and, we're back...

it's been a long time since i first got down...

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so, i was deep in the quiet, trying to string together the right letters, a little washed ashore on words. there's always material, in surround or muffled beneath the pillow trying to catch some air. but it's hard to write about an ocean while you're learning how to swim. so i decided to keep quiet, to be in the field collecting data and not at my desk telling stories. but then the radio silence got pretty loud. i set a few writing goals. unmet. i kept thinking, if i write, what's it going to be about? i thought some more and then realized i had thought too much.

last year there was a clear path to the narrative. a lighthouse guided me through each anecdote. i worked at working and worked at understanding why and then i wrote. i drew from the immediate and felt that i could write my way through anything.

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this year i checked my pockets and they were empty. i looked to places i had gone to before for inspiration but they had been ravaged by a huge party or some natural disaster. i felt like i woke up in someone else's city and there were no lights. i broke out my bag of tricks but the locks had been changed.

i could see that i was more adrift than lonely, and more watchful than engaged.

i have decided to share a little secret i've been keeping:

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i like to tell my version of stories. i like to take my clothes off and dance around the room. i like to not have to care who sees.

i am a writer because i am an artist and sometimes   that means there are no rules.

i've missed you, it's good to be back.

something like a phenomenon

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oh hey there, spring, you're back. 

it's no secret you've been hovering around for awhile, teasing us with your feverish wiles. how you usher in something soft, something that we've missed, a newness and the next. and because i accidentally let my mind wander around your orbit, i began thinking about everything again. there is always so much to consider, can i get a witness? our lives are full of simultaneity, hugeness, and an overwhelming amount of minutia.

and here in the western hemisphere the sun has gently reminded us of the moment in which all that littleness happens. yes, the cherry blossoms have been dressing the streets for weeks, their break neck beauty seducing traffic. yes, there is jasmine growing along the edges of fences and the like. but isn't it how the sky cleared and restored the light back into the day, reminding us that there is less dark, is that what breaks us down and builds us back together the most?

i have written two unsent letters to two very different people in the past week.

the first one was written out of frustration and a need to feel heard, if not understood. my fingers went wild on the keys and then when it came time to send, i froze. i slept on it and woke up the next day with less of a need to outwardly extend those feelings. i decided to just feel them for myself, and let them dissolve on their own.

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the second letter was more complicated, vulnerable, harder to articulate. the message was sincere, absolutely honest, maybe even a little too transparent; sometimes i don't know, maybe i'm doing a little too much thinking...

in any case, i spent a lot of time crafting the message, making sure that there was a purpose to each word, that the t's were crossed and the i's were dotted. in the end it when it was lost it was one part my subconscious cold feet and another fate. when saving it as a draft, i accidentally erased it instead. along with my time, hopes, and efforts, those carefully worded sentiments, vanished.

when it was without a doubt that the letter had gone into the great nowhere, i was relieved. i knew i couldn't rewrite it and ever feel the same sort of satisfaction or certainty that i had originally, not because my feelings had changed, but because that unfettered access to them had been compromised.

those lines had ascended into the ether. an outer hemisphere where things like, what you wished you had said in the moment, and lost socks go, and are never recovered.

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and so my sense of letting go was restored, like i drug that i can't possibly get enough of.

i don't wonder how i will ever say those things again, i only wonder what their worth really ever was in the first place.

i am a writer because i have spring fever.

leapt

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there is something inherently poetic about leap year. an entire day that appears only to disappear and go unaccounted for until we've cycled through space again and again. its faithful, distant, and clockwork return reclaims unfortunate and special birthdays, filling back up that empty space on the calendar.  i've always found it hopeful, an add-on, a perk, something that returns to us, making the shortest month breathe for a bit longer until we turn the page, pay our bills again, and go further into the year. how it rests differently into the corner of the second month, and how the second month seems to have more of a crash landing than the first. janauary has shock value while february is quick and to the point. take a breath, but make it fast, while everything still happens and the light tilts toward spring, even if earlier in the week it felt like summer, and today it's cold and raining.

and i know i wasn't the only one to notice that this february had a little more bite to it, if not shark teeth. this made me consumed with finding the place where i could turn away from that feeling. my thoughts were on a loop. i wasn't myself and it was, in addition to becoming claustrophobic, boring.

since i've come up for air, i've been on a mission to do something about my own attitude, perspective, beliefs, and feelings. i've searched and searched for somewhere to hide or a place to pour out what was scratching at me.

and then i remembered leap year. what a perfect nook to tuck anything away.

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sure, there is all kinds of  trouble a phantom day can cause. its ability to fold in and out of routine has a mischievous quality, but what it lacks in continuity it makes up for in surprise.

who doesn't love a little surprise? well, if a surprise isn't your thing, what about change?

i've been searching hi and lo for a change in my bridal attitude, and i found it. i was able to name what was in my way, and now that i have, i've turned the beat around. it was a process and i couldn't have done without a few helpful pushes in the right direction, some of you know who you are...but moreover, it was a conscious choice to identify what was weighing me down, embrace it, and then let it go so as to make room for more productive feelings...dismantling the roadblock was tricky, but there is definitely a little more leap to my step.

there is still time to sign up for an exciting workshop on changing our stories. ariana of simply living coaching and i are co-hosting, there are only four spots left-- sign up here to join us!!

basically, i was my own guinea pig. i am a writer because i like to experiment...

fevercakes

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i'm blogging from bed with a cold/flu. terrible timing and all, since inception, it's only gotten worse. it started while grocery shopping. i was losing it, overwhelmed. i wanted to make soup but i was already hungry. i wanted a cupcake, but it was 10am. i cried on the way home about the largeness of wedding planning. my body was cinching my capacity for dailyness way in. since then i've managed to accomplish a few things in the haze, things i can hide inside my computer while doing. my attitude about being sick has never been healthy. i tend to push myself, or question the validity of my symptoms, usually finding myself shattered, in a rugged and avoidable collection of ailments.

actually, i'm categorically awful at being sick.  i tried to exercise twice yesterday and it took me at least the whole morning to admit to myself that i wasn't going to be able to do any good work until today, maybe. i hadn't planned on this, so it doesn't fit into my schedule.

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but mostly, i've been split by the part of me that needs a respite and the part of me that naturally goes full steam. and already, the cherry blossoms have been winking at me. they bloom two weeks each year, and i have loved them always. i hate to miss a moment of their breezy shine. it's desperate and irrational. their uneven loveliness lining the streets, anywhere, as though it is now spring, just because they've arrived. those twisted branches: dark, knotty, and then that full pink reaching into the sun.  they've always had my heart. i keep thinking the word: glorious. i want a better one. they are goddess like and hopeful, they are complicated, elusive, and slightly untrustworthy. they make everything an atrium, blushing, magical, and bright.

i am off the charts, emotionally. always grateful, but one minute defeated by what i cannot control (a fruitless effort) and another filled with certainty for what is here now and what lies ahead. meanwhile the word perspective and i are in a very fiery relationship. it's reactive, immediate, and pretty passionate. i always thought of myself as an optimistic, upbeat, and dust yourself off and go, type of person. as i hold more, i have sensed a paradigm shift with my attitude. it's heavier and thicker and i have a harder time freeing myself from my brand new go-to negative view.

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it's an act of mindfulness for me to undo. a rewriting of each story that burdens my usual enthusiasm or fearlessness with the anchors of "what if," "i can't," or, "this or that won't work." i am in the salt mines with my own panorama right now, building alternate pathways to my own beliefs. as i write this from bed on a beautiful morning, not sure if my hip is healed, how sick i am, or if my heart broke a little along the way, i am changing my story, rewriting, revisioning, and shifting perspective every moment i can wrangle myself around. i am a writer because i will always try to.

come join ariana of simply living coaching and i on march 4th for a re-writing workshop. we'll be fixing our stories up together!

恭喜发财 enter the dragon

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1986 was the year of the tiger. i was nine and still remember a lot from third grade. i was desperate for my brother's breakdancing hand-me-down's and i took a big yellow school bus to and from school everyday that i caught in front of my best friend's house. i was charlie chaplin for halloween and i lived for now and laters, playing outside until it was dark, and the muppet show.

i grew up in berkeley which meant that i got to celebrate every holiday from many of the 400 races attending berkeley unified that could also be found in any given classroom. my brother, four years older than me, had the same teacher when he was in third grade, which made her stock go up considerably.

third grade was the year our entire class pulled our tiny chairs around a tv in the late morning to watch a spaceship take off another coast toward the moon.  it burst into flames while still racing through the earth's atmosphere. the ocean swallowed the debris, burying it deep into the very planet we read fairytales at night on. it was the year i grated my finger while demonstrating how to make potato latkes, and when i first remember celebrating a whole new year twice in one month.

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"gong hei fat choi!" we said to each other while making banners to stretch across the classroom in bright red paper. we used gold pens to decorate them, and took smaller pieces of red paper and folded fake money into their crease. we dutifully passed them out with wishes for good fortune and happiness in the new year.

i have chinese characters tattooed on my neck and one on my shoulder. at some point i fell in love with the beauty of the language and its storytelling.  like a house, each character contains so much. i lived in costa rica after high school on and off until i was twenty. i was back home at one point and it was raining. i emptied out my checking account, quit my job cooking at the cafe, went to the student travel agency before dropping out of school, bought a ticket back to costa rica, took the bus to telegraph ave., and had the chinese characters for, love, strength, and luck, inked into the space on my body between my mind and heart, like an oil drill.

i realize now what i may have loved most, while i have been hovering around the theme of new beginnings, start-overs and the like, it is the duality and ability to press reset so quickly on such a big machine. here we are, knee-deep in january, the year already shaping itself in its predictable and unpredictable ways, and then, just like that, enter the dragon, and we can start all over again. i am a writer because i was born the year of the snake.