Category: integrity

faith · honesty · integrity · surrender · time

The end is nigh

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I just like that phrase. So gothic and epic … and Mayan.
Just kidding.
(p.s. Following yesterday’s blog and some other recent
ones, I start to wonder what is TMI or inappropriate for this forum. But,
although I may have walked up to the line, and even then, I may not have, I
don’t think I’ve crossed it. So – onward!)
My school inbox is being flooded with emails about
graduation regalia, thesis submission costs, thesis filing information,
invitations to the end of year event, etc. You’d think there were something a
brewin, eh?
May 12th I graduate. That’s about a month from
now, and I’m stoked and terrified. Not terrified, just unclear.
In an effort to get more clear, today I’m going to be taking up a
suggestion. A time map. You may call it a schedule. Part of my fear is based on
my inability to take action – or not an “inability” per se, but a fear, simply
of taking action. What if I try my best and fail? What if I turn down underpaying jobs and end up broke
anyway? Shel Silverstein was a wise man
when he wrote the poem “Whatif.”
So, to combat vagueness, and the three P’s (Perfectionism
-> Procrastination -> Paralyzation), I’m going to work today to create a
schedule for myself to include things like revenue generating time (i.e.
looking for work); creative time; and grocery shopping(!).
Because without any structure of a 9-5, I’m not doing much
of anything with my days. Sort of floating along, with class punctuating the
vagueness (and homework not). I don’t like it. I feel then stressed in the 11th
hour, and I don’t have to. So, I’ll work with someone today to create a plan
that includes play and self-care and work and effort and the scary things that
elicit the above questions.
In a stroke of unexpectedness, I got an email from a gallery
owner I know. I’d emailed her nearly 6 months ago to ask if she had any
part-time work available and had never heard back. She emailed me yesterday
with apologies. This, is something of a surprise, and I’m coming to notice
“surprises” as little “G-d shots” as it were. She said she’d love to chat in
person. Not sure that she has any work, but that’s not the point.
I mentioned to some folks last month that I would sweep the
floor in an art gallery. I would adjust spreadsheets. I would do whatever job
would get me into a world of art, artists, creativity. And, suddenly, here
appears my acquaintance. I will follow up with her. Little actions produce big
results. Is it a coincidence that I’m finally taking some action around work
and this email comes in? Maybe.
I’ve decided that I’m not going to the interview at the job
I have no interest in today. Mainly, it’s just f’ing dishonest. I’d be lying my
ass off to get a job I don’t want. I had the recent experience with the modeling guild
of lying and having it coming around to bite me – I think I’ve learned.
Furthermore, despite other people’s vocal fears to me which run along the lines
of “Just take it,” that is not my value. Not my personal value system, or the
monetary and energetic value that I have to exchange.
This surely produces fear (TAKE THE CRUMBS!!!), but fuck the
crumbs. I’ve been like Hansel and Gretel in the forest leading myself to the
fiery pit of someone else’s oven by following crumbs. I don’t need the crumbs. I need
the wiser idea of the stones on the path – the firmer, more appropriate, more
honest way of being.
I have help to lay these stones if I avail myself of them,
and so, I’m asking for help on the baby steps today. Feels a little silly to
ask someone to sit with me while I make a map of my time, but I haven’t been
able to do it on my own, and I need help. So, I’ll ask, I’ll receive, and I’ll
change. G-d willing. 

anger · family · integrity · letting go · self-care

Gaslight

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

*spoiler alert*
Gaslight is an old black and white suspense movie in which a
wife is tricked into thinking she is mad. Things disappear from her dressing
table. The lamp lights in her room dim and brighten without her touching them.
And her husband tells her she’s crazy, and says here’s your purse, you left it
x, even though she could have sworn she left it y. She is basically told that
the things she thinks are happening, which we as the viewer see happening, are not, in fact, happening. This, one can
imagine, produced fear, worry, self-doubt, and eventually a crack-up. This is gaslighting.
It’s funny that I’d been telling someone else about that
term yesterday morning, which made itself into regular parlance (like
“catch-22” from the book title) or at least made itself into my mom’s parlance
from whom I learned it, because later that day, I was gaslit.
On the phone with my dad, who’s wanting to coordinate about
my graduation, etc., as you may recall, I’d been anxious about him and my mom
being at the same place at the same time. So, I let him know this. I told him
that I know that he and my mom don’t have the most communicative relationship,
but that I hope we can all show up with a spirit of celebration. I told him
that I was anxious about them being here together, and that I hope they can get
along in a civil way.
He said, I have no idea what you’re talking about.
He said their relationship is fine; there’s no hard
feelings; that I must have gotten the wrong idea, and that, in essence, I was
wrong and there’s nothing wrong.
I reminded him of asking me to tell my mom about his
mother’s passing because they “aren’t talking,” and he had no recollection of
saying this. I said that he asked me to tell her, but I said I didn’t feel
comfortable doing so, and he said okay, Ben can tell her.
He has no recollection of this.
So, I got defensive, feeling like I was being told that what
really happened hadn’t happened. And he got defensive feeling, I imagine, that
I was attacking him for behavior that he doesn’t recall. I got a little
offensive in my “lightly insistent” reminder of his recent behavior, and he got a little offensive
accusing me of making things up.
And, so we got off the phone after reverting to the
“everything’s fine here” light, fake, cover-it-up tone.
I’ve never been divorced. And it became, now, less about my
parents’ interaction than about my interaction with my dad. This is usually how
it goes – it’s either, Everything’s fine, or it’s antagonistic. It’s either,
Gee my life’s swell, or it’s Oh wait, I’m not in control, I better use my vast
resources of rage and anger to intimidate it back into order.
This is the way it’s always been. To varying degrees of
each. He can barely ask a waiter for more water without it sounding like a
threat.
But, I’m also hyper-attuned to it, as his daughter.
So, moral? I told him what I hoped could happen at
graduation, he said things will be fine. So, needs voiced, needs heard. 
I know what my experience has been,
and I know the truth of things as I see them. And I have to have enough value
in my own experience that it doesn’t matter whether it’s verified by him, or
anyone else. It is not my job to break through someone else’s denial; to
instill in them proper manners of communication that do not swing from hot to
cold; it is not my job to change my dad. It’s just my job to not be gaslit by
him; to allow the conversation to hold contradiction, not have to “be right,”
and to let it go.
Not sure I have all of the “moral” here yet today, but I’m
pretty sure this is a lifetime process.
Next, it’ll be time to tell the same thing to my mom. … I
may need to do some work before I take that phone call on! … Or maybe I don’t need to call her on this at all. ?
action · change · fantasy · fear · integrity · responsibility

Magical Accidental Orgasm

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In The Vagina Monologues,
there is a piece in which a woman comes to the realization while in a
“Vagina Workshop” that she had avoided finding her clitoris. That she had
believed that orgasms happen to
her, that they weren’t something she should… have a hand in. She was
occasionally the recipient of magical, accidental orgasms (on horseback, or in
water, she says), but had never actually made one happen herself.
When she was instructed in the workshop that it was time to
find her clitoris, she noticed she began to panic. She had to now give up
the idea that someone would come along and give her orgasms, she had to now give up the
idea that someone was coming to live her life for her.
Her lines occurred to me as I walked toward yesterday’s professional
development seminar for writers. The sense that I was having to give up the
idea that someone would come along and live my life for me – that someone else
would make the decisions, take the actions that would enable me to be a something. A writer, an artist, a worker.
I have magical, accidental thinking too. And as I noticed I
was experiencing a strange sense of sadness on my way to the seminar yesterday,
I realized this was why. It is becoming time for me to “find my clitoris.” To
stop waiting for someone to do this for me, to stop waiting for someone to hand me
the roadmap for my life, and time for me to begin actually taking action if I
want results.
This brought grief. The death of my magical thinking. The
death of my hope that I could float along on half steam. Because I have floated along on half steam, the recipient of
magical gifts from the Universe. The problem with floating along without my own
power is that I now come to approach the job market, the work world, with no
sense of self-esteem. What have I
done? Where have I been a real
asset?
Sure, I have a long resume, with a host of attributes, but
none of them have anything to do with what gives me fire. When a friend
suggested recently that once May comes along, I’ll find my “fuck yeah” job at
40 hours a week with benefits… I thought I would vomit. Or rather, my whole
internal organ system went momentarily into a freeze. FUCK NO. 40 hours a week
with benefits sounds like a prison sentence. But it’s always what I’ve fallen
back on. I’m a good little worker bee; under half-steam I can coast along on
charisma and menial labor.
That is not my “fuck yeah” job. So what is? Because I have
ultimately avoided finding my “spot,” I have no idea.
But, I have now realized that I’ve been wishing that someone
would make those decisions and take those actions for me. That I would
magically and accidentally end up in the career, field, job that I love.
And I’ve realized that this is not true. And further, back
to the self-esteem thing, it doesn’t build it. Being gifted by the Universe has
been wonderful; I’ve been able to walk through the fire of dramatic uprisings
in finances and personal relationships. I have done this with as much work as I
thought was necessary, but not much more.
I am frightened. I have never really done much of the
showing up wholly and fully, and so I don’t yet have the experience that I can.
But, I know for absolute certain that if I don’t let go of my magical thinking,
I will “end up” in another cubicle, and I have promised myself, sworn to
myself, and begged myself to not do that.
This means accepting that I am worth the effort; and that I
am worthy of the effort. That I am worthy of my full attention, and don’t need
to be dependent on or subject to the random twists of fate. 
It’s time to take
matters into my own hand.
anger · courage · honesty · integrity · life · school

Adaptation.

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In the movie Adaptation,
Charlie Kaufman struggles to adapt a book for the screen. His struggle at
adapting the book becomes a part of the screenplay, and in essence, he writes
himself into his own movie. At this, he says, “Oh no.”
I have decided what my thesis will be – it will be my blog.
At this, I say, “Oh no.”
Unfortunately, due to all the everything else I’ve been
working on, my thesis draft due date came and went. Not that I didn’t know it
was due, but more that I had no idea what on earth it would be.
It wouldn’t be poetry – as that’s not at all what’s coming
out in my writing right now. It wouldn’t be the watercolor language and visual
art – there’s not enough time, and I’d want to develop it and experiment with
it more. And so, like Charlie, so consumed with the struggle of artistic
production that the drama of that struggle became his body of work, so it is
with mine.
Or, at least until my thesis advisor rips me another one on
Monday.
This, is part of the problem of the honesty and visibility
of this type of artistic forum – you may recognize yourself in these pages.
But, so be it.
To catch you up on nearly a month absence from this daily
blog, … well, i’m not entirely sure how to do that. But, I will say that I did
miss this. I know that my ego loves it, but I know too that I love it – and,
some of my friends love it too. I like this style. It works on the level a
friend suggested I write: “You should write the way you speak.” I don’t know
how to do that in “poetry,” but I know how to do that here.
The requirements for the thesis are as follows:
The thesis should be a minimum of
48 pages of creative work. In general, most theses average between 60-100
pages. The thesis should consist of the best work you have written while at
school. You are encouraged to write a thesis that is risky, investigative, and
confident.
I’m pretty sure that the work I do here is investigative,
confident in its honesty to my wavering confidence, and risky perhaps in the unabashed woo-woo spirituality of it. And, likely, risky in that
I let you know much of how I process the world, with all my foibles, fears,
shenanigans, and humor. – That feels
pretty risky (and thrilling) to me.
So, after a series of tense emails between my thesis advisor
and myself, in which I was accused of “not taking this seriously enough,” I
will be meeting with her on Monday following my submission of the first 3
months of this blog.
The irony, and the motherfucking craw sticker of her
accusation, the thing that wounded me the most, was her assumption that I
wasn’t doing any work.
On poetry, no, she’s right. On every other goddamned thing,
for fuck’s sake, YES. I have been working my ASS off to address, face, and work
through every goddamned thing that is holding me back.
EMDR with my therapist: check. Working one on one to get my
financial life in order: check. Clearing out the boxes from New Jersey that
contain the diaries of a madwoman and a sad child: check. Seeing a holistic
chiropractor to address physical manifestations:
check.
The truth is, I have been doing A LOT. And when her email
came through, as raw and vulnerable as I’ve felt with all these processes going
on, I was thrown WAY overboard. Suddenly, what someone else thought of me meant
more. Suddenly, I felt that all of my current work was worth bunk. That my
experience was being invalidated.
And that, for me,
dear reader, is my very worst trigger. To feel that my experience is not valid,
that what is happening for me is not important, or indeed is not happening at
all, is a VERY old, and VERY strong catalyst into despair.
Did she know any of this? No. Did I let her know that I was
unsure about my thesis? No. Does she have any idea whatsoever of any of the
other work that I’m currently doing? No.
So, is it reasonable, therefore to assume that from her
point of view, I wasn’t doing much? … Yes. Stupid perspective, Yes. 
It still hurt. And I’m still showing up anyway. I’m going to
hand in the work I have. The work that I’ve written here since November charts
a course, not of my daily lunch, but of my daily struggles, successes, progress,
hope, and failure. Of my relationships, my loneliness, my gratitude, and my
attempts.
This blog is the best
work I’ve done while at school, because, ultimately, it has the very most of me.
Thank you for reading, and welcome back. 🙂
dating · fun · integrity · Jewish · performance · responsibility · self-care

Bless It or Block It

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

How many things can one person wholly commit to?
I went on a first date yesterday via a set-up. It was
really fun. We got along great, and had a nice time. And so, now all the
‘What-if’s pop into my brain. Or, the questions, doubts. He’s not Jewish. Is
that a Deal-breaker – I’ve never yet decided. He lives an hour&a half away. I don’t
have a car – I’ve done that “medium-distance” relationship before. It looks
like – or it did look like – attempting to shove all the things you would be able
to do throughout a week into the weekend. Get all the fun and funny and
adventure and rest and sexy time all in the 48 or so hours you have together.
It was a lot of pressure to only be “happy”, and sort of exhausting. Plus, at the time, I also had
a car.
But, mostly what’s been on my mind since yesterday (besides
the obvious knowledge that I actually don’t have to do anything right now, as I haven’t been asked out for a 2nd
date yet, so … slow the crazy train). … But, How many things can one person … or how many fledgling things can one person commit to?
By this, I am considering my new-found and very fledgling
commitment to myself and my dreams. It’s ironic(?) that after going through the
book Calling in The One, which helped to
push me into the direction of performance, stage, music, following my dreams
basically, that now, here I am faced with a potential opportunity for romance,
and I’m hesitant. Is there enough of me to go around?
The next few weekends look like this: women’s new year’s
retreat in Napa, audition, audition, audition. Yes. Three auditions in the two
weekends following the retreat. And then there’s the rehearsal that will begin
for The Vagina Monologues, which I’m in
at school at the end of February.
So, … hence, “bless it or block it.” Were this gentleman
Jewish, living in SF or Oakland, were I a private transportation owning female,
would I, do I want a relationship right now? After doing all that “work” to
make myself available for a relationship, have I simply cleared the space for a
relationship with myself? Which, don’t get me wrong, is incredible. I’m
entirely thrilled and proud of myself for heading, however haltingly, in the
direction of something which incites joy in me just thinking about it. But, is
there enough left over? Do I want there to be?
These are the questions that arise after one date! But, it’s
not him, or the date – it’s me – what am
I available for? Beginning to take the most delightful and frightening and nail
biting steps in the direction of my heart’s desires for myself is a lot of
work. It is a commitment. And
when I began CITO, actually when
I read the preview pages on Amazon before purchasing this dubiously titled book, I knew as soon as I read “If we’re finding
an absence of a supportive, nurturing, committed relationship in our lives, we
have to ask ourselves where are we not these things to ourselves?”, I knew then
immediately where I wasn’t committed to myself, in this area of my “silly”
nudges, dreams, aspirations, desires.
So, now here I am. Becoming more fully committed to myself
and watching this tree bear the fruit. The fruit is joy, not the job, the part,
the gig, it’s the joy of watching myself head there. It’s entirely new and rad
and incredible to begin to remove the roadblocks I’ve arbitrarily placed in my
own path. (I can’t be on stage because I’m too tall; I can’t play open mics
because I can’t play guitar well enough.)
I’m willing to remain open at this moment to whatever
happens next. Maybe we’ll be friends. Maybe he won’t even contact me again.
Maybe he’ll ask me out and I’ll say yes. But, none of that is happening at this
very moment. What is happening now is that I need to get ready for work at my
SF temp gig, and I have some lovely Little Star Pizza leftover to take for
lunch.
That, and it’s time to print some more headshots. 😉
action · integrity · joy · performance · persistence · self-care

"Forbidden", Make that "Attainable" Joys

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I have a piece of paper dated in October of 2008 from an Artist’s
Way exercise. It’s entitled “Forbidden
Joys,” and is a list of ten things that we would love to do, but feel we can’t
or are not allowed for whatever reason. It could also be called a Bucket List,
I suppose.
Dated about 6 months later is a strike through of the word
“Forbidden” and above which is now written “Attainable.”
I’ve added three more things to the list, but the last thing
added was dated in 2009. I’ve carried this list through my move, and
found it maybe two months ago when I took The Artist’s Way book down again while looking for quotes for my
workshop on Creativity and Spirituality in the Spring.
The list is only about a third accomplished. And I’ve decided
not to “update” it from what I’d written, as I know there are now more and
different things I’d add. But, I want to honor this list, because there are still things on it that I would really love to do, if I
let myself.
The things that are now crossed off are: Go blonde; Audition for a play; Get furniture and paint my place (prior to that, I’d been using Office Depot boxes as night&coffee tables); Ice
skate; and Paint a canvas.
I still want to continue to audition for plays, and I still
want to Ice skate, and I want to paint more canvases, but “breaking the seal”
as it were, or going on an inaugural run through each of these is a great
beginning.
Those that still remain are: Bass lessons; Camp in the
wilderness; See the southwest again; Go on a real vacation; Sing in a band;
Have a dog (not sure if now having a cat counts, but I’m leaving it!); Build a
(non-Ikea) bookcase; and Take flying lessons.
This last one, I am most poised to do at present, as I got
one of those LivingSocial, Groupon-y type emails last week…For a two-hour
introductory flying lesson.
Typically, these are really expensive. I’ve actually looked
up this company before, during this past summer, when I was trying to find
work, and thought that maybe volunteering somewhere I was interested to learn
would be good experience, so I emailed a whole bunch of flight schools in the
area, as well as a whole bunch of sailing schools. But none had any openings.
But, I did get to see what was available out there. … And to see how insanely
expensive it is to get licensed to fly a small plane, which is ultimately what
I’d like to do.
I love flying. I have found over the past few years that I
write pretty well and pretty prolifically at 30,000 feet. There is a level of
suspension of reality, of detachment from every and anything that may be going
on – I feel freer and more unfettered than I almost ever feel. The only thing
comparable to me is really hiking out somewhere, or being up in Sonoma, for
whatever reason. I once about Sonoma that “my guts release the strictness I didn’t know
they were in.” And it’s true. I feel open, unclenched, serene.
So, in an effort to follow my nudges and listen to myself
and take responsibility for my dreams, I bought the intro flying lesson. It’s a
step. And I’ll get to cross it off my “Attainable Joy” list. And “Sing in a
band,” I know you’re there, and I’m listening. 
creativity · integrity · joy · love · relationships

Moi, Toi, Nous.

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Me, You, Us.
As I was ogling through Cartier on Thursday’s lunch break, I picked up a copy of their magazine on my way out assuming it was simply advertisements, but I am heading into collage-making land, personally and for the workshop I’m running in the Spring and need magazine fodder. Turns out that aside from being a long advertisement, there were also several almost academic articles on marriage customs, the heart, as organ, as art, as personified valve, capable of being heavy, light, hard, open.
One of the pieces of ‘heart art’ had the scribbles of “Moi, Toi, Nous” painted on a large heart, with a caption saying this is one of the old ways of inscribing love. Me. You. Us.
In Calling in The One, we are challenged to begin to walk in our lives as part of a “we.” Not just romantically, but as a member of the world. Not “me first”, but us first. How to engage with the world with mutual interest – to perhaps begin to model what it might or could look like in a romantic partnership that could last a lifetime. It’s likely impossible to maintain a “me first” attitude and a successful relationship. Of course there’s a balance with maintaining personal integrity as well, but I feel like I’ve tended to the opposite extremes of self-preservation or people-pleasing, so walking in the world in an “us” manner is different and good practice for me.
Another exercise, which then feeds into yesterday, was to begin to acquire collage pictures that speak to our vision of love in our lives. So, about a month or more ago, I began with a photo of a man and a woman from a Tiffany’s ad, holding hands in marriage garb, walking away from the camera down what looks to me like a Central Park footpath. Calm, beautiful, mutual. But, I also began peppering my collage with photos that I thought I “should” put on. Ones that weren’t as feminine, ones that were more gender-neutral or masculine in nature or in mood. Because isn’t that part of this, to open space for “masculine” energy? So, I put on some stripes of more masculine neutral colors, and … What I’ve come to realize are more drab, dull, and boring.
I wear glasses, and so when I wake up in the morning and look at the wall opposite me, I really only see colors, not images. Over the time that I’ve lived in this apartment and put various collages on that wall, I’ve been able to wake up to vibrant, moving color. But, over the last month or so that I’ve had this collage in progress, it’s been like looking at a bowl of oatmeal! I’ve realized this only recently, how unmotivated I was to finish the collage, and how little I’d been looking at it.
Usually, my collages continue to capture my attention. The phrases I cut out, the images that still move me with their beauty or humor or joy. Every collage I’ve made over the last few years has had teal in it. I didn’t notice this until earlier this year, when I’d made a new one, and waking up, TEAL, there it is. The color of Mediterranean oceans, and somehow, to me, joy. A beauty, an inspiration. I followed this nudge finally, and bought a perfect teal scarf. I’d apparently wanted this incorporated into my waking life as well as my art life. And I love the scarf. It still brings me joy.
So, knowing the power that my collages have to inspire me, and to continue to nudge me, yesterday during my day of cleaning, I began taking down the CITO oatmeal collage. This is not the collage of love, inspiration, joy, fulfillment, creation, happiness. There are a few images I’ll keep, like the Tiffany ad, and a crayon-colored drawing I did earlier this year that sort of envisions … my vision! But, I sat down yesterday and began to cut out new images. Images that made me smile, who cares about masculine or feminine. What I recognize is that if I am happy, I attract happiness. I don’t need to try to manipulate what I think I should be looking for or how I think it “should” look – even on something as “inconsequential” as a collage.
And so, there is now a ton of red – the color of love, passion, emotion – and, of course, there’s now teal. I look forward to putting it all together, and waking up to what feels like a shift in my approach.
Finally, about “Moi, Toi, Nous.”, it reminds me: In Hebrew “Mah Tovu” is a common and gorgeous song and prayer recited upon entering a place of worship. It means “How Good” – How good it is, here, this place, now.
Coincidence? I think not. 🙂 
Merry Christmas everyone, and Happy Chanukah. Love, M.

adventure · integrity · joy · life · school

Weird Science.

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Winter solstice approaches. So despite the dwindling hours
of sunlight and what feel like dwindling hours of productivity, change is on
the move. I love thinking about stuff like that – my brother is an “earth
scientist” – basically, he’d steeped in physics, chemistry, and biology, and at
the moment is working as a cleaner upper of this here our earth.
He once sent me a text photo, when he began his job last
year in environmental remediation, of a teeny tiny little frog balancing on my brother’s blue hazmat gloves,
with the note saying, “I’m cleaning his home.” 🙂 It was the very sweetest thing.
Once, Ben and I heard the rumor that on the equinoxes in
spring and fall, you could balance an egg on its end in a window of like 3
minutes, and it wouldn’t fall over because the earth was positioned in such a
way that the gravitational pull was completely equal. – It worked! It totally
balanced on it’s little fat bottom end for about a minute or two before it
lopped over onto its side like all other days of the year.
We used to sit at home on the couch, and he’d basically
translate what he’d just read from Stephen Hawking’s The Universe in a
Nutshell, and we’d talk about the expanding
and contracting of the universe, and about black holes, and just science-y
stuff in general. It was great. I rarely, if ever, get to talk to people about
stuff like that, mainly because I’m so novice, and also, it just doesn’t come
up – so, did you hear about Pluto doesn’t really count! (And p.s. I feel bad
for Pluto’s demotion!)
When I was in college, heading toward, well, I wasn’t always
in my right mind, I was taking a physics course, and one of the classes was on
relativity. And in the “Whoa, man” state of mind I was in, after class, we’re
all outside waiting for the bus, and I don’t really know anyone in the class,
being an English major, and I say to one dude as the bus approaches, isn’t it
crazy, the bus is moving relative to us, but we’re moving on the spinning earth, and
the earth is moving in orbit… You can see why lots of stoners get blown away by
such concepts ;P
But, it – science, math – comes up for me. Strange as it may
seem. My brother was a double major in geo-physics and music theory. Art and
science aren’t as far apart as they may seem. All my painting is is increasing
the viscosity of a pigment to deposit it on another surface 😉 One thing that
came up repeatedly for me over the number of times that I did the Artist’s Way
was to take a math class. Weird, I know. But we’re asked several times
throughout the course to list – without overthinking it – 5 classes we’d want
to take if money and time and fear weren’t an issue. And each time, math would
be on that list.
I was proctoring an SAT exam about 2 years ago for some
extra cash, and I was looking at the test in the aching silence of the room as
these poor students are having meltdowns and panic attacks about their future,
and sine and cosines swim in their graphing calculators. It was actually fun.
To feel these very old creaky wheels in
the back of my brain trying to remember the formula for triangles and circles.
I didn’t remember the harder stuff, but there was an inner perking up of, hey,
I know this stuff, and hey, do we get to do this. (I actually did better on my
SATs in math, twice, than I did in english, so…)
I don’t know what it means, but in keeping with listening to
my inner nudges, and knowing that this math/science thing has come up several
times over the last 4 or 5 years, maybe it’s time to listen. I actually looked
to see if I could do one at my school, but they are waaaay advanced, and I need like algebra 1 again! Not
lecture and lab. Math can be fun. Science was way fun the way my brother and I
used to talk about it. The way that he would explain these concepts to me, and
we could converse about them.
Keep ‘em coming, little nudges. I don’t know what yet to do
with you – but I have utter faith that I will. 
action · balance · finances · integrity · letting go · maturity · responsibility · school · self-care · spirituality

Suddenly Seymour

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I did it again. I agreed to a job that I didn’t stop to
consider whether I wanted to do it, but rather whether I could do it.
At about 3pm yesterday, I get an email from a woman I’ve
babysat for before saying her sitter cancelled, and could I sit for her
tonight. Almost immediately, without pausing to consider one way or the other, I
email her back and say thank you, but I have my final paper due for school
tomorrow, and I really need to concentrate on getting that done. But think of
me for next time.
Then, my brain starts in. Couldn’t I finish the paper before
I sit for them? Sure, I’ll barely get home, scarf down some food, and rush out
to BART where she’ll pick me up, but I could do it, right? I mean, I want her
to know I’m a reliable babysitter, someone she can call on to pay me x amount
of money. If I don’t take this job, she won’t think of me next time. If I don’t
take this job, I’ll be out a handful of cash, and I could use it.
So.Many.“Could”s. I could do it. So, I email her back, and
say, you know what, I think I can do it. Let’s meet at this BART station at
this time.
Then, all of the reality of my over-commiting sinks in.
Really, Molly? I’m actually back at home, jacket still on, sitting on my floor with my
Shakespeare paper open on my laptop when I realize that I’ve done it again.
(Oops) 😛
And so, now, at the last minute, I text her and let her know
that I thought I could do it, but I really can’t, and that I’m so sorry for
accepting a job that I couldn’t really take. She texts me back to say No
worries. But, it stuck with me.
This is one of those death-rattle behaviors. These are the
last vestiges, it feels to me, of a behavior that is on its way out. But, as is
usually the case, the Universe will give me a few more opportunities to see if
I’m really willing to let go of accepting things I don’t want to do, can’t do,
feel I “should” do. Am I ready to stop chasing the crumbs?
Cuz that’s part of what it comes down to. If I don’t show up
for this thing you’ve asked of me, you won’t give me love, esteem, validation.
If I don’t show up, even in a resentful, exhausted, crippled manner, you will
forget about me and I will be invisible.
Obviously, to a rational observer, these are lies. As more
likely, when I am rested, refilled, and available in mind and body, then am I more able to give anything at all.
People are not asking me to give from the dregs of my well to them. They’re
asking normal questions. And I’m offering them my dregs. That’s not fair to
anyone involved, and certainly, then, when I flake.
I had a situation this weekend where a woman had agreed to
meet me at a time and place, and I made effort to get into the city to do so.
While I’m on BART, she texts to say she can’t make it, and I’m furious. Way
more pissed than the situation calls for – and I know it’s because it’s the
same behavior I dislike in myself. Why agree to something when you know you
can’t do it?
My flakiness is a result of agreeing to stuff that I can’t
show up for. I agree to stuff I can’t show up for because I maintain a system
of belief that you will only love me and care about me if I’m Super Molly. I am
willing to let this go, because it’s just not working anymore. Super Molly is a
flake, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I’d rather be human Molly, making
commitments I know I can, and showing up to those fully and without resentment.
I’d rather be human Molly who doesn’t need to feed on the approval of others
for my sustenance. As human Molly, it means that I am equal to
you – no better, no worse, and I don’t have to prove I’m either.
Finally, in meditation this morning, I had the song
“Suddenly Seymour” from Little Shop of Horrors come to me (yes, sometimes my meditations are weird). But what
occurred to me about it is that the song’s “Seymour” = my Higher Power. (fyi, i get tons of puns and sight gags in my dreams and meditations. my mind/heart is one that would cook something like this up with no problem!) My HP is “here to provide me” with
everything I need. My HP, “treating me kindly” with “sweet understanding.”* I don’t need to depend on others’ approval for my
self-esteem, I don’t need to depend on my fear-based thoughts when I answer
requests from others, I don’t need to dig from my dregs to be a member of this
world. We’ll see how willing I am to let go of all of this when the next
opportunity comes up, but (I hope) for today, Seymour’s my man. 

*and because I can’t resist… “I’d meet a dollar/approval, I’d follow it blindly – A job snaps its fingers, Me? I’d say sure!”

balance · integrity · responsibility · school · self-care

“Anty needs a recharge.”

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

There’s a scene in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids when the kids are riding an enormous ant through the
jungle of their backyard, and the ant starts to slow down, his antennae droop,
and the mouthy next-door neighbor kid says the above line.
My alarm went off at 6am, like it does on the 3 days I
commute from Oakland to SF for work, and you know that puffy-eyed “whoa buddy,
you do not have my permission to get up yet – tank not full” feeling?
I knew that I would have to go straight from work to school
tonight, as it’s Wednesday, and I have my Shakespeare class at night and don’t get home till 10pm – and the classes are really small, like 10 or 12
people, so I always feel the need to contribute something coherent – last week,
we went around stating what our final projects were going to be, and when we
got to me, punch-drunk with fatigue and having not given it any thought
yet, I said I would write a project where Juliet gets reincarnated as Buffy the
Vampire Slayer. 😉 I then laughed and said I was kidding, but surprisingly,
people seemed to like the idea! I don’t think I’ll do it – but it’s SO strange
to be in a class where we’re reading theory and textual criticism and analyzing
rhetorical forms, and that could actually be considered a viable final project.
We’re allowed to do a creative one, which seems so strange to me – when I was
in undergrad, your “books cited” page pretty much made your grade. That said,
my midterm was a farcical letter to Romeo (with works cited!), so…
In any case, I woke up this morning unable to face such a full day – so I called out till
noon. I said they could call me if that was a problem, and I felt guilty, but I
also knew how completely unavailable – and cranky – I am without enough sleep.
So, I went back to bed until 10am and went in to work – where I felt like a
little kid, waiting to be chastised for doing something wrong (I wish I didn’t
react like that when I stand up for my needs! – but i do), and lo and behold,
my boss was totally cool, and acted as nice to me as always, and gave me work,
and i folded fabric and booked fancy hotel rooms for other people, and that was
that. Not a big deal. People
understand that other people are human – I’m usually the one who doesn’t get
that. “I’m only human,” was my mantra as I was walking into work this morning,
feeling like a bad schoolgirl.  –
and not in the sexy way. Although I was wearing my brand new purple coat, and I
felt like the jewel colored woolen equivalent of a rock star 😉
After work, BART was late with a medical emergency, so I
missed the shuttle to school, and by this point I’m starving, as I only had
breakfast before work and some cookies at work, because I felt like I couldn’t leave to get real food because I had to “make up” for the fact I came in late.
So, I’m hungry, tired, and then the bus that I can take to school instead of
the shuttle is late – and I know I’ll be late to class, and I have
to buy food no matter what.
So … I skiv off. I didn’t go to class. Gasp.  It’s
not such an awful thing, I’ve been there every time except once when I was back
east, and I got a pretty good grade on my midterm, but, I had had it. So, I trudge up the hill to the grocery store by my house and fill up at the hot food bar on
an enormous load of heavy comfort food of creamed yams and mac&cheese and come home and collapse with an episode of Glee.
All this serves to tell me is that something’s gotta give.
I’m not sure what yet, but calling in to work late, cutting class, and
overeating to make up for malnourishment are signs to me that there’s some
aspect of self-care and balance that is seriously missing here. It may not seem
like “that big a deal,” and individually, these things are not – but I didn’t
go to class on Friday either – and I’m not paying what I’m paying in tuition to
not go to class – or to feel so depleted. Besides, I actually like school and my classes, and I want to go! It’s why I’m going in the first place!
So, I’m not sure what needs to give yet. There are only 3
more sessions of this Wednesday class before winter break. But, I don’t think I
can do what I’m doing like this anymore – even for 3 weeks – that’s three weeks
more than anyone should spend exhausted, cranky, and poorly fed. Anty needs a
recharge.