On a beautiful sunny day too early in March, greeted by confused spring robins and solar warmth on my head in my wee-hour trek to the office, I feel melancholy. Not depressed, not dark in a shadows sort of way, but in a contemplative moment. Could I be angry for anger’s sake? Could I be pissy for stupidity’s sake? Could I have caught “the mood”? Or is the full moon toying with my sentiments? Honestly, all of the above, yet as I sit here drawn to Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah, Christina Perri’s Thousand Years, and Adele’s Set Fire to the Rain I realize that it is none of the above. And thanks to a friend’s post on Facebook showing beachgoers in Brazil saving a family of beached dolphins I cracked. I realize humanity has a chance.
This winter failed its own definition miserably, and affected me in ways I never expected. I call it RSAD, not Renee sad, but reflecting seasonal affective disorder – take that DSMV! Where was the snow, forcing family home for much needed togetherness, the freezing temperatures that kill the germs and control pest populations for the coming season, the many dark hours indoors, finding adventures in the corners of the house you normally ignore? What of the snow boots and heavy coat we were so excited for Anya to wear while making snowmen and angels with Freyja bounding around the yard in husky revelry, burrowing deep to find buried toys? Where was my hibernation?
My little baby turns three in seven days.
My little girl doesn’t want to wear diapers anymore.
My dancing, drumming, piano playing diva will start taking ballet lessons.
I stand on the brink of building the life I dream.
I turned 40 seven days ago.
The tears continue to well and recede. The ringing fear of failure echoes in every fold and crevice. I never wanted to be superwoman…well perhaps when I was 10 and in love with Lynda Carter and Jaime Summers - my fearless protectors, super women. I’ve always gravitated to the female actress, musician, superhero, author, teacher, yet had few female close friends. Today I look around and I’m surrounded by beautiful women, all different; I admire each and every one. They all bring something important to my life, and all are a piece of me. I begin to understand myself, where I’ve been, and my hopes for my little girl. Being a woman, being female: being darkness and light, strength and weakness, intelligent and confused, being soft and firm, being both sides of the mirror. I used to believe this dichotomy a burden.
In yet another year the fear-mongering bandwagon instills apocalyptic stigma to the blinking of an eye, I find the most strength to stand alone. I will not be controlled or spend another moment scared by someone’s extremism. I will not raise a daughter to subject her energy and spirit to the venom of ignorance. I can’t save the world, but I can save myself, and hopefully my child. Truth is a tricky word for no good reason than it is subjective, unlike fact, which I’m sure we could debate as well. Facebook, unfortunately, provides the best example at the moment. I am exhausted reading emails for the latest hoax that no one bothered to confirm before spreading its fallacy to more sheep. How many people will “repost” these same hoaxes gone FB before they get it that they are creating truth out of lies. Wouldn’t it be nice to believe that we can save a little child with “likes”. The accurate information exists with a little due diligence. Bandwagon mentality goes both directions; Occupy rallies people together for a purpose; the end of the world breeds selfishness and greed and ignorance.
Today I woke up remembering the days my husband, then boyfriend, and I lived like rock-stars: we drank too much, stayed up too late and lived in the moment. On an adventure to the Dewey Beach Music Fest I offered moral support to my man and an excuse to enjoy the spontaneity of life. We stayed in a motel room, circa1980s Wildwood-heydays, yet with less enthusiasm for lack of comfort or pretties. After a nap we ventured out to eat and bar hop, dancing and drinking the night away with musicians from all around, showcasing their fab-ness with ego or humility, neither mattered much. After hours of debauchery, shadows crept and the rowdy rumbled to their cells to sleep or vomit or both. I stumbled to a hotel room with friends and strangers, most on the edge of or beyond consciousness, eager for water and a somewhat clean bed. We found ourselves anchovied in a room surrounding a beautiful voice singing Jeff Buckley’s version of Hallelujah. Lzzy’s voice was angelic and brought tears to every person in that crowded room. We begged her to sing it over and over again, mesmerized. Now Lzzy is all grown up and following her dream, rocking the world.
Why does the Twilight Saga thrive? Not from good acting or story writing, but romance. The ultimate sacrifice, ideal, true, unconditional love, the journey, fate, you name it…the sentiment of the fantasy. Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years tugs at my heart like no other in quite some time. Her voice hypnotizes with melody and ethereal tones. I met her in those same days as Halestorm made their way through the trenches, but not as a young female singer, but Nick Perry’s little sister, in love with all the wrong guys and losing her innocence fast. I wish I could have protected her when I met her at that 30th birthday party, she was so young and sweet, and I didn’t want these guys taking her down. Now I listen to her voice on the radio and beam that she survived those days, and more beautiful for her pain and acceptance of her femaleness. Her song speaks volumes for all that we want to believe and hope and feel. The lullaby is what dreams are made of.
What about these two women who don’t know me makes me want to talk about them? They may not remember me, but I felt like a protective mother when I met them, and didn’t understand it until now. They were both young with big dreams and a reality that I had begun losing. I wanted to see them succeed and be strong women in a male dominated world. Men saw them as objects, not as talent and beings full of energy to share. Now I blare their voices with a smile, feeling like a moment shared in time with them connects me to strength and hope once more. And for my daughter to learn and understand what it means to be a woman in all her aspects and places through time, I needed to see these women become.
I stand on a new edge of being. Turning 40 didn’t cause some great awareness or understanding or cliché: it coincided. I’ve always associated myself and my life with the phoenix. What beautiful imagery of a colorful bird becoming, dying, and becoming again. Need I bring a Madonna reference here? For all my teen angst and bad decisions and recklessness I was blessed with the ability to rise again, stronger than before, and hopefully more vibrant. My current transfiguration rests in my post partum, post void, post darkness, posthumous ashes. I don’t need to have lived a thousand years to understand a thousand years. I want to teach my daughter the wisdom of ages of women of life of death and not fear failure. To believe, survive, restore and become all that exists for her world.
I am proud to share my life with amazing women: mothers, sisters, dancers, artists, voices, friends, daughters, each and every one touches my life in positive ways. And in turn bless Anya with hope for a future. She can learn so much more than I because her predecessors opened new doors, continue to break down walls and leap ravines, fight illogic and fallacy, and reveal wisdoms long buried or suppressed. I know I will never stop worrying about her safety and growth, but I must believe that I can provide her the tools and knowledge to survive and succeed, and surround her with good example and strength. The darkness is a place of strength and knowledge and without it I could never have understood myself and my world or come to know my strength. Now to teach Anya not to be afraid of the dark.
In yet another year the fear-mongering bandwagon instills apocalyptic stigma to the blinking of an eye, I find the most strength to stand alone. I will not be controlled or spend another moment scared by someone’s extremism. I will not raise a daughter to subject her energy and spirit to the venom of ignorance. I can’t save the world, but I can save myself, and hopefully my child. Truth is a tricky word for no good reason than it is subjective, unlike fact, which I’m sure we could debate as well. Facebook, unfortunately, provides the best example at the moment. I am exhausted reading emails for the latest hoax that no one bothered to confirm before spreading its fallacy to more sheep. How many people will “repost” these same hoaxes gone FB before they get it that they are creating truth out of lies. Wouldn’t it be nice to believe that we can save a little child with “likes”. The accurate information exists with a little due diligence. Bandwagon mentality goes both directions; Occupy rallies people together for a purpose; the end of the world breeds selfishness and greed and ignorance.
Today I woke up remembering the days my husband, then boyfriend, and I lived like rock-stars: we drank too much, stayed up too late and lived in the moment. On an adventure to the Dewey Beach Music Fest I offered moral support to my man and an excuse to enjoy the spontaneity of life. We stayed in a motel room, circa1980s Wildwood-heydays, yet with less enthusiasm for lack of comfort or pretties. After a nap we ventured out to eat and bar hop, dancing and drinking the night away with musicians from all around, showcasing their fab-ness with ego or humility, neither mattered much. After hours of debauchery, shadows crept and the rowdy rumbled to their cells to sleep or vomit or both. I stumbled to a hotel room with friends and strangers, most on the edge of or beyond consciousness, eager for water and a somewhat clean bed. We found ourselves anchovied in a room surrounding a beautiful voice singing Jeff Buckley’s version of Hallelujah. Lzzy’s voice was angelic and brought tears to every person in that crowded room. We begged her to sing it over and over again, mesmerized. Now Lzzy is all grown up and following her dream, rocking the world.
Why does the Twilight Saga thrive? Not from good acting or story writing, but romance. The ultimate sacrifice, ideal, true, unconditional love, the journey, fate, you name it…the sentiment of the fantasy. Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years tugs at my heart like no other in quite some time. Her voice hypnotizes with melody and ethereal tones. I met her in those same days as Halestorm made their way through the trenches, but not as a young female singer, but Nick Perry’s little sister, in love with all the wrong guys and losing her innocence fast. I wish I could have protected her when I met her at that 30th birthday party, she was so young and sweet, and I didn’t want these guys taking her down. Now I listen to her voice on the radio and beam that she survived those days, and more beautiful for her pain and acceptance of her femaleness. Her song speaks volumes for all that we want to believe and hope and feel. The lullaby is what dreams are made of.
What about these two women who don’t know me makes me want to talk about them? They may not remember me, but I felt like a protective mother when I met them, and didn’t understand it until now. They were both young with big dreams and a reality that I had begun losing. I wanted to see them succeed and be strong women in a male dominated world. Men saw them as objects, not as talent and beings full of energy to share. Now I blare their voices with a smile, feeling like a moment shared in time with them connects me to strength and hope once more. And for my daughter to learn and understand what it means to be a woman in all her aspects and places through time, I needed to see these women become.
I stand on a new edge of being. Turning 40 didn’t cause some great awareness or understanding or cliché: it coincided. I’ve always associated myself and my life with the phoenix. What beautiful imagery of a colorful bird becoming, dying, and becoming again. Need I bring a Madonna reference here? For all my teen angst and bad decisions and recklessness I was blessed with the ability to rise again, stronger than before, and hopefully more vibrant. My current transfiguration rests in my post partum, post void, post darkness, posthumous ashes. I don’t need to have lived a thousand years to understand a thousand years. I want to teach my daughter the wisdom of ages of women of life of death and not fear failure. To believe, survive, restore and become all that exists for her world.
I am proud to share my life with amazing women: mothers, sisters, dancers, artists, voices, friends, daughters, each and every one touches my life in positive ways. And in turn bless Anya with hope for a future. She can learn so much more than I because her predecessors opened new doors, continue to break down walls and leap ravines, fight illogic and fallacy, and reveal wisdoms long buried or suppressed. I know I will never stop worrying about her safety and growth, but I must believe that I can provide her the tools and knowledge to survive and succeed, and surround her with good example and strength. The darkness is a place of strength and knowledge and without it I could never have understood myself and my world or come to know my strength. Now to teach Anya not to be afraid of the dark.
if there wasn't darkness, there wouldn't be LIGHT!
ReplyDelete