The painters sidekick

When I was younger, my grandmother and I would often be found painting on her screened in porch in a little house on the outskirts of suburban Chicago, Illinois.  Then there were visits from my cousin Marie… venturing from the far far away land of California.

The two of them paired together were the people that introduced me to the art world.  Cousin Marie would teach me the art of brush strokes as we watched Bob Ross on the television.  She would buy me droves of brushes. I would lose them in the myriad of moves.

Growing up and moving out here, I always thought that I would spend more time with Cousin Marie than I ultimately did.  She lived in Bakersfield, and I would go back and forth between Los Angeles and San Diego.  I spent a bit of time with her estranged daughter in Venice.  A bit of time in Culver City.  It was not often enough that our paths would cross.

And then one day I got a call…

Cousin Marie needed some help changing a bandage.  Her daughter was heading to work and couldn’t do it.  I obliged and made the trek over to help her.  I didn’t know how horrible she was going to look, nor did I know about the avalanche of health issues that had come upon her.

Now I’m not a health practitioner of any kind, but the wound I helped her undress and dress took a lot out of me to do.  As I pulled the layer after layer off, and the hole in her side where they had gone in to remove her breast bled and leaked fluids.  Every move I made seemed to hurt her more.  She was in so much pain from all of it.

She was so so thankful- ever vibrant and gracious.  She offered to pay me.  I declined.  The whole time I was there she asked me about me.  She didn’t want to focus on the pain, and didn’t want pitty.

Seeing her like that broke my heart.  One of the heroes from my childhood was falling to pieces.  I didn’t have much, but I offered to help her when a nurse couldn’t, and when her daughter refused to push back her own exploits.

Cousin Marie would later get the treatment she needed.  She was placed into a hospital in Santa Monica.  I regret that I had not visited her while she was there.

Months passed.  I randomly ran into dad after one of his visits.  We thought she was getting better.  We hoped she was getting better.

I asked my cousins daughter for a favor.  She refused.

“You did what you did for my mother, not for me.”

I haven’t spoken to her since February.

Yesterday Dad and Ethan came to visit me in the artist colony I currently reside in.  Cousin Marie had never been there.

“Mom, we’re outside, come downstairs.”

I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs.  I hadn’t seen Ethan in a few weeks due to work constraints.  We played some cards about killing off members of your family (in comical ways of course) and started a board game.  We didn’t know it then, but this day would be another one that we wouldn’t be forgetting.

Dad sat patiently as we played.  He made some phone calls and listened to the AM radio.  As he got off the phone with the last call, he stopped suddenly.

“She could die any day now.  We’re going to Bakersfield. Are you coming?”

The cancer had come back in five places.  My cousin Marie was now laying in her deathbed.

Back in the days that I’d spent in Bakersfield it always seemed liked death was in the air.  I didn’t understand why she would have wanted to go back up there after being able to get the care she’d needed in Santa Monica.  She chose to spend the remainder of her days where she grew up.

I didn’t know it was going to hit me as hard as it did.  Seeing her there hooked up to machines to “keep her comfortable” as I stood next to my dad and son…

Dad talked to cousin Marie.  He told her about things going on with my grandparents.  About how they had discovered why Grandpa was losing his memory, and how squirrels had destroyed the phone line to their house.  Dad kept his composure.  I couldn’t.  I broke down.

“Jen lives in an artist colony now Marie.  You’d probably like it there.”

My son hugged me tight.  Cousin Marie could barely open her eyes, let alone much else. Dad left the room to talk to the friend she had been staying with.

“Cousin Marie I want to thank you for showing me about art.  You are inspirational.”

She opened her eyes and smiled.  I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say, but I think she knew what I had told her.

We walked out of the room.  I found out that my cousins daughter had not been up to see her.  It upset me some more.  My cousin’s daughter lives a couple of hours south of where her mother was.  Dad advised me not to contact her regarding it, as the relationship between Marie and her had been estranged.

I texted her anyway.

“You need to put your differences aside and go up there.  It’s only a couple of hours away.”

She called me in tears.  She gave excuses as to why she wasn’t going to go.  She claimed she had gone last weekend.  She seemed upset about things out of her control… of the past that she was trying to come to terms with, but wasn’t.

“She made her choice to go up there.  I asked her many times to come down and paint with me.  She didn’t.”

As we left my son hugged me some more.  I felt worse that my son has had to experience death much sooner than I ever did.  I have been very fortunate to have had my family around this long.  Now, one by one they are going away.

“Mommy’s going to miss her the most.”

I think back to those simpler days with Gram and cousin Marie.  Days that formed my childhood.  Days that would form my adulthood.  I think about how different I would have been without these two women.  I think about how different I will be when I don’t have either of them anymore.

We drove home shortly after.  Said a rosary in the car for her.  My son was to have his first day of school today.  His days growing up are far different than mine.  They are so less full of the art and imagination that my cousin and grandmother ingrained in me back in the days that my dad didn’t really care to let us play video games as much as he does now. The days before I started on the path of working in video games and dad would allow my son to play far too much for my liking.

“Call me before you go to school if you can.  And if not, call me after.  I want to know how your day was.”

This morning on the bus, I got a phone call about the time Ethan would be going to school.  I answered excitedly, hoping he had had the chance to call me before after all.  It was unfortunately the call that my cousin’s battle with breast cancer had come to a close this morning.

“She’s gone Jen.”

Immediately it rushed over me.  I was ever so thankful I had had the chance to thank her for impacting my life before she passed.

The pink of the flowers along the path seemed to be a bit more vibrant today.  I saw my cousin shine in the world around me.  I smiled through the tears.  But it still hurts.  What do you do when one of your childhood heroes passes away?

To one of the most inspirational people of my childhood, you will be missed more than you know.  To those that would like to help support the fight against breast cancer, I highly encourage you to donate your time or energy to the Susan G Komen foundation.

Carmageddon: The Aftermath

Dear Los Angeles,

So I see you that have survived the feared inferno of “Carmageddon”. You rocked the happy hour specials. You steered your four wheeled vessels clear of the freeways in fear of losing your ever so precious time sitting parked on the freeway for hours upon hours.

You chose to not clutter the streets with aggravation. For a few glorious days, there was a silent peace decorated on asphalt. People were drawn in droves to the otherwise bickered about public transportation. There wasn’t arguing with the hurried commuter in the other car, bike, or motorcycle trying to get to x function. There were no stretched necks as accident after accident piled up to make the drive home from work, play, or errands a little longer. There was less noise and pollution.

The 405 is opening as I type this. It bids one to wonder if the community has learned anything from this exercise. How will the Los Angeles community change? How have you changed for the greater good?

Los Angeles once had the greatest public transit system in the world. Nowadays, people dread the thought of taking a bus, a train, or a bike in lieu of a car. This weekend proved that the community here is so ambivalent to change that, rather than embrace the possibilities of other alternatives, would rather just not participate at all.

This weekend Los Angeles biker community advocates Wolfpack Hustle embarked on a 40 mile race against an airline proved the power of the human versus the machine. In a race won by pedal pushers that generated substantial buzz, why are the Los Angeles bike paths lacking in comparison to other major metropolitan cities?

Now that Carmageddon has come and gone, as a business person, are you going to take heart the relief and production capabilities of a happier worker that has not had to “deal” with traffic for one day? Are you going to provide more of an incentive to take public transit?

As a regular commuter are you going to make a more proactive attempt to take public transit when you can? Will you take an extra few minutes to walk down the street to that cafe for brunch or the extra few blocks to the grocery store?

It’s time the community took a big look at the bigger picture. We have the power to carve this city into something greater if we unify ourselves. Time is a precious commodity but so is a calmer, healthier way of life. Instead of putting one in front of the other, perhaps both are capable of happening. Dare to be a part of the change.

One week of sobriety: A test of self control

Last week was a blur of disappointment and successes, but not for the reasons most might be thinking.

The biggest stateside video game conference had come and gone. It hadn’t been a fun filled week for me as it was for the many that gather here to our great city to celebrate the latest advances in technologies.

I work in two fields: journalism and entertainment. And while video games are a part of my 9-5, they are followed by my true passion: journalism. I have been fortunate to have resided on both sides of the fence. Each has its perks and setbacks.

I did my laundry Sunday. I washed away the remnants of people that I had thought more of before last week, of someone who I didn’t know what to think, of someone whom there exists a war in my head with what to think, and of pieces of myself that I’m learning more and more about.

I waver in between worlds within the spotlight and highlighting those who sparkle under it. But this camera sees a depth of field that…

With any conference comes the after parties. Behind these scenes is where the real magic and disasters occur. It’s the stuff of a million stories that writers won’t write about. It’s the stuff of stories that they probably should write about. It’s stuff that gets compiled into your brain and begs and begs to be released but rarely ever does.  Its the stuff that you wish you didn’t know.  It’s the stuff of stories that can drive you insane due to the lack of ability to release.

It’s the story of someone making an ass of themselves meeting someone for a secret rondevous. It’s the story of trying so hard to impress someone that the only thing that surfaces is the detestable.  It’s the story of having so much alcohol in order to make others tolerable, that a black out happens. It’s the story of [redacted] and the story of [redacted redacted].

When you work in the entertainment industry, you see this in so many instances that eventually, you have two options:
1) Let it overcome you.
or 2)Find a way to overcome it before it consumes you whole.

Life becomes more exhausting than usual. Not only does the weight of your own reality weigh on you, but so does the weight of the people vying for their chance to shine in the limelight of a coveted piece of fifteen moments of fame on the tabloid of choice.

Fearing an impending overdose on it all, I elected to take a command step forward. Paired with someone to assist in co-miserating the experience, I embarked on a journey into a world of glitz and glamour free of a method of escape. For one week I would be alcohol and smoke free.

Notes: I am not a daily drinker. I drink on a number on an occasional basis: networking parties where everyone has a glass of something in their hands, happy hour with coworkers, dates, and when something is really getting to me. The same generally applies to my smoking habits sans for one additional place it enters. Ah the “joys” of Los Angeles traffic.

Day one was to start when he left. He and I had spent the whole day together booze free. The evening had been cut short unexpectedly. Our plans to disappear into historical places taking roost in fabled haunts with as equally fabled spirits faded into the ether (for the time being).

An hour after he’d left however, I found myself assisting a friend (and veteran featured personality) with an art show she’d curated located within a seedy motel downtown. My time was spent in a bed navigating perverts (read: art enthusiasts) through the graphiti clad thrashed rock themed art room. He and I had talked earlier about me attending the show and I was originally going to stay at home and work on my book, but yet there I was. In the middle of it all, I stayed true to my mission. I remained sober and penned away at a notebook as the crowds waved in and out.

One shocking thing happened from the alt-shock event extravaganza  was not what I was expecting in the slightest. Among the sea of onlookers was one of the artists featured in the show with a very special guest. He was a “short” man.  Five ten with brown hair, scruffy and parker-esque. He had a smile that illuminated the room. His words faultered as he was nudged to “Just ask her”.

He talked to me a few minutes.  He’d wanted to take my picture with this artists work. Both of them were delightful people but there was something more about this gentleman. While talking about how we’d both ended up at the event by way of serendipitous routes, my tale of my mission to be sober for the week came up in conversation. He turned to me and said “I completely understand. I’m sober myself.” Does like energy really attract like energy?

When I arrived home however, it was nearly 2am. I was exhausted from the event. I’d had to help scrub the graphiti off the walls and clean up the aftermath. There had been four of us toiling away that evening cleaning. Being an art curator (or in my case, assisting one) is not always as glamorous as it sounds.

The bar below my apartment had my favorite beer on tap. I immediately walked up the steps and got a glass. But after I’d paid for it and it had been poured in front of me, I began to feel horrible. Day one of sobriety had been going so well. Within an instant, I’d ruined it.

The next day I went to visit family in Huntington Beach. I was intending on spending some time as a mermaid beachside a bit as well. Of course, the outfit I chose as I headed to the beach felt more suiting of the event I was at last minute then what I’d ended up wearing. Cest’ le vie. As I packed my bag my brain immediately went to “cans of beer and smokes”.  I shook the idea off and headed seaside.

Even after I’d arrived to family bbq, the two items I’d left behind were pushed into view. My family helped to make excuses for why it would be alright.  So did friends who’d invited me to return back to the bar below my loft bribing feats of hilarity in kiddie pools.  Everyone seemed to chime in “You can just start tomorrow.”

Remembering the night prior, I stuck true to the goal. It was a bit frustrating but it was nothing compared to the temptations that would follow the rest of the week. One such example happened later that evening when I’d arrived home. My secret guest and I had limited ability to enjoy our weekend as my roommate (who isn’t usually home and isn’t home as this is being written) was home for the entirety of it. However she’d had a guest that evening. I wanted nothing more than to go downstairs and have a beer. No can do.

I found myself as the week progressed, and as life continued to rapid fire bullets of everyday flies in the ointment, running a gammit of emotions from intensely frustrated with my lack of easy escapism, to rationalizing the act, to… undeniable clarity.

I went to my first networking event without the escapism. At one point, I’d thought that the booze was necessary. You need a glass in your hand in order to be approachable after all right? Almost right. The event had been a test of wits. It forced me to modify the way I went about my interactions. With the sobriety came more clarity and control over myself in navigating the event than I’d remembered experiencing for a long time.

My eyes were wide open.  I saw everything.  I was better able to gauge who would be the best conservators. I met more valuable, more mature and more truly talented people than I might have had I not been completely sober. I immediately was able to see how I could make their businesses better.  I was more on point with statistical and competition information.  I felt empowered by my lack of a barrier to readily access that information.

The main rationalization I’d previously turned to for the reason to do it “I deserve it” became the reason not to do it. It evolved. Perhaps I did a little in the process as well. And while I may not go completely sober or smoke free right now, I will continue to follow this path. The lessons that I have learned from this week shall not disappear into the ether. I highly encourage each of you to try this for yourself. You don’t have to have a huge problem for it to be effective.

Why?  Because “You deserve it?”  Almost.  It’s because “You deserve more.”

If you or someone you love is experiencing a debacle great or small with alcohol or any other substance, don’t be afraid to seek help with it. You are not alone. For more information on support centers and other outlets, or if you just want to attend a meeting to see what others are saying to see for yourself, feel free to look into the following link at your leisure:

Alcoholics Anonamous

Silent reverb

I wish I was me when you met me.
I was almost there but not quite.

And when the storms hit, and the ship rocked and rocked…
I felt like I was going to tip over.
I thought I was going to pour out.

I wanted for you to be there- by my side as I was at the helm.
I didn’t need you to help guide me.
I didn’t need for you to take the wheel.

But you insisted.

I didn’t want to fight you.
I wanted you to be there and watch me do it myself.
But you insisted.
And I didn’t know how to take it.

Parts of me stripped away
As the storms raged on and on
I was afraid that I was going to lose you
I wanted you to be steadfast and hold on.
But it was too late.

I cried out in anguish as the seas claimed hold of you
I wanted it to be me
I wanted to jump in and bring you back

And the storms raged on and on
The wheel spun and spun and spun.
It heeded me return to it

The fog rolled in
I watched you as you disappeared

I cried out in anguish as the seas claimed hold of you
Oh how I wanted to jump in and bring you back
I wanted it to be me

The grey clouds thickened and enveloped the ship
You weren’t there to help save me
For the first time I felt scared
Was I really going to be able to do this alone?

And the storms raged on and on
The wheel spun and spun and spun
It heeded me return to it

The fog rolled in
I watched you as you disappeared

I cried out in anguish as the seas claimed hold of you
Oh how I wanted to jump in and bring you back
I wanted it to be me

Parts of me stripped away
As the storms raged on and on
And when those storms hit,
and the ship rocked and rocked…
I felt like I was going to tip over.
I thought I was going to pour out.

I wanted for you to be there- by my side as I was at the helm.
But what I found in your absence was more strength than I had ever fathomed even before your entrance.

I didn’t need you to help guide me.
I didn’t need for you to take the wheel.

The skies opened up and the night was filled with stillness
Stars scattered across the now black canvas once again
It can’t rain all the time.

I wish I was me when you met me.
I was almost there but not quite.

Destination Self: The stuff of fantasies

It’s nearly 4am on Monday morning and my brain is going a 1000 miles an hour.  This month… this year… everything has become such a wonderful blur of busy that…

Six months ago, I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.  Now, I’m happening to me.

I have been fighting a long time to garner success.  Los Angeles is a city where dreams are made and often broken.

Not many people know this, but I have been battling with a lot.  For an “oversharer” I don’t share quite a bit more.  It’s difficult being in a spot where people are watching you.

I was on a bus in Chicago last weekend and I saw a bum babbling about.  It made think even more about the paths that I’ve gone. About how far I’d come from being a little girl in pigtails living in suburbia Illinois.

“This guy is sitting here instead of a mental health facility because no one cares.  Is it better for someone to care or is it better that people don’t?”

Something I’ve struggled with for a long time is this.

The change my grandfather gave me has taken another form.

I’d said at the beginning of the year that this is the time where I finally get everything I’ve dreamed of.  And here it is February and it’s happening.

  • I have a great job with a technology company that was rated one of the 10 best places to work in. There’s enormous growth opportunity.
  • I have been doing a lot more writing- including a piece where I was fortunate enough to interview pinup artist legend Olivia De Beradinis and 1960s Batman series star Julie Newmar. Afterwards, I watched a surise in Malibu.
  • My bike is fully operational and running again.  However I’m buying another one in the near future… with self propelled wheels.
  • I have multiple photoshoots in the works.  That’s right, I’m finally working on that modeling portfolio I’ve been wanting to do for some time now.  If you’re reading this and want to schedule a shoot, email me.
  • I flew cross country to meet a fantasy man who has adored me from afar for 4 years.  When I saw him, it felt like the opening scene in this video… and that’s not even the half it.

Life is pretty surreal right now.  However with that also comes the multiple stresses that have come about due to these successes which,  for once, seem to only keep coming.

For the longest time I have been fighting to get to this point in my life.  Now that it’s happening, part of me is scared shitless.

In the midst of all these mind blowing events, the following has also happened- and all within the last week and a half:

  • My bank card was compromised despite not leaving my purse.  At this time someone made multiple charges to gas stations out of the area.  While the funds have gone back into my account, I still have not gotten a replacement card over 2 weeks later.  I flew cross country to Chicago with hundreds of dollars in cash in my purse on public transportation just in case of an emergency while out there.
  • Going on the trip back to Chicago was mind blowing.  I’m not even talking about the person I met (although he is magical as well… that’s another story in itself).  I saw things about Los Angeles that made me remember why I was so hesitant to stay here.  I saw things about Chicago that I didn’t get the chance to experience much whilst living a mere 45 minutes away.  I felt the warm embrace of a city life I’d always dreamed of.  It made me do a lot of thinking about these other worlds out there.  About a city that is so warm even if it’s blustering cold outside.  Of the opposite scenario.  About how both of these worlds have opened my eyes to more about myself.
  • An enormous potential opportunity for my writing may be in the works.  While I can’t reveal exactly what, whom it would potentially be with or anything else, let’s just say it’s one of those things that is the stuff of dreams.
  • I pitched something elsewhere and that was also taken with positive reception.  I am so busy as it is, but yet I keep adding more to my plate.
  • My sleep schedule has officially broken.  When I was in Illinois, I could barely sleep.  Now I’m back and I either can’t sleep much at all or I’m sleeping too much.
  • Did I mention I met someone who had previously been a fantasy?  Do you have any idea how life altering that is?  I flew 2000 miles away to meet this man and he not only met but exceeded my expectations.  Should be easy right?  No.  With the whole 2000 miles it commands a lot of patience.  My brain is jelly and is now coping with the clash of reality and fantasy becoming one and the same.  Things will happen organically if they are meant to happen.  I’m stepping back and breathing.  I don’t have anything to worry about so I should stop worrying.  This one, is essentially the least of the things I am/should be worrying about, but alas, its on my mind because its one of the realest romances I have experienced… and it came out of a fantasy.
  • My mother called to remind me about how it’s wrong to be the way that I am essentially.  My whole existence to her is taken with such disdain.  From the fact that I didn’t see her whilst in Chicago to her failure to see how I’m busting my ass off for things she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

And that’s just part of it.

I’ve learned so much about me with all of these experiences.

I’m not always the greatest with things.

I may apologize for the times I falter, but this is pillar of life is strong and vibrant.

I know that it’s alright to be vulnerable.

It’s alright to break down.

Without these moments, one wouldn’t be able to sustain things atop the world.

I have aspirations to conquer the world.  I have the ability within me to do it.  I’ve asked for all these dreams to become realities, and now…

This is happening.

This is really happening.

I’m taking a risk by putting this out in the open.  I currently have career opportunities and stability that… well I’ve never really had since my marriage dissipated years ago.  I’ve wanted this.  I’ve dreamed of this.

I told my biggest fan recently:

“I dreamed of you.”

and he told me “I dreamed of you too.”

Another friend of mine and I had a conversation about him before I got on that plane:

(4:16:58 AM) friend: real life dream girls like you don’t happen every day
(4:17:34 AM) me: aww
(4:17:50 AM) friend: it’s true miss
(4:18:08 AM) me: real life dream boys like him don’t happen every day either

So what the hell is my problem?  I’m so much stronger and braver than I’ve been behaving over the past couple of weeks.  To those that have been there with me through it all, I thank you so very much for your patience, compassion, and your unwavering confidence in me.  It means the absolute world to me.

It’s 5am now.  It’s time to get ready for work.  Here comes a 10 hour day in a dream world.  Here’s another day working towards making even more fantasies become realities.  Here’s to another day of me learning more.

Fail often, succeed once.

Today I’m throwing away failure.  Not only am I going to succeed this once but I’m making a commitment to myself to succeed in much more than that.

We have the ability to get everything we want if we only reach out and grab it.

It just takes time.

Pocket Change

Day 2 of moving back to Culver City and, of course it rained.  My bike went to the Dr. yesterday. Kage’s heart seized and was diagnosed in need of repair.  Months after my entrance and now exit from the magical land I lived in on the East side… it was a bit of an eye opener.  My last day at the Lake was bright and sunny.  But the day that the move was ultimately being done was a sign that the illusion wasn’t built to last.

Tragedies happened this Christmas and things have tended to break around me.

Hearts.

Cars.

Bikes.

I work temporary gigs.  Contractor assignments.  Freelance is great and then it’s not enough.  I’ve been working my ass off here to stay in Los Angeles… to get that view of downtown from my balcony in Silver Lake.  For the opportunity to ride my scooter alongside the ocean.  But at the end of the day I’m back where I started this journey- with my stuff shoved in a storage unit and only a few coins left in my pocket.

And then a package came from a ghost. A few months ago my grandfather on my mother’s side passed.  He was a bit of a tinker (he fixed watches in his spare time while my grandmother worked on jewelry) and collected miscellaneous things.  Growing up, he always had a sea of change.  He accrued it from many a travel… Whether it was a trip to the grocery store or running an errand, he’d take the spare change he had and throw it in a drawer.  One thing I remember about him was that he always would have coins.

When the grandkids would visit he would dump a drawer of it out for us.  We didn’t know it in those days but he didn’t have much of anything really.   But back then, we thought he had a million dollars with all the sea of glittering coins lying in that pile.

On Christmas this year I got a package from my grandmother on my mother’s side.  It didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary so I didn’t open it.

I spent the time with my son.  He asked me what was in the box and I replied:

“Probably jewelry.  Granma Munchalfen always sends mom jewelry.”

I didn’t realize it then but inside was something important.

The rain kept coming down.  And the harder it poured, the more I pushed through the storms of it all.  Just like I always have.  And as the rains washed the city and turned my car into something rivaling Swamp Thing, perhaps something happened to me too.

I got the call about the bike this afternoon.  Not good.  I told the mechanic about my other grandfather who is still very much alive and still riding his own motorcycle.  I thought about how much I wanted to fix things here myself.  The video game industry is not exactly a user friendly environment as per stability.

My great aunt Louise passed away this week at the age of 91.  I thought about my grandparents and about my other family back in suburbia Illinois.

I thought about how much my family meant to me.  How I haven’t been home much since I left except for funerals.  About the unsent card I found addressed to the grandfather that died when I came back from going home the last time.  About how I didn’t have the funds to go home for this one.  All that fighting and nothing but pocket change to show for it.

Change.

My mother called me to talk about things back there.  She asked if I had opened the package from her mother.  She told me that there was something important in it.

On Christmas this year I got a package from my grandmother on my mother’s side with a simple note:

“Grandma wanted everyone to get a little something from Grandpa.  So she separated the coins and by the grace of Grandpa put them into bags so each of you can start your own coin collections.”

Change.

Hmm.  Alright Grandpas, I get it.

The answer was so simple but I was too caught up in everything else that I lost sight of it.

Stability.

Family.

Love.

My grandfather may not have been a rich man by a financial standpoint, but he was rich in heart.

It’s not always easy but the dream is attainable.  Everything is all within your reach.  You just have to open your eyes and embrace the change in your pockets.

 

 

 

The Repercussion of Things Said Too Soon

I don’t throw the word “love” around much anymore.
Saying it out loud seems to make it disappear.

The L word is the kiss of death when uttered too soon to someone not ready to hear it… even if they already know.

I don’t throw the word “love” around much anymore.
Saying it out loud seems to make it disappear.

Maybe I should have kept that to myself until we were both ready.  But it was how I felt.  Deep down I wondered if you felt even a portion of what I did.  But you didn’t.  You were too selfish to let anyone in but yourself.  The thing is, you’re so insecure that you don’t even do that.

Love is based on sharing an emotional piece of yourself with someone else.  Why does telling someone how you feel about them have to come with such major repercussions?

The act of falling in love is the craziest experience one can ever do.  It encompasses you.  It takes you away.  And when it’s over… you never feel more alive.  There’s just so much pain in even the wake of it.

I don’t throw the word “love” around much anymore.
Saying it out loud seems to make it disappear.

Things like this take time. It’s not easy by any stretch of the imagination. The heart is a very delicate thing.

Emotions are gifts and they are also vices. Blessed are those that are truly virtuous to maintain a degree of decorum in the midst of a storm.

Love is a battlefield. You don’t have to retreat but you should keep your shield up- lest your sanity be obliterated more so by the blow of unrequited love and heartache.