Thank you, Dane

Yesterday was the best day ever, and then I had a bad night because someone I really care about is in a whole mess of pain.

But I have learned that this brutal night cap to my awesome day does not alter the awesomeness of the day that I had.  Pain that cuts so overwhelmingly deep does not mean the good is lost, or even buried underneath. A really good day and a really bad night can co-exist.  And when you're at your computer, blogging on your blog, thinking all of the thoughts and feeling all of the feelings, you can choose whether the good or the bad is significant.

Lately I've been grappling with the champagne problem of life running smoothly, and my explosive and cathartic need to write has simmered, even though my desire to maintain my blog is as fiery as ever.

I refuse to stop writing simply because my life is great.  My life has always been great, even when it's shit.  I SUPER refuse to be one of those masochistic artists who inflict pain upon themselves to generate more material. The truly talented have unlocked the chains of hurt, often with or through art, and are free to be happy and be creative.  And even me, who LOVES 90's grunge, gets tired of the tortured artist act (except for Alice in Chains, especially the Dirt album, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, and very select Nirvana).

It's not as if I haven't previously been thankful for every blessing that I have.  I've not only counted them, I've connected to them so tightly that I'm consumed by them, comprised of them. I am my blessings. But, when grateful is your default, the sharp need to write dulls a bit.

It's almost as if the universe was offended by my writing-under-happiness ways, and threw me an "LOL--Don't EVEN taunt me!" message.  Right now, I still ache with pain from last night. The hurt is raw, and laying on the surface, still clouding my concentration, and leading the Occupy Kate's Heartstreet movement.  I really haven't learned any lessons from it yet, and since it's a resurgence of past pain that I've work through, I honestly don't know if I will.  So here I am, unprocessed, but still writing.  In true PMA spirit, I'm choosing to write about the positive in my life.  Because even in the thick of this pain, I can see my beautiful life and good fortune through this veil of negativity, and it is with certain hope that I know it will be lifted.

So now I'm going to write about why I love comedy, specifically stand up.  Or in the words of Monty Python, "And now for something completely different..."

My therapist (why yes, I am a 20-something in New York City) also works for the legal system, doing psychological analysis of rapists and murderers.  Fun, right?  He said that with the horrific deeds that these people have done, it's sometimes hard to view them as human, and that often the only human connectivity comes through shared laughter. This makes sense to me.

Prepare to roll your eyes, critics-o-comedy, because the seeds of my stand-up comedy love were planted by Dane Cook.

As I mentioned, what I'm going through is a resurgence of past pain, super-surprisingly most of which took place in my adolescence. There weren't a whole lot of great days with bad nights.  It felt like bad days with restless nights, and it didn't feel like a temporary veil of pain, but that type of pain where  all of your surroundings have betrayed you.

But in a cloud of the searingly painful memories, one of my most piercing happy memories comes from Dane Cook's first Comedy Central special (Harmful If Swallowed).  I'd never really watched stand up before, or knew too much about it other than that Steve Martin's album made my dad late for his own wedding. But there I was, flipping through channels, trying to distract myself from invading swells of hopelessness, marched forward by armies of relentless traumas, when something amazing happened: I laughed. Not the kind of laugh where you smirk and make sounds from your vocal chords, but the kind where you're upheaving laughter from your gut, where you're heart starts racing, and you're struggling to catch your breath.  Watching comedy at it's best is cardiovascular exercise.

And then my dad came into the room, and he started laughing too.  And then my sister did.  She was literally on floor, in tears of hysterical laughter instead of hysterical pain, an all too foreign sight. I think my mom was in the kitchen, making dinner, and wondering what the hell was going on.

And in that moment, hopelessness disappeared.

Did it come back? Sure. But it taught me that the hopelessness can be just as temporary as the laughter, that the circumstances of being trapped in sorrow or showering in happiness can disappear in an instant, and that both are inevitable.

We can't always control what happens to us, but we can choose what will weigh more on our own personal scales.  So in late hours of last night/the early hours of this morning, I turned to comedy to tip mine in the direction of happiness.  I queued up comedians who have helped me through my worst, who I'll never be able to thank in person, comedians who I do know who you'll probably never meet, and even queued up the muppets, who are really the childhood gateway drug of comedy enthusiasts.

For far too long, comedy has been viewed purely as entertainment and not an art form, because the end result is laughter.  It feels like that mentality is changing, and I hope it is.  To those who don't, seek comedy when sad.  To comedians who are already making waves, please don't stop.  And to comedians who travel an hour to perform seven unpaid minutes of material to four people in a basement, don't stop either, because you never know who's life you may be changing.

Laughter can be an indicator of something greater than "thinking something is funny." Sometimes it's indicative of the disappearance of sadness, hopelessness, anger, bitterness, and fear.

Thank you, Dane.
-k

"prepare for a series of comfortable miracles"

she looked like an employee from American Eagle restocking merchandise, but she was just sifting through my collection of wrestling shirts to wear to her and her brother's first ever WWE event.  her brother had gotten tickets to a wrestling house show for his birthday, which thanks to his invite ultimately ended up being a gift for me as well.  as he patiently waited for his sister to select a shirt from the array of merchandise that i toted from Manhattan to Allentown, i realized that my interest in the WWE is teetering on obsession. 

the more I apply it to real life, the more I realize that teetering is a generous verb.

one of my favorite wrestling terms is "kayfabe."  Kayfabe is basically the suspension of disbelief, or the ability to make a fictional scenario feel real. it's how well the wrestling world tinkers with/plays within the rules of the imaginary world that we're buying into. it's largely determined by a performer's ability to commit to his/her character, regardless of whether he is the "good guy" (face) or "bad guy" (heel).  even if he/she is getting kicked in the face.  for kayfabe to really show up, the characters involved have to fully uphold their beliefs, and not acknowledge whether they are applying them for "good" or for "bad."  they simply have to be them.

in a world where consequences and rewards are scripted and beliefs are laid out on a storyboard, it's still a very finicky concept to master.  in life, where character is formed, not written, and contexts are inevitable, and not predetermined, it gets even trickier.

WWE fans, marks, and haters alike are hungry to uphold kayfabe.  we want who we are and the roles that we play to be so clearly defined that we can articulate it--even boast about it--on a microphone to thousands of people, and we want to be proud of it.  we want our every and every move to be such a genuine and direct link to our character that they dismiss our need to maintain appearances and thwart inescapable looming judgements.  we want to be unaffected by whether our outcomes make us the "good guy" or the "bad guy."  we want to acknowledge that our greatest strengths and weaknesses make us vulnerable to either, but that we don't care.  we want our decisions to be born in a vacuum, and to never doubt whether or not our reactions are aligned with our character.  we want to be this unchained from hesitation, reluctance, fear, and distrust in ourselves. we want to be this certain; this connected to who we are.  we love self-discovery, but we really love the security in a script.

there's something that has always floated in the cloud of my own character. it's been coming to fruition with more and more clarity. 

relentless devotion.

i know 25 is a bit young to be feeling my mortality, so i hope this isn't as grim as it sounds, but we don't have a lot of time here.  we're blessed with this one life (that we know of) and we get one chance at it.  i'm young, but i have a lot of yesterdays in my rearview, and i know it's important to make plans, but the future is only a conversation. we only really have now.

so, i've decided that if i could define my kayfabe with anything, it would be to authentically approach every layer of my life as if it's vocational.  this is my oath to myself.  i know injecting this much zeal into my daily life, and up-keeping the areas it's already present in will be exhausting, but i also know that it makes possibilities infinite and dreams operational.  it also makes the huge volume of these desires less daunting and more opportunistic and achievable. commanding this perception makes me unmesswithable.  there isn't a lot that i can't control, but i know that if i grip what i can control with unwavering ferocity, the uncharted will fall into place or render itself inconsequential.

i will be a machine of victory, and my losses will come without regret.  nobody will defeat me because they are better, faster, stronger, more passionate, more dedicated, or more committed than i am.

to me, it'll just be luck, and luck is for losers anyway.

-k

try

 
i'm the one yelling my head off two people to the right of the mic.
            photo courtesy of the brilliant Chris Roque!
               www.ChrisRoque.com, @ChrisRoque 
..but you can't bring me down
                                  -Everready, H2O

i finally remembered that i had to pick up soy milk.  i live with my sister and we go through soy milk like it's (thick, thicker than...) water because of our love of Rice Chex and the constant lack of anything else in our refridgerator.  she had bought the last 8-9 (hundred) gallons, and just as my weary, post-weight lifting arm cleared fresh gym sweat from my brow, endorphins cleared my mind long enough to remember that i had to run to the corner deli before i collapsed in my chair to watch WWE Raw.

with an intentional stride past my apartment and onward to the Christmas tree stand on my street corner, my eyes glowed with happiness like the lights that would soon adorn the naked trees i was walking towards.  this sweet, holiday magic was quickly soured by a criminal scrooge, armed with mace and a desire to steal my phone.  as he made a threatening (and public) grab for my things, i blocked him, screamed, and elbowed him really hard in the rib cage.  a friendly doorman and cinematic couples walking their dogs through Christmas paradise quickly came to my aid as he ran and i stood paralyzed in shock.

he didn't manage to rob me of anything and i only felt robbed of my safety for a short time.  but he did mace me, which left behind an orange residue and a brutal burn that blanketed my skin, only cured by water, air, and time.  the pain followed me to the police station. and then to the hospital.  and then to a wicked shower that dripped with a new stream of pain as i tried to wash it away, and new combinations of swear words that bounced off of the bathroom tile as i shouted them.

the following hours of exquisite pain and days of paranoia were caused by a split-second attack that was over almost as quickly as i forget a lesson that i love to relearn: trust. the damn. universe. and yourself.
 
we can work what problems in our control and learn to let go and accept what is not in our control.  furthermore, don't be plagued by negativity and waste your mental energy on what you can't change.  i write about this concept ad nauseum, because we can't escape it and i believe it's at the core of what happiness boils down to.  but i don't think i've placed enough weight how powerful perception can be in this equation.

i walked away from this attack feeling so thankful.  for my instincts, my support system, the NYPD officers that helped me, that i still felt so safe in my neighborhood, that the pain inflicted from being maced was temporary, that none of my possessions were stolen, that my assailant will likely be caught.  and for so much more.

i could have let the emotional pain engulf me the same way the scalding sensation ignited my skin.  as i laid in bed coping with the post-mace heat, i could have let my mind burn with fear, with doubt, with self-pity, with anger, with what-ifs.  i could chalk it up to big bad New York City and move.  i could lock myself in my apartment after dark.  i could wonder what-if i had just gone home, or had my phone tucked away, or had taken the bus instead of the train, or hadn't been slacking on groceries so many weeks before?

but what a pity to have not gone through this little hell and not out of the flames better for it.  i don't ignore the fear and i don't hide my anger, but to me this is proof that when i'm faced with such a test, blessings rain down on me.  showering myself with anything less than gratitude would be such a disservice.  this perception is a choice.  i choose not to swim in the waves of negativity, because they are powerful and you can easily drown.

the only experience to rival this physical pain recently was the ache in all of my organs from being pinned between a barricade and a mosh pit at H2O's album release show (the day after seeing Chimara and Unearth at Starland Ballroom).  the difference is that pain was AWESOME.

i found H2O working for my college radio family at WSOU and rekindled my love with their music (and tattoos) when i found out he was good friends with WWE professional wrestler and fellow S.E.O.G. CM Punk.  the band is fronted by Toby Morse, and if you aren't drawn to him, you're allergic to inspiration.  he is a mastermind behind embracing a Positive Mental Attitude (PMA).  his lyrics, attitude, and soul don't bury or ignore human hurt, but it rips out their silver linings and turns them into shining overlays.  his outlook impacted me far more than any cowardly attempt at a robbery.  we can't control what heartbreak we encounter, but we can choose the path where we struggle the least; the path that steers us away from self-pity and towards transformative knowledge.  we have to power not to be haunted.

like the pain that danced on my skin, emotional pain is often unprovoked, undeserved, and may linger.  it's up to us to wash it away.

-k.

if i had a dime for every victim that i met...

"you can bet that i would never be in debt..." -Bryan Fenkart, "Okay"

if you're reading this blog, you have access to the internet, and probably to your own computer, and maybe even a smartphone. you're likely sitting in an IKEA chair or better.  you have a roof over your head, you get your three square (or more) a day, and clean water readily available via Brita filter, Aquafina, or God forbid even the tap.

there's a trend--neigh--a disease.  no, an epidemic.  it's taking up far too much space in my life and Facebook news feed.  millions are victimized daily by deep and meaningful,  Jack Handy-esque status quotations that directly linked to drama you've started. nobody thinks these are mature observations of life on your behalf simply because they're vague. this epidemic is then spreading to your incessant playing of Mafia Wars and Farmville and other applications that allow you to create a virtual life rather than acknowledge the issues in your real life.  then, in the final stages of this disease, it becomes "complicated,"  a malignant word that keeps popping up all over your profile, and can even overtake your relationship status.

and that's just Facebook.  real life is even more complicated because you can't just uninstall whatever simulated life you're messing up AND it's real life.  also it's not that complicated. everything that your mind can engulf (and more) falls into two categories: that which we can control, and that which we cannot control.  also, no matter how unique you believe your experiences and pain are, someone has been through them before, and someone has been through worse.


in college, i went to my first al-anon meeting, a support group for friends and family of alcoholics.  i felt proud that i was trying to take this action. i felt brave and strong and scared, but i was determined to do it anyway.  i was paralyzed in fear when i realized i had actually sat down at an AA meeting, and couldn't get myself up to move.  with my blown up emotional investment starting to deflate, i decided to make the best of my surroundings.

the value of this humbling experience could not be measured. i, who was so courageous to attend an al-anon meeting, sat through trials of people facing far worse than i; people that take our glimpses of near death experiences and have live them magnified for months and even years; people that wanted to die from what was haunting--even in that moment of sharing--and were still committed to the idea of wanting to live; people who had died emotionally, one even physically who was brought back to life, and were doing everything in their power to be born again.  on a far grander scale, these people were doing (on a daily basis) what i was trying to do just then; taking the actions necessary to get out of your own way.  the heroic twist being that they are addicted to their barrier, doing everything in their power to hurtle over it.

it's said that when you're a child, you are a victim. when you're an adult, you're a volunteer. drowning in a sea of excuses become inexcusable. accepting yourself at less than your best is accepting the unacceptable.  because we are full of that which we cannot change, and that which we can, we need to understand that happiness is both a decision and a circumstance. those who do understand this can see through your bull shit, and nobody cares. that's not to say you can't vent about things, or take time to process them, but there's a threshold when action is all that matters. action will move you forward. action is progress.  if have the capability to drive through your problems, it doesn't matter if there are open roads and blue skies.  not taking action means you aren't willing to work to be happy, and i offer no sympathy for that, regardless of your broken relationship, weight problem, finances, job that makes you miserable, or friends you're unhappy with.

in matters where we cannot change the circumstance, we have to find resolve and acceptance.  where it does not come naturally, we must seek it out.  this often means you need to get your ass to therapy. and use it.  you can masquerade in therapy for years.  a therapist will just as easily talk about the weather with you as he/she will talk to you about the nitty gritty.  you have to get real with your thoughts, flaws, and fears, and be willing to attack them.  in this regard, risk always has the possibility of hurt, but i'd rather take risks of what may hurt if it leads to unbridled raw happiness than straddle a safe line between content/discontent.  it's a process that needs to be respected.

you have to let denial JUST be a river in Egypt.  in fact Egypt was unhappy with their government and rioted their monarch out of power.  you don't get more proactive than that.

rise up.
-k.

COMPLAINT post.

...or you can run--run, run away, screaming like a little girl. i'm used to that.
-parry adams, little girl.

my blog has gone feisty and it's everyone's fault.

i am tired of people who treat happiness like it is entirely circumstantial and not at all a decision.

i have a friend who is 39. i like to say i picked her up at a bar because the first time we really hung out out was over a beer and burger four times the size of a human head at Jack Russell's (not steakhouse). she is happy and she made the choice to be.

heartbreak sucks. it is also inevitable; our hearts are usually put through the wringer at least once, be it wrung out romance or torn apart trauma. my friend is in an ending ten year marriage that has been on the road to divorce for about two years. her soon-to-be-ex-husband, who has bought us many a drink (he's a good guy, shocks me it didn't work out sometimes), and they were in couples therapy and trying to salvage what ended in a split. he said he just didn't think he loved her anymore. she took off her wedding ring and surrendered to the end. she made the decision to be happy. she wasn't going to stay with someone who is capable of falling out of love with her. she deserves unconditional because that's what she gives.

there a fewer things more personally painful than this i imagine. that's the fact that she's in love with someone new is amazing and a miracle to me--not so much that she's in love again, she's the kind of woman everyone falls in love with every other second. it's that she proved she could rebuild her way out of the wreckage with just her.

she moved out of a multi-million dollar home in California to a modest, one bedroom on the upper east side, which becomes significantly more modest when her two fifty pound boxers are in the recipe, too. she lived in both Boston and then New York after the separation. living among millions of people can be very lonely when you're putting together the puzzling pieces of your own broken heart. she grieved. she cried. she got scared. she got lost. and then it got good. she got up. she dried her tears. she grew strong. she opened her heart. she got found. she had fun.

the most beautiful part is she was more than fine on her own, but she also knew she had too much love to keep to herself. it seems to me that if you're so good at loving the first time around that you get completely demolished, you're meant to love again because you're one of those people with so much genuity per square inch off you it becomes immeasurable. when you take someone else's love, you're sure to overwhelmingly replenish them, not leaving them out to dry but soaked in the good stuff. you can stand on you're own, but you 're brave enough to keep your guard down so when your love fills the air between you, it doesn't break against your rough exterior. you're strong enough to take that risk because you don't want to miss out on someone truly great, and you know that if it falls through you're still standing. you love unbridled. you love with your whole heart. you love yourself enough to love.

with any heartbreak, this isn't easy to do--but it's always possible. your compass has to point inward for a while. you have to do the things you should do rather than want to. you have to stop thinking about them/it all the time, and when you do, you have to send them light and love and then think about something/someone else, according to eat.pray.love. not bad advice for a mediocre book and a julia roberts film. you have to take care of a healthy you before you entertain thoughts of taking care of someone else. you have to be selfish enough to be selfless enough. you have to kick out the pain by feeling it. you have to boot those who are only listening to your pain to gauge how much they can take rather than those who want it to be okay. you should get rid of those who you don't feel compelled to tell your honest tragedy to. you'll drown in the poison of anyone who you can apply to Ben Fold's "Battle of Who Could Care Less," because that means you and someone else are masquerading behind everything away from the truth. you can't drown in sorrow. you can't say what if i do. you can't say what if i did. you can't run when it scares you that something new has come along. you can't shy away from the uncomfortable or you will never do anything. you have to cut yourself slack, but not so much that you have blinders on. you have to get up everyday. you have to be happy and not just content. you have to risk. you have to try again. you have to avoid (though not entirely) those shallow desires that make you happy but are also harmful--otherwise you'll never get away from the nagging selfloathing that comes with it and you'll never heal. you have to eliminate the reminders. you have to away from everyone/everything that demands less than honesty. you have to avoid everyone/everything (though not entirely) who make it easy, because it's not easy. you have to get off facebook because anyone that you care about, and that cares about you will pick up the phone when you call. you have to go to therapy if you can't do it on your own. you have to make the decision to make things better for yourself. you have to find a route to happiness. you have to pursue that route without caution or hesitation. you have to be ready. you have to keep fear from winning. you have to get the stigma that your happiest is behind you out of your head. you aren't meant to idle in a state of moderate happiness forever. you can't sit still. you have to let someone else into your world, and maybe dabble in their's. you have to have faith--i don't mean that hour-in-a-church-on-sunday faith, i mean in you and people and hopefully a higher power. you have to surrender.

and hey, if you're reading this, it means you're still alive after round one.
-k.



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