Category: self-care

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?) 🙂

adventure · community · cooking · joy · performance · self-care

Italian Hot and Sweet

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

First of all, thank you for the outpouring of love which
you’ve sent me over the last 24 hours. I am grateful for your love and care.
I took yesterday off from work at the suggestion of the
receptionist, whom I called to say I was running late and was dragging a bit as
my grandmother had passed away, and she asked, Why are you coming in? Stay
home. And I said, well, I have those projects I want to finish so maybe I don’t
have to come in next week, and I’ll be in as soon as possible.
After about another 10 minutes of semi-aimlessness, I called
back and said, you know what, I’m going to take your suggestion and not come in
today – I’ll be in on Monday. And, so I will. I do have one project, not to
finish, since it’s epic, but to show her how to do, to pass the torch, and once
I do that, complete that task, I will be done there. I say with a finality that
allows for change 😉 But, I am feeling so over it. Sure, lots of people feel
“over” their jobs, but I have the opportunity and the freedom to make a change,
and so, I will make it. Before I get too resentful, too late, and burn a bridge
I may need some day.
One of my options for alternative income will be approved or
denied on Sunday. I’m auditioning for the live modeling guild in the Bay Area,
and they pay well. Like I’ve said before, they also require “motorized
transportation,” but I’m not all too worried about that. I have a feeling
things are in the works around me and a car. First of all, because I reached
out for help around finding one, and second because I have the support system
of my financial folks to help me really piece together the amount I can spend –
although I haven’t sat down with them yet, I let two people know that I would
be reaching out to do so.
Today is my audition for a musical theater company, and true
to my Serenity Moth, I haven’t practiced whatsoever. I have the music for one
of the two songs I’ll sing, but am still not sure what my second one will be.
And, I wish I’d practiced. Duh.
It’s “funny.” I had done my numbers in December, and had
come to the conclusion that I actually didn’t need to work these few weeks before school started, but
greed and anxiety came in, and I took the two weeks at the temp job. “Funny” is
that last week I was stupidly sick, and worked one full day. That’s it.
Then, this week, with my increasing lateness to work, and then taking off
yesterday, I haven’t worked a full week anyway. It’s like the Universe saying, See, darling, sometimes things will end up the way they’re supposed to
anyway – and you would have been better off not fighting it.
Yesterday, I did meet up with a friend for tea, and we spoke
poetry, and school, and artistic integrity and honesty. And it was just nice to
sit in the middle of the day drinking a hot beverage with a beloved friend. I
wish I’d allowed myself the last two weeks to do that. But, c’est la vie.
Perhaps lesson learned.
Afterward, I took a walk up over the border between Oakland and
Piedmont (aka the rich section), and went up to my favorite tree swing. There
are a number of swings in the streets up there, hanging from the trees closest
to the sidewalk and street, and although when I first began to sit on them last
year, I felt self-conscious, like these were someone else’s and I shouldn’t be
on them – I’ve gotten over it 😉 And I sat for a while on my favorite swing,
swinging intermittently and letting myself oscillate back to center – which
sort of feels like a metaphor for yesterday.
The later afternoon I spent on my couch in the dwindling
sunshine reading Eat Pray Love, a book
I’ve read before, and which seemed exactly the book I felt like reading. And
perhaps influenced by the first section when the author is in Italy, and
influenced by her self questioning (What would you, self, like to do?), in the evening, I asked myself
what I wanted to eat. Nothing on
the commercial strip seemed like what I wanted, so I decided to go to the
grocery market, and just see what appealed and cook something. I had a vague
idea about a pasta dish I’ve made before (also likely influenced by the “food porn”
section of the book) but they didn’t have fresh basil (it’s not at all
basil season at the moment), so I started to pick up random vegetables that
spoke to me.
This blog perhaps is longer than I intended, but a long time
ago in a galaxy far away, I was a 19 year old suburban college student in the
summer between sophomore and junior year, and I was blazingly in love with an
Italian-American. Blazingly – burn hot, burn quick. He, of the red growling IROC
camaro, yes, really, and against-stereotype dredlocks, was a chef. (Well, at the
moment, he worked at a pizza shop, but…)
One evening, he and I were in the kitchen of my house and he
decided to cook up dinner. He began to do the most amazing thing. Something I
had never ever seen before. He started to randomly take items, vegetables, meat, out
of the refrigerator and prepare them for the pot. How do you know what to
put in?? I squealed. Without a
recipe??
I was shocked. I had never seen someone cook in this way
before – without a recipe. He replied, I just know what I like, so I throw it in.
It was so novel. It perhaps sounds ridiculous to you, but at
that moment, my entire world of cooking and food was cracked wide open – and
beyond that, my ideas of rules, freedom, joy, frivolity, experimentation were
cracked open as well. It was a pinnacle moment for me. And each time I just
begin to “throw stuff in,” I still get a thrill of adventure.
So, when, yesterday, I was in the grocery store, and had to
abandon my very specific basil recipe, I found myself creating something
entirely new. Would it work? Who cares – I want to try. So, with a basket
filled with locally-made pasta, sun-dried tomatoes, capers, Italian sausage –
hot and sweet, a log of mozzarella, stalks of asparagus-thin broccoli, and a few sweet red peppers,
I headed home to the healing power of food, creation, adventure, and self-care.
P.S. it was marvelous! – but next time, ix-nay on the
capers 😉

adulthood · family · honesty · love · self-care

Passing.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I found out yesterday that my grandmother died in the middle
of the night before. My dad texted me after I’d gotten out of work to call him,
and I knew, or expected that to be the information he’d give me. It was. And
he’s alright. He’s, well, he’s not an emotional guy, but in the last few months
of his mother’s sharp decline, he’s been pretty roller-coaster about it – which
has been a little ungrounding for me – to see stone cry is a little … weird.
It’s been coming. She’s been in decline for a while, and has
spent the last month or so in a nursing home/hospital. Which has been like a
blessing. As some of you may recall from previous blogs, she and her husband
and other son are sort of (no, not sort of, badly) hoarders, who live in chaos and
desperate filth. So, it was a blessing that she got to spend her last month
having her basic needs of food and cleanliness taken care of. She was losing
her marbles, and sort of didn’t know where she was, but, I was glad for it.
Two things are sticking in my craw about yesterday, though.
I called a few people after I talked to my dad – got several voicemails, and
one lovely friend. And after wandering around the commercial street near where
I live, sort of meandering aimlessly, I called my brother. To find out how he
was, and just to tell him I was thinking about him. He feels similarly, that it
was a blessing, and I told him that I wonder what will happen to the other two
(her husband and son), and Ben said angrily, “I don’t really care.”
When she went into the hospital/nursing home, it was around
the corner from where they lived in Queens. And yet, the reports I heard were
that the other two were not visiting her at all. The reality is that they have been
shut-ins for a long time (getting groceries delivered to the house), and I imagine that having the linch-pin of their family
trio dying in the hospital was more than these fragile, broken people could
handle. I have a shit-load of compassion for them. They are sad, doing the best
they can people. And the best they could do was not to go to visit her.
This pissed my brother off, who seemed completely happy
enough to write them both off. There will not be a service, my dad said, and he
and his fiancé are having a shiva (sort of like a wake, without the body) at
his fiance’s house on Sunday, and he’s invited his and her various social
communities. But, for Ed and Randell, my grandfather and uncle, there’s
nothing. A cremation, I heard.
The reality is that Ed (my dad’s step-father) and Ran (my
dad’s half brother) have been in my life since I was born. We spent Christmases
there; Ran set up all the small little lighted up villages; Ed wrote all the
cards for the presents as riddles, giving clues to what was inside, sometimes a
series of gifts with strange rhyming clues to get to the final “answer”
present. For all their descent into disturbia, they loved my brother and I. And
my dad, and my mom.
And that’s the other craw-sticker. After talking with my
brother last night, I bought a few needed groceries, and came home. I’d spent a
long time in the used bookstore before I called him, looking at titles from
authors like Thich Nat Hahn, and Chodron, and Cameron, looking for comfort, I
suppose. But I didn’t buy anything. In fact, I didn’t buy my way out of my
feelings, climb into the movie theater, go to blockbuster, the ice cream shop,
or over eat. I felt sad. That feels like a normal reaction. The “both/and”:
relief for her release from suffering (one hopes), and sadness for losing the
last blood related grandparent.
In any case, I bought some apples, eggs, and oatmeal, and
came home. I made some of my new favorite tea, and sat down, and cried a bit.
Then I called my mom. She and I haven’t spoken on the phone
for over 6 months, for reasons which again made themselves evident last night,
but for which I had better tools to handle them. I left her a voicemail, as it
was close to 11pm on the east coast. My dad had asked that I tell her, and I
agreed before saying that actually she and I weren’t in the best of touch at
the moment, and he said okay, he’d ask Ben.
My parents do not speak since their divorce over 10 years ago.
At all. It’s not like they’ve erased, ignored their portion of life together;
no, rather they each feel indignant and rageful and affronted toward the other.
It’s awful. And I have had to spend a lot of time working up the boundaries to
say, “That’s not my business,” when they each separately want to talk about the
other.
My mom called me back last night. And we spoke for a little
bit, and I told her about Ben’s reaction. I mean, she is my mom. It was finally
who I wanted to talk to. Not to tell her, as Ben could have and would have done
it (as inappropriate, perhaps, as that may have been), but because sometimes we
just want our mom. My mom is not the mom I want, but she is the mom I have. And I am coming to grips with trying
to not change her. (And, I won’t enumerate her assets here, but she is also one
of the brightest, funniest women I know, and has shown me a great deal of love
in my life to the best of her ability to do so.)
That said. When she began to say that if it weren’t for me
and ben, she wouldn’t know anything that’s happening, and Dad’s stopped talking
to her, that he’s been—
I cut her off. I said that I didn’t want to talk about that.
And she paused, and said, well the point is that thank you for telling me.
(Perhaps you can gather what a less-able-to-put-up-boundaries Molly was subject
to in last year’s conversation. Narcissism is not just a river in Africa.)
So. Yeah. I’m going to call my grandfather today and offer
my condolences, as that’s really all that I can do from here, and it’s what I
want to do. It doesn’t matter how the other members of my immediate family are
reacting to this passing, or the remaining alive members of my grandmother’s
immediate family. I am able to show up with love. And so I will.
Too, I can accept that the same compassion I am able to show
them, I could extend to my immediate family – because anger, indignation,
narcissism – these are actually the best they are able to do. This, right here,
is my family’s best, and I won’t try to ask them to be or do more than that.
What I will do is allow myself to show up at my best, and leave the rest alone. 

abundance · action · home · self-care · synchronicity

Lighten up!

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Yesterday, I bought a new comforter. The one that I had was given to me by a kind friend, but was
stained and dark, and it went down on my list of Serenity Moths on Tuesday.
(Something subtle that eats away at my serenity, yet doesn’t have to.) Also on
my list was my apartment being dark. Part of that is due to the fact that the
lamp I have on my desk does not have a lampshade, and so I taped a piece of
construction paper around it like a shade, but am usually too nervous of fire to keep
it on!
So, after work, I went to Ross, the discount store (i.e. Marshalls,
etc — east coasters shout out!), and found a new, white, soft, warm comforter.
And now it’s on my bed. As I live in a studio, whatever color is on my bed
really changes and is obvious in the whole apartment. So, I got to cross
“stained comforter” off my list, and am heading in the direction of crossing
off “dark apartment.”
I realize that almost all of the furniture in my apartment
came to me absolutely free. I reflect on this, as I begin to think
again/re-address/new-perspectivize myself toward abundance in my life. Every
major piece was free. A gift of the universe. The bed came first. When I moved to California,
my one friend was like, uh, is that all you brought? I had a few suitcases and a
pillow. 😉 She said she would have brought a u-haul with all her stuff. But,
truth be told, I didn’t have that much, having just recently moved back from
South Korea – all I had was in my childhood room in NJ, and no, I was not going
to bring a twin sized bed to my “new life” in San Francisco.
When I got my first craigslist apartment, yay! here’s a
room. … with nothing in it. Nothing at all. Not even a bed. Miraculously enough
– very incredibly miraculously enough – my new roommate said his girlfriend just
bought a new mattress set, and was getting
rid of her old one. As I didn’t have any money, I offered that I could give her
the $75 gift certificate to Victoria’s Secret that my dad’s fiancé gave to me
as a parting gift in NJ. Sold.
That very day, we went and picked up a Queen-sized, good
condition mattress and box spring. I have it to this day. For free. Or, as
close to free/not out of my pocket as you can get.
When I moved to my own one-bedroom in SF, the next big piece
was my couch. I wanted a pull-out for visitors, and lo and behold, on
craigslist was a free two seater pull out couch. I don’t even know how I was
able to transport it – my good friend and her boyfriend helped me, as he had a
truck, and it is so damned heavy with
all its metal internallings. Why was it absolutely free? Because the awful blue
sofa also was entirely scratched apart on the arms of it and the back of it by
a very active cat. Some of the stuffing was even coming out of the arms. No
problem. I went to Bed Bath and Beyond, and found a perfect chocolate colored faux-suede sofa
cover, and I have it to this day 😉
The rest of the pieces have come off the street, or several once from
one of the buildings managed by the property management company I worked for.
The building manager had a whole host of excess furniture in the basement. For
the price of looking, asking, being organized to get transportation, and most
importantly asking for help around it, I’ve acquired an entire mod-podge
apartment of furniture that looks pretty cohesive.
The shade-less lamp, I paid $6 for, and it may have to go, or a
lampshade will become available (believe me, I’ve been looking!), and I also
paid for the omigod this couldn’t be any
more perfect 2nd bedside table which perfectly matches the off-the-street one on my side. The new one was bought at a garage sale around the time I was doing the Calling in
The One exercises on creating space for a
partner. It isn’t a replica of the first, it’s a partner. It matches,
complements, enhances the first. Sort of what a partner should – or can – do, eh?
To abundance. And my lightening up apartment, heart, and
outlook. 😉
courage · dating · fortitude · Jewish · relationships · self-care

Saturn Returns.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Every twenty-eight years, the planet Saturn returns in its
orbit around the sun to place it had been when we were born. Every 28 to
approximately 30 years, there is a window of time which some people call
“Saturn Returns.” According to some, this period of time is ripe with change
and opportunity. Usually there are major life changes in this period, either
positive or negative, and according to legend, the lessons that we do not learn
during this first period of Saturn Returns around our 30th birthday,
we have the opportunity to learn again as we approach 60; and if we’re lucky
enough to be healthy for it, again around our mid to late 80s.
In what is proving to be one of the most uncomfortable
changes I’m making in this, my period of Saturn Returns, I cancelled my date
with the Catholic for tonight, and am finally, after many f’ing years of
debate, accepting that a Jewish partner is not only important to me, but
necessary.
What makes this choice hard? Or this admittance? Well, it
feels like I’m closing a very large shiny door behind which are many large
shiny non-Jews. I also have debated whether this is “self-will,” me attempting
to shoe-horn myself into a belief that isn’t true or fair, one that says I’ll only date
Jews. How closed off is that?
But, the truth, the very hard truth of it is, that it’s the
only thing for me to do. I have been down the relationship path with men who
are not Jewish (in fact, no serious relationship I’ve ever had has been with
someone Jewish). What inevitably happens is that I spend a very large amount of
time while in the relationship debating whether it is a “deal-breaker,” until my brain feels like an out
of shape yoga participant. Achy, cranky, tired.
Ironically enough, on my date with this Catholic gentleman
on Monday, we’d been talking briefly about tattoos, and I said how I’d been
delaying my next one, as it’d be a large commitment. That I carry a quote from
a Starbucks coffee cup in my wallet which says something like, To commit to
something, in work, or in play, is to remove our brain as a barrier to our
life.
To commit to this decision, to set down this whirling dervish of questioning … could be
a relief. I have never dated women – do I lament that I’ve “cut off” an entire
portion of the population? No. I’ve finally come to admit that dating someone
taller than me is actually really important to me. And that’s felt like a
sacrifice too. But, it’s funny, I’ve been noticing a lot more cute tall men
over the last two months…
Because what it all comes down to isn’t about religion or
self-will, it’s about abundance. Can I actually let myself believe that if I
really do, in my heart of hearts, want to spend a romantic life with someone
Jewish, can I believe that there is a tall, attractive, employed, happy, funny,
Jewish man out there? Seems like a tall order! (uh, no pun intended.) But, is
it? I mean, when I think about the kinds of miracles that I’ve witnessed in my
life and in the lives of others, am I still willing to debate the power of
what’s possible in this world? When I look at the majority of the community I
know as people who have been pulled back from the gates of insanity and death
to become working members of society with entirely incredible things to
contribute – am I still unwilling to
allow myself to believe?
The painful answer is no. I am not unwilling anymore. I have
been beaten into a state of reasonableness, I have suffered under the pain of
my manic debating society, and I have resigned from that committee. I am
willing to commit to the belief that my needs are important. Haven’t I been
saying that here for a while? Haven’t I run into places in my professional life
where I’ve agreed to things I don’t want, only to have to back out? Haven’t I
made a conscious and kind-to-myself decision to not do that anymore?
Isn’t this the same thing? Isn’t this the same cosmic
lesson? To listen to myself. To allow my needs to be heard. To be responsible
to myself with care, not dismissal. Yes. It is.
And so, here I sit, willing to allow the same consideration to my romantic life that I am newly showing myself in the areas of my professional and creative life, to
allow that faith, that sense of fun, and play, and direction, and the firm
belief that wherever these bits in the cement are coming from, I can trust that
I am being led to a life worth living.
It feels so uncomfortable. Which sort of points out to me
that it’s the “right” thing. I’ve resigned before to the “easy” route of accepting whatever’s in front of me, only to end up in pain. This is making a resolute decision to groove a new
path. 
A good girl friend reminded me yesterday that crazy things happen when people are supposed to be
together, so if this particular gentleman or another non-Jew is actually
supposed to be it, he will be. “If it’s meant to be, you can’t fuck it up; if
it’s not meant to be, you can’t fix it.”
But ultimately, she also said that she sees this decision as me letting go of the rock in the middle of the river, and allowing myself to float. 
So, here’s to learning the lessons this orbit around. Bring
on the miracles.
acting · dating · fun · recovery · self-care

Restraint of Thumb and Send

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, it’s official. I am still sick and am going to pick up
an Rx from Kaiser shortly. I called out of work, which felt so lame considering
I’d just had a week off, but my brain also feels as though it’s been gelled
into a jell-O mold. Perhaps bunt cake shaped, next to candied lemon slices.
Hence the delay of this morning’s blog.
The first time I got sick in sobriety, I was very confused.
I suppose that having a near-chronic strep throat from smoking til I couldn’t
swallow anymore made something as mild as a cold very unique and novel. Also, I
think that when your blood is half alcohol, it fends off most infections.
I’d woken up that time a little off, not really feeling much
gumption, and decided to go shopping. I bought a large cup of coffee and
wandered the stacks of shoes in DSW shoe store for about an hour, and left with
a purchase in hand and an empty coffee cup…and yet I didn’t feel any better. I
was very confused. Shouldn’t this have worked? Coffee and shopping? They make
everything better, right? They always cured the melancholia I assumed I was
having. But, nope. Still felt off. What could be wrong?
I swear, I really didn’t get it. Finally, I realized as if
inventing the light-bulb, OH! I must be sick! It was a moment of brilliance.
Luckily, I have gotten to know myself and my body better since then, and am
willing to take care of myself in ways that don’t involve retail therapy –
which, FYI, doesn’t cure a sinus infection.
As to the title of this blog. With my brain in the wonky
suspended state it’s currently in, well, it’s had a lot of time to latch upon
obsessing about the guy I went out with on Monday, and pro-ing and con-ing and
measuring the distance between here and where he lives. My brain likes to
satellite around it, like your tongue going to a sore spot in your mouth, drawn
there unintentionally.
So, if there’s “Restraint of Tongue and Pen,” I heard once
that in these modern marvel text-addicted days, there’s also “Restrain
of Thumb and Send.” I have composed lots of them already in my busy, befogged
brain. But haven’t yet sent any. I sort of feel like it’s the same advice as,
Don’t make any phone calls or major decisions after 10pm. So, don’t contact a
dude when your eyeballs feel like there’s marching band drum practice behind
them.
But. I might. 😉
What else is on my mind is the women’s retreat I’m going to
this weekend, which I’ve gone on for the last 4 years or more, and I’m glad I’m
taking care of this cold&sinus thing before then, as it’s also really hard
to meditate with said marching band practice. I began reading Shakespeare’s Henry
V last night, as I got a confirmation email
for my audition slot in two weeks(!!), and that’s one of the plays the company is
doing this year. From the introduction in my book to that play, however, the
consensus was it’s not the best play, but I’ve never read it, and perhaps a
commentary on an inflated political figure is a good parallel for our times.
Lastly, on my mind is fluidity. I met with a girlfriend on Monday
for coffee, and she’s an expressive arts therapist. She asked me what was up
with me lately, and I was again reiterating my non-desire to be a teacher when
school is done. That there’s a sense in me lately that I don’t want to be tied
to a geographical region. There’s some kind of impending knowledge that I want
more fluidity than that, than being tied to a region, besides my other
non-desires to teach at the moment.
So, my friend asked if she could do a little “work” with me
then. Sure, why not. She asked me to close my eyes and imagine that fluidity,
which I’d also called joy, and to create and act a movement to it. So, I closed
my eyes, and I wiggled and waved my arms and body, gently and arms open. We
both laughed, and then she asked me then to think about teaching, and to create
a movement to that. My arms immediately contracted in, and sort of harrumphed in a Rodin’s
“Thinker” pose, continuing to sigh and constrict in this closed pose.
It was very telling. She said there was more we could do
with it, but I had to leave for said date. This wasn’t “new” knowledge, but it
was certainly another underlining of the knowledge I have, and a kinesthetic
expression of where I want to go. Follow the joy. Follow the fun. Follow the
fluidity.
What that means in practical terms, I don’t yet have any
idea. But to commit to a teaching job at this juncture, to actively pursue one,
would be equivalent to dipping my soul in cement, and I want to be much lighter
than that. And, I believe I’m worth more consideration than that.

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. 😉
faith · fortitude · love · self-care · sex

Holding the High Watch

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

The best laid plans, right? I had grand ones for this week,
then I got sick. I am on the mend, past the worst I think (insert ad for
Airborne here [despite others’ nay-saying about its efficacy, I swear by it,
and finally stocked up yesterday]).
It has given me the opportunity to nest a little bit; I
haven’t cleared my NJ boxes, but I have put up the revised “vision of love”
collage. It’s so much better than the
last – I wish I’d taken a before photo of the beige yawn it had been! And I
have another decorating project I might get to.
I think I know why I got sick – what tipped the scales from
‘minor winter ill-health’ to full-blown ‘duuuude, I don’t feel so good.’ I made
out with someone. — Not that this is karmic retribution or anything, but that he must have been sick too. 
A few days ago, I was in the car with a guy friend of mine.
We have a teeny bit of history having been involved for a full 4 hours 😉 a few
years ago but have remained pretty good friends, sort of sweeping it under the
rug. We often talk about our dating lives and such, and as he’s giving me a
ride home, we begin to talk about it again, what’s going on, etc, lighthearted,
etc.
Except…
I begin to say that I am of two minds lately. The one mind
that knows I’m “holding the high watch” as it were for something real,
potentially lasting, and ultimately revolutionizing. (Realistic… right? [I do
think so actually!]) I tell him about the work I’d been doing via Calling in The
One, and about how I am attempting to
create my best life, so when I meet someone, I’m fully present and accountable
for myself, I’m engaged in a life that makes me happy, and I’m not seeking for
someone else to make me happy or to take care of the needs within myself that
are actually my responsibility.
This is basically the aim of the book, and of a lot of the
spiritual work I do. To become my authentic and most available and active self.
That said,
I am also of another mind. Which says, I’m 30 years old, my
bones and ligaments only getting older and less nimble, and these are prime sex
years that I feel I’m wasting! It feels like a tragedy to let each day go by
without engaging in one of life’s greatest pleasures.
My guy friend says that it sounds like my body is saying one
thing and my head is saying another – but I really think it’s everything all at
once, to use that phrase again. My heart & head know what I’m doing,
holding the high watch, creating space, making room, expanding my life in
positive ways. They/I know that this “lull” is temporary, and perhaps in fact
necessary to sort of flush the system, or simply not clog it with anything less
than awesome.
In his car out front of my apartment, I ask, Has this whole
conversation been your way of saying you want to make out? and he laughs, I’m not
that transparent, am I?
But, being a hot-blooded human and woman, and knowing the
course of the conversation had been headed here, and having actively
participated in it, we make out.
And it’s fun and hot for a full ten minutes or so, and then
I know I have to leave. I don’t want to sleep with him, though, surely it would
be fun, but I am very familiar with fun
of this sort, this particular sort, which looks like neither of us actually
being romantically attracted to each other whatsoever, and I am also very familiar with the … blasé sort of let-down feeling
as you each pick up your discarded socks and clunk through some small talk and
try to figure out how quickly you can get out of there.
Sex is temporary. Love is not.
So, despite the “tragedy” of “wasted sex years,” I am clear
on what I am heading toward. I am clear on the woman and partner I want to be.
Clear-ish. I know it’s fluid. But I also know I am very much done (she says,
knowing things may always change) with vapid sex.
Besides, Good Vibrations appreciates my business. 
action · integrity · joy · performance · persistence · self-care

"Forbidden", Make that "Attainable" Joys

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

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. 
faith · growth · recovery · self-care

Vitamin D

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I sit here in the long, angled slants of winter sun, bundled
in my pjs, robe, and two blankets, with a bowl of cinnamon apple I just made. I
was told recently that Vitamin D is a really great healer, and as I’m sick and
had to cancel my plans for today, I’m sopping up this natural resource as much
as I can.
As I’m sick, this blog may not make much sense 🙂 and may
have contributed to the ‘downer’ mood of yesterday’s, but, c’est la vie.
I said a few months ago, around the time that I was preparing
to go home to pack up my house that I felt like my life was “Everything all at
once.” The money stuff was hitting a wall again, family was a beast, and I
generally felt overwhelmed.
A turn came when I also realized that “Everything all at
once” must include the good things too.
Right? If it’s everything, everything, all this drama and hardship and challenge and chaos, what must also
be happening and available is calm, serenity, growth, and gifts.
Perspective is everything.
So, if at the same time that I’m experiencing a profound
bolstering in my sense of inner strength, this doesn’t preclude that there is
also … life, with all its attendant twists.
To take a narrative turn, my only tattoo is on my left
wrist, and it is of the sun. In my senior year of college, the wall opposite my
bed had a filled-in doorway to the next room, but the molding for the door was
still there. When I’d painted the room, I’d left the molding white, so it was
like a frame. Knowing I was inching toward a tattoo of the sun, I decided it
would be a good idea to live with one for a while, to see if I got sick of it.
So, I began to draw on my wall in that frame, an enormous
sun, with each flame around it different and specific, and within the circle of
the sun was the infinity symbol drawn sort of like a ribbon or mobius strip, so
it was three-dimensional, folding in on itself, traveling infinitely.
These two images to me, infinity and the sun, were images of
“constants.” Things that would always be (though yes, the argument can be made
about the sun, but in my lifetime at least, it is a constant!). An anchor
amidst whatever else was going on, these things would always be.
When I brought my design to the artist, my wrist was too
small to take the detail of the drawing, and so we simplified it majorly.
Sometimes people assume that the lines within the circle on my wrist are of a
yin-yang, which sort of bothers me 😉 as I want to say, ew, no, I’m not that hippie, lol. But, I know what it represents.
Along those lines of constancy, for the last … maybe 4
years, I’ve been playing with another tattoo design, but have hesitated because
it would cover the entire right side of my body from top of my ribs to my
hipbone, and part of me feels “bad” or guilty rather to cover the work that is
already there – me 😉 The art G-d already made. It’s like graffiti – you never
tag over someone else’s work. Never.
So, twice, I’ve brought my design in to two different
artists. One was not quite my style, but still has my deposit, I believe! The
other, I found about a year ago, when searching online for someone who would be
good with the design I had in mind – and lo and behold, this guy had just
opened up a shop above Union Square, and I met with him, and we emailed photos
and sketches ad nauseum, and finally, we got it right.
Then, I got into grad school, and was soon to be unemployed,
and let him know, and he said cool, and to get in touch when I wanted to do it.
The design combines the images of the “hand of G-d” and the
“tree of life.” The trunk of the tree would be the wrist of a hand, with the
main branches as the outward curving of fingers. But it would look like a tree,
of course, and that’s what drew me to this guy. I’d seen some work he did where
the trees looked so intricate and phenomenal – it’s hard to do a tree! So, you wouldn’t be entirely sure, or
it wouldn’t be obvious, that it
was a hand, but it is.
The branches would be covered in each of the seasons, moving
from one to the next, Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring (so that the sparse branches
of winter weren’t on an end, and also, to indicate that after the death of
winter, there is always spring).
The root system would travel down over my hipbones, equally
as massive and firm as the branches, because the degree to which we flower is
equal to the degree to which we are rooted, I believe.
I still think about this design, and it fits in well with my
first one with regard to constancy – the constancy of a Higher Power in my life
and the constancy of the potential to grow and flower continuously, infinitely.
We’ll see what happens, he still has my deposit too, and I
still have his final design. But I love the ideas I’ve chosen to live with, and
I don’t for a second regret the one on my wrist. And as the sun, here, now,
today, makes it’s slow way from behind another building onto me tucked into my
cozy couch, I am again grateful. For the reminder that it’s okay to be still
and mend today as tomorrow will come too; the reminder that growth is infinite
and continuous; and that there is always, always something to count on.