"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

"i can draw a line between, who i am and what i've seen"

...but it's still just as dark at night.
                                   -Bryan Fenkart, My Prayer

the other day i denied the dreaded "facebook friend request" from an ex-whatever, who for far too long was The Guy I Couldn't Get Over.  just over a year ago, i received the same request from the same Guy I Couldn't Get Over, and  a rare moment of strength spiked like an irregular heartbeat over my steady pulse of weakness for him, and i denied him then as well.

but a year ago, for whatever reason, i felt compelled to relieve him of whatever guilt he was carrying around, even though these attempts were and are born out of manipulation and mind games rather than his genuine interest in my clever status updates and WWE YouTube links. 

or maybe it is genuine.  but our virtual friendship was just a toxic crack into our immature, nonexistent real life relationship, maintaining our affinity for unhealthy habits we excuse away with the stupidity of our twenty somethings, not knowing how to navigate the uncharted Age of Technology--an age which betrayed me by unblocking him when I switched to Facebook's "Timeline" format.

regardless of virtual profiles and ethermessages, he's mostly likely reaching out to me in an attempt, consciously or subconsciously, to sabotage his relationship with his current girlfriend, who he already cheats on, so that he can drown in the deep end of the pain inflicted by his broken engagement.  and with a painful goodbye to an innocent girl who caught on too late, he will wonder why oh why he took the dive in the first place.  there was a time when I was sympathetic to this once, and for far too long, but this pain manifested itself into brief spurts of torture victimizing me and whatever cute girl may have caught his attention in his Hoboken shithome pub. my threshold has far been broken.

despite my thorough and most likely upsettingly accurate analysis of his current state, based on our 0 interactions in the past year, it is no longer my concern.   i'm done listening to whispers of his heart on his sleeve; of pretending our surface flirtations haven't seen far deeper realities; of challenging him to be a better man at the sacrifice of myself.

so, the girl that just a year ago was apologizing for her inability to resist him and wistfully singing along every Dave Matthews that my iTunes seemingly not-so-randomly shuffled now blares Lelia Broussard's finest tunes (Masquerade, Something True, You're Not Fooling Anyone), with a confident strut into her new life, no longer looking back at the guy who needed his fix and little girl who once supplied him.  the needle no longer stabs both ways, feeding my veins with poison disguised as love's complications.  my blood pumps only with positivity and strength.  he wears wounds older than my scars, picking at them with sharpened nails of nostalgia and what could have been.

the girl who was once pathetic over The Guy now finds The Guy...well, pathetic.

i'd never seen him as pathetic before, and though this term seems harsh, i mean it with it's definition, not condescension, though allowing myself the anger i deserve is cathartic.  looking at all experiences through the filters of who you've grown into reveal so much about the decisions that you made in the past.  they can color in silver linings and true colors, and even if they clash, the wisdom gained is it's own value.

i don't want to be with someone who chooses suffering over healing, who creates their own pain through mistakes that they know they are making, who won't address his Achilles heel, and creates his own tennis elbow.  it once felt so stubbornly right, and now i could not be convinced there is anything more wrong (okay, maybe like evil dictators and felons and stuff).  and for so long i thought the pieces would fit if i could just smooth out what was rough around my edges.

it's important to reexamine keystones of our lives when we can do so with understanding and compassion for who we were and shed the masochism that comes what was once such a defining pain.

Facebook is just tomorrow's MySpace anyway.  (please go like this on Facebook).

-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.

some john mayer lyrics or something

getting a phone call from your cousin that someone broke her heart sucks.  i couldn't sleep, and i was thinking about heartbreak and about this phone call and the twinge of pain and overprotective instinct it brought.

i've gone on record before, and will again, about how i hate the majority of love songs and why.  i remember talking to my dad about affairs of the heart, and he raised the point that extreme romance is absurd not because it's so corny or produced by Hallmark, but because nobody is going to ask you to "walk to the end of the earth" for them.  but, they might ask you to stand with you while you deliver a eulogy or help move their parents from a nine person house to a modest home for two. 

it was then that every "he'd walk a million miles just to hear her voice" and "i can't live without you" lyric started to sound more and more trite.  if someone is going to walk a million miles to hear your voice, they should instead walk one mile to a local store and purchase a cell phone.  and maybe a map, or a book called "The Idiot's Guide To How Miles Work."  it's scientifically proven that you can in fact live without "that person" in your life.  you were doing it the whole time before you fell in love.

everyone has blue, green, or brown eyes (or hazel if you're a heartbreaker or Kelly Clarkson).  if you're going to write a song about someone's eyes, please don't write "i remember his/her eyes." please write "the light, the heat--in your eyes--i am complete--in your eyes--i see the door way to a thousand churches--and resolution to all of my fruitless searches."  the best love songs are the real love songs; the ones that really say something (see Brandi Carlile: The Story). the best love songs aren't about how you feel about them, or how they feel about you; but about what the hell it all means when they collide.

the reason love songs have to be real is because those seemingly lofty, over-the-top, unreal moments are made completely real by love.  similarly, looking back on the most real moments of a relationship should seem like you've fallen into something unreal.  naturally, the end of such love, especially through the eyes of betrayal, brings about equally as sincere pain.  which is expressed through crappy My Chemical Romance emo ballads or amazing Alice in Chains songs off of "Dirt."  until you get angry. then it's Rage Against The Machine. 

in a previous blog i said the purpose of any form of love is self discovery and the discovery of someone/something else.  when that love is the "in love" type, it's also that both of you trust that you can build something outside of self that is greater than you are as individuals; that you combine smiling from your soul with the treatment you deserve and have been willing to give all along.  i'm pretty sure i still agree with that. 

love demands a certain type of balance and self-awareness; that's why you always seem to find love when you are self prioritizing. if you fall on the needy side, you reek of desperation, regardless of how cool, calm, and collected you think you are. if you break on the guarded side, you'll continue to hide behind fierce independence as if we can't see it's covering up the damage and hesitation yielded by a previous trainwreck, or how your parents didn't love you enough, or those other painful issues in life that keep you from pursuing anything, much less love.  you have to be honest with yourself and clean these skeletons out of your closet because they'll grow up with you.   then when someone great challenges you, you'll run into the arms of someone gently ordinary, perhaps your local bartender.  or, when someone mediocre comes along, you treat them like a knight in shining armor even if they're just wearing a burger king crown on a carousel. 

there's an iconic image of two swans bent at the neck facing each other to create the shape of a heart.  don't try this at home, but it looks like a pretty uncomfortable position to be in.  if you're so lost in staring at each other, you'll have blinders on to what lays ahead, and you'll crash and burn your way into the tunnel of love.  if you never look at each other, you might as well navigate the waters on your own.  best to swim side by side.

-k

where you invest your love,

you invest your life... Mumford and Sons, "Awake My Soul."

there's no more powerful evidence to suggest that emotions are completely free from logic than being shaken by the death of someone you've never met.

Clarence Clemons of the E Street Band passed away from a stroke that he was expected to recover from.  i've never met him, and only recently have undergone and obsessive Springsteen phase.  i'm not best friends with Bruce Springsteen or anyone in the E Street Band.  i don't know Clarence Clemon's family.  i can't quote his entire discography, or tell you what he majored in at college, or his favorite meal (this seems creepy, but i know Derek Jeter's is chicken parmigiana from an interview I read once).

i can tell you that the opening note to his sax solo in jungleland induces chills; not the kind that flash and disappear before you blink, but the kind that stick around for unnatural and inexplicable lengths of time. it's the kind of solo that you can hum along to.  it gives the song a needed reprieve from itself, smoothing out a built up arrangement, and injecting it with soul. i can tell you he's so influential that my cousin, just on the heels of high school, is still influenced by his skills that were in his "prime" before she was born, though it's easy to argue he was never out of his prime.

i remember waking up to the sound of my grandfather practicing saxophone when we'd stay at their house, usually followed by duck hunt and super mario video games as we never had an N64 at home.  i wish i knew then that i was more spoiled by my grandfather practicing saxophone than by the forbidden fruit of video games we never had, mainly because my dad can write computer games and my mom found the sound effects on these games annoying (and rightfully so).  retired now and in his 80s, my grandpa still plays in four bands.

i don't think i appreciated the saxophone truly until about two years ago when i saw Billy Joel's saxophone player, Richie Cannata, play at the Bitter End during his Monday night open jam session.  a Billy Joel fan, i appreciated the outstanding sax moments at the hands of this particular legend, but it wasn't until i saw him live that i truly connected to it's role in Billy Joel's music. 

i've since met Cannata (one of the world's nicest men), and had the opportunity to ask him when it was that he first met Billy Joel.  Cannata met Billy Joel's drummer, Liberty DeVitto, recording a bit for Sesame Street.  an instant fan of Cannata's, DeVitto asked him if he'd be interested in playing with Joel, who at that time was "that piano man guy,"  a song that true Billy Joel fans generally roll their eyes at.  after Joel saw Cannata play in an all horns band, he invited him to collaborate.  the first song they ever worked on together was the infamous New York State of Mind.  in my completely non-professional but not totally off base opinion, if there is a saxophone solo that melodically turns in your head with the fluidity of melted butter, you've probably created something genius.  not a bad first attempt by Cannata and Joel.

on a separate occasion at the same open jam, Mark Pender, the trumpet player of the E Street Band, joined the group for the evening.  here, Cannata shared that Billy Joel wanted to be Bruce Springsteen.  i'm always fascinated when legends want to be other legends.  it's a nice reminder that we're all just human beings.

last Tuesday at 11:02 a.m. i received a tweet from Lelia Broussard announcing that my friend and I won tickets to Bonnaroo, a music and pot festival in Manchester, TN.  after a series of logistical obstacles (ex: how do we get to Machester, TN, are we seriously going to Machester, TN, where the hell do we find a tent in Manhattan, etc.) we began our journey at 1:30 a.m. that night/the next morning.  though mapquest said that we should arrive 14 hours after we depart.  a blown out tire and Bonnaroo traffic had us their 27 later.  our return home involved two hotels, a stolen purse, an amtrak train ride, and at least 48 hours after our ride down never responded to us for our return.  the time inbetween was of course, magic, exceeding the magic we dreamed of before we won the tickets and this idea was only an unaffordable dream.  i never thought it'd be a dream of mind to stand in an open field on a 95 degree day with 90,000 people who hadn't showered for four days.  my dreams when i was younger were to be a veterinarian or travel in outer space or something.  dreams mold i suppose.

after lunch in much needed shade that Saturday afternoon, Mumford and Sons took the stage.  i'd be lying if i said music hadn't knocked me on my emotional ass before, but this particular performance landed hard.  they played "Awake My Soul" and "The Cave" back to back, and i began to cry as i could feel my soul untangling from life presenting itself kind of harshly lately and unemployment and uncertainty and being 24.  i think Mumford and Sons was just really great.  they were really great in that way that i can't describe to you; that inexplicable way that i always try to explain.  it's sort of one of those you get it or you don't things.  neither way is right or wrong, but it does seem to be who i am.

and now Clarence Clemons is gone.  why is it that i'm choked up at the work of someone i don't know when people i've met fall out of my life and i'm unshaken?  i suppose when you connect to something, it doesn't matter if you know them or for how long or who they even are.  you feel like you've accessed something brilliant and don't want to let go; that someone or something understands you despite the fact that it's oblivious to who you are; that you are linked to something by way of fate or luck or something in between and that the importance of this exists in a vacuum. this link is strong enough to override the technicalities of actually having encountered who/what you're soul feels tied to.  "knowing" someone or something formally means nothing when it already feels so familiar.

i'll never take my grandfather's saxophone solos forgranted again.
-k.

RIP The Big Man

drawing what i want to

the other day i was finding my way back to manhattan with a friend of mine. this friend is blind, and was bearing the hour-and-a-half commute with me with a real conversation and without a complaint. we waited upstairs. the platform looked more crowded than a Springsteen concert in Jersey, and angrier than the recent mob in Egypt demanding Mubarak's resignation. thirty minutes and two trains later, we made it to the platform and waited in a swarm of humanity for the next train of human tetris. as my friend and i discussed the importance of genuity in those who surround you and the importance of sticking with other twenty-somethings who have some perspective, a livid forty something cried out wondering where the hell the train is (service changes) and was upset because he "had noone to complain to."

i know what it's like to have a vendetta for the MTA. it's obviously run by the Boston Red Sox new york hating bafoons) and/or complete idiots, like the people that think Charlie Sheen can rehab at home or something. but this man was not griping about the utterly abysmal service (not) provided by the MTA. he was upset there was nobody to complain to.

i lost my job on Wednesday. it sucks. a LOT. i don't want to be unemployed again and i don't want to have this much time on my hands and i don't want to wonder where my next paycheck is coming from and i don't want to be a sandwich artist somewhere. i know everything will be fine. i know i'll get another job. i know if i sink my teeth into the right opportunity, it will come biting back. i know that what's meant to be will find a way. i know that everything happens for a reason even if we don't immediately know what that is. i have faith. i have a talent. and i have a lot of work to do. that doesn't make the pill any easier to swallow or the wave any easier to ride. what i didn't know if that it's in a sense creating an opportunity--even if it's one i didn't want.

i had admired the company i got let go from from afar for a while. i read about them in PR Week (nerd alert) and loved that they broke the cycle of traditional PR and took risks. smart, educated risks. in fact i still do. the painful conclusion i came to thru conversation and a beer with my friend was that just because you're someone's fan doesn't mean that you fit in the line up. the stars didn't align like they were "supposed" to (according to me) for this opportunity. i loved my co-workers and most of my clients and my view of Manhattan from 27 floors up. i loved my Mac and my iPad and free lunch every Monday and knowing that direct deposits were a regular occurrence. but even the finest pair of Steve Madden's can't fit the left shoe on the right foot. suck it, Carrie Bradshaw, that was a shoe reference.

it was so sexy from the outside, but just wrong from the inside. this job was like meeting the sensible tall dark and handsome accountant who owns a yacht and says all the right things and looks great on paper, but your dazzling conversation about his cigar collection leaves you with the attention span of a goldfish. you want the job that drives you mad in the best way; that honey moon phase that has you so giddy you forgot to say that adorable thought you conjured up, so you send a text as soon as you get home because that extra genuine kick tells you that this one fits. suck it, AGAIN, Carrie Bradshaw, i just compared jobs to dudes.

the right opportunity (or dude) won't leave you tired or stressed or your skin broken out. each day (or hopefully most days) will present itself with the same magical freshness that your first day had. it will allow you to take care of yourself while maintaining your commitment to it. you'll sleep at night. you'll function in harmony with it. you'll do everything you need to and most of the things you want to. you won't eat the same on the go peanutbutter cookie from the mediocre lunch place around the corner so routinely.

like the dude who you have no chemistry with on paper, everything i thought i wanted was in this job, and it's not at all what i wanted. though it's a scary and unexpected change, it's also an opportunity to chose an job that makes me happy(ier). it's a chance to turn back to myself. it's a fresh start that i didn't want but desperately needed. like a bull before a rodeo, i am feisty and anxious to let loose, and ready to unleash regardless of who is on my back.

the man at Union Square who had nobody to complain to failed to see that complaining to an MTA employee (who doesn't care) wouldn't be a catalyst to an oncoming train. if he wasn't so busy whining about the delayed train, he would've seen that he could have walked to 23rd street (where he got off) in half the time it took for the train to come. he didn't see this opportunity and he missed it.

i won't.

-k.



----------------
Now playing: Mumford & Sons - Little Lion Man
via FoxyTunes

well this sucks.

to another best friend--this is all for you.

"no my faith's not gone; it's just a different kind" -Bryan Fenkart, My Prayer

it was just a few weeks earlier than this time last year that we drove to see you in Delaware for Christmas Skipfest. here we are again, trying the get ahead of the same damn snow that chased us there a year ago. remember? we were snowed inside, watching Beer League (again) and i was mortified that i wasn't mortified about the fact that we were watching Jersey Shore. a bunch of (drunk) roid raged guidos with cut abs and (drunk) too-tan guidettes with inexplicably cut shirts using a mallard phone after drinking way too much Jaeger and either being or calling people sluts? going to college in Jersey can only give you a sense of humor for it.

there was a lot of laughter at those idiots. there was always a lot of laughter at Skipfests. laughter. beer. sports. calling C-list celebrities. absurd bets on how long until Seton Hall basketball loses momentum for another inevitable loss in a game that they could've/should've won. lather. rinse. repeat.

this time was bound to be different. same group of people. same snow. same awful basketball team. well, different players, same amount of awful. we arrived at your house, beer open by 11 a.m. and not long after did touch football follow. same routine, but it was palpable that we were down a Skip member. obviously we weren't going to sit around and cry about it as a group--for like a hundred reasons. 1) it's the last thing she would want. in fact she might come back just to smack us. 2) that's never been your style. 3) you can't make fun of me for emoting in this very blog if you are also emoting and 4) honestly, what the hell are we going to say?

our group has never been one for formalities. "formal" and "polite" caring is sugarcoating a situation that we all know heartwrenchingly blows. we aren't ones to hide. we don't spew trite "sorry for your loss" and "she's in a better place" phrases, even though both of those things may be true. you wouldn't remember at this point anyway if we did. we always call things what they are, which in this case is damn sad, and the best we can do is be there for you, regardless of what that entails. anything else, though prettier, on some level feels like a lie--at least to you. you never wade in comfort to bob above honesty. we just saw this with our own mutual best friend about a month earlier, in the same pain you're in now. it doesn't matter if it was expected or not, or when it was or how. the same mind boggling pain will rattle--but it will shake out.

i've never seen you be anything but strong and quite frankly the thought of you being less than that was something i couldn't even picture and sure as hell didn't want to entertain. then again i never had to until now. i knew you wouldn't completely fall apart reading the Eulogy. the weird thing is that sometimes the best way to be strong is allowing yourself to fall apart; letting your hard shell of strength crack a little. the brave option is to break down--you can't mend that which you don't recognize as broken. watching you pass this cruel life test of grace with ease was an odd combination of heartbreak and pride. exhibiting strength with realization of where you were forced to stand is an easy scale to tip out of balance, but watching you power through with integrity is just further evidence of what an amazing woman she was.

as you move forward, i know you can't avoid the absence, but i know you won't let the spirit fade. she will always be there. just like beer, football, and the ever flailing pirates.

-k.

the trifecta.

everything is turning up hensler right now.

i don't normally write about things like this. it's kind of embarrassing to share, but we met online. i begrudgingly admit that this crush has been developing for a while now. i hadn't told too many people about it--i was sick of getting hurt and getting my hopes up.

so we met in person. i hoped that my hair looked alright. i don't normally get jittery about these things, but i couldn't deny the growing feeling in the pit of the stomach that we both may feel a real connection; that intangible something everyone looks for. i felt my heart swelling in my chest, pounding as loud as the thoughts in my head. i clasped my sweaty palms with an uncomfortable nervousness. he greeted me with a friendly, genuine smile. it was so exciting from beginning to end considering how routine it breaks down on paper. we waited for a table to open up, he offered me a drink, but i politely denied. after a short wait, a table opened up. out the window to my right was a beautiful view of the city that i underappreciate during the daytime. it's always uncomfortable when there are more chairs than people. it's less awkward if you sit across from each other rather than next to each other--it's easier to make eye contact--a common trick. he started to ask questions about who i was--not those typical where are you from, how many siblings do you have type of questions, but i could tell he really wanted to grasp who i was. i countered with (hopefully)clever questions of my own. everything seemed fairly normal. anything that a young lady would put on her checklist came through (personality, financial stability, etc). in one short hour, i was one of the lucky few to find that inexplicable chemistry that everyone looks for. i was giddy with excitement and couldn't wait to hear from him later that week. normally meeting someone for the first time isn't that big of a deal, but i don't fall in love easily, and head over heels doesn't seem that far fetched with this one. i had to slow myself down to stop thinking about the future we could have.

i knew it was love at first sight with this PR firm. i've had a PR crush on LaunchSquad PR since the first time i saw them in PR weekly. and yes, i'm a nerdy enough 23 year old that i follow a trade magazine.

when i was younger i dreamed of being everything from a dancer, to a veterinarian, to a New York Yankee, to a lawyer, to a sports broadcaster. when i got into college, as mentioned in previous posts, i developed a slightly more corporate dream of practicing PR. it's been said that you can't explain to your own mother the definition of "Public Relations." in fact, there are people in this world who think they are practicing PR, and are actually practicing marketing or advertising. with this murkiness, it's easy to see how every firm can do PR a little differently. thus, wide-eyed aspiring PR practitioners/artists/employees/nerds often develop favorites. the lucky ones, and hopefully talented and proactive ones, get hired by their PR superheros, and in this economy are lucky to get hired at all. this Monday, it wasn't a bird, it wasn't a plane. it was LaunchSquad PR calling. they proposed to me a job, and i couldn't have said i do any faster.

two hours later, my sister landed an acting gig in addition to her steady acting job. we were ecstatic, frequently checking in with my fly-by-night adventure mom and dad, who are vacationing/working (respectively) in beautiful Phoenix while my dad is on an account in Arizona. for anyone who knows my mother, we are all startled by how good she has gotten at 1)spontaneously going with the flow 2)sitting still and relaxing.

less than a week prior, i was laid up watching post-season baseball (no complaints) and staring at my white walls while dwelling in unemployed self pity and swelling ankle sprain pain (many complaints). earlier i had been piggybacked to the ER by my friend/savior who had noted that my ankle looked like it was pregnant with another ankle. it seemed like a physical representation of the seven months of job hunting that was soon coming to an end, unknown to me at the time.

less than three months ago i was miserably unemployed, my parents couldn't move their on-the-market home, and my sister was an actress who was humming along at a day job.

now, i am going steady with my PR crush, my sister is an actress both to pay her bills and to practice, and my parents will be living in New York at the end of the month and ignored my phone calls today because they fell asleep at poolside. they aren't as sorry as they pretend. they plan to see the grand canyon while they are out there.

it's amazing how life can change on a whim. at one point, life had changed to losing employment status (and an actual romantic break up), sickness and sinus surgery for my sister, and tons of stress and preparation for a house sale.

but that's what's beautiful about spiraling into unpredictable tunnels of change that are sometimes negative; there is light at the end of it. change happens, for better for worse, as long as LaunchSquad and i shall live.

i'll let you know where we register.
-k.



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Now playing: Phil Collins - You Can't Hurry Love
via FoxyTunes

i'm not gonna write you a love song...

guys i'm a blogging rockstar! my cousin made a request. this post is going on my greatest posts compilation: volume one and will be the bonus track on my live dvd.

said cousin was particularly drawn to the quote "try again. fail again. fail better." she asked me to apply it to relationships, knowing full well i hate writing about relationships. she also wanted me to explain why i hate love songs so much. in high school, they would call this a "critical lens" if i found a literary element to throw in somewhere. after debating whether or not to accept this request, which was really a demand, i realized i'm a sucker for my cousins, and haven't used my AP English skills in a while. let's get academic in here.

i hate writing specifically about relationships for the same reason i hate 90% of most love songs and love angry rock music. every song is either about "you" or "them." about how damaged you are, or how much pain you are in, or how you have to pick up the pieces. or it's about their smile, or their eyes, or how you'd walk the earth to hear their laugh. well, you're never going to have to walk the earth or do anything physically impossible to prove your love and his/her special eyes are like one of three colors in varying shades.

these songs aren't real because they either dance around the purpose of love, mask it, or bury it. the hubris, or tragic flaw, (as witnessed in Shakespearean tragedies, like King Lear. take that third period Senior year!) is that they won't get to the heart of the purpose of love. love is self discovery, the discovery of someone else, and the trust that you can both build something outside of self that is greater than you are as individuals. love is when you combine smiling from your soul with the treatment you deserve and have been willing to give all along. those are both my definitions, not merriam-websters, just as a heads up. it's that simple. and also incredibly complex. it's what makes Charlotte Martin's "Tremble" such a beautiful song, and anything by the Jonas Brothers nauseating. and when we don't want to think about it, that's what Rage Against the Machine is for. chuck klosterman said that "art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you." this is why good love songs and great, and why bad ones are putrid garbage. one some level, art and love are synonymous.

"try again. fail again. fail better." love and life are inevitable every day if you're lucky. if there's anything we know about life is that it's not perfect, it can get really messy. you're going to want to quit, you are going to want nothing more than to stay. it has highs, it has lows, it has thresholds in both directions. but waking up everyday is worth it. love is a lot like life, but you find waking up next to someone else is worth it a part of you.

navigating the speed bumps of your own life is one thing, but when someone else is in the passenger's seat, the ride is entirely different. especially if you have the capacity to love someone so selflessly that you are buckling their seat belt before your own. you aren't going to get it right every time, just like you won't as individuals, as mothers and fathers and daughters and sons and sisters and brothers and cousins and friends etc. the fork in the road is inevitable. it's just a matter of if you will pick a prong together or go down separate paths.

break ups are a painful process of a shared love not withstanding circumstances or changes of self. where love is sometimes unconditional, we as people are not. it's perfectly human to be subject to the unforeseen or unanticipated. it's like how the glove that once was worn by O.J.'s murderous hands no longer fit at trial. when we grow, we sometimes outgrow. people are constantly evolving, changing, and growing. love can't always adjust. it's why people who still love each other get divorced, and why people who seem so right for each other on paper have no chemistry in the real world and why two seemingly incompatible people can make love work. if you've ever been through a break up where there was nothing you would change in a redo, you probably would change their desire to leave or the circumstance that caused the split, and you probably didn't feel like staying power was so underrated until you were in this person's rearview mirror. this means, you want to change them or the situation, and that is an indicator that different paths are where you belong.

should you both bear right at the fork in the road, you are going to hit some detours. and you can get lost together. you are going to fight. you are going to inexplicably get on each other's nerves. you are going to be wrong together. there will be no handy g.p.s. telling you where to go. but you'll do it together. it's hard to view failure as an opportunity to learn, especially when a significant other is significantly involved. but that's the beauty of having a partner in crime--one of you can post bail. and if you have guts, you end up better in the end for it and still facing each other and yourselves the next morning. you will fail more times than you can count on one hand from everything as simple as trying to make his/her favorite eggs to trying to figure out how you can hurt someone so badly who care about so much. you will never be perfectly wise, but you will fail again. and you will fail better.

i just hope avril lavine isn't the one trying to write your love story.
-k.



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Now playing: Barenaked Ladies - Lovers in a Dangerous Time
via FoxyTunes

i'm starting this blog at 12:36 in the morning. those of you who know me know that this is impressively early for me to be starting a blog.

it's rare that i sit down and don't know what to write, but i know i need to. whenever my heart starts to swell and my head starts to stir, the writing indicator is electrified like a the buzz of a tilted neon sign at a local sports bar.

i find being stifled to be incredibly frustrating. i have a hard enough time sitting still, so when thoughts and feelings are withheld, my mind still races through idle situation, and not surprisingly, loses the race. there is no better way to incite the feeling of wanting to explode then to put a cork in whatever bottled emotions are trying to escape. this feeling usually comes from a recipe of having no opportunity to put your cards on the table and a lack of self honesty. airing your dirty laundry requires cooperation from both internal and external forces. when these forces align, catharsis comes over you. catharsis, the antidote to feeling plugged, is one of my favorite feelings.

sometimes catharsis, or letting go in general, is overwhelming in itself. when you've been clinging to an emotion, suctioning to what seems like it's validity, and it's suddenly gone, it's absence can be overpowering. there are few things in life that make less sense than this--the overwhelming power of nothing. what's amazing is whether a situation was in the rearview mirror or at the very forefront of your mind, letting go creates an unbelievable sense of the present.

this weekended yielded itself to a LOT of unexpected internal (and literal) house cleaning. the temperature was right open the emotional floodgates to many tributaries in my life, all of which felt dammed on some level. but if you've done everything in your power, and said all that is left to say, you're left with a void--but oddly a welcome one. or if you're me, you're left with two of your best friends at 51st street unexpectedly and inexplicably crying in front of Saint Anthony's plaque at Saint Patrick's Cathedral.

emotional releases are often provoked by damaged that leaves you broken and/or fumbling through the gray. sometimes it's hard to discern between allowing yourself healing time to pick up the pieces and not being brave enough to get out of your own way and try to move on. you may even trick yourself into thinking that why you initially cared in the first place doesn't apply anymore because it's easier than seeing the situation's ugly face (same applies to the 'Jersey Shore'). but on some level we know we are being cowardly, or even dishonest with ourselves. there's a part of us that was willing to jump into whatever hurt us in the first place, and we should never let extenuating circumstances rob this part of who we are as individuals simply because we were hurdled by that which is outside of us. otherwise it will seize us through ways of dealing with pain that are less than we deserve. it's hard, sometimes all we want is to return to the places we were before the damage; to feel like the fresh, unscathed, and innocent newborns we were before all of the hurt. pain and growth may prevent you from diving headfirst into whatever scarred us initially. but it takes more courage to try again injured than it did to make our first attempt with blinders on. though we may proceed with more caution, we also may continue with a better sense of ourselves. as long as we don't confuse caution for guard, life is pretty okay. and there is no guarantee it will work out in game two, but you sure as hell won't have a shot from the bench. as it's said, "try again. fail again. fail better."

-k.


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Now playing: Jem - Just A Ride
via FoxyTunes

more lessons from the reservoir.

there's a bird in central park that is braver than i am.

at 89th and lexington there is an entrance to a 1.3 mile loop around a resevoir that continually serves as restoration for my mental health. it has kept me from going crazy in my Manhattan-sized apartment, and keeps the asylum-like white walls from closing in on me, though i'd rather be discontent with unemployment than satisfied with laziness.

but i found my sometimes overlypensive self at my favorite part of the resevoir where you can pinpoint the union between the old museum architecture and the sleek design of today's modern buildings. but on this day i wasn't spotting these differences or absorbing the reflected sun rays off of the glassy water like in the ending scene in the Little Mermaid.

i was watching a duck. it's not really a duck, but it kind of looks like one. it has darker coloring, and a longer neck, but it's not a swan either. it's smaller and skinnier and a goose. i don't know what this mystery waterbird is, but it's the coolest not-duck-goose-or-swan i've ever seen.

this bird was too good for the cheerios the four year old girl next to me was throwing at it, disappointed by her ignored efforts. this bird didn't wait for the bits of old sandwich to drift it's way after some corporate suit probably carlessly threw in the water as his lunch break leftovers. this bird didn't wait for anything to float toward it. this bird spotted it's food below the surface and completely immersed itself to get it. it's whole body dove underwater in the blink of an eye to tackle it's food. the bird would sometimes come up satisfied, and sometimes come up blank. though the bird doesn't have the most expressive facial features or any real postural difference to indicate it's emotions, i don't think this bird ever regretted diving in head first.

and there i was pondering why oh why the jobs i applied for weren't calling me back. fighting the economy is a full court press, and really it's own full time job. sometimes i have the fire to hunt like this bird, and sometimes i'm burnt out and would rather have the job posts thrown my way. but goals, and on some level dreams, don't get tossed to you by toddlers with cheerio-stocked parents and cubicle slaves on their lunchbreak.

i'm surrounded by a lot of artists and seeing the fierocity that they tackle their daily routines with is inspiring. for many, staying creatively active means being up before everyone else and not sleeping until the long after the 9-to-5ers are counting sheep. they, too, immerse themselves fully in their craft, sometimes fruitfully and sometimes leaving them emptyhanded. but with the same stoic expression and upright position, they march on in the face of the grinding effort and in the name of art, often times pushing their way against the current. this inspired lifestyle relights my engine when it is out as i try and manuever my way to a 40+ hour work week.

we should all have a bird brain.
-k.

triangles.

you learn about triangles during that crucial stage of development when you are about five and in kindergarten and learning about shapes and colors. then you start to see them all around you as a kid, like when your mom cuts your sandwich in half or you see a yield sign. triangles then make a valiant return in geometry, where i spent the majority of my time cursing at them.

then, when you finish reading eat pray love and feel contemplative and overwhelmed while walking the reservoir at Central Park, you reflect on the Health textbook version of the mental/emotional, physical, spiritual triangle. my triangle sometimes looks more like the skewed food pyramid on the back of cereal boxes than the three separate but equal pieces that they are intended to be--Jim Crow laws fail again.

i feel like i am clearly tuned into one part while i lose reception entirely on the others. i either spend too much mental energy on myself, or more commonly the others in it, i spend too much time trying to figure out faith, or i never want to get off the elliptical. although my poison is not uncommon, it is frustrating, and even though i am increasingly aware of it, fixing it is still a brutal process. the harmonious feeling that overcomes you when these three components strike a balance is euphoric. maybe that's why it's so rare; if these things were always in balance, we'd do less work for ourselves and take for granted the importance of self priority. it gives us something to strive for.

sometimes striving is really frustrating. recently i have learned how to surrender. you can only control what's under your nose, and it's no coincidence that looking down your nose means your head is tilted up. we can only let go. sometimes i am a woman who does too much, which is funny because it leaves you not doing anything at all. it leaves you asking what if. it leaves you scripting out conversations that you will probably never have. it leave you on the backburner when you should be on your own front, firing on all cylinders. it leaves you envisioning what you would do as the protagonist instead of being it. it leaves you picturing your life instead of living it.

seize where you are with a big picture in mind. if we stop clinging to what we assume is ideal and loosen our grasp, it allows for surprisingly refreshing breathing room.

if you can't breathe, how can you eat, pray, and love anyway?

-k.


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Now playing: Sara Bareilles - Gravity (Live)
via FoxyTunes

ripping up life from the roots

last night, i added to my laundry list of stereotypical unemployed-in-your-young-20's activities. i went to trivia night at a bar. with friends.

historically at trivia, we kind of suck. it's sad when you celebrate a 4th place finish, or as we call it, 'not last place!'

but this was not cliche enough.

i ended my evening talking about life over a beer with a writer possibly double my age and definitely double my insight. i met him through someone i was formerly dating, and we had conversations about how he once sat in Legends seats at Yankee stadium and his stint in the Navy and how when he was young and (really) stupid he once blew off the chance to meet Kurt Vonnegut. but we had only spoken about life in innuendos.

it's funny how two people in completely different phases of life can have completely similar feelings. i guess that's one of those innately human things. we are both in those ripping your life up from it's root transitions. we are both in the job hunt, he, looking for a much more senior copyediting position, and i looking for an entry level PR position. and it doesn't matter that i'm just starting out and he's moving up. the same anxious energy still connects. in addition to jobhunting, he is coordinating a move, which is pretty high on life's list of 'things that are initially a pain in the ass but probably turn out for the better.' i recounted memories from my bed bug moving trauma and how i was getting my first job around the same time that this horrendous infestation took place. the infestation of limbo in my life was equally not as fun.

but that's the okay part about being in a rut. getting in one means that you were once out of one and that you will be out of it again. it may not be the next job that does it. it may not be the move. it will definitely be an outlook change, usually sparked by something, even if it's just our own frustration. every pendulum has an upswing. and even though what goes up must come down, it's important to be the ones defying gravity in the first place.

i'll let you know what i learn from other token early 20s activities like brunch or something.

-k.

though the skies may start to rain they're always blue

i feel good. it's unrelated to james brown.

one post ago--which i know the 'intoxikating' faithful nation read--i wrote about ups and downs. today i am pretty even-keeled.

two posts ago--which i know the 'intoxikating' faithful nation read--what i wrote was pretty depressing and a total downer. this may be it's antidote.

i'm recently unemployed and more single than i was a week ago. the past three months have been their own rollercoaster ride following the bedbug incident of 2009 (BB2K9). a recipe of dislodging, 'lonely,' and unemployed don't always yield the most uplifting results. but it's different when you move to a better place mentally and physically, are okay with yourself, and freelance.

i feel like i'm seeing clearly through the fast-pace chaos frenzy that often surrounds us. a good friend of my said of circumstance that 'you can't pay for that kind of clarity.' he's right...it's a good thing too because i can't afford to pay a lot.

i feel like i'm in a movie scene at a mall or an airport where i'm the character standing still while the people surrounding me are faceless and speeding around in fast forward. instead of struggling to control circumstances that are out of my range, i am controlling what's within my grasp: me. but i find this metaphor unsatisfactory.

people a lot smarter than i am somehow figured out that the calmest part of a storm is in the center--right in the eye of the tornado. i'm guessing this was a dangerous trial by error thing, like life can be. the further we deviate from center, the more likely our foundation is to be ripped up until you are out are the storm and far away from it's path.

i'm in the eye of the storm. i thought i wanted to be safely tucked into a basement somewhere on it's outskirts. i thought serenity came from protection, watching the Weather Channel and destruction from afar, counting our blessings. but that means i'm dodging the storm all together rather than tackling it. but there is more value in it's eye. you learn to maintain your center and travel with the storm. you can avoid damage by cutting through to the storm's core. you can manage yourself and follow it's path.

well i guess i'm Helen Hunt (in Twister--to my knowledge Mel Gibson has no ability to read my mind and i certainly don't own the awesome dog from 'Mad About You'). rather than run from the Storm of Life (how much does that sound like a self help book?) i'm doing a better job of tracking it (with the help of Bill Paxton). i'm changing what i can to rock this sucker from the inside. when the storm takes an unexpected turn, i am adapting. and when the storm revisits old doors that i thought were closed, and rips them off with a powerful ease, i'm still managing to keep control of myself, even if i can't control the situation itself.

and maybe that's As Good As It Gets.

-k.

'that's life'

it seems everything clicks at once. the job, the significant other, the apartment, the inner peace which is ultimately your inner piece.

it seems to all go to shit at once. the economy, the people you were blissfully getting started with, the bed bugs if you haven't yet learned that not manhattan is prone to them again.

our control in these endeavors ranges, and it is the uncontrollable that really pisses me off.

i am not a control freak. but i think by nature we secretly all are a little bit. unless you are one of those weird drifter people who doesn't ever have a home and is on constant vacation because establishing roots 'just isn't their thing.' we are not control freaks because we are power hungry, but because the feeling of not being in control that shakes the comfort out of us. somewhere there is a happy medium. when you find it with a job, you are probably one of those rare people who genuinely gets to 'do what they love' rather than just tells themselves this to get through the 9-to-5. when you find it with a person, you are in love. when you find it with an apartment, you never want to move (and are also in love). the fact that these always seem to coincide, at least in my life, are ultimately what create 'highs' and 'lows.' it's why people come up with cheesy catch phrases/advertising slogans that make you millionaires like 'life is a journey--enjoy the ride.' no offense nissan, but kiss my ass. life as a journey, or a rollercoaster, or a highway if you are tom cochrane is easy. the 'lifeish' part of it is understanding that life seems to be a constant series of adjustments until each piece falls into place, or at least into balance. which is why i suppose so many people get close, but not too close, to love, and live in moderate one bedrooms in Queens, and work at jobs that take up most of their week that they are okay with. they try and manufacture their own balance in a form of settling. i'd rather power through the pain and be more genuinely happy. i think either approach is okay as long as you are satisfied and aren't wading, stuck in the pain.

i don't think you should never be open to what feels comfortable, because then ultimately you never will be. embrace comfortable and secure. but if it's dislodged, work and adjust. if you can't hit the curveball life throws at you, you can't make it in the big leagues. unless you are alfonso soriano in his first season somehow.

a friend of mine recently told me the phrase "try again. fail again. fail better." it's time to learn each time.

-k.

just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there.

i'm better than this.
i'm better than the hurt that i bring on by myself.
i'm better than doing what "feels good."
i'm better than letting seemingly insignificant road blocks comprise a barricade.
i'm better than dodging pain&clinging to an image of what i want rather than what is.
i'm better than self-sacrificing.
i'm better than minimal masochism.
i'm better than how i treat myself.
i'm better than how others treat me.
i'm better than playing games.
i'm better than protecting my imperfections under a facade.
i'm better than anything that's not honest.
i'm better than pretending i'm naive for convenience.
i'm better than unrequited.
i'm better than 22.
i'm better than falling in love for an hour.
i'm better than falling.
i'm better than guarded.
i'm better than the same tears.
i'm better than battling between my head and my heart.
i'm better than up at 1 AM on a sunday.
i'm better than who i pretend.
i'm better than a few extra pounds.
i'm better than sleep deprived.
i'm better than overwhelmed by what's under my control.
i'm better than competing.
i'm better than disloyal.
i'm better than anything less than my best.
i'm better than the kardashians :)
i'm better than lost.
i'm better than confused.
i'm better than fueling the fire.
i'm better than overthinking.
i'm better than underthinking.
i'm better than regret.
i'm better than knowing but doing it anyway.
i'm better than missing what was.
i'm better than hoping for what could be.
i'm better than lazy.
i'm better than false hope.
i'm better than hopelessness.
i'm better than leaving my dreams stagnant.
i'm better than anything less than tackling my dreams with ferocity.
i'm better than you because i live on the Upper East side of Manhattan.
i'm better than my best.



i'm not.
-k.

blog vomit

my friend and i call sorting out our emotions through posting blog vomit. it just comes out of your gut. you can feel it rising and whether or not you want it to, you can't take it anymore, and it comes up. it's rarely pretty, but you often feel a lot better after.

yesterday this did not happen. it started off as blog vomit, but instead of the relief that it usually brings, i found myself having written to one giant question mark. an emotional blogging hangover. a blangover.

i have dealt with this before. there is no advil, no water, and no trip to McDonald's after for some greasy food. sometimes the relief of writing is in the catharsis. sometimes the relief is in the clarity it brings. sometimes, it forces you into decision-making mode. the danger here is that your angst to make a decision doesn't always mean that you know what decision you should be making. normally getting to this point means you are making a decision that 'defines' you, and possibly the course of your life. but staring at your writing is often like staring into a mirror. sometimes, you aren't thrilled with the image, or even recognize it.

so what do you do to scrape back to the image of who you were, or where you want to go? you take life by it's roots and rip them up. you get real. you get honest. you get balls. you vow to rise above the pain that is self-inflicted. you drop that which serves as a cover for something deeper. this way you don't have to face what you are scared of.

when we aren't being so valiant in your self improvement efforts, these habits stick around. sometimes we cut out people that force us to be honest. their sobering honesty doesn't even let you get to the point of word vomit. sometimes we hide behind a series of bad habits that allow us to fall into delusion, just for now, so we can forget the pain. so we can forget who we are on a daily basis. so we can forget the feeling of failure. so for that moment, we can be rockstars. so we can forget the image of what should be. so we can forget the fear of where we are going. so we can pretend.

i'm only 22, and i'm sick of pretending and playing games. i'm sick of picturing a life i want and not simply living it. i don't have any right to lecture, but also, nobody has a right not to listen either.

'i step outside my minds eyes for a minute
i look over me like a doctor
looking for disease
something that could ease the pain
nothing cures the hurt that you bring on by yourself,
just remembering, just remembering how we were'

-k.

belated new year's

a friend of mine reads my blog when we aren't talking about the yankees or playing sporcle. he noted a lapse in my posting. it occurred to me that i owe everyone the obligatory "new year!" post.

usually when i lack in posting it means that i'm either a) leading a really boring life b) leading too busy of a life or c) trying to figure out what the fuck is going on in my life so i can try and figure out a way to articulate it. this time was both b and c.

i love my new gym. it's like Globogym in the movie Dodgeball except with better hair and no hilarious huge black sidekick named MeChelle. there are a million machines, 2 million towels on every floor, and their snobbish Upper East attitude means i can be rude when blaring my mp3player. this is a far cry from my gym back in...Astoria (insert condescending Manhattan tone).

Fitness Point in Astoria was a far cry from the perfect body machine that is New York Sports Club. it cost $200/yr, many of the machines were broken, but a little bit of everything was available. there was an adorable dog owned by those who ran the place. while charming, that yapping dog would bark enough to shake you from your elliptical.

what i remember most about this gym was the odd T.V. choices that ran. rather than your typical e.s.p.n., music video, or token chick movie station that normally cycle while you are cycling, this gym ran the news, the history channel, and the discovery channel. it was really weird. most of the time that i went, i was positioned slightly off centered from the show Nature's Deadliest. it made my really glad that the only jungle that i live in is made of concrete. the whole premise of the show was about your surroundings can poison and kill you. and by surround you i mean envelop you if you are strolling through the heart of the jungles of Vanuatu or the mountainous Hunzas.

i made them turn off this show when the A.L.D.S. started. afterall, i had to watch Mark Texeira make defensive plays and begrudgingly watch A-Rod succeed. i still hate that guy. but Nature's Deadliest taught me more than what scorpions to avoid and what plants are poison ivy wannabes. the premise of our surroundings poisoning us, and even killing us, runs deep. not only are you making a decision to utilize something toxic, but you may not even realize you are making the decision to do so. in fact, you may even view it as a resource.

ain't that the truth. lately there has been a disparity between what i want and what i should do. dave ramsey, who inspired my fear of debt and hatred of creditcards, said that "children do what feels good, adults devise a plan and stick to it." i've been a child lately. sometimes i think this is ok. but sometimes i give too much weight to unhealthy habits that sneak their way into my life. it's one thing to have their presence, it's quite another to cultivate them. then they go from an unhealthy habbit to an unhealthy lifestyle. i can feel myself getting farther from what i ultimately want. in a way, getting closer to what i want as a short term satisfacatory dillusion clouds my long term desires. usually, these short term things are more often than not fun with only slight twinges of self loathing, but they add up pretty quick. and while this self loathing is only a splinter, it runs deep, ultimately because i am making informed decisions that i know are harmful. i am picking the poison ivy on purpose. i am chasing the sting ray, knowing that it's called a S T I N G ray and what happened to steve irwin (too soon? see south park's thoughts on AIDS being funny).

i sound pretty mature for recognizing all of this. i sound pretty lame for knowingly not following through on healthy decisions. but that introduces the dichotomy of head vs. heart. i *know* there are certain decisions i need to make, and that there are certain people who are poisonous to keep in my life. i know that usually when i cut out these poisonous people, it fucking sucks. but then i usually feel a lot better. but i also know that my instincts are telling me not to let go. that somewhere in my guy the bittersweet treasure is ultimately a win, that pain coming with pleasure is worth it. i know that when i don't trust my instincts i more often than not regret it. i know that this contradiction between how i think and how i feel is somewhat irresolvable because if i fulfill one, i end up wondering what life is like if i take the other path.

i wonder what version of myself is the true me. if we are pretending to be something for a day/weekend/week/year/millisecond, aren't we genuinely--in this moment of pretend--being just that? how are we supposed to discern between head vs. heart, between guise and truth? and what if both feel comfortable?

my new year's resolutions are to learn music, get more organized, shed a few pounds, and be more honest with myself. that last one kind of just started.

i don't think i'll ever have the answer to these questions. but if anyone needs a remedy to a spider bite and a spin and a brief sprint on a mediocre treadmill, there's a cheap gym in Astoria that is happy to keep you. just beware of dog.

-k.

grow accustomed to the darkness and see what you're supposed to see...

"head up straight i know what i'm doing
head up straight i know what i'm doing
head up straight i know what i'm doing
...i don't"

lately these lyrics from Charlotte Martin's 'Four Walls' are cycling through my head. after a good cry with my sister i was thinking about how full of shit we all are. hear me out.

i think the smartest people aren't necessarily the most knowledgeable, but are the people who realize that constantly learning is an invaluable skill. the smartest people are the ones that don't fear the unknown as a threat, but view it as an opportunity. the smartest people are the ones who plunge into uncharted territory while recognizing limitations. the smartest people don't struggle for control of the uncontrollable or even fully want to. the smartest people admit that we may have knowledge--even expertise--in some areas--but as far as life in general goes, we have no idea what the hell we are doing. the smartest people recognize their limitations and weaknesses, and utilize their strengths to change them. the smartest people, in my estimation, seem to be the most courageous. and it takes a lot of courage to admit that there is no tried and true universal formula for how every is supposed to live. and it takes a lot courage to have faith that this is true.

earlier i was discussing with my friend that i feel the fundamental difference between she and i is that i start from a guarded place and break walls down while she is naturally unguarded and has to work to protect herself by constructing walls. together, we could save an emotional construction company a lot of money. neither of these philosophies is better than the other and they both provide an oddly fresh perspective. but the valuable common thread that they do share is gauging where your 'smarts' according to my definition is. and i am no Merriam Webster. but there is a certain level of trust that neither of us have a real answer as to what works more efficiently.

when i was young and my parents struggled to answer the weird questions only kids can raise, they used to say that they would "look that up in the parenting handbook." they were pretty upset when they found out that my sister and i didn't pop out with some kind of hand out. i remember my mom had a Girl Scouts handbook, but I think that was more about badges and cookie sales sheets. similarly there is no handbook to life. we can only assume that life is supposed to turn out this way, because it is. if you don't believe this, you will probably swim in a sea of regret until you drown, and with any luck end up here anyway. if you escape the harsh waves, you make the best of what's around.

lately, according to my own definition of smart--well let's just say i haven't hinted at shattering the blond stereotype. i've been fighting for control that i don't have, and won't have, across the board. i've been so worried about keeping it together i've forgotten the value in falling apart--or even just being a little messy. i've forgotten that there is a middle ground between being buttoned up and a total disaster. it's called human or something.

what i was able to sort out that everything is as complicated as you make it. sometimes complicated is good. complicated can yield depth--it can lead you to places you would never go. i know plenty of people who have depth that never have faced traumas, but sometimes the road to depth is messy.

but other times me just need to K.I.S.S. and keep it simple, stupid. or an 80's metal band. or an affectionate verb. sometimes all are required. most encounters in life are complicated enough. if we add our own baggage to the recipe, we are only tangling the web further. sometimes this is inevitable, and we can only manage where we are emotionally. but other times the answer it just to boil it down to it's raw bare bones. if your past is hindering your present, how the hell do you expect to build a future.

i'm working on making my daily life as simple as those "see spot run" books.
i'm trying to keep things simple--even my predicates.

-k.



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Now playing: Missy Higgins - Any Day Now
via FoxyTunes

even rocky had a montage...

for me, inspiration for a fresh start can come from a just about anywhere. some are sparked by an internal moment of strength, or weakness, that open your soul's flood gates, washing away the dirt of your twenty-somethings, leaving you with a squeaky clean slate. other fresh starts are built into the natural order of life. a break up, a dead friendship, new year's resolutions, a new job. recently, i experienced both the internal moment of strength--or weakness--it has yet to be determined, in correlation with the fresh-start move.

i now reside in a charming three bedroom apartment in Astoria that has an old fashion charm combined with an old fashion 'thingsfallingapart' milleu. the cons of tile falling apart in the shower and the pros of the beautiful molding and french doors even out. or if you are a sucker like me, the enchanting style wins in a landslide. since i have moved, every morning has greeted me with sunshine pouring in through the towering windows. when i start my day just blocks from the subway, i am showered in the goodness of local bakeries and nail salons. i can shop on the trendy yet affordable Steinway street. the trip to my local grocery store is measured in seconds. i am 20-30 minutes from midtown manhattan. i live with my sister. and i have anything i need at my finger tips.

it occurred to me that fresh starts are more of a mind set than anything else because i had all of these resources in new jersey in equally as close of a distance. everything i needed was within my grasp, just as it is in Astoria. my commute to manhattan was only ten minutes longer. the local Pathmark was a stone's throw away. there was a great bakery at the train station a block away from my apartment. so why does everything feel so much easier when i am on this side of the bridge? why was this move so cathartic when i am further from the majority of my friends and CLOSER to the mets?

maybe feeling like you are in a rut doesn't mean that you are always in one. but isn't how you feel the rut's key ingredient? i always try to appreciate what is around me, and most of the time, i feel that i succeed in doing so. but maybe being in a rut is a load of nonsense when everything that i could need is still so readily available. or maybe these 'natural order' fresh starts are only new beginnings because of the emotional ties that they carry. every change is a transition to some extent. perhaps this is why it's so easy to rip up our lives from the roots and plant seeds of the 'new.' it's why we get hair cuts and a new, untainted hoodie after we break up with someone. it's why our New Year's resolution list vows that we will lose those 10-20 lbs this year. it's why the room in our new home reeks of ajax and windex when our old apartments are lost in a sea of dirty dishes. it's whythe desk at our new job is filled with office supplies as our old notebooks and pens from our past chapter lay in the garbage.

so why do we have fresh starts that don't come as a staple in the cycle of life? maybe these new begginings are just stops on the long and winding path of growth. starting over isn't always sparked by anything more than the desire for change. sometimes, it is simply the order of things. sometimes, we are fed up with others and/or ourselves. we can get so caught up in how things are suppossed to be that we get lost as to what is going on right now. instead of simply living our lives, we picture them. and chances are, the picture is bound to get smeared. bad. or atleast have a few imperfections in the paint. eventually, we embrace the notion of coloring outside of the lines as oppossed to our initial reactions to stifle it. stifling these emotional changes is like pumping a balloon with air. we can float away freely if we cut off the stifling force that is expanding us into uncontrollable directions. but if we don't we pop in a loud and dramatic burst.

this week, i had an interview for the first job that i really want. normally i am empowered by a new suit that i bought, or sexy-but-professional high heels that force my posture into confidence and my chin up high. but my new move allowed my confidence to come from within, which part of me always knew was there, but i was unable to tap into. i felt empowered, i am woman! hear me roar and all the jazz. it was one of those days where i could feel my past fleeting behind me with each step forward. it was one of those days where you feel the Rocky montage pulsing through your veins. it was one of those days where you scroll through your ipod for your own theme song, because you are feeling damn good. i hadn't had one of these in New Jersey in a while, even though my resources were very similar. but now i don't question the decisions that lead me to this fresh start by emotional means and i accept the forced new beginning that has packed away a chapter that i am ready to move on from through this move. the places and people that are meant to be and want to be by my side in the next part of my plot will be. and actually believing that--well that kinda rules =)

-k.