckpond-frequenting.

I have certain routines established that I wouldn't change for the world. Every morning after I drop Topaz off at Kindergarten, I stop up my ears with the sounds of iPod bliss and spend 30 minutes jogging around Liberty Park. 

I then stretch on a hill near the baby ducks and ride a euphoric wave of endorphins and cool breezes while my favorite tracks pound with drums that echo everything inside of me that pulses.

After that, it's a mix of work or school or mom-ness, but the addictions of Instagram and thrift-shopping find their way into the few moments that I have to disappear into the quiet places of my head.

And this week has been the best. Topaz and I hiked the City Creek Trail on Thursday night. We picked up potato bugs and took pictures of scary beetles. We watched how the sun lit up the mountain flowers and listened for blue jays in the trees. Then we came home and made s'mores on my patio. When I tucked Topaz in bed, she smelled like campfire and chocolate.

I feel like a broken record when I say that life isn't perfect, but I make the best of it. I think achieving happiness under daunting circumstances is an even bigger accomplishment than smiling through a fairy-tale privileged existence.

I've WORKED for my small Utopia and that feels better than flitting through luxury and fortune without comprehension of the percentage of the population that significantly struggles. My empathy is positively overflowing for the people experiencing heartbreak and devastation. 

But in the grand scheme of things, the only thing that really matters is Topaz. I can better myself so that she's affected by the positive change, but the more I focus on HER the more I'm satisfied with my role in life.

It's no wonder that on the weekends when she's with her dad, I'm a bit lost. 

I used to play a lot on Saturdays and Sundays, but now I'd rather come home after work, light a candle, watch a movie, cuddle with my cat.

And really, she's worth every sacrifice I make. Sweet little Topie is so bright and funny and wondrous and alive. I like the fact that she's so innocent, lacking the jaded outlook adults so often have. At 6 she's already extremely artistic and creative. She's knowledgeable and responsible with animals. She's concerned with conservation and carbon footprints. And she has that demeanor of those with an "old soul."

 Maybe that's why I'm suddenly so content as a mom---because with Topaz, I at least feel as though I've done something right.

And in order to KEEP doing things right, I've set some small goals for myself. It's recently become apparent that I'm now afraid of heights. In terms of baby-steps, next week I'm going to make my first appearance at a climbing gym. In the hands of professionals and safety nets, I'm going to face my fear and stop with this fragility I've adopted since my fall.

Since we're talking bucket-lists here, the goal is to conquer rock climbing this year and surfing next year. I've already broken my neck, so I figure the odds of being eaten by a shark are very slim for this decade. For past, present and future, I think the best parts of living are the challenges.

Eclipsing Things

Yesterday in a Saturday afternoon power yoga class, I laid on my back numbly as tears dampened the outer corners of my closed eyelids. My limbs were shaky and infused with breath, my shirt clinging in that living organic way of expended movement and my mind was clearer than it had been in weeks. A long-haired dreaded blonde instructor walked past my mat barefoot and his voice was like a love-song, "You are a child of the universe," he said, "as much a part of this Earth as every rock, every tree, every blade of grass. You have a right to be here and you have a right to experience this world in your own way. Everything that has happened to you has absolutely happened for a reason." That's when I cried. I hoped he couldn't see. I hoped that in sneaking out before the other unfolded forms I'd hidden my unexpected surge of somethingness. You never expect someone to say exactly what you need to hear exactly when you need to hear it. Especially when it's a stranger.

Today I watched a solar eclipse from the sidewalk. Kids rode their bikes up and down the street, oblivious, as my hair caught fire and my cardboard's pin-hole window sparkled with explosions of light. It was so beautiful. Every bush, every bee, every blooming bud was simply soaked with the saturation of the sun. It wasn't just a cyclical event for calendar crossings; the living things breathed more deeply and celebrated their unity with that scorching star. I felt it, I was there. It was like a yoga class for Earth where the energies all merged and focused on a sunlit breath, then bowed their heads in an end-of-day-namaste. The moon passed by in a crescent shadow and eventually the light melted from the tips of trees and normalcy picked up its hat like that glimpse, that surge of somethingness, might not have even taken place. And if it did, we simply got a pinhole viewing experience of its taste.

Sometimes it doesn't seem like there's much right in the world, but sometimes you have to just surrender yourself to not thinking about it. If I could absorb everything beautiful I've ever seen or experienced and live on the waves of those memories, nothing could touch me that was tainted or scarred. But they squeak through, like menacing little intruders, to furrow a brow or stifle a smile. I miss my dog. I escape by reading. I sometimes can't breathe. I sometimes create tunnels in my bed where I imagine nobody can find me. Sometimes nobody tries.

But yesterday I worked. People told me I looked like a movie star and my coworkers smiled excitedly as we talked about books and hiking trails and art. It's fulfilling really, to exist somewhere happily with contentment and ease. I love my house. I love my cat. I love the night sounds outside my window of freshmen university students smoking pot and playing guitar on porches. Tomorrow, Topaz comes back from her dad's and we'll hold hands down her school's hallway and talk to each other in sweet voices about innocent things and simplistic perspectives. I can't wait. I had my ground-breaking euphoria for the weekend, and now I can do everything absolutely for a reason. 

 

Oh sunshine, how I've missed you.

Well, Spring is finally here and some things never change. Once again, we've started out the season with zoo adventures and baby animal days.

Our cute little house near campus has great light and lots of fabulous opportunities for people-watching. Slowly, but surely, we're creating a little Utopia, like we (I) always wanted.

Topaz and I have been exploring the downtown area more and more, now that we're living here without the physical restraints of neckbraces and winter weather.

And the longer I'm here, the more the phrase "Smalt Lake City" applies. I run into familiar faces everywhere. Sometimes it's good, sometimes, not so good.

As for my family, all of my nieces and nephews are growing up. It's strange to watch someone to go from infancy to full-blown drivers' licenses and Facebook pages. I know adults have been commenting on that phenomenon for ages, but I'm experiencing it for the first time, so it's my turn to be awe-struck.

There's not much else to say. Things are finally mellowing out in our world of Puppy rabbits, city bike rides and late night movies (for me, at least).

I actually have several papers for my classes due tomorrow, but can't bring myself to write them when the sun is shining and the sky is blue.

And on that note, I don't have much else to say. Pictures usually speak for themselves anyway.

The smallest flower will always be my favorite.

There I was, sitting in class with thoughts racing through my mind like rush-hour traffic---screeching, revving, thumping contemplations. At the exact moment I looked up, registering my professor's gravity, we locked eyes in his attempt to pull me in. He wrote, "Epiphany" on the board. Suddenly, there it was, like a prophesy.

I'd been waiting all this time to make sense of it, when merely an individual clad handsomely in designer denim, with a pressed button-up shirt, thin-rimmed glasses and pointed leather loafers finally touched a stick of green dry-erase to the whitest board known to man, and finally I knew.

I'd been attempting aimlessly to understand the onslaught of tragedies I'd faced time and again without any reprieve. Was I flawed? Cursed? Had I offended someone so badly in a past life that my forever-Karma was to suffer and sulk? Often, my mind reeled with those considerations, but at the end of the day, I knew one simple thing to be the most factual fact of factuality. Ready? It's this---life: it is what it is.

So at the end of the day, we all tally up our victories and losses, sometimes on the same hand and others on an endless list of heart-wrenching broken battles. But at night, when you lay your head on your little pillow, it's not the missed appointments or miffed coworkers that matter. That pit in your stomach should never churn for bill-collectors or burnt bridges. If there's anything I've learned in this spiral of misfortune, it's that sometimes you have to focus on the pillow itself. There are small comforts in life that are ours for the taking. For me, it was the discovery of a new hobby (I like to draw and be creative, go figure).

Also, by omitting negativity and toxic friendships, I've opened up a whole new realm of happy, inspiring faces. I won't be satisfied until I'm surrounded by yoga instructors, artists and college professors, because there I've finally, FINALLY found the peacefulness and diversity I'm looking for. But it hasn't been easy. Sometimes I think the universe is trying to teach me one lesson, then once I've mastered the fine arts of coping, forgiving, loving, accepting and being, I'm hammered with another pitfall to drag myself out of. I'm certain I don't have the monopoly on broken hearts, but if I could stop losing friends, pets, family and money, I think I'd find the time to perfect myself in a more superficial manner. I'd like to have a perfect body, I'd like to have great hair and skin and manicured toenails.

Maybe I'll get there, maybe I won't, but I do have an amazing daughter, I have sweet little pets to brighten my world, I have a fun job where people like me and I'm competent; I have a house I can finally call home and a spattering of people that I actually love with all my heart.

Years ago (probably 7) I drove to a park in Salt Lake City. I'd navigated nervously there and sat insecurely watching the city-savvy crowds flock in and out of my perimeter. The girls were stylish and the men seemed successful. Squirrels skitted aesthetically through quiet trees and eclectic cafes dotted the surrounding blocks. I thought, "I want to live here. I want to find this tranquility." Sometimes, strolling through that same park, it occurs to me that I'm exactly where I wanted to be. The University is within walking distance from my house, my landlord stops by with home-brewed beer when the weather is nice, after class I meet my friend Brandon at Market Street for both calamari and laughs and I ride my bike to work everyday where I make coffee and look out the window at the things that once were foreign.

It's strange how a person can break their neck and then try harder than ever to finally be whole. In the past year, Topaz and I have been deliriously happy together. We just spent the day outside on a play-date with Makenna at the zoo. After agreeing that tigers were everyone's favorite animal, we headed to a nearby park where we practiced cartwheels and handstands. Later, Topie and I walked up and down our street lined with charming tulips while she slowly maneuvered her scooter and I looked at things to take pictures of. Once we were home, I tucked her into her bed while we argued about who loved the other more, like we do each and every night. "I love you most." "No, I love YOU most." "No, I do." It never changes. But I always win because I close the door before she has a chance to say it one last time.

Now I'm home and the air is warm. I'm procrastinating homework because I'd rather drink Saison and write about spirals and epiphanies than break apart Derrida's linguistic theory in essay form. He said that meaning is lost before the utterance is even complete. Therefore, there is no truth because misinterpretation causes intention to be permanently skewed. I don't know if that's right, but I do know that it's impossible to write like Shakespeare or Hemingway or Chaucer or Kerouac. It's impossible to be heard until you're dead. I had a close call, but it wasn't close enough.

As soon as the morphine wore off, I realized that people are silly, fickle beings. I'm just as silly. I'm just as fickle. Or am I? Years later, we'll all look back at this and laugh. We'll have a nice chuckle over my misdemeanor and pending lawsuit for my dog stumbling over the fragile Chinese Crested that darted underfoot. We'll giggle about the time my car's engine dropped to the ground when I hit a bump and also hysterically recall my ex-husband's sudden refusal to pay for his required share of childcare during a period that I was already trying so desperately to get back on my feet. Even if it never becomes funny, there's a certain character development insisting I simply roll with the punches.

My mission is this: eat salad, get back in shape. Finish school, graduate, land an incredible job, move to Paris, write, sing, draw, dance and smile.

Because there is no point to survival if you don't clutch that one little pillow tightly in your childishly hopeful hands and promise yourself that from this point forward you'll always dream big. If you count every day that you open your eyes as a gift, make it count. If nothing else matters, make yourself matter.

Flashing back to that moment in class, I promised myself that that's exactly what I'd do. By embracing the components of life that build me up and brushing aside the ones that bring me down, I've patented a much more peaceful place for myself.

And I suppose I just wanted to ride this beer buzz and hammer it out on my computer. As for my epiphany, I think George Herbert said it best of The Flower:
"And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing. O my only light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night."

Take it or leave it, it is what it is.