Success is Being Able to Not be Afraid Successfully

For several nights, for several reasons, this has been the look on my face as I lay awake and thinking about… far too much and not enough.  It has also shown a bit about how I know that there are still pieces of the woman I was the day I was raped by my (now ex) husband.

Yesterday a friend posted a link to an absolutely wonderful project endeavor: Project Unbreakable.  It is my plan this weekend to add my voice to the project.  It is a voice that has felt so frozen and paralyzed… but doesn’t want to be afraid anymore. As cheesy as it sounds, I have learned through these years just how much success is the ability to not be afraid successfully… even if you are.

So many people have approached me over these years and said how strong I am.  So many people have said that they value my dedication to this city, my goals, my passions, my art, and…

But I feel like a phony sometimes.

People handle their pain in their own way.  It is not ours to tell them that their way is wrong or right.  It is, however, our duty as people to be there for them or not if they extend their hearts to us… respecting the ways that they would like us to do that.

Monday I nearly didn’t go out.  I was invited to attend a mini conference.  I have been feeling physically dreadful for the past few weeks.  Feeling physically ill does not necessarily make for the happiest of Jenas.  I have been on a fair amount of personal quarantine this week as I cope with it.

Going to that conference made me remember my strength.  I was just.. me.  Little did I know that doing just that was enough to be remembered in a substantial way I would find out later this week.  It is humbling to even think about… and perhaps, nearly as scary.

I think about those people who believe in me.  About the strangers that have me in confidence.  Of the new faces I met because I decided to shove the pain to the side and just… wake up and walk out there.

You motivate me.

You give me hope.

You give me strength.

 So why am I so damn scared sometimes?

A couple of wonderful things came into view this week.  Reminders of all the impact I have done.  Reminders that that girl laying in bed sick and scared is also bold and brazen and confident and… strong.  Reminders that… the scars are still there but they are not to be afraid of.

This is my day.

This is my year.

The scared girl doesn’t need to be forgotten.  She needs to be remembered as she is the reason why the strong one that exists is here in the first place.

 

Editors side note: the movie images used in this post are from a movie which I knew would become one of my favorites before it came out.  It was, as fate would have it, a movie my ex husband would refuse to watch with me.  I didn’t end up watching it until after he was no longer around physically.  Perhaps that was a little sign in itself.

Lost

Have you ever been so… in love with life that you lose track of small things along the way?

I have been more attentive to noticing things more abstractly than I have with things technically in some ways.  Little things like the scratches from wear and tear at a coffeeshop table… where the light forms perfectly to make Mr Shrader’s eyes pop the most…

Perhaps I am a bit twitterpated.  Perhaps it’s something deeper.

I feel at a heightened level of artistry.  My eyes are wide open but the shutters in my brain keep taking photographs…

These are days… nights… treasured and cherished memories of a life fully lived.

Friday night, though memorable, was not a good one however.

You see, all this time that I feel I’d been searching for my identity…

When I finally was confident in saying “I’ve found it!”

That’s when it happened.

I lost my purse on Friday.  In it: my drivers liscense, my social security card… my camcorder for which I’m filming my documentary Muse for Hire.

My life.

Gone in a moment.

Missing

Now everything that was in my purse is fully replaceable.  I care naught about matierial things.  As I’ve grown older, I have become more and more numb to this sort of phenomenon bothering me.  In fact, you might dare to say that I am so used to life screwing up like this on me that I’ve learned to more or less just laugh about it.

For example for those of you that missed previous episodes of my car troubles of the past year, here’s a look at the last one which happened about a month ago.

If anything, getting “my life back” was, for the most part more of a series of errands and annoyances than anything else.  I went to the police station and filed a report about it, cancelled my bank card, headed to the dmv…

I missed roller derby for the weekend but ended up at 6 flags with Mr Shrader anyway.  I made the best of the weekend and wasn’t even late to work this morning.

The thing that bothers me most about the whole thing: that camcorder.

And not for what it was, but for what it stood for.  Those moments of film… my life… my story… my…

I believe that everything happens for a reason.

This weekend was yet another blur with Mr Shrader.  Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be on film.  Maybe those events were meant to be our secrets.  

A fantastical blur that I am not sure will happen again (I hope it does, as this was something I wondered the weekend prior) but one that is marked with…

He is enigmatic and magical in ways that he doesn’t even realize.  Oh Cancerous man… indeed you are inspirational.

Which brings me back to the project.

I have hit a snag due to this incident this weekend.  If anyone would like to help me continue you it, I would love any and all support that you would give me.  Even if it’s just kind words.

I’ve learned a lot through the making of this documentary.  Life, like this project is a process and a labor of love.  The things in life that are the most worthwhile are not achieved instantly… they evolves and grow.  Inspiration, patience, keeping your head up in the face of…it’s not easy.

And then I heard a song playing…

I once was lost, but now am found.

To that, I reply:

A few sentences on a page cannot possibly be enough justification to fully chronicle me. I am who I am. I don’t chase magic because I am magic… and only the stars can come close to defining me.
 

I once was lost, but now am found…

Per request-

Mia: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

That, my dears, was my weekend.  But you’re going to have to wait to hear that tale.

With that, the sound begins again.

I know that it has been awhile since I’ve done this.  So much has been going on.  But don’t fret.

I have not stopped writing- I just changed mediums for awhile.

I have not stopped dating.

I have not stopped smiling.

(Non sequitor.)

I have not died.

(Well, that part is only partially true.)

I still exist.

I guess part of what happened is, as generic as it may sound…

life.

I was walking through the art supply store yesterday waiting for my friend to be free to cut me some canvas.  I can’t remember the last time I painted.  I was inspired and felt it was time.

My weekend had been a blur.  A punch drunk fury of hours come and gone like a gust of wind.  Perhaps the rain this week washed away more than just a few dirty streets.

I think I know what I’m going to paint.

My best had to help a customer.  I found myself lost in shelves lined with magic.  I called the one person who I knew was a combination of both worlds.

“Grandma what are you doing home?  You’re supposed to be in Dwight enjoying your childhood memories.”

“Next weekend.”

“I want to have sand in my paint but I forgot what I need for that…”

“To thicken it up you need a medium.  Or you can just use oils because its thicker.”

You see, and this should not come as much of a surprise, but my grandmother… is an artist.

“Grandma I had… All I want to do right now is paint.  I want to hike and paint and watch sunrises and sunsets over the city and paint for awhile.  It’s been too long.  I have a lot on my mind.”

“I think thats wonderful.  Do you still have those brushes your aunt and I bought you years ago?”

“I do.  I’m going to have to dig them out.  I’m buying a couple of artist pallates.  I want to go to the beach and paint so I want something that if I lose I won’t be super upset about losing.”

“Buy a plastic one or get paper ones for that.  Best bet would be plastic. It’d be easy to clean.”

“Grandma, tell me about how it was to date in your time  What was that like for you.”

“I don’t talk about that.  I did date before your grandpa but I’m a very private person.”

Oh what she doesn’t know…

We walked around and talked about life.

“Why as a society are we brought up and told “Be honest. Be yourself.  Be open.” but then when you actually are, people crucify you for it… because there’s something about them that they can’t fully express and they’re envious… because you are the colorful painting and they are stuck in black and white.”

“Because people are hypocrites!” She said with a laugh.

I guess that’s part of why I took a pause.  My scrawlings, despite being vague and relatively ananomous nature have been both uplifting and the knife of the final move of my demise.  Despite my openness about this blog before I ever even enter into anything, men seem to become entransed by the words and then… when the plot really thickens and the soufle is in the oven… well, they fall short.

“Choose your words wisely.  They make or break you.”

I am not broken anymore.

I may not be that black and white picture all of the time but…

Life has been busy.  I have eased into a semi normal lifestyle believe it or not.  I have slept some wonderful nights and I have also tossed and turned with dreams of a ghost.

But those tales shall come later.

Know that I have been to hell and beyond and… it’s good to be back.  We have a lot of catching up to do my friends.  And thank you for the messages telling  me to get back to this.

More later.  But for now?  I have to get dressed.  Someone got a normal 9-5 office job downtown.  Mind boggling huh?

Cheers,

j.

Insert Transmission Here

Well I love you life.  Sometimes… you’re just unbelievable.

It’s been a series of unfortunate events.   There’s a few flies in the ointment.  A few…wrenches in my gears.

Things around here are just… well this weekend started with a major misunderstanding.  It was something small that escalated, and while there was a result, I’m not really quite happy with it.  I think what happened was both…

It wasn’t a shining moment for me.

About a week ago, the first domino fell.  My phone has been giving me issues and since will not properly sync with my computer to take my contacts off.  Therefore if you have called/texted me and have gotten a “who are you?”  Fret not.  I do not have amnesia… but my phone does.

It started some thinking for me… do I just manually enter the people I care about’s phone numbers or do I just do the factory reset and lose all of my texts off of my phone entirely?

Now for those of you that have been reading my personal twitter account, you may have noticed some strange texts over the past few days.  This is me going through my “notes” of the year or so lifespan this version of my phone has.

You can see quite a bit of your life… in those digital transmissions.  I have seen the course of friendships and… people that I care about drift into my life and disappear into the sunset.

Text messages and notes in my drafts like these:

“Don’t overthink things.  Trust your instincts.  Jump right in.” — SDCC 2009

“Don’t ever assume that you can’t do anything.”— SDCC 2009

to

“Sometimes the real heroes are the ones you encounter… by “accident.””

to ones from…

“I want a blend of simple, fiery, easy going, passionate, madness, comfort and adventure… unattainable.”

“We all want the unattainable.”

There are some things on my cell phone that… well…

“Love is a many splendored yet mind boggling thing.”

I’m not even saying this is remotely near what it is, what it was, or what it could be.  I am not thinking about that.  I’m just having a good time.  I wanted to continue to have a good time with…

“Soon, the time will be right… soon.”

Here’s hoping it is.

I’m not ready to erase- you- just yet.

The misunderstanding that transpired happened for a few reasons.  But most of all, it happened because, despite knowing in my mind exactly what to do, I had a moment (few moments) of blatant stupidity.

It lead me to a point of introspection.  I reflected on my actions from outside of the box.  I was not happy with all of my choices.  I knew how much that I have evolved and well, it sounded like I was leaving the wrong impression on this instance.

I knew know better.

I continued on like every other thing.  I had to move forward, even if it was a bit of a setback.  In a way, little had changed with…

but in the ways that it had, well…

I was making a video yesterday afternoon and then technology fubar #2 occurred.  This time, it was my camcorder.  Gotta love it.  To make matters worse, it was somewhat involving something pretty important to me.

The camcorder completely froze and would not shut off.  I wasn’t sure if it was going to be completely broken let alone if I was going to be able to recover the video recorded previously to the camera.

I wrote an update on Facebook freaking out.

The text, the misunderstanding… and then…

I wondered if it was a sign.  I’m still not sure.

Looking through and reflecting… purging and making way for the future.

I plugged my camcorder into the USB.  I hoped and wished that it would work.  I didn’t want the setback of the equipment.  I was prepared for the worst.  I think that’s how a person should always approach life.

I am happy to say that my camera is miraculously working now.  The video in question (along with the others) were recovered.  And while I won’t be posting it here, know that it is…

I know that it will be alright.  I just… wish…

“Soon, the time will be right… soon.”

Here’s hoping it is.

I’m not ready to erase you just yet.

—-End Transmission—-

Diving Back in: Muse for Hire Goes Overdrive

I have a confession to make.

I have been focusing more on my web series project (one that bloomed out of its parent project) more than I have the documentary for quite some time now.

My computer hit the max and I needed to get another hard drive.

Between that and a litany of other things, the project was more or less put on hold until… go figure, I was feeling a bit more inspiration.

That happened (another awakening if you will) at Comic Con and further more as it continued past.  And while a lot of the video I got at the con may not likely make the doc, it was what happened afterward that actually reminded me “get back on your project, it’s important.”

I do not believe in forcing art.  I am a purist of so many forms.  I want genuine pieces that I can be proud of.

I took a time out… perhaps a lot of that should have been on film.  Perhaps it wasn’t meant to.  It was not a great time for me.

And then the card came.

Cranes and.... subtleties

Cranes and.... subtleties

At the time, I honestly couldn’t tell you how many cranes I was at.  I was slacking and, well, hadn’t folded in months either.  And while I have quite a bit more than the ones shown here, I still haven’t made the mark just yet.

I got this near the day I had originally intended to finish the project- my soft deadline of August 6th- the 64th anniversary of the bomb dropping on Hiroshima: Peace Day.  I had failed but maybe… not just yet.

It was a sign in it’s simplest form sent directly to my doorstop.  As did… other things later.

Nonetheless, it’s time.  It’s not quite time… but…

Wise words from another world echo in the background.  They speak volumes in one short sentence- not written on the back of this card.

They may have just as well have been.

Time will tell.

Time will tell.

Time.

Will…

For now, I shall reach out…

for that muse…

for that…

Well, a girl can’t give everything away.  But the answer may not be what you think.

Muse for Hire

An awakening occured that morning.  It set forth a fire that burned for 3 glorious days.  The muse had found her muse.

Once upon a time, on Valentines day, a muse found her muse..

But like all tragic love stories, despite the perfect timing it initially had, it wasn’t the right time.

It may never be the right time.

But that’s not going to stop her.

This Veruca Salt became determined to hold onto that rareity. She needed to learn patience. And so she turned to an old legend…

There is a legend far older and magical than the story most commonly associated with it. It is, in some ways, the same story.

In Japan after the bomb dropped in Hiroshima, there was a little girl named Sadako.  She got leukemia from the radiation, and laid in a hospital to die.

It is said that if you make a 1000 paper cranes that you will be granted one wish.

She wished to live.  Sadly, she died before she was able to accomplish it.    However she will always live on through the story.

I too have a wish.

That upon completion I would be reunited with my muse.

I’ve learned that I’ve been too much of a “Veruca Salt” of sorts.  I’m prone to being spoiled and unappreciative.  I dread standing in lines.  I tend to read the last few pages of books before reading the rest of them.

In a nutshell, I suck at patience.  Particularly when it comes to a relationship of any sort, albeit friend or otherwise.

As I’ve grown older, I’d like to think that I’m getting better at it.

This is the work in progress of the journey to my muse and the paths it takes me on.

This is the story of the girl and her quest to create.
Because some things are worth fighting for.
Because some things are worth wishing for.
Because sometimes wishes may actually come true in real life.

I will be posting bits and pieces of the documentary while it is in the progress.  I also started a twitter devoted specificially for this project.

It is the start of many to come, and will all be hosted on my main site for that: Museforhire.tv just as soon as I can possibly get it in order.

I appreciate your patience so much.

Here’s a video of my pathetic attempt to make the first crane.

Awakening

Once upon a midnight eerie…

I found myself at wits end.  Every bone in my body ached.  My soul felt crushed by an anvil.  I was having an anxiety attack.  I was having a meltdown within.

But I couldn’t talk about it.

I couldn’t write about it.

For… fear.

I didn’t want to hurt you by writing it.  In recourse, I didn’t want it to hurt me any longer.

The tales of could be-s.  Of wants to be-s. Of never was, but who knows if ever will be.

They are but a memory.  At least for this moment.  Until I pen them down as I know now that I must.

I write feverishly.  The keys click in perfect synchronicity as my dear friend sleeps in my bed… bidding me to join, but I shan’t tonight.  I’m emblazoned to write.  Filled with both levity and fervor.

Such is love though right?

I was feeling blue.  A litany of things going on in my head.  My passions became tainted and blurred.  I became a bitter ball of mess.  Ah perhaps that really is the moment when I should have known not to give up on it.

How deep they fall into the shadows that they can no longer see the light.

The words of a dear friend echoed in my mind.

I’ve gotten into ruts like this before.  Oh how I pity those who’ve I encountered while going through a bout of it. Many an apology hath been written afterward. Lest I not have a pen nearby to scrawl with for release.

When I lived in Illinois I had a system for dealing with it.  The details are all hush hush, except for a few hints and the end result.

Lost in many a move, there were dozens and dozens of pez dispensers in my possession.  At Christmas I would always find them in my stockings.  Memories of my grandfather dressing up as Santa and pretending we didn’t know. Of snap bracelets and Nintendo games wrapped securely in packages of sweet sweet ribboned consumerism.

They were a thing of simplicity. Of nostalgia and childhood.  Of a life when everything could be solved with a hug and kiss to mommy or daddy, or a picture drawn in crayons with five words easier spoken then

“I love you”

and

“I’m sorry.”

In my later years, I would trek to a drugstore and purchase one each time I felt that feeling coming.  It was one of the first things I did.  For a moment I would be that little girl in pigtails with missing teeth.  I could close my eyes and just feel that fuzzy feeling in my heart.

And afterwards, sometimes I would drive and disappear for hours.  My friends would find me later, covered in mud and scattered leaves through my hair- like blobs of paint on a messy canvas.

My friends back home then, and still are the most genuine and beloved souls that I have come across. We have this unwavering compassion for one another that is rare to come by, so treasured so when it’s found.

They didn’t question me.  They need not know where I’ve been, having found me better at the end of the tunnel. It was like I’d died many deaths, but there was never a fear I would not return.

Ah the light of a tunnel… and a city of lights as I was lost coming home from Long Beach last weekend.  It brought me back to that road.  The one of solace and serenity. I wanted to drift away and sail there for awhile. Perhaps I will again soon. Alone or with another passenger. The vessel. I shall become at the same time I become whole again.

Until one morning after my dismal dive down the depths of myself, I found the light again. A message with such perfect timing that it helped ease that pain again.

“You are dangerous…most likely intentionally lexiphanic…which I love. Your words are so perfectly composed, the fate of many could rest on the point of your pen.”

Who was this stranger? Why did he stumble into my existence? I am one that believes there is a reason for everything. Some say I think too much sometimes. Nay, I say I don’t think enough. The lines on my face will be from smiles and tales of conversations held over warm cups of chai… of dances on the beach in the moonlight… of that drink at happy hour with my dearest friends.

Moments worth living.

Moments- that I feel I must document more than ever… regardless of what prevails in the end. My heart will take it all in and let it all go.

Thus is the path of the artist indeed.

All it took were a few sentences on a page: simple and complex enough to ring just the proper cord to awaken me.

It perked me up to write again. Slapped in the face, it was a sign. I became pushed as if I were a sail- into a sea of blue. I shall oblige & return to my beloved sea of words. naught forgotten, but once tainted with disdain.

I write feverishly.  The keys click in perfect synchronicity as my dear friend sleeps in my bed… bidding me to join, but I shan’t tonight.  I’m emblazoned to write.  Filled with both levity and fervor.

The day that my passions became tainted and blurred…

The day I could feel every bit of pain and heart-of each bit of air ringing through my lungs with pain and zest.

Ah perhaps that really is the moment

when I realized that
I should have known better than to give up on it.