SWIRLING SADNESS

Sometimes when I’m listening to someone speak, I like to ever so slightly blur my eyes with a somewhat formless squint. Instead of taking in the details of their mouths, I’m able to see their spill of colors void of featured distraction. I feel them as a painting and I see no flaws. A breathing portrait. 

I thought today of my swirling sadnesses, the one’s I push past to stand in the morning, to smile, to create, to go another day. I thought about where these sadnesses stem from. Typically a slew of faded memories that slip through the cracks and slap me like a switchblade. I wondered on the importance of perspective. And with wonderment, I squinted my mind. I blurred the edges of memory and turned my past into nebulous shapes, colors of experience. Fire hot reds, soft blues, pulsating purples, gold glittering truths. It was as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. With the scrutinizing details removed, all that was left was an undulating portrait of a previous time. 

One day we will die. Death will squint us out of existence and we will be formless again. And in that moment, what will truly matter? The man that cut you off on the freeway? The woman who yelled at you in the grocery story? The kid who makes you uncomfortable simply for having a different sexual orientation than you? The man of a different race/religion? A fight with your lover? A fight with your mother? Will any of this matter on your last breath?

If your answer is no, try not to let it matter now. Let it go. Squint it out of existence before it devours and conquers your life.

xx,
Nostalghia

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TRAUMA

I read an article recently that links workaholic behavior to a traumatic upbringing. Upon first seeing the title, I didn’t even want to open it. I knew it would resonate and sometimes (only sometimes) I idealize the ignorance of the unknown. I don’t want to slow down. I don’t want to smell the roses! I want to leave a legacy of work that I’m proud of! (😡) And so I read it. Because I knew I had to read it.  See, I grew up in a household of highly educated parents. Perfection was promoted and I learned quickly how to earn respect. I was ridiculed in school for being too thin, too quiet, too weird...you name it, I heard it. My only real taste of happiness came from accomplishment, and I don’t think I’m alone in this. Our world is hyper focused on doing. Being is scoffed at. It doesn’t lead to “results,” and we want them. We want results like our lives depend on results. Have you ever seen a Labrador eat? He thinks his life depends on eating every last drop of the bird seed you accidentally left on the deck. HE HAS TO EAT IT ALL BECAUSE HE MUST. Then he gets really sick and pukes all over your Persian carpets. You clean it up in wonderment. How can such a smart dog be so fucking greedy? Well. I ask the same of you. And me. Why are we ravenous?  We’re ravenous because we believe our lives depend on it. Because we’ve been taught from a very young age to eat ALL the bird seed, reach for ALL the stars, be the BEST at EVERYTHING. We’ve been told our lives depend on it.  Well let me tell you something. I have no fucking clue what an em7 chord is. Please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. If you ask me what chord I’m playing, I’ll look at you with an utterly blank stare. And you know what? I’m proud of that blank stare. For once in my life, I didn’t aim for perfection. I just played. It was fun, and so I kept playing. It was genuine, and so I kept playing.  It’s easy to lose perspective on that when you turn your playtime into a career. All the logistics dry you of the wetness that once drenched your spirit. I felt that. Have you felt that?  Then I remembered.  I came to my piano and I remembered. I wrote again and I PLAYED and I cried and I lost my mind. I felt free-dumb in simply being me. And songs were born. Songs I cannot wait to share with all of you who have been waiting patiently.  We all have our own paths. Perhaps some of you are musicians, painters, writers. Perhaps some of you are bankers, bus boys, strippers. Whatever you are, your purpose will never only be in “doing.” The most honest essence of you will come around when simply “being.” I relish in this lesson, because without it I’m just a headless chicken. With it, I’m the wind. 

xx,
Nostalghia

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog and want you to have it  for free. if you want to give me some help for the effort, feel free to donate below. Merci! xx

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THE BOX THAT BINDS

Recently it came to light that one of Trump’s top aids, Rob Porter, was physically and verbally abusive to both of his ex wives. If you’ve seen the black and blue picture of his first wife, Colbie Holderness, you know how heartless this man is. When his former boss, Donald Trump, defends him by dismissing his ex wive’s realities, and defends himself against the upwards of 22 women who have accused him of sexual harassment and sexual assault, we know this problem has come to a head. What is a third grade History teacher supposed to say to her female students when our own president is not only a sexual predator, but defends everyone in his tribe that is of like mind. Now, let me be clear. I’ve never been crazy about politics. Most of it seems like an absolute sham, a game I’d rather not play. But nonetheless, our president symbolizes the state of this country. And I am utterly sickened as a result. When I wrote the song Cool For Chaos, I didn’t really know what exactly was coming through me.

Lyrics such as ...
“I heard you speak like a savaged wolf
And I let you eat the closest thing to love
But I’m a useable force
You’re gonna’ have to push harder than that
I know you, you’ll shut my lips
You’ll say, shove yourself down with
But wait, are you cool for chaos?
YEAH!”

Upon reflection, I realize more than EVER that I was finding my voice, unafraid of it’s power, and ready to fight back with strong truths.
Oddly enough, the music video had me in a glass box, manipulated by a wire doll, fighting for my last breath.   LET ME BE CLEAR. I broke OUT of that fucking box. And nobody, not my president, not a fellow man, NOBODY, can put me back in it. So dear Donald Trump...You’re crowned king of the dis-ease that has poisoned our society for centuries. You and your infective mentality will soon be dinosaurs, and women will be HEARD.  To all my female fans and friends, I stand by you all the way. To all the respectful male fans, thank you for helping pave the way for other men.

xx,
Nostalghia

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog and want you to have it  for free. if you want to give me some help for the effort, feel free to donate below. Merci! xx

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BOUNDARIES

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a strange relationship with boundaries. People invading my space in negative ways, whether it be emotional or physical, intentional or unintentional.  In the last year, I’ve strengthened them though occasionally I still slip up and notice that I’ve let someone in too deep, too close who doesn’t deserve that intimacy. It’s difficult as a sensitive soul to navigate spatial distance, whether it be emotional or physical. Especially difficult if you’ve grown up in families where boundaries are not respected. It becomes something of the norm and we learn to let EVERYTHING in. Both energetically and emotionally. 

xx,
Nostalghia

I put a lot of time and effort into this blog and want you to have it  for free. if you want to give me some help for the effort, feel free to donate below. Merci! xx

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