Fred.

Oftentimes we have no idea the degree to which we affect the lives of others.  We also don't know when teachers will come our way.

At the tender age of twenty-one years old, I was diagnosed with a stress fracture injury in my left hip.  The doctor said, "Is this the beginning of arthritis?  We won't be able know."  I was told that it would take a year to heal and that I was not supposed to ride my bike.  I was obsessed with riding bikes, how am I not going to ride for a year??!!  I was devastated by the news.  It was the beginning of summer and I had just left my beloved Vail and come to Denver to go to hair school.  My heart was broken from leaving the mountains and I faced the uncertainty of going back to school for the first time since dropping out of high school.  Not being able to burn off the anxious energy of youth through cycling, I knew it would be one of the toughest years of my life. 

In order to stay something resembling sane, I would go for long walks around Capitol Hill in Denver on the perfect summer nights.  Focusing on flexing as many muscles as possible in my legs and bootie as I walked, I did my best to flush out the frustration through the limited physical activity I was permitted by the doctor.

One of these balmy nights as I clipped along at break-neck walking speed, I passed a gentleman with long dreadlocks.  I complimented the dreads as I passed by and he proceeded to initiate a conversation with me.  His name was Fred and he was a bit older than middle aged black man who had spent decades living on Capitol Hill.  We walked and talked for I think nearly three hours.

I'm sure I vented significantly about how hard my life was at twenty-one years old.  I'm sure I told him about the hip injury, and my obsessive walks.  I'm sure I expressed in detail my heartbreak from leaving the majestic mountains.  I'm sure I reeked of young adult insecurities masked by overconfidence.  I'm sure he knew I needed him that night. 

Nearly twenty years later most of the details of that night have faded into the depths of memory, but there is one thing that I hang onto to this day.  Sitting in a small park on 10th Ave and Penn, Fred looked at me and said, "Everyday you have to find something that inspires you.  You have to stay inspired."  There was a subtle urgency in his voice, he knew he was saying something profound to me. 

Although we lived only blocks away from each other, I didn't see Fred until a couple years later, at a grocery store.  He remembered me, but the magic I felt that summer night seemed to have faded for him.  His gifting of wisdom towards me had affected me deeply for months and years after our chance encounter that night, and it was strange that I felt he looked at me as someone whom he met once and chatted casually with.  No bother, it was nice to see him again.

Over the years when I've been living in Denver, I've attended performances put on by the dance school Fred plays drums for.  During another particularly difficult time in my early twenties, I knocked on his door, prying for more of the wisdom.  It's been years since I've seen Fred and I think of him from time to time.  But whether I ever see him again or not, he will always be with me.  When I find myself in a tough time and need some hope, or whenever I see or feel something deeply inspirational, Fred is there with me, reminding me to stay that way, inspired.  I sometimes feel like I made an unconscious promise to him and to myself that night. 

So for what it's worth, Everyday you have to find something that inspires you, You have to stay inspired.

    

Bear market.

Yesterday two new clients came in to the shop.  Slicked back, sharp looking gents, these two were excited to be trying out a new spot that has a golden reputation around this small city.  One of them was scheduled with me and during his consultation he told me he had been going to a high-end men's salon in Portland but had lately been disappointed with the results of his haircuts.  Upon inspection I definitely noticed quite a bit that was off about the shape and it seemed like whoever cut his hair wasn't sure how to deal with the unique nature of his hair type, and the dueling cowlicks that rested upon his crown.  Disappointed in the work of others, which I often am as a detail obsessed barber, I told him the plan and began my work to remedy the mediocre mess he came in with.

Throughout the haircut I explained to him what I was doing, why I was doing it and the effects my technical approach would have on the final result and grow-out of his haircut.  In the end, he was very pleased with the results complimenting me on my skills and execution of his desired look.  But the best was yet to come from this client.

After their cuts, the two men stayed around and enjoyed a drink, relaxing on one of the plush leather sofas in the shop lounge.   At one point I walked by and my client told me they are hedge fund managers(I don't really know what that means, but I know it has something to do with rich people's money).  He followed that up by telling me his buddy had asked him how I had done and if he liked his haircut from me.  My client told me that his response to his buddy was, "I told him, 'She dissected it like a mismanaged portfolio!!'."  I was in stitches and we all enjoyed a good laugh over that before I thanked him for the financial adviser's perspective of my work.  Truly one of the great compliments of my lengthy career. 

Beasts of childhood.

Why are animals THE BEST??!!  Their fuzzy faces, their expressive eyes, their adorable paws.  Bah!  I love them all!  Literally all of them.  No matter the species, the "ugliness", the things they do to other animals, I can't help myself, I am obsessed with all beasts.  Yesterday my sister sent me a video of her precious dog being petted, I watched it four times and I squealed each time.  Insane for them!

In my house growing up, there was no shortage of animals.  I don't remember having any less than four cats at any one time.  We had dogs, one named Kitty even.  We had birds, snakes, rats, hamsters, etc, etc.  All manner of living creatures.  I remember always feeling grateful that we had animals and I can't imagine the amount of crap my parents had to clean up.  We even called our food pantry the "cat room" since it housed the litter box.  Yep you got it, a box full of cat crap in the same place we stored food. 

We had this monster black and white tuxedo cat named Moosie.  I think he pushed 25lbs.  Maybe he was 40lbs, my childhood memories make him larger than he likely was.  This cat is a legend!  Moosie had one eye, can't remember how he lost it, he just always had one eye.  Moosie also walked with a severe limp which was the result of a shoulder injury he endured after being hit by a car and my parents chose not to pay for the surgery to repair it(maybe the eye went in that accident also).  Even with all his gimpyness and that one eyeball, Moosie loved life!  There was nothing this cat wouldn't put up with from us five kids in the house.  He had the loudest purr ever, like ever, look it up in Guiness.  We could sit on him, aggressively snuggle him, harass him to no end, and that loud purr just kept on going.  Even just walking by, Moosie would purr.  Moosie loved love.   

The legend himself, Moosie. With baby Alex.

Moosie also had a girlfriend, a life partner, if you will.  That's right, Moosie loved love from humans AND other animals.  Noodles, a fluffy calico we also had, was Moosie's girlfriend and these two cats were inseparable.  Completely enamored with each other, these kitties could be found cuddling together any time of day.  It was heartbreaking for everyone when Moosie passed away at some super old age for cats.  However, none of us felt his loss like Noodles did.  Noodles was inconsolable and passed away just a few weeks later.  We found her under the bed, cuddling alone.  To this day, we are convinced that she died of a broken heart.  We buried her next to her beloved Moosie.  Noodles and Moosie, like Sid and Nancy, together until death, except without the heroin overdose and murder charges.

As I became an adolescent, I took on my very own pets, bought with my own money.  Mickey and Zoey, my rat couple.  I would breed them and the lil baby rats were too cute for words.  When the babies were old enough, I would sell them for $1 each to pet stores to then be sold as pets.  All these years later, I realize many of them likely became reptile feed.  Snakes gotta eat too I suppose.

I had the rats for a few years and I'll never forget the day I realized Zoey was very sick.  I bawled all the way to the vet to have her put down.  I knew she was suffering greatly and I had to say goodbye to a tiny creature who had brought me so much joy and taught me so much responsibility.  I had Mickey for a while longer, along with the lone baby from his and Zoey's final litter they had together.  

The luster had worn off after years of caring for rats, and one day I took the last remaining offspring from my rat couple and "released" him into the field behind my house.  I don't know if I ever admitted that to anyone.  I literally took a domesticated rat that probably didn't know how to fend for himself and abandoned him in a field thinking he was now free.  He probably didn't last the night.  I still have some guilt over that. 

Throughout my adulthood, I've traveled and moved so much that I have never made the space in my life to have an animal.  I have longed for it and came close to getting a kitty in Denver until I moved into the most perfect apartment... that wouldn't allow pets.  I currently live with a kitty but he is the definition of a scaredy cat, runs from everything and will barely let me pet him.  The feelings I've been having lately of isolation a loneliness are pressing me again.  I mean, I'm almost 40 years old and I've never had a cat or dog of my own, even though I've ached for it for years, but feared the commitment. 

Lil Tucky, a beast who has made a difference for me.

I've denied myself so many things in exchange for a gypsy life and I'm not so sure I want to continue to deny myself the joy of having a pet anymore.  It freaks me out to commit to something like that, but I've also got to face my fear of commitment sometime before I die.  I am so grateful to have grown up surrounded by so many pets in my childhood home.  I have been blessed to have countless friends who's pets have made a real difference in my life.  The experience I had volunteering at a shelter was profound.  I squeal and get giddy at videos of animals.  All the signs are there that it's right.  It's time to honor my inner child who had so many pets, and spoil myself with a pet.
     

Artsy fartsy

Lately in my life I have had a mix of feeling completely lost and uninspired along with periods of feeling overwhelmed with insight, inspiration and newness.  Lately?  Who am I kidding, that mix is my life summed up.  Perhaps what brings me back to this blog after two and a half years is finally coming to terms with the fact that I have to get off my ass and commit to something again.  I have to begin to search again.  I have to reignite my urge to push boundaries(something I am a self-trained expert at, just ask my parents).

One of my faves ever.  Bogotá, Colombia.
(not the artist from the documentary)

Between last night and this morning I watched a Hulu documentary about a street artist who's art I have seen and appreciated over decades of my life.  My first of many light bulb moments was that I had never stopped to register that there was a creative genius with a tremendous story behind the images.  The documentary left me with a myriad of emotions from enlightenment to frustration to acceptance; acceptance that I have to stop sitting on my ass, numbing out with TV streaming, and start doing what comes so naturally to me.  I need to tap back in to that part of me that woke up when I was an angry 16-year- old with no other outlet.  I need to create my own art.  I need to honor my own gift...I need to write.  And write.  And write, etc.

This year has been tough for me.  I am living somewhere that I am enamored with, but never planned to be.  I'm not close with anyone here, I am lukewarm about my employment situation, I am achingly far from anyone I can truly lean on and New England's North Atlantic winter is on the way.  However the most pressing part is that I am feeling a choking feeling when it comes to my self expression.  Literally feeling like I'm being choked since arriving here, a tightness in my throat.  And it's not allergies.  I have to do what it takes to release, I have to express.  And write.  And write, etc.  

Art of  one of the most prolific artists ever to live.  Denver, Colorado, USA 

The inspiration to create doesn't seem to be the key factor in my lack of production.  Every day I experience the beauty and sadness of our earthly existence.  Every day I notice moments, observe love, listen to seagulls loudly squawk.  Every day I am taking things in, and every day the moments die inside.   To the point that I'm making myself sick.  Things feel off.  I feel lost. 

    

How life should be.  Buenos Aires, Argentina.

What has been absent for me is motivation.  To watch that documentary and realize what a gift this street artist has given the world on an incredible scale made me feel like a chump for not creating my own art when I damn well know I have the ability to do it.  I could feel the motivation awakening.  Do I think I'm going to have the impact that he does?  That's not the point, it's not a competition.  It's not about scaling my own art, it's simply about doing it to honor myself and to explore where it takes me, to give in to the gifts of destiny.  

There may be no one that ever reads this, and I'm okay with that.  But I am not motivated by fame or "being known" or whatever.  I am motivated by being bored and frustrated and feeling lost.  I am motivated by the feelings that I get when I watch others go through their journeys and realize I've taken way too long of a lazy break of my own.  I am motivated by the longing to feel like I belong somewhere, a struggle of my entire life.  I really want to feel like I belong in my own skin, on my own crazy, blessed, unique path.  I can't lie when I say that I do want to feel like I'm helping others, making a difference, not matter how small.  But I can't help anyone else until I help myself first.  So I write.  And write...

   

Pep talk.

"In the beginning there is not much difference between the coward and the courageous person.  The only difference is, the coward listens to his fears and follows them, and the courageous person puts them aside and goes ahead.  The courageous person goes into the unknown in spite of all the fears." - Osho

Tossing and turning, tossing and turning some more, that was my night of "sleep" last night.  I had this obscure dream where I was downtown in the early morning hours to pick up my car after being at a rave(or something like that)all night.  As I waited on the corner, chillin' before getting in my car, all of a sudden it was gone.  Stolen?  Towed?  My dream state didn't say, so I called my dad to pick me up so we could figure out how to advise the police about my missing vehicle.  I was relieved when I awoke to realize that my car is still parked where I park it every night at my apartment complex.  Glad I didn't have to deal with police...

I would be lying to myself if I tried to say I wasn't sure what's causing the temporary insomnia.  This morning, I find myself having quite the internal conflict.  A bit too personal to describe in detail, I'm being faced with a situation where I have to make a decision where either choice is neither right nor wrong.  Both choices are positive, allowing a lot of growth, and both choices can potentially cause a lot of questions that could remain unanswered.  Therein lies the conflict, and the fear.  

I feel compelled to stay the course, allowing myself to move through this particular experience and become pressurized.  That pressure will either make me stronger, teaching me or, it will break me; but it's got to be better than being sedentary.  This gypsy can't stay still, and that includes internally.  This is why I'm so intrigued by this situation, the unknown it will bring into my life.  I'm addicted to the unknown, I'm addicted to its reflections and its lessons.  I have an impulse to forge ahead despite the fear. 

Coupled with the impulse to forge ahead is the impulse to walk away, realizing that this situation is not something I need to continue to involve myself with.  Realizing that I have learned what I need to learn from it and the time has come to have a new adventure.  But wait, aren't both pathways a new adventure?  Isn't life itself a new adventure every day?  Oy vey.

I am left to remain in conflict for the time being.  Deep down, my intuition is signaling that either decision is okay, I cannot choose wrong.  I am simply baffled that I have reached a point in my life of such neutrality, a gift of enduring the awakening process.  Both choices bring the unknown, both choices present fears.  There is no other choice except to accept my own decision and the decisions of all parties involved with a response of love.  After all, the only choice we have in life is to choose between love or fear.

"To accept the challenge of the unknown, in spite of all the fears, is courage. The fears are there, but if you go on accepting the challenge again and again, slowly slowly those fears disappear." - Osho 

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." - Franklin D. Roosevelt  

Red tent.

If I could describe in words how unlike myself I feel today, and the past few days in general, it would be welcome relief.  However, I can't.  I feel totally and utterly out of sorts.  I don't generally have to question where this kind of mood comes from; fortunately for me, I always know.  Usually, I don't have unexplained moodiness, it's the uterus, it's an especially bad case of PMS.  One that has me crying as I write this.  Please don't feel bad, I don't even have a legitimate reason to be crying, but alas, I cry.

  

During all of this crying, I found myself thinking, "If I only had a place to go where I could cry and no one would question it.  If there was a place I could go to get away from the world and just feel crappy PMS ass."  Then I cried even harder wishing that my world had safe places for women who need support before and during menstruation; I want to go to the red tent.  Sure, the red tent is reserved for women who are actually menstruating but I'd kill to be able to go to one today.  I am craving escape, understanding, comradery, a nap, a good laugh, distraction, and the empathy of other women.

Many cultures around the world currently have menstrual huts as part of life.  Native American cultures are famous for the menstrual huts that women would go to during menstruation to bond, celebrate femininity, and encourage creativity during a time where women were believed to be more connected intuitively. 

It's clear as to why we don't have these special places in the Western world now.  Our periods are something that we are supposed to hide.  Our periods are something we are supposed to be ashamed of and feel is "disgusting".  A menstrual hut would not only blow these bullshit beliefs and habits out of the water, but would encourage the beauty and special nature of this time, the connection with our womanhood and our sisters, the celebration of all things feminine.  Celebration?! That's right.  

Rarely do I feel this out of sorts.  Perhaps it can be chocked up to the fact that the weather is HORRIBLE these past few days and I'm likely mourning the arrival of ultra-wintry weather, but fuuuuuck I feel awful.  I even got into a Facebook fight with a dear friend in Egypt.  Then I cried.  Then I texted a friend.  Then I cried.  Then I listened to music.  Then I cried.  This is madness, nobody should be forced into society in this condition.  I want to be locked up in the red tent until emotionally functional Sarah returns.

       

Saving Private Daylight.

Today is a day that many folks do not look forward to.  Today at "2am" it suddenly went right back to 1am.  I literally watched my phone change time from 1:59am to 1:00am.  An extra hour of sleeping, or other extra curricular activities..., don't mind if I do!!  I love it, I love the time change.  

Sure, I think it's stupid that we change the clocks in some sort of human attempt to control the uncontrollable; time is relative anyways and, what difference does it truly make to change the clock?  Though most of the world does not practice "Daylight Savings Time", and even some states in our country, alas it is here:  Five months of darkness.  

Now, I'm no ignoramus, I understand that it is, in fact the orbit of the Earth around the Sun and not the changing of the clocks that makes the daylight fleeting.  But the fact that we change the clocks, in turn, makes the sunset happen earlier bringing what I call "The Darkness".  I LOVE The Darkness!

For a lot of my life, I struggled with the lack of sunlight in the winter.  I had the typical seasonal depression, hated the change of seasons to cold and dark, and the nights that never seemed to end(I still hate the change of seasons to cold).  Spring eventually worked it's way back into life and the daylight increased after what felt like years of darkness.

About eleven years ago, I decided to make a change.  I consciously decided that instead of choosing to loathe The Darkness, I would embrace it; I would enjoy it, love it, need it.  I decided that I would fool myself into liking The Darkness by telling myself that I needed it to do certain things; for example, if I wanted to watch a movie I would need to wait until it got dark.  If I wanted to make a phone call or smoke a bowl or clean my house, I would need to wait until it got dark.  Pretty easy to do really since the sun goes down at like 4pm for a good part of winter.  But the seemingly magical part is that it worked like a charm!  By simply telling myself that I needed The Darkness, wanted it and loved it, I found that I did need it, want it and love it.  Yay for The Darkness!  My personal mind game proved fantastic results and I've never been the same since, almost looking forward to this time of year as opposed to dreading it.

There is so much that is mysterious and magical about the dark hours of the day, especially when there are so many dark hours in one day.  Darkness is when we rest and rejuvenate.  Darkness is when we feel more comfortable with intimacy and, darkness beckons love making.  The Darkness allows for for much of the external world to be unavailable for viewing thus allowing introspection and self reflection.  The Darkness is when we escape the hustle and bustle of the daylight hours.

So as the season of The Darkness is upon us, I reflect back on that day when I changed my mind about it, and I feel really grateful.  I will embrace and enjoy the many lightless hours of night in the next few months.  Now if I could only convince myself of the same when it comes to the cold temps, I'd be set...