The best thing I’ve learned in my 30’s…

Is how to bounce back like a mother f*cking champ!!  From heartbreak to hangovers; I have my shape shifting down to a science.  Almost.  Until I do it all over again, snarf.  Never-the-less, I bounce back because after the ride of life we MUST learn how to care for ourselves and be gentle.

So here are two things I’ve found myself in a LOT this year: hangovers and heartbreak.

From hangovers:

1. First, you must teach your drunk self to start leaving 40 oz of water and two ibuprofen on your night stand.  This, somehow, regardless of what I’ve been drinking, has become a habit.  I will usually drink that much water before my feet hit the floor regardless of how much wine I’ve had.  Or tequila if we’re being totally honest.  Thank you, drunk self.
2. You MUST remember that this rabbit hole of self loath and shame is only a few hours away from being over.  It will end.  Alcohol after all is a depressant.  But first, you must know that this too shall pass.  As soon as you kick it in the balls.
3. Drink some juice, real natural juice from the vegetable itself.  Your body is dying for some enzymes and vitamins.  Feed it.
4. Also feed it breakfast tacos.  You really want to appease everything even if it’s your bad decision-making.
5. Meditate.  Meditation has been my gateway out of most horrible situations in life.  Or just out of the mundane and into the peace.  Meditate your way to victory (high fives self)!
6. And always, always, always do something that makes you smile.  Besides the breakfast tacos.  Like a movie, or another glass of wine with someone you love (hair of the dog, anyone).  Unless you have a drinking problem then maybe don’t have more alcohol.  Instead drink a super white person coffee from Starbucks.  (And do all of this outside if you can!!)

From heartbreak:

(How I’ve managed to fall in love so many times this year is beyond me yet somehow, the hangover/heartbreak always go hand in hand, funny ain’t it?)

1. Oh boy, the morning after all the impending doom of letting down your defenses.  On the one hand, yay, you’re capable of having great feelings and have determined that you are not, in fact, a robot.  Remember that.  On the other hand, “this” is probably not going to work for x y and z so you might as well go ahead and be sad about it NOW.  This is something I do often.  I also know that my feelings aren’t facts and who really knows what’s going to happen tomorrow?!  But today, let’s just cry about it because today is really all that matters.  Let yourself cry about it.  Then laugh because you suddenly realize how ridiculous it all is.  There is a such a fine line between laughter and tears, find it.
2. Remove the shame of being vulnerable.  Vulnerability = honey badgers.  Honey badges don’t give a f*ck.  So you’re in love, whoopee do, who isn’t.  Being in love isn’t unique.  We’ve all been in love and we’ve all been heartbroken.  Trust me, when you’ve been hurt or left or kicked in the shins, 9 out of 10 people will sympathize with you.  The one that doesn’t is the one who’ll end up on the news someday with a warrant out for his arrest.  Own all your feelings, even the big scary ones.
3. Meditate.  FOR REALS.  You’ll probably spend 20 minutes in a guided meditation thinking about the one person you shouldn’t be but just start.  And breathe.  Always always breathe.  I like to think you’re always three deep breaths away from solving just about anything.
4. If you happen to say, send a drunk text to the one person you shouldn’t be texting on a Saturday night, well girl, you gotta own it.  Again, no shame.  So you put yourself out there and felt the feelings and they weren’t reciprocated, oh well.  At least you know and can put that little nugget to bed.  And knowing is always half the battle.
5. Immediately go on a date with someone else.  And flirt.  But still, stay off Tinder.  You’re better than that.
6. Write it out, talk it out, dance it, run it out, get it out.  I write, obviously hello this is me getting over a broken heart!  I also have great friends and a therapist.  You need to get that stuff onto paper or in the universe and get it out of your body.  Things manifest in your head into warped little creatures waiting to take you down.  And they will.  But you’re also a honey badger and better than that.

And remember, every day is a new day for new beginnings and favors from your drunk and/or highly emotional self.

In a conversation with Sam Shepard…

(Yes that one, is there any other?)  I was lamenting on the fact that Austin might not, in fact, be my home.  He laughed at me in that way only a wise man can and said “April, men (women?) live to be 105 and never find their home.”  I’m not sure if that was meant to be comforting or unsettling.  Depends which day you ask.

I had one of those weeks where you a) meet one of your heroes and b) have the worst most vulnerable times at your “job.”  One of those “what the hell am I doing” weeks.  Things don’t happen for me in waves, they have happen in hurricanes within the same few days.  It makes waking up entirely unpredictable.  Almost anything can happen.  At least you know that “this too shall pass” is a rather quick rip off the old bandaid.  If I was on a ship, I’d be going down in the most spectacular way (by fire obviously) and then an angel would appear, blow out the flames and tuck us in safely on a deserted beach. Only to be met by carnivores natives waiting by the fire.  One of which I’d immediately fall in love.  Okay okay, I’m being dramatic but still… I’m clearly not on a ship.

And for some reason, I am reminded of this song by the Muppets:

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side
Rainbows are visions
But only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide

So we’ve been told
And some choose to believe it
I know they’re wrong, wait and see
Some day we’ll find it
The rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me

Who said that every wish
Would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star
Somebody thought of that
And someone believed it
And look what it’s done so far

What’s so amazing
That keeps us stargazing
And what do we think we might see
Some day we’ll find it
The rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me

All of us under its spell, we know that it’s probably magic

Have you been half asleep?
And have you heard voices?
I’ve heard them calling my name;
Is this the sweet sound
That called the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same

I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it
It’s something that I’m supposed to be
Some day we’ll find it
The rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me

I guess all we’re searching for is that connection that grounds us to our purpose.  I’ve fought long and hard about “purpose” because truthfully purpose gives far too much weight to what exactly it is we’re doing or meant to be doing here.  Purpose is evolution yet it gives the indication of a very specific road and set of events we should be following which ineviatbly leads us away from what’s in front of us right now.  And that is life.  The rainbow connection, to me, is that magical illusive cousin of purpose.  That connection though is the desire for something bigger, something greater than what we have now.  But all we have is what is now.  We feel it, we hear it, we strive for it and we hope, at the end of the day, to find it.  But if we don’t, we’re still in the same company as the lovers and the dreamers.  And that is the best company to be in, that is the company of those I love.

What Sam Shepard was telling me (You guys, I’m totally going to speak for Mr. Shepard right now omgimdying) is that life happens and you’re only job is to keep searching and discovering and documenting it all.  But most importantly, being OKAY with how it all turns out because even at 105, you still might not know.  But at the end of the day, does it really matter?  “The voice might be one and the same.”

 

 

The rabbit hole of OMGIMGONNADIEALONE!!

So… you know how when you get a virus or a lump and you start searching online for any and all medical advice and somehow fall down the WedMD rabbit hole and suddenly realize that you have stage 4 brain cancer and have 2 weeks left to live?  Well!!  The same thing happens when you start researching “dating” in your mid 30’s.  These are a few of the headlines I found:

1. After 35, you don’t get to be picky.
2. Why I’m okay being single.
3. Do men really want to date women in their 40’s?
4. The dating pool at 30:  (insert photo of mostly empty pool with green sludge floating in the bottom).
5. 9 mistakes you make in your 30’s
6. Larger dating pool means less thoughtful mate choices
7. Dating in  your 30’s: The Ticking Clock

The struggle is real.  I’ve been dating for less than 2 months.  Specifically I’ve gone on exactly 6 dates which was enough for me to realize that it’s excruciating!!   I would gladly throw in the towel but I paid $150 to fall in love and therefore feel this extraordinary sense of obligation to “see it through” because it worked for so and so.

Every one couples up in their 20’s, I did, and is mostly still happily married in their 30’s (SPOILER ALERT: I never got married, I got single).  Essentially I have to wait until my 40’s to start meeting age appropriate divorcees who are recently single again.  “Oh you’ll die when you see how dating has evolved from 2o years ago” says me in 10 years while explaining the now forgotten Tinder app.  The 30’s dating pool is Moses wandering through the desert for 40 days and 40 nights chasing one mirage after another.  When you get up close you realize he’s 25.  Or unavailable.  Or married.  Or crazy.  Which has me wondering, what the hell do people think about me and why I’m single??

LOL!!  Just kidding.  I don’t care. I’m sure most people either think, 1) gah dating most be horrible, how sad to be all alone, or 2) SHIT, I’d give anything to be single again and do whatever I want and sleep in for once and eat in quiet.  This is the greener grass theory.

Truthfully, I try NOT to drive my friends crazy with this, this, this…I don’t know, lack of attachment mostly because they’re all either planning their nurseries or their weddings and if they aren’t planning that, they’re changing diapers and going to bed pretending to have a headache.  Or they’re out doing the same things I’m doing: online dating or waking up after a night of too many whiskies and not enough food.

Why do we do it?   Why do we drive ourselves crazy trying to fit into any box, be it the single box or the married box?  Each, depending on the day and the person, have their ups and downs.  But we put this countless pressure on ourselves to be taken (not in the Liam Neeson sense…or maybe in the Liam Neeson sense??) or loved and at the end of the day there are many people waking up next to someone still feeling lonely.  Attachment doesn’t always mean love.

I decided to online date because, in truth, I want to have babies.  All the babies!!  And of course I want to find my lobster. But dating, I have discovered, does not make me happy.  It does not fill any “void” or sense of loneliness or sense of togetherness or accomplishment.  I do not feel power or strength from being a single person who dates.  SO… I guess with that said, I’m going to do me.  You do you, girl!!

Dear friends,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.  You, the family I’ve chosen.  Like most of my friends, we found each other because we were the outsiders, the misfits.  We were the artistic ones, the free-spirited ones, the gay ones, the adventurous ones, the crazed ones.  We eventually made our way to each other in camaraderie; a likeness of souls and a familiarity of heart.  We aligned on human value, artistic achievement, and cultural ideals while moving in open-mindedness with an open heart.

But we didn’t stop at similarities.  Like any individual you allow into your life there must be conditions of expansiveness and growth.  We locate those who will motivate us in our endeavors and dreams, those who will challenge us and tear down our walls, fight with us, stay with us and share with us.  Even if it means walking away and falling apart, the friends we allow in our lives are far more instrumental to our development as human beings that we ever give them credit for.  The person I became during my 12 years of solitude (in NYC) and the challenges we went through, the things we experienced, overcame and witnessed standing alongside 15 other black sheep ultimately made us the people we are today.  Thank you.  Often times I don’t know where exactly I belong in this world, or with whom do I belong.  But I take a look around at the lovers and dreamers who make up my world and it suddenly comes into focus:  you are the individuals who connect me to earth upon which I stand.

This is a love letter to you: the ones standing, the ones who’ve fallen away, and the ones on the periphery.  I am endlessly grateful to have found you.  Thank you for being a friend.

And this is the death part.

Thomas Mann said “A man’s dying is more his survivor’s affair than his own.” And it’s true.  The dead pass.  They go where ever it is we go and those of us left behind…well, we keep coming back to them; their voice, their laughter, their smell, the shape of their eyes.  Try as we might, the dead never really leave us.

It’s been 8 years since my greatest friend Wendy left this world.  Her exit was a 12 year encore of dancing and bowing and dancing again.  We watched her life like a great film; the personal moments, the private moments, the great love, the great heartbreak, the collapse, the struggle, the passion and of course her final curtain call.  When you know at 13 years old that your life could and probably would be cut short you tend to live life with the kind of wild abandon we all should.  But don’t.  And those of us who don’t, stare in wonder at these bright enigmatic souls longingly.  She had that effect on just about everyone who met her.

Wendy and I became friends at 19 over the mutual love of a boy but that boy brought us together and for that I will always be grateful.  We moved in together immediately, acted together, went to radiation together, shaved our heads together, visited NYC for the first time together, lost together, fought together, broke up, made up and laughed and laughed and laughed all within the first two years of becoming friends.  Three years later, I found myself moved into her living room in Williamsburg Brooklyn in September of 2002 with two suitcases and 5 boxes.  Oh the insane choices we make at 22.

By now Wendy had “successfully” completed her second operation to remove a astrocytoma tumor from her spinal cord, navigated radiation and chemotherapy repeatedly and also graduated college with a bachelors of fine arts and began working as an actress and model.  I quote successfully because she struggled with paralysis on her right side on and off for the next 6 years.  But she knew how to take care of herself with the right foods, skin care, massages, reiki, magnet therapy, the outdoors and love.  She always saved pieces of her for her even at the expense of others, she never let anyone take everything she had.  That was such a fascinating lesson I learned from her that I attempt to implement into my life daily.  She made time for everything and let herself have as much fun as she wanted.  She truly was a demon at time management.  That I wish I learned better.  She was also crude and smelly and hilarious and goofy and so talented and so ridiculous.  She could drink and smoke just about anyone under the table.  She laughed hard and loud and loved hard and loud.  She could dance and act and decorate an apartment.  She dressed up but mostly dressed down and cared equally.  She could listen and respond and navigate the feelings.  She loved her family, her friends, her Tom and her mean ass cats.  And she always had good music playing and good food somewhere nearby.  She was a host at life.

And I miss her.  A lot.  There were many times this year I would have given anything to talk to her again and hug her thin little neck.  But all I can do is imagine what she’d say or how she’d feel.  Oh her forearm!  Her birdlike forearm; the shape, the texture and the lightness is what I will forever think of when I think of her.  It was that forearm I held so often the last year as we walked around the city and maneuvered around people so frantic to get somewhere else.  It was that forearm she held when the feeling was fleeting and she couldn’t grasp things how she intended.  It was that forearm that forever remained the same when everything else bloated and eventually came to.

Her mother called me on October 30th, 2006 around 5:45am.  I’d already spent almost every night for the past two months in one of several hospitals rooms and halls.  She was dying and it wasn’t something any of us pretended wasn’t happening.  In fact, during the last month of her life she made peace with her spiritual and physical journey and wanted our permission to move on.  I knew what her mother was going to say before I answered the phone and within two hours I was in the Bronx laying in a hospital bed next to my best friend who was not even there.   Her body all puffy and warm was beating and breathing but Wendy, she’d gone home.  I’d watched her trying to leave for two months.  I watched her body break down and felt her spirit floating around the hospital and in my life.  She shifted and expanded and shriveled.  She was gone.

She’s been gone for 8 years.  And there’s probably not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her and smile.  Or cry.  But mostly, I smile and hope that she’s doing the same thing looking down on me.  But she’s probably dancing in heaven with all them other fools!