Category: letting go

abundance · change · letting go · recovery · self-care · work

The Last Mile.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

 or “Romance & Finance.”

So, I spoke with the HR woman at work, and today and tomorrow will be my last days temping here with this interior design firm. Last days for now, as school starts on Wednesday, and the reality is I’m really, really worn. The word I used to the HR person was “spare.” That’s how I’m feeling at the moment. In fact, I’m writing this blog at work right now, as I DID make my effort to get to work on time… then I realized that the Oakland bus system and BART are running on a Sunday schedule for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and so my reliable bus was not coming 😛

But, I caught a bus, and made it in anyway. On my way in, I was reading from a book which shares the stories of people who have recovered from the insanity of financial woes, and the story I read really hit me. I realize that, with the upcoming influx of tax return and student loan disbursement, I’m right about to throw myself back into my own merry-go-round of financial problems.

All my fetishizing of having a car won’t solve my problem. Taking jobs I don’t want to take won’t solve my problem, but not actually taking consistent and persistent action toward earning money in alternative ways won’t solve my problem either. Luckily, last night, I got a call from a woman who is willing to help me walk through the steps I need to take to get clearer and freer from this roller coaster of poverty/manic spending/poverty/manic spending. Cuz that’s my pattern. I am broke broke broke, in a panic, and then a miracle occurs, I have a job, money again, and then I start to live in magical thinking, and spend spend spend. And I’m back to where I was.

Now, it’s usually not “all bad”, so I justify it. It’s been, in the past, a lot of spending large wads of money on parties for my friends, or a “gotta get away” weekend (i.e. I’m not taking enough daily care of myself, and need to blow a large wad on RAMPANT self-care. You know, TIME TO RELAX folks. It doesn’t really work that way, I’ve discovered.).

I feel like things are going to turn. That these are the last vestiges of my best ideas about how to earn, save, and spend money. (I say “save” with only the most passing acquaintance with an ING account that’s had $0.09 in it for over a year.) So, that feels good. That the sun *is* around the corner, and that I’m crawling the last mile on ragged, glass embedded knees. The last mile that I’ve had to crawl to see that I just can’t fucking crawl anymore.

Perhaps I’ll only have to turn this corner once, perhaps I’ll have to turn it more than once. But I really do hope that things are going to shift for me. In the end, it’s not at all about money. It’s about my availability to my life. Being distracted by my money woes is a great way to stay small, and contracted, and constricted. And as I head into all these new adventures in my life, I would like to create a firmer foundation to stand on – and part of that is getting off this merry-go-round, and listening to how other people have walked from the soul-crush of financial insecurity into the hopeful, secure world of abundance and clarity.

It’s also not about “making a lot of money.” As, I’ve had wonderful salaries in the past, and still only have $25 in my ING account, which I put in last month.

Finally, it has occurred to me that my cycle of nothing then something then nothing looks a lot like my relationships with men. It’s everything all at once, or it’s nothing nothing at all. It’s gorging on the love and intensity of a relationship, or it’s like the lonely echo down a long well shaft. Remember what I said about the Italian? Burn hot, burn quick? Yeah, well my longest (also most recent) relationship *just* made it over the 7 month mark – and the one before that (about 3 years prior) was six months. (Embarrassing, but true, prior to that, my longest official “girlfriend/boyfriend” relationship was 6 weeks. … 6 weeks with the alcoholic painter; 6 weeks with the alcoholic chef; and, oddly, firstly, 6 weeks with the non-alcoholic but tanning bed addicted jerzey guido …)

Vicious “Everything or Nothing” wields its ugly head here too.

I truly believe that as I heal one, I heal the other. And I’ve begun healing both in different ways recently.

So, To letting go of my old and best ideas, which have led me to a temp job, zero “real” prospects, and exhaustion.

Bring on the corner. (gently please?) 🙂

family · holidays · letting go · love

Origins.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

My Christmas was as it’s been the past four years now – In
San Francisco, with my great friend Luke, at the posh Kabuki movie theater, and thai food on Fillmore, followed by meeting up with some of our
fellows. We saw the new Sherlock Holmes and it was just as fun and satisfying
as the first – as my mom once put it around movies of this caliber, they’re the
kind of movies that just make your popcorn taste better 🙂 They’re not going to
change your life, but they are fun – just what one wants on a Jewish Christmas day.
Before converting to Judaism to marry his first wife, my dad grew up in an Irish Catholic family in the Bronx & Queens,
and so I also have a “real” Christmas tradition and memory of all of that. We
used to drive to Queens each year on Christmas eve and decorate the tree, and
my dad’s mom, step-dad, and half-brother would always have this elaborate and
wonderful Christmas village set up. All the little stores and shoppes 😉 We’d
put on tinsel, and the clothes-pin reindeer every kid made in school. It was
always a wonderful tradition.
Over the years, though, as things have gotten worse with
them, the tree and the village stay out all year round, and are now covered in
many years of dust and filth. And although I have a great deal of love and
compassion for them and their increasing mental illness, shut-in ways, I can’t
help but feel a little cheated at the loss of my connection to a family
history.
My grandmother is in the hospital, her leg recently
amputated, and finally her other son and husband have agreed that their house
isn’t safe for her (the only bathroom is on the 2nd floor). So, to
me, it’s a blessing – she’ll be in a nursing home till she passes, and it’s a
little bit of dignity she’ll get back as she’s cared for in this way.
However, with the loss of her, …
My last name is not really my last name. I mean it is. It’s
on my birth certificate, and it’s on my father’s. But before that, it didn’t
exist.
My grandmother got pregnant at 15 by a “Spanish electrician
named Joe.” This was all I’ve known, all my dad’s known until very recently
about his father. Irish Catholic family? 1950s? Unwed teenage pregnancy? This was not okay, and my dad’s
first few years of life were actually spent on a farm in upstate New York. The
last name was “borrowed” from a family friend from whom my grandmother’s family
asked if they could use his last name on the birth certificate. And so, our new lineage was born. With a
big fat question mark on my dad’s dad’s side of the family tree.
More than a question mark, however, were cloaks of secrecy and
shame, and a large edict to never mention this. I can’t imagine how it must
have been for my grandmother.
A few years ago, while in her kitchen, helping to prepare
the Yorkshire pudding for Christmas dinner, I asked her more questions about my
unknown grandfather. Besides saying what she would come to only say about it,
“It was a long time ago,” (end of conversation), she also said that years after
my dad was born, my grandmother’s mother showed her letters Joe had sent
her during the pregnancy which her mom had intercepted and kept hidden – letters which said that he wanted to help and be involved.
Crushing. I imagine. I told this to my dad, and he was
stunned – he never asks, or talks about it.
I’ve done a little research, and in the Bronx in the 1950s, the
“Spanish” population, not knowing if that meant Spain Spanish or Latino
Spanish, it is likely that he, my dad’s father, was either Puerto Rican or
Dominican.
The last information I’ve gotten from my grandmother was
when I sent her a letter about 2 years ago, asking politely and nicely and just
… a little desperately, for more information. And she wrote back, It was a long
time ago, times change, we move on.
And now, she lays in a hospital bed, losing her memory, and
dying with the last of any secrets or clues to my lineage, my brother’s
lineage, and that of my father. Her husband married her when my dad was 6, and
they had another son. And that’s that.
It was years before I
knew any of this about my dad’s dad. I knew that the man I knew as my
grandfather was my dad’s step father, but I was always told that there was a
real Daniels, with a backstory – a descendant of a Scottish clan – and everything.
So, Christmas. There’s a bit of acceptance I’ll just have to
work on around this. Some people really don’t know their heritage at all. Some
are adopted, or were taken from their homeland generations ago, entirely divorced from their origins.
I don’t really know what else to say about it. It feels like
a loss, like a sadness. And I’ll always be curious, and I wish I knew more, and I often assume that my nearly black hair and dark eyes like my father are from this Latin lineage, and
I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever find those letters from Joe in the packing up
of boxes once they’re all gone. 
But I do know that over the last few years,
when I’ve been in spiritual circles during which we’re asked to name our
ancestors, I name him, Grampa Joe, and call him into my circle. 
adulthood · healing · holidays · home · letting go · self-care

Hearth and Home

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Winter cleaning has begun. The clean laundry that was
occupying the “other person’s” part of the bed is now put away. And the
cleaning will continue. I’ve decided and recognized that this “free” time off
work will be an excellent time to dig out those boxes from NJ and begin to
empty them.
First, sure, there’s all the surface cleaning I need to do,
and I have a girl coming over at 1 for coffee and chat, so the surface will
need to look decent before then. But after that? Today feels like a good day to
begin, gently, with the NJ boxes.
When I began CITO, it
asked us to make space, literally, for a partner to come into our lives, and so
I emptied a drawer in my closet and a shelf in my bathroom, and I bought
silvery grey sheets, which felt gender neutral, but also pretty sexy.
My place began to feel lighter, like I was creating space,
and allowing for “Nature abhors a vacuum” to occur. Then, I sent back 6 or so
boxes from NJ. They have pictures, and old school notebooks, and old poetry,
and old journals. A girl friend of mine called me up earlier this month to say
that she was taking a page from my book when she goes home for Christmas and
wanted to know what I did with my old journals.
I said, nothing. That’s not entirely accurate. I packed them
up in NJ and shipped them here to SF, uh, Oakland, I mean. I knew that there
was enough emotional upheaval to not want to or be able to process what to do
with them when I was in NJ, and so I just packed them up and shipped them here,
and they’ve been in my closet since October.
Which is fine. And I don’t yet know what I’ll do with them.
There’s the part that wants to honor what they hold, there’s the part that
knows that the childish records of who was in a fight with who and who was
wearing what in 9th grade are not things I feel tempted to keep, but
they are funny too, now, and so, what to do with them?
There is a lot of sadness in them too. When I was home, I
was doing some sifting and sorting and discarding, and there’s poetry from
grade 2 and 3 that is already about loneliness and isolation. So, I think there’ll be
some spiritual work or process or ritual I want to do around them. Maybe my
friend and I can do something around them together.
When I got into grad school last year, another friend of mine encouraged me
to do a ritual of thanks for the gift of this opportunity. We wrote down old ideas that no longer
served us, and burned them. Then we wrote down one idea that would carry us
forward. I still have it, in my closet. It says, “We can.” Sure, a little
reminiscent of the whole Obama campaign, but it still speaks to
the same sentiment I’m continuing to address: I don’t have to do
things on my own. I don’t have to deplete my own limited resources; there is a
world of abundance around me of people, resources, help, and love, if I avail
myself of them.
So, I’m not sure what I’ll yet do with the old journals. I
know there’s a reading series in Oakland where people submit from their jr high
era journals, and then if chosen, get to read them – pretty hilarious stuff, I
hear. One that comes to mind reported to me – I haven’t been yet – is a girl
who wrote, “Maybe if I got a pig they’d like me.” 😉 She apparently grew up in
an agricultural setting…!
It also feels like an appropriate “end of year” activity, to
clean the closets, to put my apartment back into “other person” readiness.
Nature isn’t the only thing that fills in a vacuum, and I’ve begun to encroach
on the newly emptied space I cleared, filling it back up with my crap.
There’s plenty of other stuff in the boxes to go through and
set aside, organize, or discard, and it takes me a long time to decide whether
some things are worth keeping, as you sift through old high school photos,
which do you need? What is “for posterity” in my drawings, poems, items? What
is now simply junk?
But, I will recall the belief I want to carry with me – I don’t
have to do this alone – and I can call on some guidance, clarity, and a heavy
dose of lightness(!) while I sift through the remnants of my childhood.

generosity · healing · letting go · painting · recovery · relationships

The language of letting go.

Molly Daniels Hayes1 Comment

Two things occur to me about
this at the moment, situations that have come up. The first is that I’m
creating holiday cards to send out to friends and family. The second is that my
best friend from the east coast texted me last night to say that her childhood
home had been bulldozed.
To the first, I’ve stalled a little on the cards, partly
because of the insanity of my self-imposed schedule (even with the simplified
design of the card I’ve chosen to do for everyone, it’ll take 30 minutes, times
like 20 cards… = ten hours; and my list has more like 40 people on it!). And
partly stalled out because of the process around sending them, these handmade
items, out into the world. Some people may have no problem with this, and
consider it all a labor of love, but it’s nudged into a larger thing for me.
The cards will be okay, mainly because they’re all the same,
because they’re being made with the intention of being sent out. But earlier
this year, I hosted an art show with a group of my friends, and I sold a
painting. I didn’t actually think anything would sell and was delighted when
someone inquired, but also felt a sharp pang of “oh fuck”. The painting that
sold was sort of a companion piece, one was called “The Rebound”, the other, created
months later, was called “Safety or Before the Fall”. The first showed an empty
mussed up bed by candlelight, with a naked girl tucked into a corner on a chair
facing the bed, all you see are her legs wrapped up around her.
The second painting was of a woman’s hand resting on a man’s bare chest in sort of sepia-like colors, intended to connote a memory. The view most women will know instantly,
it’s the view of cuddling, the view of sleeping next to someone, to me, it was the
view of safety. That time in your day, whatever time of day it is you are
horizontal with your lover, and for those moments, nothing is wrong. You watch
your hand rise and fall with his breathing, you play with whatever strands of
chest hair, or trace lightly on the skin. It’s a moment of zen for me. Of “all
is right with the world.”
Now, of course, the second part of the title “Before the
Fall” speaks to the impermanence of that moment. Which led to “The Rebound.”
Obviously, these paintings are intensely personal and moments of my own life
which I created with my greatest ability to offer the honesty and vulnerability
of each of these moments. They were a part of me; a part of my past; and a part
of what will always hold a place in my memory and my heart.
So a woman wanted to buy “Safety.” And because it was my first
art show, and I was so excited to have an offer at all, and I didn’t know what
an appropriate amount was for it, I sold it. (The Rebound I marked as “not for
sale,” as that one, at least I knew was much too close a moment to let go of.)
Months later, I’m at an art show of a friend of mine who
makes very spiritual paintings, each radiating a kind of passion, divinity, and
connection. They are little portraits of love, and sometimes pain. And perhaps,
often both. I asked her how she feels able to let go of her paintings when
they’re obviously crafted with so much love and care. She said, firstly she
prices them in a way in which she doesn’t feel “sold short”, in a way which she
feels she wouldn’t “miss” them. (Not greedy, but not lamenting, like I am/was.)
Secondly, she said with a specific set of her work, she did a process around
letting go of each of them, in order to send them out into the Universe.
I didn’t do either of these with “Safety,” and I regret it.
Were it a higher price, I still don’t know if I would have liked to have sold
it yet. As such a fledgling artist, there’s still also a place in me in which
every piece I make is SO precious because I don’t know if I’ll have it in me to
do it again, and also, I am still sometimes astounded and proud of the work and
don’t want to let it go.
Earlier this year, I made a portrait of a friend of mine
that was very specifically for him, of him, of a San Francisco moment, and I
had no trouble giving that away to him. It was a gift for a major milestone for
him, and I wanted to honor that. And again, with the cards, knowing their
intention is to go out into the Universe to people whom I love, that is easier.
It’s these more amorphous recipients who I have trouble with.
Granted, I’m not in any art shows right now, “The Rebound”
sits in my closet, but I’ll be taking an advanced oil painting class in the
spring and imagine some more work will come out of that/be inspired by that
class.
I don’t know what all of this means in my scheme of things,
the ability to let go of my creations, but paintings have been different than
poems, or even performances. A poem, I own, I wrote, I know that moment, and I
have a document. Go ahead, read it, hear it, buy my chapbook 😉 Performances?
They only work because of you. A
performance, to me, is absolutely the love child of performer and audience, be
that performing theater or music. That’s part of the thrill of it to me, that
each night, each performance is different. It’s a thrilling moment of
co-creation.
I would like to learn how to set my paintings in a way where
they can go off to others with a sense of completion and satisfaction, even
joy, not with a sense of loss.
Lastly, I think having better documentation of my work than
my cell phone photos could help me as well 😉
To the second item of letting go, my friend’s house – I’m
out of time and room in this blog, but for now, a moment of honoring for that
house, the haven it was for me, the home it was for her, and the memories we
still get to share, 30 years later. Amen. 

 Safety or Before the Fall (June 2011)

The Rebound (March 2011)
acting · action · courage · direction · faith · intuition · letting go · maturity · performance · poetry

Just Row, Darling, Just Row.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, I’m feeling both immensely relieved, and a bit of an
emotional hangover from all of the worry and intense “gotta get it done”ness of
the school semester. I finally finished
my paper for my Shakespeare class, and emailed it to the teacher last night at 9pm.
Granted, it was only six pages,
but this whole working plus school thing really walloped what I was able to
give to school, and squished everything else into weekends that wasn’t school
and school sort of got shunted along every day, moving down my calendar like a
shuffle board disc – I can do it tomorrow, I can do it tomorrow. Like Scarlet
O’Hara – After all tomorrow is another day.
Which may be true, but tomorrow has been another day of
intense activity, and not in any way better than the day before it.
So, the paper is done. My third out of 4 semesters of my MFA
degree is done. And again, relief but… a big dose of “uhhhhhh….???” aka now
what. I’m familiar enough with situations like these to not have to worry too
much about the “now what”, but rather to just show up for what’s next, even if
that’s do the dishes (which, duh, I do have to do), and also, as I’ve been
doing more of lately, follow my little internal nudges, cuz they seem to have a
better idea than I do about wtf is going to happen or is meant to happen, or
which way I should row.
It’s funny. I had mini-epiphany a while back which went
something like the following: I only need to row. I don’t need to know which
way the boat is headed, I’m not steering, I’m not making the waves do their
thing – I only need to row, and I’ll get there.
But that didn’t quite
sit right with me. Sure, I agree, do the next indicated action – which for me
at the moment is to wash up and get ready for work (I’ve decided – for now – to
do my blogs in the morning – I procrastinate them at night, and then end up
past my bedtime – plus one thing I really did learn from all this paper-writing
pushing was that I really do write better in the morning. I’m a morning person
– sort of. I’ve already had one cup of coffee! – I’m more of a “mid-morning”
person – catch me at 10:30 or 11, and I’ll be ON IT… perhaps that’s also cuz
the other two cups of coffee will finally have kicked in…).
In any case, rowing is great – I can row, and sit backwards
and still question where the hell are we going. But I also do believe that it
is sort of my responsibility to have some vague idea of which ocean we’re in –
to extend the metaphor beyond its bounds! Maybe that’s still just me wanting to
have some control, some idea of control if I know where I am, where I’m
heading, and more about what I need to do to get there. Maybe that it doesn’t
sit comfortably is just all part of the action and practice of this thing – to
sit in the discomfort of not knowing, but to do the work anyway.
I don’t know what will happen at auditions. What will happen
after school. What will happen tonight, even! I want to know – especially the
“after school” part. Somehow I’m way more willing to let the audition stuff be
how it will be – I’m way more que cera cera about it. Because I really know that I can’t control the outcome, I can only
control how I show up and prepare for it – how I do or do not do research, take
action, practice, and look for an acting coach, like my acting friend suggested
to me. Somehow, letting go of the results of this is easy. Partly because, to
me, it also feels fun. It feels like an adventure. Like trying a new ice cream
every time. Like, I wonder what this flavor tastes like. So, of course it’s
easy to show up more lightly to those. (But I will say, I’m sure I wouldn’t
have always felt that way – which is why it’s taken me so long to even get here
to stage zeropointone or wherever I am.)
But, “after school,” the looming deadline of “you ought to
know.” More lies. I don’t know. I know that school has been the best thing I’ve
done for myself in a while. Not cuz I get to study and write poetry – that’s
cool, but it’s not where my passion is – but cuz I get to have this time to
discover all this new stuff about myself. I said when I arrived that I wanted
the two years of school to offer me time to “solidify my foundation within
myself.” And I think I’ve been doing that. Concretizing who I am, how I want to
be in this world – to have the time to become someone who can show up to
auditions with a sense of fun.
I am uncomfortable not knowing. I am uncomfortable feeling
like I’m not taking the “right” actions (not writing a sample syllabus, not looking at
teaching jobs, not knowing where I will live or want to live). But, I also don’t
want to teach. … So, that’s leaves me with a WIDE field, and too many options
feels a little like none at all in my fear-brain.
So, before I talk myself out of the awesomeness that is my
ability to show up and let go of the results, out of the awesomeness that is I
FINISHED my semester, I’ll go get my second cup of coffee from my microwave and
pray that all this rowing is better for me than I can possibly see. 
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!”

humilty · letting go · maturity · recovery

The Buddha says hello first.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

It’s a good thing a friend of mine told me this yesterday in
regard to another situation, as I ran into a woman today who I have some discomfort with.
Earlier this year, I was attempting to make Oakland
friends and so was having lunch with this woman who I’d begun to pal around with a little. She was telling me about a person who’d offended her, and began to generalize about people who were “doing it wrong.” I got a little defensive at her blanket statement, and thought that her
thinking someone else was doing it wrong was wrong. Of course, I did not see
this irony at the moment.
Instead, at the moment, I pulled a Molly, and began to give her my own
bit of unsolicited advice. I am a Queen of unsolicited advice. It has so many
different disguises, it should own a costume shop. Sometimes, it looks like me
telling you what I’ve done, so as to
insinuate what you should do. “Well, I know when I was in a similar situation,
I did xyz,… [pregnant pause, where they’re supposed to get the hint of what I’m actually
telling them to do].”
Sometimes, my unsolicited advice looks like me telling you
what other people have done who I believe have done it the “right” way. “Well,
I know when my friend went through a similar situation, she did xyz,… [pregnant
pause, where they’re supposed to get the hint of what I’m actually telling them to do].”
“I’ve heard about this book/website/meditation/ointment that might be
helpful…”
“Have you considered…”
“I used to do that, but now I…” (ha! that’s
always a good one – people loooove that)
Cuz F U, Molly D. Who the hell am I. I don’t know what’s
“right”. What’s right for you – even what’s “right” for me. Places where I
get mired in the “right way” to do something are usually places where I’m
scared to let go of my perceived control. If I don’t tell you what to do, you
won’t survive. If I don’t figure out what the right way is to do this thing,
I’m not valuable.
All of these are crap.
I dated a guy once who had a gluten allergy, and when we’d
be out at restaurants, I found myself making sure he knew what had gluten and
what didn’t … as if he hadn’t lived for 30+ years without my help ordering from
a menu. I caught myself on it eventually, and laughed, but yeah, the idea that without
*me* people are not going to “be okay.” I
know where this comes from – there were years when I did have to take on doing things “the right way” to ensure that things got done at all, that shades got drawn in the morning, that hair got combed. But,
I’m not 10 anymore, and the situations are entirely different. 

And most importantly
of every single thing, these people are not asking me.
That’s something that’s pointed out to me regularly – “Are they
asking you?” Hey Friend, so you’re telling me about this situation in your life
(housing, job, money, love, family), and obviously I’m a guru about this shit,
so why don’t I tell you precisely what I think you should do.  …. No. 99.9% of the time that they’re
not specifically asking me my opinion or my advice, they’re not asking my
opinion or my advice. Actually, it’s
probably more like 100%, but I still want to get my wedge in there somewhere! ;P
So, anyway, back to the woman I ran into today. We haven’t
really seen or spoken to each other since our mildly combative lunch date
several months ago, when I began telling her her perspective was (perhaps) skewed, and she told me very directly that she was not asking for feedback on
her perspective, period. So, I saw her today. And sure, I still have my
opinion, but she’s not asking me, and really, it’s none of my business. (Mind
my own business and have business to mind.) And I remembered that quote from
yesterday, that “The Buddha always says hello first.” And so, I said hello, she
said hello, we were cordial with superficial pleasantries, and said goodbye.
I don’t need to be “right” here. And I would really like to
stop telling people what I think about what they’re doing when they’re not
asking me. As, no matter what costume I dress it up in, I end up looking like a
witch. 

acting · action · courage · creativity · fear · laughter · letting go · performance · self-care

Must Be Present to Win

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

There’s a parable that goes something like this: A man in
Italy goes every day to a statue of Jesus, and prays every day, “Jesus, please
let me win the lottery, please let me win the lottery.” This man, every day
goes to the statue with the same prayer. “Please let me win the lottery.” One
day, the statue comes to life and says back, “Then buy a ticket.”
So, today I bought a ticket. Metaphorically. I threw my hat
in the ring. … Also metaphorically, I really like my hat.
If my audition back in April or so was a belly flop with my
eyes open (OUCH), then this was a belly flop with my eyes closed. So, it means,
I’ve learned 😉
On my way out, I texted several friends to say I sort of
blew it – my 2nd monologue went better than my 1st, the
first being too much of a Shakespearean tongue twister I just couldn’t get
memorized. But, that I did it.
A friend then called me and told me her story of her first
audition and not even knowing what they meant when they asked what she’d
“prepared.” And so, we learn. I learn. Sure there’s a twinge of disappointment,
but more than that twinge I feel like I now know several things: first off, I know how long it takes me to memorize something – and it’s more than 12 hours!!
Yep, I really only started to memorize today, although I chose the
monologues…yesterday? Friday? So, yeah, good to know. and then also good
information to not beat myself up. I gave it a really good go. But it was also,
as I’ve said, a week of insanity with school and work, and so, good enough is
good enough here.
I give myself an “A” for effort. And next time, perhaps I
can prepare longer in advance.
The other things I’ve learned are, a) I can show up (Hurrah!
good for me!) 🙂 b) where to get headshots done; c) I have allies.
More than any of my other times of leaping off a cliff, this
time I asked for more help, followed through on those suggestions, and
reached back out to people – this is a
newish thing for me – as I sometimes feel that if I’ve asked you for help once,
that’s it, my lifetime supply of asking that one person that one favor or for
one bout of help is used up. No more, well dry, try someone else.
That’s.Not.True. Sure, some people aren’t the giving type,
but for the most part, the people in my life are invariably giving, kind,
supportive, and generous. So, I asked for help a second time, and my acting
friend showed up for me. And you know what? She’ll probably even take my call
next time too 😉
So, that’s the end of this one round (at least I believe so – callbacks are
tomorrow, so I’ll know soon enough whether I am or not). But it’s one round,
not the match, or game, or series.
I’m also more willing this time to “fail,” which I’ve heard
is the key to any success. Being willing to stumble is the only way to learn to
walk, right? Persistence. Patience.
And maybe my next belly flop will be a cannonball instead.
(Whether that’s a “better” thing or not, I have no idea) 😉 (thank you friends, for your support)!!

abundance · courage · gratitude · joy · laughter · letting go · life · love · self-care

The girl just wants ta dance.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I just came back from a Keb’ Mo’ concert. if you don’t know
him or his music, I highly encourage you to youtube him. It’s delta bluesy funny + sad + honest. I don’t know how I found out about him, but I’ve been listening
to him for at least 6 years now, and he’s in my top at least 5 musicians.
The show was incredible.
He was funny and humble, and so freaking talented (a steel
guitar could melt my soul). and his voice. what emotion that man has. I actually welled up a few times in
the beginning when it was just him and his guitar – just out of pure joy and
appreciation that a man, and music, like this exist in the world.
It was wonderful. I smiled til my cheeks hurt, I stood up
with the two ladies next to me when no one was dancing yet, and just clapped
and hooted and shimmied till… well, not till anything. I just did. I just was.
I was happy.
The only downside to
any of it is that I yelled and howled so much that I think I strained my throat
and I have a vocal performance for my singing class tomorrow! But – It was so
worth it – it was worth being out on a “school night”. Worth taking BART home from the city. It was worth it
to be able to sit at the bus stop with an older African American lady who’d
been in my row at the show and gush about how just tickled pink we were.
I won’t go on about his music, but well, everyone left
feeling joyful – that was the palpable emotion. The induced and provoked and
invoked emotion. And not all music shows are like that. I do also love the harder more
rock-y stuff to dance myself out to, but that produces a way different emotion – more RWAHH!! LIFE IS LOUD AND RIGHT NOW!!! Lol, but then again, you can’t really dance to punk rock either – it’s more like snap your head in time with the fastest beat,
throw in some shoulder, and occasionally shimmy some hips. I dance at the
shows. I’m that girl now.
I used to not be – or only when I was drunk and became …
well, let’s just say lecherous and often involving Elaine-like flailing (and
falling). So when I wasn’t drinking when I went out anymore, at first I felt I
had to be “super cool” by not acting like I was into the music – which likely I
wasn’t cuz I was probably too busy thinking about what everyone was thinking
about me. Yeah, I have that kind of self-centeredness. But, it’s gotten WAY
better. And I love to dance. Perhaps I’m not a particularly good dancer (I hold
with the view that the best dancer is the person having the most fun) but I do
have rhythm of sorts and I just love to let my body just get into the stream of
the music, to just let it do what it wants to do in response to what I’m
hearing, what I’m feeling from the bass and the crowd.
So, yeah, me and two middle aged white ladies stood up and
danced. Eventually more people did too – the domino effect, because likely I’m
not the only one who thinks about what other people will think of me. But this
is certainly a period of “but do it anyway” for me.
On the way out, a guy asked me out – and I said Not right
now but thanks. On the way to BART a guy told me he liked my outfit and that he
had “nothing to follow that.” It was sweet.
It appears to be true – the happier I am, the more
approachable I am. Not that that’s the end goal – it’s just interesting to
notice.
The last thing is, Keb Mo’s last song of the encore went,
“She’s not lookin’ for a lover/She’s not lookin for Romance/The girl just wants
ta dance.” Amen.
acceptance · fantasy · fear · letting go · love · relationships · school · spirituality

"This Rare Human Life" – P.C.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Before I go any further, I must report the variety of
references that occurred in tonight’s Shakespeare class:
Zombie Romeo, Dr. Who, the youtube video of a gosling
falling asleep, The Twilight Zone, and a graphic novella by Neil Gaiman.
And, most surprisingly, were all pertinent to our discussion
– well, except Zombie Romeo – he’s just fun to talk about.
Grad school is weird.
Next, it’s a very
good thing that the topic for today’s Calling in the One was about Abe Lincoln’s quote that we are “all as happy
as you make up your mind to be,” and to actively practice being happy in the
situation we are in, in the life that we are in no matter what it includes or
doesn’t include.
This is a very good thing I read this last night before bed,
as when I woke up, I did a dumb thing – I looked at an ex’s facebook page. Now,
now! I had good intention, there was this link he just needed to have, it so referenced inside jokes that happened
when we were together – it was pertinent…necessary…
I’ve pasted the link into the comment box … and then I see a
recent tagged photo of him with a girl. … My gut goes PHOOM – CLUNK – GAK and
STAB. Now, I have no idea who this woman is – could be his cousin – though I
doubt that. I delete the link. Ack – how that spun me. For several minutes I was …
triggered? I guess could be the word there?
Now, yes, I broke off our relationship. Yes, we both know
that we weren’t suited for the “long haul.” Yes, I really do believe there are
people who we are both more well suited
for – but F8ck! did you have to find one first!
Ha, as if it’s some contest. As if “happiness” is a contest.
Nannynanny poopoo I got there fiiirst.
So, there were a few minutes of pain that I don’t really
know what emotion it was – jealousy, envy, sadness? And I texted a few friends,
and then as I was putting my coffee in the microwave, I see on my fridge is a
card that has that very same Abe Lincoln quote on it. About being as happy as I
make up my mind to be. And I go back to the CITO book and I look at the wording for today’s “assignment,” and it’s to
affirm that I am happy with everything that I have and everything that I don’t
have. Everything as it is.
So, I say that a few times, sip some coffee, and text my
friends back and say, I’m okay, it was just sort of a kick in the chest, but
that I know that I’m making myself available for something phenomenal – and, in
fact, that I really do wish him to be happy. There’s nothing “wrong” with him –
as really, there’s nothing “wrong” with anyone – just things that don’t work for me or that I may not agree with.
So, there’s nothing “wrong” with any of this at
all. I mean, my life is chock full at the moment. I left the house to go meet
with my fellows this morning and had some good chuckles and a dash of support –
and I got to hold a two-month old baby and told my friend I’d be happy to
babysit – he seemed quite relieved to imagine an hour or more when he and his
wife could have silence. Babies sort of readjust your soul I think.
I went to the dentist for a check-up, I ate some lunch, and
then I met with my Shakespeare professor about my final project. … It may not
have Muppets. Sorry folks. He said, although he loves the um, enthusiasm,
perhaps I could thing of a more “robust” frame. So we spoke for quite some
time, and I also asked him what he thought of a female monologue from Shakespeare
for my audition on Sunday, and gave me some alternative ideas (I still have to
get my headshots printed. … gak).
Afterward, directly as I was walking down the stairs from
that meeting, I get a call from a girl friend whom I love dearly but hadn’t spoken
with in months. We chat for nearly an hour, then it’s time for dinner and
class.
So, yeah, my life is full. Of action, activities, love,
self-care, friendship, community.
And two of my friends texted back this morning to say that
my reaction was human. Just human. Normal, and human. And for me, another
thing to accept is that “human” is not a curse word.