I.
I started this blog three and a half years ago after a break up. It was a traumatic time. That led to more trauma as my father got sick and eventually passed. As time has gone on, I have made contact with my ex and tried to get some sort of resolution about our relationship.
I've emailed.
We've talked a bit.
I've opened up.
I've tried to chat with him while we were naked at a Korean Spa about four months ago.
A part of me has wanted a friendship with him again.
We ran into each other at my friend's Gay Pride party (where I also saw him last year).
I'm done.
I'm done trying to be his friend.
I probably should have come to this conclusion earlier.
And I'm sure my friends have wondered why I have tried to be friends with him. But I thought that maybe enough time had passed.
I don't think our resolution will be happening in our lifetimes.
And that's fine. Partially because it has to be.
We are never ever ever getting back together. And we are never ever ever going to be friends.
How do I know this?
Well, every time I try to talk to him it feels uncomfortable.
And despite his new sobriety, his new introspection, and weight loss, he's the same guy.
I could feel the negativity.
I could feel the closed offness.
He was sending me some pretty clear signals. I just have to pick up on them.
He's not the nicest guy. He never was.
And I'm trying to stay away from negativity in my life.
I am happy for his progress in his life. I am happy that certain things that weren't able to happen while we were together, in terms of his own mental, physical and emotional health, are happening.
As I stood there, talking to him yesterday, cornering him really, I realized how much had changed in three and a half years. I was no longer the guy who felt inferior to him, who deferred to his Alpha Maleness. I also didn't feel like I had to prove myself to him. He had made a remark that the best thing I had ever written was a play that I wrote about my grandmother years ago. And it was the best thing I had ever written all of those years ago. But it wasn't the best thing I had written since. He has no clue about the person I have become because of the changes that happened in my life since our split. And I finally figured out that he doesn't have the right to know about those changes any more. I don't have to try and gain his friendship. His friendship is not there. And that is so okay with me now. I understand now that we were never friends to start and wouldn't be friends now because there is no foundation there. I wish him well. I don't feel like I have to explain all of this to him. I ready to go my separate way from him.
But the same things that were making him unhappy eight and a half years ago when we met are the same things that are making him unhappy now. And that's okay. But I don't have to be around it or chase it or resolve it or make it better. I am perfectly complete, content, happy and loved without him in my life now or ever.
II.
The other thing I'm done with is negativity in general. I know of a few people in my life who are just carrying a negative vibe around with them. Ick. And it's not like they're wearing black all of the time or drinking during the day or saying nasty shit constantly.
They're just unhappy and can't see the good around them. And they either put up with negativity and allow it to be around them or they are outwardly negative. It's not a malicious quality. They are not mean. But they are just unhappy and happy to be so.
I need them out of my life.
I am fine with listening to friends and they're problems. I love being a sounding board. But at a certain point, I am inviting danger and negativity into my sphere and consciousness by allowing them in my life. It's not that I don't love them. It's not that I won't check in on them from time to time, but I can't allow that energy in my life. I can't let them sour my soup.
I used to wonder why there was a cloak of sadness around me and a certain group of friends I had. It seemed like we were in the struggle and it was getting to all of us. What I realize now is that we were pulling each other down. As my attitude has changed, as I have worked through some of my shit, I realize that commiserating can be destructive if we are not conducting our lives differently as a result. I am watching people I know make mistakes and I am trying not to make those same mistakes.
I love these people. I care about them. But I am also not going to tolerate being treated in a way I shouldn't be treated. I have a friend who has stopped calling. I have a friend who didn't reach out when he came to LA. I have people who don't want to be a part of my life and yet I keep trying to bring them into the fold. If they don't want to be in my life, they shouldn't be a part of my life. I need to let them go because they are already gone.
I have a couple of new people who have come into my life who are kind and loving and smart as hell. We talk about things that aren't about why we're not getting this or that and why certain things aren't happening for us. It's useless talk. We talk about work and politics and make jokes. We have chemistry. It's wonderful. Most of these people happen to be straight men, which is interesting. Not like I haven't had close straight guy friends before. But I definitely sense an energy shift.
In order to invite change into my life, I have to make room. And it's time.
I am grateful for these new men in my life.
I am grateful for creative partnerships.
I am grateful for sweet people.
I am grateful for kindness and love.
I am grateful for my boyfriend.
I am grateful for the lessons I am learning.
I am grateful for change.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
I'm Coming Out
Apparently, Madonna (or Madge or the more recent M-Dolla) just finished work on a new album.
The internets are abuzz.
The gays are abuzz.
I'm abuzz.
http://www.muumuse.com/2014/04/madonna-pop-icon-icon-mdna-new-album-instagram.html/
It's an event. It's exciting.
I feel like I'm having my own #secretprojectrevolution.
I just cut my hair.
I have been in "the studio", my writing studio, writing for the first part of this year.
I am in the process of putting together a new wardrobe.
My attitude has been shifting.
My consciousness is alive.
I feel myself emerging in a way I haven't felt myself emerge since my teens and early 20s.
It's a rebirth, you could say.
But it feels more like I'm being reincarnated with the full knowledge of my past life.
I'm happy to have this freedom and I am not taking it for granted.
I am most certainly not.
I am grateful for my new look.
I am grateful for my new attitude.
I am grateful for a lot of love.
The internets are abuzz.
The gays are abuzz.
I'm abuzz.
http://www.muumuse.com/2014/04/madonna-pop-icon-icon-mdna-new-album-instagram.html/
It's an event. It's exciting.
I feel like I'm having my own #secretprojectrevolution.
I just cut my hair.
I have been in "the studio", my writing studio, writing for the first part of this year.
I am in the process of putting together a new wardrobe.
My attitude has been shifting.
My consciousness is alive.
I feel myself emerging in a way I haven't felt myself emerge since my teens and early 20s.
It's a rebirth, you could say.
But it feels more like I'm being reincarnated with the full knowledge of my past life.
I'm happy to have this freedom and I am not taking it for granted.
I am most certainly not.
I am grateful for my new look.
I am grateful for my new attitude.
I am grateful for a lot of love.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Keeping Up Appearances
I recently wrote on a Facebook post that I shaved my head in July 2012, then kept shaving it until April 2013. I had a wedding to go to and I wanted to make sure I looked good. Then I decided to let it grow out. In August 2013, I got a haircut from my childhood barber (who I will probably never see again). Ever since then I have been growing my hair out. I let the sideburns go. I let my hair go. I didn't care. I had other things to worry about. I had been writing a lot. I worked on losing some weight, but I didn't care about how I looked. I also needed to grow my fresh hair back as a way to get back to myself.
It looked all right. I even considered keeping it long and letting it get shoulder length so I could ombre it at the ends and look like Jared Leto. The only problem: I'm not Jared Leto. Well, and one other problem, I was getting impatient. I noticed that I was looking kind of shaggy. And as much as I would just love to be some intellectual who doesn't care about what his hair looks like, I know I'm not that person.
Honor thy Error as thy True Intention.
Okay, so maybe it really read: Honor Your Error as Your True Intention. I just liked making it sound more old world. I'm a vain person. But I think my vanity comes from wanting to present myself a certain way. And I started to notice how flat the hair was looking. I had just let it grow. I didn't trim my sideburns much. I didn't thin it out. I have very thick hair and usually I have to cut into it with a razor to "give it texture." It had no texture. It was my full head of hair. The full head of hair I hadn't had for a long time because even when I had hair, it was styled.
I was cleansing myself of my cleansing. I had shaved my head to cleanse myself. I wanted to show how different I was because my Dad had died. I wanted to mark the event. I later found out that shaving of the head after someone dies is a spiritual thing. It's supposed to mean that you're not invested in vanity. It removes vanity because the mourning process is about the person who has died. So I stripped myself clean. I kept my head shaved because I wasn't ready to let go. My head was shaved for almost nine months. It started to feel like a security blanket. I'm in mourning, leave me alone.
Then I went to Hawaii to spread my Dad's ashes. Once we came back, I knew I wanted to grow my hair out again. So I just let it grow. It got to a point where it really needed to be trimmed and shaped. I wasn't ready to go back to a stylist. I wasn't ready to just hop back into my vanity. So as a tribute, I went to the guy who had been shaving my head at my childhood barber shop and I had him trim the back and the sides a bit. He cleaned me up. So at least I looked presentable. But it wasn't a style. It wasn't a coif. It was just a haircut at a barber shop. That seemed fine to me.
Like I said, I was cleansing myself of my cleansing by growing my hair out. I hadn't had my hair long since my break up over three years ago when I cut my hair to get rid of the image of me that this ex had. He loved my hair long and I got rid of it because I wanted to get him out of my system. It's documented on the early days of this blog as a matter of fact. Summer went. Fall came. I went to Sonoma to a friend's house and I was around a bunch of hot looking gay guys. I just let it keep growing. I wasn't trying to compete or compare. I had a bigger mission. I needed to grow my hair long for me. It was the me that I felt the most comfortable with, not because my hair looked great long, but because people liked it. I have been told that I have beautiful hair since I started growing it out in college.
Eventually, it just got longer and longer. 2014 began. I knew I had to cut it soon, but I just needed to let it grow and grow and grow. Then I thought of keeping it going and going all Jared Leto like I said. But then I started working again and being vital again. I was working on a new play and a new pilot. I had thought about re-entering my old world, but this time being different. I was too busy being a worker bee to care about how I looked. And somehow that persona became comfortable. Too comfortable. I felt like Grizzly Adams. But slowly, what started happening was that I started to lose weight. I lost about 15ish pounds. And the long hair started to look slovenly to me. It started to look uncool. I started realizing how uncool I looked. Vanity came back.
But I realized, it wasn't just about being cool. It was about presenting myself to the world and I had stopped doing that. I had stopped caring. I got an influx of cash through work and I thought about how I could procure more work. I started pursuing some opportunities to put my work out into the public. And i realized that I would have to start putting myself into the public soon. But the person I appeared to be wasn't a public person. This was not a good presentation. I had grown out sideburns and hair that started to smell after a week of not washing. Even pulling my hair back when I was in the shower started not to look so hot. I realized I had to start having a healthy relationship to my vanity, which was integral to who I am. To deny my vanity was to deny myself.
I had been living a secluded life. I had been living a life on hold for so long that I started caring less about my appearance. But to be fair, I don't think my life over the three years really has been about my appearance. It has been a serious period of growth and reflection. I feel like I have been on a spiritual retreat for three years, but still living my life. It's like having walking pneumonia. Or it's like a walking meditation. I wasn't closing my eyes or going into a cave or being silent, but I was removed from my life while I was living it in order to reflect on it. Now my outer self had begun to represent this inner journey. But the problem was that I was getting ready to leave the sanctity of my quiet, reflective life in order to re-enter a world I had felt ambivalent about. My ambivalence was showing in my appearance. And I didn't want it any more.
I knew I wanted to have some sort of look. And I knew it would start with clothes. I went to the Adidas Employee Store in Portland. Half off and no sales tax. That sounded like a good place to start a make over. I got some new shoes just for fashion. Then I bought a couple of hoodies. I bought some tank tops. I got another pair of shoes for running. I knew I would look cool hanging out or working out or running. I started to think about looking cool again.
Then I called my friend Nina who cuts hair. I had run into Nina at my best friend's bachelorette party. She cut my hair years ago and she knew what I used to look like. So I made an appointment. And I cut it all off.
I realized that I no longer wanted to look like the guy my ex wanted.
I no longer could base my look on a reaction to not looking like the guy he wanted.
I shaved my head for my Dad for a very good reason, but that's not who I am either.
And I'm not the guy who doesn't care what he looks like.
Every time Nina brought the razor blade out to cut into my hair and thin it out, I felt like I was taking the weight of the past three years off of my shoulders. I had decided to go longer on the top and shorter on the sides without looking like a hipster. That's not my look. I like clean and classic, with a bit of edge that comes from being a brown preppy type guy.
I looked great. I could now see how the weight loss looked on my face. I was no longer hiding. I was making money, being productive, making a plan for how to save money and be productive and make more money. I felt of the world again.
So I kept trying to find the right pair of jeans. I felt like I needed some jeans that reflected who I am. I had a pair borrowed from a friend. And I had a lot of boyfriend jeans or pants that used to look good on me. I didn't want any of that any more. But none of the jeans I found fit well. Then I went to the Gap Outlet with my Mom today and I decided to try on some jeans. They were half off. The skinny jeans in a size up fit perfectly. So I got two different washes. And a denim shirt.
I tried out a denim on denim look, which is on trend right now. It looked terrific. I had a look that made me happy. I started to see myself. I started to see how I could walk into a room and look someone in the eye. I started to see my youth and my confidence.
Appearances are important. To me. I love fashion. I love telling a story about myself through my appearance. I went into my closet and picked the clothes that best represent me now. I'm not quite done with the shopping, I'm sure. But I just wanted some clothes that felt good to put on. I needed some swagger and I've got it back.
I can't forget about me. I can't stop living life on my terms. This is my look.
I am grateful for all the new clothes I bought.
I am grateful for the work opportunities that helped out with achieving my new look.
I am grateful for Nina.
I am grateful for the time to reflect.
I am grateful that I look handsome again.
It looked all right. I even considered keeping it long and letting it get shoulder length so I could ombre it at the ends and look like Jared Leto. The only problem: I'm not Jared Leto. Well, and one other problem, I was getting impatient. I noticed that I was looking kind of shaggy. And as much as I would just love to be some intellectual who doesn't care about what his hair looks like, I know I'm not that person.
Honor thy Error as thy True Intention.
Okay, so maybe it really read: Honor Your Error as Your True Intention. I just liked making it sound more old world. I'm a vain person. But I think my vanity comes from wanting to present myself a certain way. And I started to notice how flat the hair was looking. I had just let it grow. I didn't trim my sideburns much. I didn't thin it out. I have very thick hair and usually I have to cut into it with a razor to "give it texture." It had no texture. It was my full head of hair. The full head of hair I hadn't had for a long time because even when I had hair, it was styled.
I was cleansing myself of my cleansing. I had shaved my head to cleanse myself. I wanted to show how different I was because my Dad had died. I wanted to mark the event. I later found out that shaving of the head after someone dies is a spiritual thing. It's supposed to mean that you're not invested in vanity. It removes vanity because the mourning process is about the person who has died. So I stripped myself clean. I kept my head shaved because I wasn't ready to let go. My head was shaved for almost nine months. It started to feel like a security blanket. I'm in mourning, leave me alone.
Then I went to Hawaii to spread my Dad's ashes. Once we came back, I knew I wanted to grow my hair out again. So I just let it grow. It got to a point where it really needed to be trimmed and shaped. I wasn't ready to go back to a stylist. I wasn't ready to just hop back into my vanity. So as a tribute, I went to the guy who had been shaving my head at my childhood barber shop and I had him trim the back and the sides a bit. He cleaned me up. So at least I looked presentable. But it wasn't a style. It wasn't a coif. It was just a haircut at a barber shop. That seemed fine to me.
Like I said, I was cleansing myself of my cleansing by growing my hair out. I hadn't had my hair long since my break up over three years ago when I cut my hair to get rid of the image of me that this ex had. He loved my hair long and I got rid of it because I wanted to get him out of my system. It's documented on the early days of this blog as a matter of fact. Summer went. Fall came. I went to Sonoma to a friend's house and I was around a bunch of hot looking gay guys. I just let it keep growing. I wasn't trying to compete or compare. I had a bigger mission. I needed to grow my hair long for me. It was the me that I felt the most comfortable with, not because my hair looked great long, but because people liked it. I have been told that I have beautiful hair since I started growing it out in college.
Eventually, it just got longer and longer. 2014 began. I knew I had to cut it soon, but I just needed to let it grow and grow and grow. Then I thought of keeping it going and going all Jared Leto like I said. But then I started working again and being vital again. I was working on a new play and a new pilot. I had thought about re-entering my old world, but this time being different. I was too busy being a worker bee to care about how I looked. And somehow that persona became comfortable. Too comfortable. I felt like Grizzly Adams. But slowly, what started happening was that I started to lose weight. I lost about 15ish pounds. And the long hair started to look slovenly to me. It started to look uncool. I started realizing how uncool I looked. Vanity came back.
But I realized, it wasn't just about being cool. It was about presenting myself to the world and I had stopped doing that. I had stopped caring. I got an influx of cash through work and I thought about how I could procure more work. I started pursuing some opportunities to put my work out into the public. And i realized that I would have to start putting myself into the public soon. But the person I appeared to be wasn't a public person. This was not a good presentation. I had grown out sideburns and hair that started to smell after a week of not washing. Even pulling my hair back when I was in the shower started not to look so hot. I realized I had to start having a healthy relationship to my vanity, which was integral to who I am. To deny my vanity was to deny myself.
I had been living a secluded life. I had been living a life on hold for so long that I started caring less about my appearance. But to be fair, I don't think my life over the three years really has been about my appearance. It has been a serious period of growth and reflection. I feel like I have been on a spiritual retreat for three years, but still living my life. It's like having walking pneumonia. Or it's like a walking meditation. I wasn't closing my eyes or going into a cave or being silent, but I was removed from my life while I was living it in order to reflect on it. Now my outer self had begun to represent this inner journey. But the problem was that I was getting ready to leave the sanctity of my quiet, reflective life in order to re-enter a world I had felt ambivalent about. My ambivalence was showing in my appearance. And I didn't want it any more.
I knew I wanted to have some sort of look. And I knew it would start with clothes. I went to the Adidas Employee Store in Portland. Half off and no sales tax. That sounded like a good place to start a make over. I got some new shoes just for fashion. Then I bought a couple of hoodies. I bought some tank tops. I got another pair of shoes for running. I knew I would look cool hanging out or working out or running. I started to think about looking cool again.
Then I called my friend Nina who cuts hair. I had run into Nina at my best friend's bachelorette party. She cut my hair years ago and she knew what I used to look like. So I made an appointment. And I cut it all off.
I realized that I no longer wanted to look like the guy my ex wanted.
I no longer could base my look on a reaction to not looking like the guy he wanted.
I shaved my head for my Dad for a very good reason, but that's not who I am either.
And I'm not the guy who doesn't care what he looks like.
Every time Nina brought the razor blade out to cut into my hair and thin it out, I felt like I was taking the weight of the past three years off of my shoulders. I had decided to go longer on the top and shorter on the sides without looking like a hipster. That's not my look. I like clean and classic, with a bit of edge that comes from being a brown preppy type guy.
I looked great. I could now see how the weight loss looked on my face. I was no longer hiding. I was making money, being productive, making a plan for how to save money and be productive and make more money. I felt of the world again.
So I kept trying to find the right pair of jeans. I felt like I needed some jeans that reflected who I am. I had a pair borrowed from a friend. And I had a lot of boyfriend jeans or pants that used to look good on me. I didn't want any of that any more. But none of the jeans I found fit well. Then I went to the Gap Outlet with my Mom today and I decided to try on some jeans. They were half off. The skinny jeans in a size up fit perfectly. So I got two different washes. And a denim shirt.
I tried out a denim on denim look, which is on trend right now. It looked terrific. I had a look that made me happy. I started to see myself. I started to see how I could walk into a room and look someone in the eye. I started to see my youth and my confidence.
Appearances are important. To me. I love fashion. I love telling a story about myself through my appearance. I went into my closet and picked the clothes that best represent me now. I'm not quite done with the shopping, I'm sure. But I just wanted some clothes that felt good to put on. I needed some swagger and I've got it back.
I can't forget about me. I can't stop living life on my terms. This is my look.
I am grateful for all the new clothes I bought.
I am grateful for the work opportunities that helped out with achieving my new look.
I am grateful for Nina.
I am grateful for the time to reflect.
I am grateful that I look handsome again.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Meditate, Meditate, Meditate, Meditate
The word meditate came up four times yesterday.
1) I have been thinking about meditation for the past several months. I have been closing my eyes in the morning and getting to a quiet place. That usually results in me falling asleep. I have also been driving with the sound off in my car for years. I have been carving out quiet and alone time for myself as well. Going to the spa. Going to the gym. Not talking to my boyfriend when I come home. But I haven't quite made it to meditation. I've taken out two books from the library: How to Practice by the Dalai Lama and Catching the Big Fish: Meditation, Consciousness and Creativity by David Lynch. I have had the Dalai Lama book for 3 months. I've picked it up, read it, been confused by it. I've checked it out three times in a row. Then I checked out the David Lynch book. I thought that was going to be a book that would tell me how to meditate. It was not. It was a great book that extolled the benefits of meditation. But it had nothing in terms of instruction. It was just, "Meditation is great. You should do it. This one time, when we were shooting Dune…." But I read it three times because it was so easy to read and it did feel comforting and it was related to how mediation affected his work. It was more of a pep talk in preparation to mediate. And for that, it was good.
2) My best friend Alanna responded to an email in which I requested some help working out some characters for a new pilot I'm writing. "I'll meditate on it." I thought that was an interesting choice of words, given my preoccupation with mediating.
3) My friend Jenn and I met up yesterday to talk about a play that she wrote and wanted my feedback on. Somehow we got on the topic of meditation and she mentioned to me a bunch of meditation apps that she uses and sent me some resources.
4) My friend Susan and I were talking yesterday about writing and family and other issues going on when she mentioned that she had started meditating again.
So it's in the air. I literally had it come in from four separate sources yesterday. Meditating is an important thing for me to do. I need to calm myself and center my mind. I have been thinking about it forever and it seems like the Universe is telling me it's time to get to it.
I need to find a quiet space. And maybe try out those meditation apps tonight.
I am grateful for the acknowledgement that my journey has been a good one.
I am grateful that I have friends who are talking about meditating.
I am grateful for my ability to listen to the Universe when it's speaking.
I am grateful for my upcoming trip to Portland.
I am grateful that I can see how everything that has happened in my life has lead me here.
I am grateful that I have come a long way.
I am grateful that I can finally see how long that way has been and that I can appreciate it.
1) I have been thinking about meditation for the past several months. I have been closing my eyes in the morning and getting to a quiet place. That usually results in me falling asleep. I have also been driving with the sound off in my car for years. I have been carving out quiet and alone time for myself as well. Going to the spa. Going to the gym. Not talking to my boyfriend when I come home. But I haven't quite made it to meditation. I've taken out two books from the library: How to Practice by the Dalai Lama and Catching the Big Fish: Meditation, Consciousness and Creativity by David Lynch. I have had the Dalai Lama book for 3 months. I've picked it up, read it, been confused by it. I've checked it out three times in a row. Then I checked out the David Lynch book. I thought that was going to be a book that would tell me how to meditate. It was not. It was a great book that extolled the benefits of meditation. But it had nothing in terms of instruction. It was just, "Meditation is great. You should do it. This one time, when we were shooting Dune…." But I read it three times because it was so easy to read and it did feel comforting and it was related to how mediation affected his work. It was more of a pep talk in preparation to mediate. And for that, it was good.
2) My best friend Alanna responded to an email in which I requested some help working out some characters for a new pilot I'm writing. "I'll meditate on it." I thought that was an interesting choice of words, given my preoccupation with mediating.
3) My friend Jenn and I met up yesterday to talk about a play that she wrote and wanted my feedback on. Somehow we got on the topic of meditation and she mentioned to me a bunch of meditation apps that she uses and sent me some resources.
4) My friend Susan and I were talking yesterday about writing and family and other issues going on when she mentioned that she had started meditating again.
So it's in the air. I literally had it come in from four separate sources yesterday. Meditating is an important thing for me to do. I need to calm myself and center my mind. I have been thinking about it forever and it seems like the Universe is telling me it's time to get to it.
I need to find a quiet space. And maybe try out those meditation apps tonight.
I am grateful for the acknowledgement that my journey has been a good one.
I am grateful that I have friends who are talking about meditating.
I am grateful for my ability to listen to the Universe when it's speaking.
I am grateful for my upcoming trip to Portland.
I am grateful that I can see how everything that has happened in my life has lead me here.
I am grateful that I have come a long way.
I am grateful that I can finally see how long that way has been and that I can appreciate it.
Monday, March 24, 2014
My Uncle Died Yesterday
My Uncle Dai Hing died yesterday. He had been in a nursing home for years and he had a wife and family who were carrying for him. My Uncle also raised my Dad for three years and was the whole reason my Dad moved out to California from Hawaii.
When we went to Hawaii last year to spread my Dad's ashes, I went to visit my Uncle in the nursing home. I really thought I was just going to pay homage to him and fulfill a family obligation to see my sick uncle. What happened was astounding and life-changing. He looked like my Dad. He talked to me in a way that was instructive and gentle, even though he didn't know who I was. I had always thought about my Dad in relationship to his parents, but I never thought about the influence that my Uncle had on him. I described this visit in a previous blog post as having my Dad back for an hour.
I couldn't figure out yesterday why I was feeling so melancholy. I just figured I was tired. I figured I needed a day to just be slow. And now that I'm looking out at the windows of the library where I'm writing, I can see that Monday's weather is matching up with yesterday's feelings. But I now realize that my reflective and frankly sad mood had something to do with my Uncle.
I don't know if I would go as far as to say that it's like losing my Dad all over again, but I feel like another part of him is gone.
I am grateful that I had that visit with Dai Hing last year.
I am grateful that our entire family took that trip to Hawaii together.
I am grateful that I allowed myself to be sad yesterday instead of fighting it.
I am grateful that I have the memories of my Dad and my Uncle to keep me company.
When we went to Hawaii last year to spread my Dad's ashes, I went to visit my Uncle in the nursing home. I really thought I was just going to pay homage to him and fulfill a family obligation to see my sick uncle. What happened was astounding and life-changing. He looked like my Dad. He talked to me in a way that was instructive and gentle, even though he didn't know who I was. I had always thought about my Dad in relationship to his parents, but I never thought about the influence that my Uncle had on him. I described this visit in a previous blog post as having my Dad back for an hour.
I couldn't figure out yesterday why I was feeling so melancholy. I just figured I was tired. I figured I needed a day to just be slow. And now that I'm looking out at the windows of the library where I'm writing, I can see that Monday's weather is matching up with yesterday's feelings. But I now realize that my reflective and frankly sad mood had something to do with my Uncle.
I don't know if I would go as far as to say that it's like losing my Dad all over again, but I feel like another part of him is gone.
I am grateful that I had that visit with Dai Hing last year.
I am grateful that our entire family took that trip to Hawaii together.
I am grateful that I allowed myself to be sad yesterday instead of fighting it.
I am grateful that I have the memories of my Dad and my Uncle to keep me company.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
On a Spiritual Path...
What does that even mean?
I live in LA and over the years have listened to so many of my friends and acquaintances talk about how they're "not religious, but spiritual." I even used to describe myself this way for years. Now, I don't really defend myself. If people want to think of me as religious, that's fine. If they want to have a deeper conversation about life, then great.
Diana Nyad said something incredible about atheism about a year ago on an Oprah show. "Just because I'm an atheist doesn't mean I'm not full of wonder." That has to be the best description of atheism I've ever heard. Here's a woman who has clearly communed with nature and felt the expanse and wonder of it. There's a concentration and a tuning out of everything, a testing of one's body's limits, that in another context could be seen as a spiritual sojourn or quest. Atheism does not mean closed off. And religious or spiritual does not mean blind or naive or uninformed. Actually, being native can be a wonderful thing. It can mean childlike and fresh and full of wonder.
But all of those things are catchphrases. To experience true naivety or wonder is an amazing thing. It was naivety that got me on a plane to New York at 24 with no money in my pocket (well $800, but that's not much and I spent 1/4 of it on a dinner my first night in town). Naivety is responsible for a great many adventures in my life.
I didn't know it at 24 or at 14 or at 30, but I have been on a journey for higher learning, higher understanding and higher consciousness my whole life. It's even bigger than my worldly ambitions to be a career writer. I do care more about my personal growth than my financial growth. Maybe I'm ready to finally come out of the closet about that.
I don't have ambition. I thought for years that I did. I thought that I was the most ambitious person I knew. But what I thought was ambition was really curiosity. I am endlessly curious about people, about life, about how we are the way we are. I want to have experiences and I don't want to let any part of my life go unloved or my curiosity go unexplored.
When I was young, that curiosity had to do with education and had to do with exploring the world outside of my upbringing. At an early age, I knew I wanted to move to New York. At an early age, I knew that I would get out of my small suburb. I really was trying to get out of a consciousness that I could only do so much based on my physical circumstances: where I was from, who I was born to, what the belief system around me was. I quickly did away with that.
Then as my world got bigger, my curiosity became about my talent. Exploring that talent and that gift for all that it's worth. Fortunately, my curiosities don't just go away. I don't just move on from one to another. They get compiled and added to the group. I discovered my talent for writing truly in college and expanded that into graduate school.
Then I became more concerned with life and with gaining experience I didn't feel I had. As I got older and more attractive, I became obsessed with sexuality. And not addicted, per se. I realize now that my curiosity was strong in whatever area I focused on. And when I started to focus in on pleasure, well that became a real aphrodisiac, if you will. As a young person in New York in my 20s, I had sex with strangers and I had sex with friends. I went to sex parties. I went to sexual bars. I talked about sex. I thought about sex and I read about it. I wrote about it. I connected with people through sex and found a real short-lived intimacy with some of these people. It was all of these things at once: real, short lived and intimate. None of those things were a contradiction.
And how sexuality lead me to intimacy and how intimacy lead me to myself and how my self lead to spirituality is really the journey of my life thus far. It's why my plays are alternately and collectively about identity, creativity, sexuality and exploration. My curiosity has opened me up to write about loss when I'm feeling loss. Or about fathers and sons when I'm thinking about my own relationship with my father. This journey has led me back to the place I started at.
I started writing as a way to interpret what I was seeing in the world. It was a way for me to digest what I was learning. It was a filter, a microscope, a telescope, binoculars, and a camera. Sometimes it was my naked eye.
I have been on a part of my journey for the past ten years which led me outside of myself. Some of that has been seeking approval outwardly. Some of that has been very dangerous and a threat to my naivety and my curiosity. But none of that ever went away, it just laid dormant and waited out the storm. But the effect of the storm is that it decimated everything and forced me to rebuild, to reevaluate and to restore.
The reason I say that now I realize that I am curious and not ambitious is that if I was ambitious I would have said yes to an agent ten years ago. I would have done everything in my power to climb the ladder of material success. Ambition is seen purely as positive and as drive. Curiosity in this instance was easily mistaken for lack of drive or laziness. Some of it was fear, and fear was the catalyst of my 30s. But I wanted to have experiences that would make me a deeper person and that is exactly what happened. I got exactly what I wanted. It took me to some dark places in my life. It filled me with doubt and depression and put me in harms way through my own relationships with people who were addicts.
I realize now that my curiosity is what fuels me. And it's an alternate fuel. It can have the same power as ambition. But while ambition is the straight path, curiosity is the scenic route. Ambition is the plane ride. Curiosity is the road trip. It can be longer, but it's fuller. It's more enriching. It's taking time to stop at the sights and read the signs. It's discovering a trail that's not in the guidebooks.
So I will still get to that destination: to being a relevant TV fiction writer. I will staff on a show and create my own work. I will be a writer of note. But the person I am, in the skin I am in, will be different than the youngster who just wanted those things for outside validation. I don't judge that, but I have always been seeking a fuller existence. And that is what is right for me. I believe that having a public presence is vital to living. We have to share our experiences. But how big that sphere is really is up to us. We can expand or contain that sphere based on fear, based on our own needs, based on our need to share.
All of that can be both misguided and ordained. I now understand the power of words. A lot of this journey was about understanding the power of my gift.
Years ago my friend Brian said to me, "Oh, you're still at it." Meaning writing. And I felt a lot of shame after he said that because I felt like he was staying that I hadn't fulfilled my promise. I heard him say, "Oh you're still at it." It took me a long time to get over that. And knowing Brian like I know him, I know he didn't intend it to come across as a core-shaking judgment. I took it on that way.
But yes, I will still be at it for the rest of my life. That's the idea. It's not a destination that I will reach and then put my feet up. I'm not done.
I'm still curious. I haven't lived a life of expanse yet. Not expense, but expanse. I have not taken these lessons and curiosities global. And I believe that's a part of my journey. If all of this prosperity and gain is just for me, then I don't think it will be mine. I don't think that's my deep purpose. The journey is more than that. My expanse has to benefit everyone. My material wealth has to have a purpose. My adventures to countries outside of the U.S. have to carry a greater resonance. My joy has to mean more than just what benefits me.
So yes, I am still at it. I am still curious. And that's what keeps me connected to the fresh soul who arrived here to explore. I might have more stamps on my passport, but I'm no less excited and curious as I was when I got my first one.
I am grateful for Super Soul Sunday's episode with Shirley Maclaine.
I am grateful for Oprah.
I am grateful for these words that seemed to explain so much in ways I have not been able to access.
I am grateful for a life well lived and that will continue for years to come.
I am grateful for my curiosity.
I am grateful for the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity even more.
I am grateful for the distinction between curiosity and ambition.
I am grateful for the understanding and the acceptance that comes with that distinction.
I am grateful for the joy that understanding and acceptance bring me.
I am grateful for the peace that comes from that joy.
I live in LA and over the years have listened to so many of my friends and acquaintances talk about how they're "not religious, but spiritual." I even used to describe myself this way for years. Now, I don't really defend myself. If people want to think of me as religious, that's fine. If they want to have a deeper conversation about life, then great.
Diana Nyad said something incredible about atheism about a year ago on an Oprah show. "Just because I'm an atheist doesn't mean I'm not full of wonder." That has to be the best description of atheism I've ever heard. Here's a woman who has clearly communed with nature and felt the expanse and wonder of it. There's a concentration and a tuning out of everything, a testing of one's body's limits, that in another context could be seen as a spiritual sojourn or quest. Atheism does not mean closed off. And religious or spiritual does not mean blind or naive or uninformed. Actually, being native can be a wonderful thing. It can mean childlike and fresh and full of wonder.
But all of those things are catchphrases. To experience true naivety or wonder is an amazing thing. It was naivety that got me on a plane to New York at 24 with no money in my pocket (well $800, but that's not much and I spent 1/4 of it on a dinner my first night in town). Naivety is responsible for a great many adventures in my life.
I didn't know it at 24 or at 14 or at 30, but I have been on a journey for higher learning, higher understanding and higher consciousness my whole life. It's even bigger than my worldly ambitions to be a career writer. I do care more about my personal growth than my financial growth. Maybe I'm ready to finally come out of the closet about that.
I don't have ambition. I thought for years that I did. I thought that I was the most ambitious person I knew. But what I thought was ambition was really curiosity. I am endlessly curious about people, about life, about how we are the way we are. I want to have experiences and I don't want to let any part of my life go unloved or my curiosity go unexplored.
When I was young, that curiosity had to do with education and had to do with exploring the world outside of my upbringing. At an early age, I knew I wanted to move to New York. At an early age, I knew that I would get out of my small suburb. I really was trying to get out of a consciousness that I could only do so much based on my physical circumstances: where I was from, who I was born to, what the belief system around me was. I quickly did away with that.
Then as my world got bigger, my curiosity became about my talent. Exploring that talent and that gift for all that it's worth. Fortunately, my curiosities don't just go away. I don't just move on from one to another. They get compiled and added to the group. I discovered my talent for writing truly in college and expanded that into graduate school.
Then I became more concerned with life and with gaining experience I didn't feel I had. As I got older and more attractive, I became obsessed with sexuality. And not addicted, per se. I realize now that my curiosity was strong in whatever area I focused on. And when I started to focus in on pleasure, well that became a real aphrodisiac, if you will. As a young person in New York in my 20s, I had sex with strangers and I had sex with friends. I went to sex parties. I went to sexual bars. I talked about sex. I thought about sex and I read about it. I wrote about it. I connected with people through sex and found a real short-lived intimacy with some of these people. It was all of these things at once: real, short lived and intimate. None of those things were a contradiction.
And how sexuality lead me to intimacy and how intimacy lead me to myself and how my self lead to spirituality is really the journey of my life thus far. It's why my plays are alternately and collectively about identity, creativity, sexuality and exploration. My curiosity has opened me up to write about loss when I'm feeling loss. Or about fathers and sons when I'm thinking about my own relationship with my father. This journey has led me back to the place I started at.
I started writing as a way to interpret what I was seeing in the world. It was a way for me to digest what I was learning. It was a filter, a microscope, a telescope, binoculars, and a camera. Sometimes it was my naked eye.
I have been on a part of my journey for the past ten years which led me outside of myself. Some of that has been seeking approval outwardly. Some of that has been very dangerous and a threat to my naivety and my curiosity. But none of that ever went away, it just laid dormant and waited out the storm. But the effect of the storm is that it decimated everything and forced me to rebuild, to reevaluate and to restore.
The reason I say that now I realize that I am curious and not ambitious is that if I was ambitious I would have said yes to an agent ten years ago. I would have done everything in my power to climb the ladder of material success. Ambition is seen purely as positive and as drive. Curiosity in this instance was easily mistaken for lack of drive or laziness. Some of it was fear, and fear was the catalyst of my 30s. But I wanted to have experiences that would make me a deeper person and that is exactly what happened. I got exactly what I wanted. It took me to some dark places in my life. It filled me with doubt and depression and put me in harms way through my own relationships with people who were addicts.
I realize now that my curiosity is what fuels me. And it's an alternate fuel. It can have the same power as ambition. But while ambition is the straight path, curiosity is the scenic route. Ambition is the plane ride. Curiosity is the road trip. It can be longer, but it's fuller. It's more enriching. It's taking time to stop at the sights and read the signs. It's discovering a trail that's not in the guidebooks.
So I will still get to that destination: to being a relevant TV fiction writer. I will staff on a show and create my own work. I will be a writer of note. But the person I am, in the skin I am in, will be different than the youngster who just wanted those things for outside validation. I don't judge that, but I have always been seeking a fuller existence. And that is what is right for me. I believe that having a public presence is vital to living. We have to share our experiences. But how big that sphere is really is up to us. We can expand or contain that sphere based on fear, based on our own needs, based on our need to share.
All of that can be both misguided and ordained. I now understand the power of words. A lot of this journey was about understanding the power of my gift.
Years ago my friend Brian said to me, "Oh, you're still at it." Meaning writing. And I felt a lot of shame after he said that because I felt like he was staying that I hadn't fulfilled my promise. I heard him say, "Oh you're still at it." It took me a long time to get over that. And knowing Brian like I know him, I know he didn't intend it to come across as a core-shaking judgment. I took it on that way.
But yes, I will still be at it for the rest of my life. That's the idea. It's not a destination that I will reach and then put my feet up. I'm not done.
I'm still curious. I haven't lived a life of expanse yet. Not expense, but expanse. I have not taken these lessons and curiosities global. And I believe that's a part of my journey. If all of this prosperity and gain is just for me, then I don't think it will be mine. I don't think that's my deep purpose. The journey is more than that. My expanse has to benefit everyone. My material wealth has to have a purpose. My adventures to countries outside of the U.S. have to carry a greater resonance. My joy has to mean more than just what benefits me.
So yes, I am still at it. I am still curious. And that's what keeps me connected to the fresh soul who arrived here to explore. I might have more stamps on my passport, but I'm no less excited and curious as I was when I got my first one.
I am grateful for Super Soul Sunday's episode with Shirley Maclaine.
I am grateful for Oprah.
I am grateful for these words that seemed to explain so much in ways I have not been able to access.
I am grateful for a life well lived and that will continue for years to come.
I am grateful for my curiosity.
I am grateful for the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity even more.
I am grateful for the distinction between curiosity and ambition.
I am grateful for the understanding and the acceptance that comes with that distinction.
I am grateful for the joy that understanding and acceptance bring me.
I am grateful for the peace that comes from that joy.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Food and Memories
Tonight I was at the local Mexican supermarket in my neighborhood…
Seeing the brown faces at the deli
Or the grandmother's picking out produce
Or the smells coming from the carneceria
made me think of my Grandmother.
So I grabbed an apple turnover from the paneceria,
brought it home
and now I am enjoying it with my hot tea.
(I gave up coffee three years ago)
It's almost like my Grandmother's old ritual
of sitting down at 9:30 or 10 at night
and having a little pan dulce
with her cafecito.
That's pretty much the extent of my Spanish.
Food.
And food is pretty much my entry into
a lot of experiences.
I noticed that there's a ramen festival in San Gabriel
next weekend.
That's something my Dad would have taken me
to.
Everytime something tastes delicious I think of him.
He loved the stories of my food adventures:
the orange creme angel hair in Florence,
the wild boar ragu,
wines,
sushi,
anything adventurous and exotic. My Dad loved to hear about it all.
And my Grandmother would take us to the market
and we would watch the tortillas being made by machine.
My Dad would take us to really stinky Chinese or Korean
markets.
Or we would go to the Chinese deli and eat something that
was chock full of sodium.
I remember the looks I would give him
when he was sick
and he dragged me to the Asian market
so he could get jok, a rice porridge,
or lau lay with butterfish and pork.
It all had too much salt in it,
and he had to watch his salt
because he was dying.
But he was really dying from hearing me
talk about all the foods he couldn't eat.
But he didn't care.
He didn't want to live
in a tasteless world.
So if he was digging himself
into an early grave, he was
happy to hold the shovel.
I wish he had just told me earlier,
"Listen, I don't want to live, so
let's just go out eating whatever
the fuck I want to."
I wish now we could have had some
crazy extravagant meals.
It would have been fun to take him out
and show him a few things I knew
about eating.
I remember the last lunch we had out.
We met up with his friends at a steak house
in Van Nuys called The Sherman Room.
He ate all the steak, fries and ketchup he
could handle.
I looked the other way.
I wish I had been more permissive.
Food was what he loved.
And I kept restricting him from it
because I thought it was keeping him
alive.
I kept restricting love.
How ironic because that's
what he did with me
my whole life.
I guess I learned from the master.
My Grandmother never kept any indulgence
from me.
Her tamales were the best.
We haven't made them in years,
since my Dad got sick.
I think we need to make them again this Christmas.
I miss them both.
It's hard.
To have those memories
and not to continue to share
with them,
or create new ones.
I am grateful for those memories.
I am grateful for the traditions that have been passed on.
I am grateful for my ability to cook.
I am grateful that I have a niece and two nephews to pass on those traditions to.
Seeing the brown faces at the deli
Or the grandmother's picking out produce
Or the smells coming from the carneceria
made me think of my Grandmother.
So I grabbed an apple turnover from the paneceria,
brought it home
and now I am enjoying it with my hot tea.
(I gave up coffee three years ago)
It's almost like my Grandmother's old ritual
of sitting down at 9:30 or 10 at night
and having a little pan dulce
with her cafecito.
That's pretty much the extent of my Spanish.
Food.
And food is pretty much my entry into
a lot of experiences.
I noticed that there's a ramen festival in San Gabriel
next weekend.
That's something my Dad would have taken me
to.
Everytime something tastes delicious I think of him.
He loved the stories of my food adventures:
the orange creme angel hair in Florence,
the wild boar ragu,
wines,
sushi,
anything adventurous and exotic. My Dad loved to hear about it all.
And my Grandmother would take us to the market
and we would watch the tortillas being made by machine.
My Dad would take us to really stinky Chinese or Korean
markets.
Or we would go to the Chinese deli and eat something that
was chock full of sodium.
I remember the looks I would give him
when he was sick
and he dragged me to the Asian market
so he could get jok, a rice porridge,
or lau lay with butterfish and pork.
It all had too much salt in it,
and he had to watch his salt
because he was dying.
But he was really dying from hearing me
talk about all the foods he couldn't eat.
But he didn't care.
He didn't want to live
in a tasteless world.
So if he was digging himself
into an early grave, he was
happy to hold the shovel.
I wish he had just told me earlier,
"Listen, I don't want to live, so
let's just go out eating whatever
the fuck I want to."
I wish now we could have had some
crazy extravagant meals.
It would have been fun to take him out
and show him a few things I knew
about eating.
I remember the last lunch we had out.
We met up with his friends at a steak house
in Van Nuys called The Sherman Room.
He ate all the steak, fries and ketchup he
could handle.
I looked the other way.
I wish I had been more permissive.
Food was what he loved.
And I kept restricting him from it
because I thought it was keeping him
alive.
I kept restricting love.
How ironic because that's
what he did with me
my whole life.
I guess I learned from the master.
My Grandmother never kept any indulgence
from me.
Her tamales were the best.
We haven't made them in years,
since my Dad got sick.
I think we need to make them again this Christmas.
I miss them both.
It's hard.
To have those memories
and not to continue to share
with them,
or create new ones.
I am grateful for those memories.
I am grateful for the traditions that have been passed on.
I am grateful for my ability to cook.
I am grateful that I have a niece and two nephews to pass on those traditions to.
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