The Same Wonderings

Listen to this.

It’s nearly 20 minutes long but it spoke to me today and it might speak to you too.


Going into the medicine/health field isn’t even a Plan B, it is merely a thought of a Plan B. And it’s definitely not Plan A. However, there is always, always has been, this thought of ‘when dance is over’ and ‘am I really a dancer’ ‘am I cut out for this’ ‘planning for the future’ ‘being serious’. Part of those are just silly fears and doubts and they must be cast as such and left alone. But the part about ‘being serious’ and getting a ‘real job’ is worrying to me. It’s important to me — the financial security that a ‘real job’ (again, this is somewhat generalized as no job really has financial security, merely some jobs do more than others) gives you. I realize that my thought that dance is not a real job, in whatever aspect it gives me income — teaching, dancing, what have you — comes largely from what I think is my father’s perspective which has influenced me. And as much as I do think it is legitimate and possible, I don’t feel very legit, professional, adult doing what I do. Although perhaps that is because I am not paid for what I do. But would that thought change were I to be paid?

Having a family, giving my kids a good life in an expensive world, planning for retirement, having savings, caring for my parents when they need it many many years down the road, not worrying about money, that is so important to me. Until now I have been overly lucky. Still am. I have been taken care of financially by my parents, by friends, by strangers. I’ve never been in debt. I’ve never been poor. But that won’t last forever. It’s fine when it’s just me but if there were kids involved, if I wanted to do more than I frugally do, I would need more sufficiency. Which a ‘real job’ would give me. Or so I have myself believing.

I wonder how much of dance is chasing a dream, doing what I am meant to do, need to do, or a frivolous activity a little girl is doing in her un-real world, if really I am terrible and never going to have a job in a company, if people have lied to me. Again, silly little doubts and thoughts largely I believe. But there. I suppose that’s human.Screen Shot 2015-11-25 at 3.15.14 AM

Just keep going.

Europe Life Sit Here and Write i write

I sit here. I write. I think and I think and I think and I think do we ever stop thinking?

Today a scary thing happened to me. I left Chapters at Granville and W Broadway. I had to take a bus along W Broadway to an appointment. I walked out of Chapters, up a couple blocks, and stood waiting for the bus. I was already in one of my (too often) head spaces where everything is chaotic around me and I feel frazzled and dizzy, disoriented, I’m about to fall over can’t keep life straight space. I stood there on the street, waiting and waiting, then realized that to my right was W 12 Ave. That’s odd… because W 12 Ave should be running the opposite way to me… I’m on W Broadway, right? Yes.  …. but no. I had somehow turned the corner and walked up Granville St, waited for a few minutes for a bus that would never come, and then ‘woken up’, realizing where I actually was. I hurried back down Granville St, turned right on to W Broadway and made my way to my proper bus stop. I remember walking up Granville thinking I was headed towards Blenz Coffee, but Blenz coffee is on W Broadway. But I was walking on W Broadway. I know I was. but apparently I wasn’t. It was as though my brain had canceled out on me, but my body was still functioning, and I kept moving, and then realized I was in the wrong spot and didn’t really know how I had gotten there… It scared me.

I’ve been on fluoxetine, prozac, for about five years now. I don’t want to be on it anymore. It scares me. Who am I? But who would I be if I don’t take the meds? I still have extreme lows and extreme highs. What happens when I don’t have prozac in me? How much more extreme are those highs and lows going to be? I’m scared. But I’m scared to remain on the meds too because I think it is fucking with my head.

I have a foggy, dead, numb brain 85% of the time. The other 15%? It’s great. When it happens, I take advantage and I’m on a high and I am crazy and boisterous and enthusiastic and everyone loves me. I sometimes am surprised by who I was, what I said, what I did when I come down from the high. It really is like I am drunk. The other times though, I try and act normal but sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t.

M says he can see when my eyes aren’t as light as they can be, when a million emotions pass through my face and doesn’t know what to say. He can see me acting how I think I should act with others because I’m not really there. I’ve never had anyone tell me that before but that’s exactly what I am doing. I’ve learned to mimic others, to do what others would do to fit in and not call too much attention to myself. Say what others would say, do what others would do. Why do we do this? Monkey see, Monkey do. I’m a monkey in a world full of monkeys but I’m the one with the bright red bottom and they are all normal.

I’m going to Europe in two and a half weeks. Going to meet S. Going to do some auditions, meet some dancers, meet some companies. See what I can find by way of work. I’m excited, ready for an adventure. But terrified. I’m scared of being alone. Of being scared. I’m scared of not being able to be vulnerable. Being alone. I’m so scared of being alone. Despite always wanting to be alone. I’m scared of falling into my head into a fog into a heavy fog and not knowing anyone not knowing not being able to get out. I’m scared.

Sometimes I drink because then I can have a foggier brain and not think and I just want to forget and lose myself. I’m a lightweight. It doesn’t take much.

I wish I had a pack of cigarettes. But I know if I bought a pack I would smoke them, so instead I occasionally bum them off of coworkers. Smoked a couple last Thursday. Thoroughly enjoyed myself. Wish I had one now.

I feel alone. I am probably just over tired. I want someone to be with. How do I know if I am being stupid and silly about S? I have been asked out by 9 different guys in the past week… I am not tooting my own horn… I guess I’m finally turning into what guys want. And yes, I want to date. I want to be with someone. Do things. Make connections. But there is S. But he is in Europe. And we are not even together. But. I just feel alone. I know that is all it is. A coworker at L restaurant really likes me. I was not drawn to him immediately but I am finding myself thinking about him. I want to be with someone. Lonely minds wish for…

I wish for San Francisco.


I apologize for the lack of enthusiasm in recent (read: 1) post, but here is a place I can be negative or positive or neutral… here I can be anything. I don’t have to pretend and pretending is what I am doing for most of my days now.

Overall I am okay. I’m not desperately depressed, I know this isn’t my worst, but it is definitely not my best.

I just don’t feel like me anymore. I am not dancing, hardly dancing. I have no time. My days have been taken over by serving in restaurants and for some reason I don’t feel like I can keep my life on track right now.

I don’t know where September has gone. How is it already October 8th? My mum got married. But that passed in a blur. And then I got sick right afterwards and still worked everyday. I have been traveling to the Island every weekend for rehearsals on Sundays. Someone at work asked me when my Friday was. I don’t have a Friday. I don’t remember the last time I had a day off. July?

Monday: G restaurant
Tuesday: G restaurant
Wednesday: G restaurant
Thursday: G restaurant then L bar
Friday: grocery shop for roommate (this pays for rent) then L bar
Saturday: cook for roommate then travel to island
Sunday: rehearse then travel back to mainland
Monday: ….

I need time. I need time for me.

Overall everything is okay, well, G restaurant is not really okay, I am fed up with being spoken to as though I am an idiot, a pretty face with an empty head, a servant not a server. I am a person. How dare you speak to me, yell at me, disrespect me? I would not dare to be disrespectful to anyone, any animal, tree, bush, why do you treat me with disrespect? In the grand scheme of things, does it really fucking matter if your steak comes out 3 minutes late, that there is a tiny water mark on a knife, that there is a tiny miniscule dot on the white tablecloth? No, it doesn’t. Where is your sense of rationality? Where is your life? What is your purpose? My purpose is not to be subservient, to bow down to your command, to smile prettily and laugh and say, yes of course! right away! my goodness, I am so sorry!, and yet, here I am, doing just that. I am more than that. Perhaps I have an inflated ego, though I think not. Perhaps I think too highly of myself, though again, I think not. Perhaps I know how to value myself, when you do not. Perhaps I value my sense of self, my being, my soul, more than a few extra dollars at the end of the day. And don’t you dare make me feel bad about that. Is it always for the money? It’s all for the money, at this place, it’s all for the money. What about for the happiness? For the quality of life? For love and beauty and soul? Or is that not worth anything in this world that we live in?

Technology Rant.


Here goes.

Admittedly, she was drunk, however I think that an excuse not. To the lady who repeatedly took pictures of herself and her friends while there was an emergency situation happening in the bar and I was sternly ushering them out…. Good God.

Stop taking pictures of yourself. There is a lady passed out on our benches with an ambulance on the way. I am asking you to leave over and over again and yet you are taking photo after photo of your pretty little made up face with your annoying little friends. ‘Thank you, have a good night, I’ll take your drink for you,’ ‘Oh wait I’ll just finish it….!’ ‘No you won’t, good night.’

The paramedics come, take the lady away (she will be okay), and I look out our front window: you are still taking photos of yourself. I don’t understand.

What is the purpose?

To my good friends and my sister whom I love dearly:

Get off your phone. It is not the real world. I get annoyed being around you, ‘spending time’ with you (am I really? No, I’m spending time with you spending time with your phone) makes me frustrated and irritated and it isn’t boding well for our relationship. I don’t need to see the thirty photos taken by you of you, by others of you, that are photo shopped. You look beautiful. You always do. But you also look beautiful when you make a funny face, when you first wake up in the morning, when someone catches you candidly smiling at a joke someone made in the real world.

It’s hard to have a true conversation with you anymore. You might ask me questions and I will respond with integrity, thinking deeply about the answer I am giving you. I speak, there is a pause. I think you are mulling over my response. But no, I look at you and you are scrolling once more through your phone, perhaps an ‘mmhmm’ is given, but that is it. Oh! But when you want to speak or I ask you a question, you will speak and speak and I will listen. And get this: if I were to post on Facebook a little quip, or text you, or you me, a question, make contact with you in any way through technology — I get a proper response. I exist. I have entered your little bubble of a world and finally got your attention.

Where is real life now?

I admit to doing the same at times but I am getting much better at being less phone-facebook-instagram attached, and am happier for it. Yes, I am currently typing on my MacBook on the Interweb, about to post to people I do not know, so call me a hypocrite if you want, but know that if you were to ask me a question in person, in real life, face to face, you would get the same amount of integrity, honesty, presence, connection that is due anyone, let alone a piece of machinery.

How do you know if he is the one?

I’ve Changed

Life will always be unpredictable. For the most part, I am glad. I wouldn’t be satisfied with a predictable life. However, that doesn’t mean it is easy.

I’ve been training and dancing in San Francisco for two years now. That is a long time. It has flown by though. When I think about the Fall of my first year here…. feels like ages ago. I was so confident and … little. I lost a lot of that confidence and slowly built it up, in better ways. I feel like a different person.

Next step? I don’t know. I don’t know where I will be next year, or even in July really. I have nothing tying me down to ANYWHERE. I could go ANYWHERE I want to in this world. Pack up, move, travel. Granted, I really don’t have any money, but I could travel somewhere I could work, at least part time. What if I did? What if I went on an adventure? …. I hadn’t actually thought of that possibility until now. I was about to write about how nothing felt right, but also nothing felt wrong either. Everything — places to be and things to do next year or to begin feel neutral. I had such a strong feeling before moving to San Francisco. It felt so right. I knew it was right. But right now? I don’t know what feels right. I trust that something will come my way. It always does. I also know I am more than capable of making things work for myself. I have done it time and time again. So yes. I will be okay. It is the not knowing though, that is stressful. But then again, I’ve dealt with that before. I’ve not known much of what is about to happen before and doors always open, and they are always, generally, wonderful. So let me be excited instead. Let me be positive, excited, and ready for whatever will come next. Because I am. Every day I become stronger, more mature, more knowledgeable, more aware. That is one thing I have become much better at since being in San Francisco — being aware. And making different and smarter choices because of that awareness. I have more patience for people. I have more patience for myself. I have more perspective. I have more confidence. I have more love. I have more happiness. I have more to give and more desire to give and to receive and to learn and to teach and to share and to explore. I am so much more. I am so much more than I used to be. For that I am grateful.

.formspring me chickpeas.


May 2016
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