Medium

I used to work at the Pike Street Market, selling stuff made by the artists. I always thought it was brave, creating art, and then setting up shop outside in the cold to sell your wares. Even after all these years, there are still a lot of the same people selling the same stuff.


Feeling nostalgic, I decided to stroll through that vibe. I started to cross the street when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A treasure of some sort, asking to be discovered.

What it was in fact, was a tag from Old Navy. The item was originally priced at $58. Now it’s on sale for 19.99 and it’s a size medium.

Medium. what a bizarre concept. The secret meaning of the word: normal.

Consider this: there is an Old Navy, a Gap and a Nordstrom’s in every town, in every city, and in foreign countries too. In the old days ( I love saying that) it used to be that every city and country had its own unique flavor... but not anymore. Now everyone everywhere strives for medium.

We all want to be medium (or small). We want to pay a medium price - and we want our personal style to be medium - not over-the-top so we look like a freak, not last years style so you look clueless, but somewhere in the approved middle. Or medium, as I will henceforth call it. And finally, these items must last a medium amount of time. not forever, or we'd have no excuse to buy something new. And as we all know, new is vital. Why? because God knows - pink definitely won’t be the it color for long, so we don’t want to invest much in the pink item du jour. As expected, it will surely fall apart before it goes out of style.

I hope that by the time I’m old and gray I’ve learned how to be brave enough to strive for a life that is in no way medium.


You know?

Entirely She

She was thinking herself in third person again
Secretly wishing she was just some friend she knew
Whose problems didn’t much interest her
And most especially didn’t concern her.
After all, was it her fault that she was just she?
“I’m glad I’m not her”, she thought, believing for a moment
That she really wasn’t her at all.
When in fact she knew she really, really was...
entirely she.

A poem: Life as paintbox

I know its out there

the rain

the cars

tomorrow

the moon.

all those colors

which are thoughts

which are people and possibilities

paint themselves quietly

into my heart.

Brand New

A new year, a new you.

That's what they sell in January.







Like clockwork, the new year is crammed full of advertisements telling you what you can spend your money on to achieve a brand new you. Gym memberships increase dramatically in January. People consider, facelifts, tummy tucks, and diet pills. Lawyers lean back and wait for their schedule to fill with those contemplating divorce. Some dream of affairs or new jobs, others obsess about low carb, low priced solutions to fix that sagging, dragging feeling in their body and soul.

A brand new you.

As if there was something inherently wrong with the original version.

The challenge seems to be in remembering what is juicy about ourselves and consequently our lives.
Just now you may have stopped and done just that. What is juicy about me and my life? you may have asked yourself. What followed, may have been a slightly creepy, prickly sensation crawling up your spine as your inner critic gleefully shouted ' there's nothing juicy about you! And your life sucks!'

But don't listen. Your critic is practiced at pushing your buttons.


My inner critic is a real motherfucker. for years he bullied me into thinking he was right. but then one day it hit me. If he was so smart, he'd have his own life, his own body and wouldn't have to reside in mine. this realization didn't make him evaporate, but now when he gets on his soapbox and tries to convince me that I'll never be(fill in the blank) or compared to so-and-so I'm not very(fill in the blank), i tell him that as soon as he has a life and body of his own, he can give me a call and then we'll talk. cuz get real mr. critic, being a human is a challenging thing.

But the fact that life is challenging doesn't mean we should scrap the whole kit and kaboodle every time things are disappointing, or we lose our way, or feel like crap. it seems like the real trick is carving out the time and attention needed to recharge, renew, and refresh the spirit so as to be able to invest in what is fabulous and let go of what doesn't work anymore.

It seems less about starting from scratch and more about expanding our vision, releasing our sweaty clutch on the control button of our lives so we can take a deep breath. and then another one...and eventually consider what refreshed really is and what it might feel like.

Brand new.

These are marketing words.

Brand.

Someone wants to sell us their brand of happy. Of good looking. Of successful.

I say don't buy it. Instead,let's do the quiet work of peeling off the layers of what they want us to do, and be, and get, and have. Quiet the voices from your ipod, gps, tv, radio, and the bouquet of humans populating your life, and then....listen.


Listen some more.

I love the new year.

I love January. it's when bear's and flower bulbs sleep.

So smart.

They get quiet. they replenish in the gentlest, least dramatic way possible. And no one tells them they're lazy, or that they lack drive, or that they'll never get anywhere, or be all that they can be.

Bears and flower bulbs already know what they need to know, and do what they need to do.

The thing to remembers: a fresh start is free. And available right now....or whenever your right now wants to be.

The Escape Goat

I like to blame my cats.

For everything.

I'm sorry...I can't reach the phone or my calendar or my computer because i am trapped on the couch under two warm, sleeping cats. Of course this means I can't work, or make a date with someone or any other thing that resembles any form of exertion.

God forbid i wake the sleeping giants. they will eat the golden goose or the golden egg or whatever it is the giant from Jack and the beanstalk would eat. Small children? Ones hopes and dreams? i shudder to think.

So i let them sleep. and i postpone the inevitable, which for me, most often is writing. and this here blogging thingy doesn't count. I'm referring specifically to the things i am 'supposed' to write. the things i get paid for. But somehow those things seem so unwieldy that warming up seems like a reasonable alternative. and just now my cats have left me for some unseen foe, so i consider my options:

i could re-watch the entire TV series felicity. Again. The writing is so good, and the actors are so cute and surely, this will inspire me to great heights.

I could organize my Netflix movie list by category, but calling that work is a stretch, even to me.

So here i am.

looking for an escape.

Or an escape goat, as my friend Sarah H once relayed as part of a silly story.

Here, kitty kitty.