Pulling a Carmen: 2

May 5, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

When I began this blog-a-day back in November of last year,
my first post was called “Pulling a Carmen,” as I’d been reading and was encouraged by her own blog-a-day postings. In the time since, sometimes I
just find it hugely funny how parallel my path is to my fellow blogger and
friend.

For recent example:

I also just starting going back on to the internet dating
scene. In fact, I have a coffee date today with someone I met on JDate

I too have said fuck it, and asked out a dude yesterday.
Unfortunately, turns out he’s married, but it felt really good to do so.

Several of the books that are lining my desk and bedside
table are travel books about Europe, underlining my intention to take a real
freaking vacation some time this century.

And, I also rented a camera and video camera from the
school’s A/V department to begin taking pictures again.

Sometimes I feel awkward about our exceedingly similar
trajectories, as if I’m copying her, but the reality is that independently, we
come to these things, and then come here to write about them. It’s really
funny, and also somewhat comforting to know that there is someone who is
traveling a similar path toward “To thine own self be true.”

On that note, I went to see my friend’s band play in the city
last night, and then headed with my girlfriends to go out dancing in Oakland.
Prior to both these… we went to the Dharma Punx meditation – nothing says
spiritually fit like meditating for 40 minutes before downing coffee with an
add-shot. 😉

But to relate it to the ‘self be true’ part – each of these
are places where I want to feel more connection. I hadn’t been to see live
music in MUCH too long. It’s on my current list of “Serenity Moths” on my
refrigerator (a list of things that aren’t cataclysmic, but slowly and
subterraneaously eat away at my serenity and foundation). Yes, “Absence of live
music” is on there, and so should be “dancing.” I’m a white girl. I have no
ambition or goal to be anything but a mildly flailing Elaine Benice, but … i
love it. The absence of self, the absence of self criticism or posturing or
need to be anywhere or anything else. Lost in the music.

The band brought something else up for me. Like the
“dropping” of the whole acting bent at the beginning of this year, what I’ve dropped
more often than anything is the “being in a band” idea.

As you may know, I have 2 guitars, a bass, and a small USB plug
in keyboard. Each as dust-covered as the next. The bass amp sits as a monument
to abandoned dreams in my apartment.

Last night, watching my friend’s band, I remembered that this is
something I want to do. In fact, I’d emailed one of the guitarist’s wife about
6 or more months ago to talk to her about her own process of getting toward
singing in a band – embracing her inner teenage rock chick. If I had my … well, if I had my own back, I guess, I’d play
bass, and I’d sing. Talk about vulnerability.

This week, I stood practically naked in front of an audience
and spoke my poem into a microphone in a moderately full theater. That isn’t nearly as frightening to me as
standing in front of an audience, singing, or playing.

The truth is that for several years, I’ve been gathering information
about the whole bass playing thing. But, no, I haven’t been playing. A few
years ago, I asked a guy I knew for bass advice, and he sent me a long list of
places to start (which I didn’t pursue). About a year later, I contacted this other guy about bass
lessons (which I didn’t pursue). … And the guy I asked out yesterday is also a bass player. Apparently,
I have a thing.

Every few years, I’ll troll craigslist, and I’ll answer a
few ads for singers. I even recorded myself a little on my computer’s
Garageband to send as a sample. I got a “not a good fit, but thanks anyway” from one,
and no reply from another. And, hey, I don’t blame em. When I’m terrified, it
comes through. I don’t know. I’ve written here about it kind of frequently –
and dismissed it and been “embarrassed” by it just as often.

However, once again, the thing that occurred to me last night as I
watched my friend’s band was another case of “I want to do that” … followed by
“I can do that.” There is no one stopping me, obviously except for myself and
my fears, and that critic that says “Not good enough” and chops me off at the
knees before I start.

One thing I’m working on releasing at the moment, a pattern
and belief and behavior that is just not fucking serving me anymore, is my need
or habit to stay small.

When I was living in South Korea, my friend nicknamed me
“Ballsy Mollsy.” I had the absolute chutzpah and hubris to ask anyone anything,
go anywhere, and do pretty much whatever I felt like doing in the hedonistic
way most drunks do.

However, there is a quality of that Ballsy woman who still I am,
somewhere, and who I want to resurrect or reveal or uncover or let loose – or
even just let into the light a little tiny bit.

I find it’s happening in some ways. And I know to have
compassion for myself as I try to aim in this direction which has been a Siren
song for me (uh, no pun intended) for … oh, 15 years.

But compassion for slow progress, and acceptance of
stagnation are two different things. And I’d really like to move forward from
here.

So, for your reading pleasure, here’s a poem composed about
a year ago. Reading aloud is encouraged. As is recalling the line “So let it be written, so let it be done.” Cheers. m.

Band Practice

Tnk tnkTNK thwap

Bzzzt FLARE feedback

TNK tnktnk THWAP

Tnktnk THWAP tnk tnktnk THWAP

TNK tnktnk THWAP

Tnktnk THWAP tnk tnktnk THWAP

Tnka tnka thwap

Tnka tnka tnka thwap

Tnka tnka thwap

Tnka tnka tnka thwap

Tnka tnka thwap

Tnka tnka tnka thwap

TNK TNK THWAP!

adulthood · change · commitment · community · faith · family · growth · home · life · recovery · relationships · romance · spirituality · tradition

The Kotzker Rebbi

May 3, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

According to legend, and history, Menachem Mendel
Morgenstern of Kotzk, Poland was an eccentric and influential rabbi, teaching
and forming one of the early branches of Hasidism, creating a more austere sect
of Judaism.

According to legend, and history, The Kotzker Rebbi, as he
was known, locked himself in his room for the last 20 years of his life. He
never left it. He received his food through a hole in the wall, and apparently
opened the door of his home once a year, revealing himself and his new
teachings/learnings to his disciples.

According to genetics, I am his great great great
granddaughter. His grandson is my grandfather’s father… I think. I have a family
tree at home somewhere. Either he’s my grandfather’s grandfather, or my grandfather’s
great grandfather. I haven’t done the math.

Point being, and why it occurs to me today, I have no idea –
but the point being that I have some whacked out crazy, and powerful, Jews in
my lineage, living in my blood and DNA.

I’ve always found this fascinating. Firstly, it sort of
points to the understandability that mental illness runs in my family(!), and
secondly, it just sort of makes sense that Judaism continues to be this thread
in my life. I can’t sever it, ignore it, dismiss it – it is me.

When I began teaching at the Sunday School last year in
Berkeley, I said that I felt it was both my duty and my privilege to do so.
There is a line from some text that if any of us knows even one word of Hebrew he is
bound to teach it to someone else.

Again, I don’t really know why this occurs to me today. I
suppose as I begin to think about the direction my life is taking, or may take,
or I want it to take, I begin to think about this thread. Part of my
consideration in where I will move next, if I move, and eventually I
will (whenever “eventually” is), is if there are Jews there. For example, I’ve
been enamored of Asheville, North Carolina, ever since I heard of it through a
friend of mine who lives there. Young, hip, mountainous, liberal, artsy,
cultured … with one Jewish temple, of Conservative affiliation – aka, more
religious than I am, or want to be.

I don’t want to be more religious, I simply want to have
more connection to the community. More connection to those who share a history,
random Yiddish words, and a very eye-rolly understanding of the complexities of
a Jewish family.

So, Asheville may not be it. I have this crude crayon
drawing I made after a group meditation about 6 or more months ago. It’s a
couple, a man and a woman, holding hands, walking up a street to a
t-intersection. At the head of this intersection is a house – with a
wrap-around porch, huge trees, and a stream in the back, nested by a forest
behind it. To the right of this couple on the main street is a building with a
symbol for recovery on its façade. To the left of them, is a building with a
Jewish star above the door.

This is my vision. This, I believe, is how I become the
woman I want to be. Buoyed by my communities of faith, I’m able to stand in
partnership with another human being, and take part in what the world has to
offer.

I am grateful to have the quirky lineage that I have. It
makes sense to me, and makes me smile. (On my other side, my dad’s side, I’m
descended from Bohemians, literally.) Somehow I feel that I’m preparing to take
up a mantle that belongs to me, which includes all of these histories and as
well as all of the modern and current advantages I’ve inherited as a 20^th
century woman with good health and education. And I’ll be curious when I find
that crayon drawing in 20 or 30 years to see how close I’ve come.

acting · community · direction · friendship · performance · poetry · school · self-support · theater · work

"I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life"

May 2, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

When I was growing up, when my family went on long car
rides, my dad had
instituted a rule. My brother and I could only ask the question “Are we there
yet?” three times, combined. Not three for him, three for me. Not phrased
differently to bypass the rule. Three times. Are we there yet.

I’m sort of glad the Universe doesn’t have a rule like that,
although I suppose it sort of does. For the number of times that I’ve asked
what’s next, the answer remains as vague as the Magic 8 ball’s “Reply Hazy –
Ask Again Later.” Apparently 3 seconds later is not later enough, and you get,
“Cannot Predict Now.”

But, it’s sort of comforting in some ways I suppose. A friend
said to me recently that we don’t know what’s next because it reminds us we’re
not G-d. I also heard that G-d loves us just enough to not let us know what’ll happen next. The perpetual
“SURPRISE!” type Higher Power. But, really, I think that if I ever knew really
what was to happen next, I’d spend a lot of time manipulating to my way of
thinking – if I’m meant to go in direction A, then I’ll start to pack for that
direction, not knowing that perhaps I’m supposed to go to A, but with a byway
in L, Q, and H in order to learn what I need by the time I get to A.

I was out with a group of us school poet folk last night at
dinner after our performance poetry … performance. Which went highly well, I’d
say. Pretty full theater, no technical problems, and, me, in my makeshift
nudesuit – because really, when the else time would I have the opportunity to
do that??

So, we’re out at dinner, and the women who are finishing
their first year are asking about my experience there, if I took cross-courses
at Berkeley, if I’ll stay in the Bay Area, and what’s next. And they’re
just curious. I say that I really took school sort of as a walk – I looked into
taking a GTU cross-course, but didn’t. But, I took painting, and singing, and acting.
I mean, it is a liberal arts college
(though you may not guess that from the highly funded business school it now
hosts). I did take the school
experience as a bit of a walk. It wasn’t academically rigorous. I think I took
one class that had a lot of reading on theory and criticism. I took one that
had moderate reading like that. And the rest, well, they were pretty much,
write poetry, read poetry, discuss poetry. Period. It was sort of awesome.

I suppose I feel a little chagrined at not having taken more
advantage of the opportunity, but then on the other hand, I think I also took great
advantage in ways that weren’t as “rigorous.” I did just find out yesterday
that you could rent the most awesome a/v tech equipment for up to two days –
even lighting and high tech cameras and video cameras – so I’m a
little bummed I didn’t take advantage of that – cuz it sounds AWESOME. I guess
I do have a few days left! Maybe I’ll be a filmmaker for a few days, as I
continue to send out tendrils into the work world.

I have one more class to complete. I have a class time on
Thursday for Acting Fundamentals, and then our class performance next
Wednesday. It’s just a scene, each of us students paired with someone and doing
a scene assigned by the professor. But, I feel really comfortable there. I
forget. I mean, after that flurry of activity in December and January around
headshots and auditions and monologues, I let it all go to focus on school,
which was appropriate, but now that I have a little more breathing room, I hear
it. Like I hear the painting studio.

Stress and creativity aren’t quite compatible I suppose.
But, in any case, being on stage last night (though I wish I’d reread my piece
before I got onstage, as it was quite distracting to know I was/appeared
naked!), and practicing my scene with my class partner, I mean, I just feel like
I know this. There’s an incredible
amount to learn, but I know about blocking, and staging. I helped the two of us
create movement in the scene, to listen to the text and let it inform us. I
also tried to not be bossy 😉 as this was a joint effort. But I felt in my
element.

I have an invitation to have coffee with an acting friend of
mine – something that’s been pushed down the pages of the calendar like a
shuffle board disc, and I intend to ask my acting teacher to coffee for an
“informational interview” type conversation. But as I continue to look for
work, to find out where and how I’m supposed to earn, and embody the question “what can I give”
rather than “what can I get,” and let go
of the Am I There Yet, I can also take FULL advantage of what I have in front
of me – advocates, peers, and a wicked a/v department.

acceptance · adulthood · change · courage · discovery · forgiveness · gratitude · grief · honesty · intimacy · kindness · love · meditation · progress · recovery · sex · sexuality · sobwebs · spirituality

Somewhere New.

May 1, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

For several months now, I’ve been working on a particular
area of healing. For those of you who have read the “Savage Love,” then “Savage Beauty” blogs, you know that I’ve been working on healing my relationship with
my sexuality, and my past behavior and experience in this area.

This is likely going to be a little heavy – for which I’m
not thrilled, but I’m honest – so if that’s not what you want today, I’m sure Cyanide
& Happiness will provide some levity
today.

On my way back from the sweat lodge this Sunday, I was riding
with my friend who was running the lodge. I told her that earlier this year,
and late last year, each time I’d “go in” via meditation or shamanic journey
work to ask what I need to do next to move forward, I was presented with the information
that I needed to work on this stuff – sexual trauma and other murky stuff. I have been. Working
with my therapist on EMDR for a little bit (though I’m not seeing her
currently, due to finances), and in these other more alternative ways.

And most of all, through my thesis.

Basically what my thesis trails is a path through my sexual
history. That story parallels my mental breakdown, and my parents’ divorce, but really,
what is being excavated and brought into the light is all of that. The
“highlights” or representative incidents.

Over ages 16 through 24 (a little earlier than 16, but
that’s when it really took off with a very chicken-or-egg tag team with my drinking), is a napalm blanket of sorrow, shame, and
dissociation. When riding in the car with my friend on Sunday, I said to her
that I hadn’t “been in” to ask for a while if I’m “done” with this particular
set of work or not, and wondered if maybe I was, but/and as I found out a little this morning, there are still
some corners left to sweep.

I am grateful that I had the courage to put all of what I
needed to onto paper in my thesis. But, I’m also aware that it goes much deeper
and further than the stark, strobe-like glimpses that I give you, the reader.
And this morning, in meditation, I began to psychicly clear out some of the
cobwebs. (I just accidentally wrote “sobwebs,” which I suppose is pretty accurate
for this morning.)

In fact, I did something pretty literal to sweeping out – in my mind’s
eye, I walked through and into all those situations I remember, and
unfortunately or not, I remember quite a lot quite vividly apparently — more
than I thought I did. I walked through these times and places, into these
couplings and actions, and burned sage there. I carried this sage through all
the circumstances I could remember, and asked them to be cleared of any energy
which is no longer needed.

There are the few where there was kindness,
and the kindness will remain, but there are the many that were out of a sense of obligation, or resignation, or force; or just wanting to feel better; or just wanting to feel anything other than what
I felt. There are those that are truly tragic, and require some extra doses of
compassion and witness, instead of repression.

I don’t know what may or not come of this work this morning.
It was sort of “unbidden;” I didn’t have the intention as I closed my eyes for
meditation this morning to do any of that – but I guess the Powers That Be had
that intention for me, anyway.

One thing I asked for aloud in the prayer circle in Sunday’s
sweat lodge during the final prayer round – the one where we get to pray for
ourselves, out loud so others know what we need – I prayed for healing around
physical intimacy. And that’s where the majority of my tears came on Sunday. My
relationship with my body, my femininity, sexuality, sex, intimacy, being
present in my body when being intimate – all of this needs healing. I’d still
rather hide within my body – offer you it, but not what’s inside it; assume
it’s really all you want from me anyway, so I might as well just give you only
that out of spite – even if you in fact want more. But, hiding within myself doesn’t work
anymore. Beating myself out of my body – or having someone do it for me – doesn’t work anymore. Not being present
is painful now. And not voicing my physical needs to a partner is another way of hiding.

I don’t really know what to do about it yet. I know that I
don’t do what I used to. But I feel like I’ve swung to the opposite side of the
spectrum – from the vixen to Betty Crocker, as I’ve put it. But I know opening
these doors, clearing these wounds, being willing to treat my flesh with care,
and being willing to meet all of you with all of me are mile-markers of
progress.

I’d like to be done with this work. I’d like to declare
myself fit for duty. Maybe it’ll always be an ongoing process, maybe it’ll come
to a place of plateau. I don’t know. But apparently I’m ready to clear the
sobwebs, and arrive at somewhere new.

Uncategorized

The Life Experiment

April 30, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Sadly, I did not have any blinding visions in the sweat
lodge. Surprisingly, I wasn’t as hungry or thirsty as I’d feared I’d be. And
naturally, I was really, really hot.

It was like a bikram yoga room, inside a tent – or a sauna
the size of an igloo. It was actually pretty cool – forgive the word in this
context. And the hardest part was just trying to suck some oxygen out of the
steamy air at a few moments when the water was poured heavily onto the 28
heated rocks in the center of the wooden, covered structure. So, you open your
mouth for a few moments, trying to gasp what you can, and then it settles.
Luckily the woman running it generously allowed us some “break” time between
the “prayer rounds” when the little hobbit door was opened (for more rocks to be
brought in).

All in all, it was both highly satisfying, and a little
anticlimactic, for all that I’d expected in my head. I loved the ritual of it –
I like rituals, I find them kind of calming and grounding – there wasn’t any
dancing or howling or anything. There was some singing, and a drum for that
part, and then there was us, 8 of us, going around in the lodge saying some
prayers outloud. And that was it. There was some tobacco burning, and some prayer ties – little bundles of tobacco we’d put our prayers in tied together with string which we later burned, and some
walking around the lodge 4 times to signify the 4 days following the lodge when
it’s still “working,” – so, I’m still secretly hoping for some baptism
experience in the next few days, sight given to the blind. But all in all, it
was generally pretty cool, interesting, fun, and I didn’t puke or cry the Ugly
Cries, yet. I cried a little bit as we went around in prayer, and so maybe some
things are released – maybe not. But, gosh darnit, I’m not a saint – have not
been gifted the blueprints for the Kremlin – nor the answer to where atoms go
in quantum physics when they disappear and reappear elsewhere.

But, I suppose that’s alright. This human experience is
alright as far as it goes. And it goes pretty well, I should say. We’ll see –
like my retreat in January, several things took a while to settle for months
after, still marinating into my bones and shifting me slowly – so I imagine
this may be the same. Who knows.

In other news.

Hm. Well, Oh! I could tell you about the Workshop I hosted
on Saturday at school!

7 – SEVEN – whole people showed up! It was a great size
group – a few people who’d only heard about it through the internet whom I’d
never met before, and a few good friends I did know.

It went really well. There were a few scrambling minutes
beforehand about a missing hot water dispenser for the tea, but it worked out
just fine.

I was surprised, but not shocked, to see some things that
came up and came out for me – for example, in response to the open ended
journal question at the beginning, “The last time I felt creative ____” … well,
I wrote about a time almost a year ago, when I was doing a painting in my
kitchen for the art show last June.

I was surprised that that’s what came up – obviously, I’ve
been doing hell of creative shit for the last year, with my thesis and
performance poetry stuff – and of course, with the acting and singing auditions
– I even took a singing class! But… that’s what came to mind.

Putzing with this painting. It took me a really long time –
or longer than others had – to do, because I was experimenting. Paint, wait a day,
wipe it off leaving a pigmented residue (it was oil), paint some more, wipe, mix more color, thin more color – it
was marvelous: frustrating and thrilling and open. It was a total experiment, but I knew where I wanted to go with
it – and I got there (or enough that no one else knew that I didn’t quite!).

I took painting a little bit earlier this year, in the
beginning of the semester, but dropped because it wasn’t fun – I wasn’t having
fun, I didn’t feel like I was being allowed to be explorative – that was my
interpretation, and it was good for me at the time to drop – I’m still glad I
didn’t have that on my plate along with everything else.

But I have a few paintings that have been in my mind’s eye
for a few months now, and I know they want out.

At the end of Saturday’s workshop, I asked each of us to light a
little tea light candle, and make a statement of commitment to one thing we can
do for our self-care, creativity, or grounding that week. … I said, “I commit
to painting in the studio for at least three hours.”

I still have keys to the painting studio at school, as unofficially
approved by the painting instructor, and I have about a week and a half before
I have to return them. I guess I have some experimenting to do.

Uncategorized

Please Hold – Visions Pending.

April 29, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

This morning I head to a magical mystical place. Fremont.

Just kidding. I will
head to Fremont, and from there, be driven by a woman I’ve never met to a place
I’ve never been to do a thing I’ve never done.

A friend of a friend is driving me to the Santa Cruz
mountains to participate in a sweat lodge this morning.

I’ve…never done this. I have very little knowledge of what
it’s about, what to expect, what I’ll experience – except for one story
reported from a friend of mine recently… that after the sweat lodge, a few
hours later, maybe a day?, she cried the Ugly Cries in a way that
sounded like it psychicly shattered her pelvis. She said that she
bawled, and had a near mental breakdown for about 24 hours or so. … So… Uh, why
am I going?

Well, I’m curious – and I think it’s good timing. The lure
of a ritual, of a symbolic cleansing, or renewal, or rebirth, sounds like its
just about right for where I am in a lot of aspects of my life. The end of school,
surely, but also more personal ways – an upcoming anniversary of sobriety, a
particular set of work that I’m on in my recovery, and the
anticipation of what may be the beginnings of my departure from the Bay back to
the East Coast.

To let go, to let go of things that aren’t working for me.
Patterns of beliefs or motivations or behaviors. I don’t anticipate that I’ll
be rendered white as snow – in fact, the only thing I really anticipate is that
I’ll be engorgedly thirsty.

I am naturally a water-toting animal. I am nearly always
thirsty. However, in the recent month or so, I’ve been doing a little more
reading and having more consideration of the planet’s fresh water supply, and
its dwindlingness, and I must admit – it’s made me thirstier than ever.

Or perhaps, I’m just more aware of how much water I do drink
and need. But, there’s nothing like watching a documentary on the water
shortage to make you imminently thirsty!

So, I anticipate that – though, who knows, maybe I’ll just
be thinking how freaking hot it is, I won’t even remember that water exists!
I’m curious, anticipatory, and open, most of all.

I’ve tried a lot of woo-woo spiritual nonsense and sense
since I’ve been in the Bay Area, so what’s a sweat lodge or two? Although, I
will admit that it would be grand to be rendered white as snow – or rather, to
be magically and majestically relieved of the blocks and fears and judgments
that I carry around with me. Maybe I’ll get movement on them. Maybe not. But,
it sure would be grand to be struck full with a divine vision, like Joseph
Smith, … only without all the wives.

Keep you posted.

acceptance · adulthood · change · friendship · honesty · progress · self-care · self-support

R-E-S-P–…oh you know the rest

April 28, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Things I have the power to change:

my hair color

my perspective.

That’s the list for now. Sure, it could be really long, but
that’s what occurs to me at the moment. I haven’t, in fact, changed my hair
color in a few years – after the blonde debacle, and subsequent re-browning –
and, it sort of feels that i haven’t changed my perspective all that much
lately either.

I met up with a friend in SF yesterday, as I went about my
day flyering the city (note the gazillion workshop flyers on the lampposts of Hayes
Valley), and basically, she told me that although she could see that this was
important to me to talk about – where I am in my life, basically, … or rather,
my opinion of where I am in my life –
that she just couldn’t process with me anymore. That she herself, as I well
know, is in a similar position, going through similar changes in her life, and
I guess she’s just fed up with the whole “Let’s figure it out” routine. And so,
she told me, gently, that I’m still in the problem, and not the solution, and
that until I start to do things or see things differently, of course it’s going
to be painful for me.

I was both disappointed, and heartened – our friendship is
that strong, that we can let one another know when we’re being crazy,
basically, and that the other just can’t bear witness to crazy right now.

I have a few marching orders, work I’m doing with a woman
one-on-one, that I can proceed to progress on, and that’s where the change will
come. But, for now, my friend is right – as Jung said (loose paraphrase): we cannot solve the problem at the
level of the problem.

So, if all I have at the moment is my ground level view,
it’s better for now to stop reporting back from the (perceived) bleak front lines, and do
the work I have in front of me which will help me to get a foothold up and out.

Perhaps this all sounds sort of vague, but it’s all I got.

I was reflecting this morning on respect – that something
that I can change is how I respect myself or don’t. Who am I to disparage
myself for not being x y or z? How would I react if a friend came to me and
“should” all over me? (You should know, it should be different, you should have
figured it out already, you should be better…)

I’m realizing that all the time that I spend in lamenting
this situation is time I’m spending beating myself up, and treating myself
unkindly – and without respect. What would it be like to respect myself – to
look at myself from an outsider’s view? To congratulate myself on my
accomplishments, take real stock and account of things that I have done and
talents that I have. What would it be like to take a more well-rounded view of
myself? Would I ever disparage myself as
in the above paragraph? Discounting all that I am? No. Because here are a few
reality checks – a) I’m human – guess what, I come with assets and liabilities. b) I’m hosting a workshop that I’ve
dreamed up, crafted, advertised and implemented all by myself today. (with due
thanks to all my helpers!) and, c) I am poised to graduate from graduate school. I didn’t
make it to my college graduation. I got
high as fuck after my high school one. This time, I’m showing up – period. I’m showing up
entirely differently.

I’ve changed. I have
become someone worthy of respect – most emphatically of my own respect. If I
can begin to take ownership of feelings like that – or rather facts like that – then I can begin to move from the
problem into the solution. I do not need to know anything about what “will
happen.” What I do need to be very careful I count along side of the things I
have “to work on,” are the things that are worthy, lovable, respectable about
myself.

Because in the end, I’m the person with the power to change
my perspective. Because I will inform others’ interactions with me, Fate’s
interactions with me, by leading by my own example of realistic, balanced, and earned respect.

Uncategorized

Why Joe Cocker is My Higher Power

April 27, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Besides, of course, following the line of my post earlier
this week, A Little Help From My Friends, as many of us know his version from The
Wonder Years (may they rest in peace and
reruns), a different of his songs occurred to me this morning in my … oh, let’s
just say “usual” fits of morning pages anxiety over money and work.

Can you guess which one?

Yep, Have a Little Faith in Me.

Damnit. I don’t want faith, I want answers. I want conclusions – something I can take to the
bank, oh yes most very literally.

But, what do I get instead? I get indicated to keep on doing
the footwork that I have planned to do for today, and to have a little faith.
Both are intrinsic to moving forward.

Today, by stroke of genius Universal camaraderie, I will be
using my friend’s rental car to post flyers for May 19^th’s workshop.
I had no idea even 48 hours ago that would happen that way. I texted my friend
to get tea on Wednesday night, and she said yes, we did, and then she said, oh,
by the way, she’s rented a car for this week, and we should plan an adventure.

I was thunderstruck. I just placed a reservation on a rental car I couldn’t afford so that I could
leaflet the town. And, so I asked if I could use her car today instead – she works
in SF, we’re driving in together very shortly, and I’ll have her car while
she’s at work, all for the price of a tank of gas – much cheaper than the rental car – and with the benefit
she gets of not having to move it every two hours for street parking in San
Francisco’s North Beach – a notorious place for parking nightmares.

Have faith yet? … oh, sure, that counts I guess, but…

Today, I’ll also put out a few more tendril emails to people
about work I might get for May, and I also got my confirmation phone call about
my modeling gig on Monday, for a drawing group in San Francisco. … ner–vous –
but I “worked out” a little last night to my exercise DVD, trying to get those
triceps contoured, seat lifted, and thighs capable of holding contraposstos for
20 minutes. Of course, of course,
I accomplished that ALL in one 45 minute DVD session. … but, it will have to
do, and I will be paid.

I got an email from my wonderful cat lady aunt last night
(I’m not ready to give up her “cat lady” handle, but I’ll add “wonderful” to
mitigate it – it used to be “crazy cat lady aunt,” so, that’s progress). She
asked, point blank, as is her wonderfully tactless style, You’re graduating – What Now?

… this is the point in the scene where crickets chirp, and
someone coughs uncomfortably and squirms a bit in their chair.

Uh … Question Mark?

Have a little faith, now?

I don’t know. It’s all ebb and flow. It’s contingent on my
doing the work I have set before me. It’s contingent on eating breakfast,
taking care of myself, asking for help, relying on help, being willing to accept help — which is the hardest for me. I’ll ask you for help
if I’m desperate, but then I’ll run away before you answer or most especially
if you say yes – NO!!! I’m not actually ready for help! Receiving help is unfamiliar
and doesn’t fit into my story that this life is solitary and aching and
grueling and asking for help is for wussies. Noo!! Don’t help me. … I
desperately need your help. … Don’t help me, I got it! … Wait!
Don’t go!! I need f’ing help!!

Oy.

Today I’m grateful I can see it – which means I can work to
change it – and today I am accepting
help, and Joe Cocker, may you light my way.

Uncategorized

Check Me Out

April 26, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

they whispered. I followed the murmur through the stacks. Not
knowing what was there, where it would lead me, how my world might open when I
arrived.

No, it was not Jeanette
Winterson. It was the rows and rows of Public Library magazines – with a placard above them, “Magazines available for Check-Out.”

I have never heard of such a thing. Like reference books, I
assumed, and thought, and thought I knew that magazines stayed in the library,
confined to be read in a hard, wooden, straight back chair, in a few
captured minutes that aren’t enough to feed or satisfy.

Yesterday, I found out you could check magazines out from the library. I cannot tell you what alteration
this caused the entire rest of my day.

This discovery came about as I stood in another set of
stacks – the grocery store. In the cleaning supply aisle, comparing the truly
eco friendly ways of the eco friendly disinfectant wipes. Which were sold in
less plastic; which had the most wipes for the price; which stated they were
the happy product of happy plastic trees and happy compost fodder?

In my mildly manic musings, I got the return phone call from
a friend I’d called earlier that day. It was the timing of the gods.

I told her what I was doing; that I’d come into the grocery
store to buy apples and carrots, and am now contemplating buying something I
completely do not need.

I told her that with this month’s spending plan (aka budget), and knowing
– or vaguely knowing – that next month’s is the same, I felt pinched. I told her I felt like if I
couldn’t make the major purchase of a therapy session or a chiropractor’s
visit, I’m finding myself wanting to make these tiny little purchases for shit
I don’t need, just to set off some release.

I’m not a shopper. That’s not what sent me into financial
recovery. But, part of my pattern of behavior is that I live on such meager
means, that eventually I crack, and buy shit I only marginally need – or
perhaps do need, but not everything-all-at-once-right-now — in a fit of violent grabbing. Then I feel remorse, I constrict again, until the pattern cycles over again.

Because I have marginal income at the moment, as my student
loans dwindle to their last sputtering sips, I am having to live within my
means. And my means, are not generous at the moment. Though, for real, I’m glad
to have what I do. I am living with electricity and shelter. And that’s what I
can afford this month. Electricity, shelter, internet, cell phone, travel,
food. Period, end of sentence. There is no money for anything else, if I’m to
manage another month of any of those things.

So, no money for entertainment, or self care, or toiletries,
or hobby supplies. No money for biodegradable, eco-friendly, let’s feel good
about yourself disposable wipes.

But particularly, no money this month for the self care
categories of therapy and chiropractor. Each important. Each cut this month and
next.

So, I’d put out a phone call to my friend earlier in the day to ask if I could make an appointment with either next month. When she called me
back in the store, she asked me, so you’re asking my permission to spend money
you don’t have? Well… yes. [insert laughter…hers] And of course, I see the
insanity of that, but I really needed someone else to tell me.

Because I don’t want to be at the end of May without food.
And that’s what will always be cut, if I’m given my druthers. Not in an
anorexic way, just in a, I can survive on less way.

But, really, as I stand ready to buy things I can’t afford –
can I survive on less?

She said it sounded like I was feeling deprived. I agreed.
By this point I’d put back the wipes, and grabbed the apples and carrots I’d
come in for, and was on the check-out line. I said, I’m just feeling itchy to
just buy something, anything – if I
can’t have what I really need or want (therapy or chiro) – that now I’m staring at
these magazines living the check out aisle.

She said, and here’s where it all changed, that sometimes
she just goes to the library and reads the magazines there. That that feels
like a luxurious activity to her. That it sounds like I needed some luxury. I fully
agreed, and although I envisioned the hard straight wooden backed chairs, I
agreed inwardly that it was better than purchasing shit I don’t need to ease a
feeling of deprivation.

So, I went to the library. I asked where the magazine stacks
were. And above them, like the Burning Bush, was the sign, “Magazines Available
for Check Out.”

I. was elated. I’d never heard of such a thing. I yelped my
joy at a passing library patron who edged a little farther away from me. I
waddled up to the check-out counter with a stack of almost 10 magazines – current magazines. And I expressed my shock and joy to the
worker – who was none too keen to join in my elation, and sent me off with a
parting, dryly sarcastic, I’m glad we could be a part of that.

And I came home with my bounty. I fanned them out on my coffee
table, heated some tea, settled beneath my chenille blanket on my cozy couch,
and felt, honestly, for the first time in a long time, like myself.

This is a Molly
activity. This is something I do to feel pampered and cared for and more than a
bit indulgent. I felt like it would be alright. For two hours, I snuggled
deeper into the cushions and pages, with the covers of Dwell, and Scientific American, and Vanity Fair … and Martha Stewart Living circled around me like an offering of spring
blossoms.

I was being indulgent – and it didn’t cost me a dime.

change · compassion · forgiveness · fortitude · life · maturity · poetry · progress · recovery · San Francisco

Poetic Noise.

April 25, 2012 Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I was all set to write a blog about 7 years. How really when
someone is 6 years old, they’re beginning their 7^th year of life.
How I’ve been here in the SF Bay Area 6 years to the day, and so I begin my 7^th year in
the Bay. And how, further, and don’t quote me, that our cells are said to regenerate every 7 years – all of them – so that I am now beginning a set of 7. Any and all cells that I had in my body when I arrived in San Francisco
have absolutely been purged and regrown, replaced.

I think about this, and intended to write about all the
things that have changed in these 6 full years. About where I am not as I begin
my 7^th – about how I feel it’s completely cosmically appropriate
that I stand ready to graduate from a Master’s program and contemplate a return
to the East Coast, and even maybe a career.

I wanted to list things like getting my teeth fixed, a
several-year process that I started here, after 10 years of having a few molars pulled
in high school but never replaced, which made me self conscious in photos,
though few others noticed (I certainly do now, as I smile entirely with every
ounce of my cheeks).

I was going to write about my return to art. About taking up the pencil after several years’ neglect and the first tentative and
judgmental sketches which I shoved away for another few years before warming up
and into myself – culminating in selling a painting last year – me?! of all people.

The last 6 years witnessed a return to the stage, auditions,
head shots, community plays. Two acting classes, and two performance poetry
classes, and some modeling to further my return to being present in my skin.

They also signaled a return to writing, the scribbled in
margins and the back of notebook hobby of mine. Who knew that beginning to post
my poems as Facebook notes for several years would morph into what it is now –
reading in public, (almost) owning my mantle of poet.

I got a cat, for chrissake. Something I was loathe to do –
my first pet-able animal I’ve ever owned, and having her hasn’t make me a crazy cat
lady… so I’m told.

I put up curtains, set root in San Francisco, didn’t run
away, cut and run, shrink or hide. I’ve emerged slowly, shyly, tentatively,
reluctantly and painfully for sure.

I took guitar lessons and voice lessons. Which I dropped,
but the piano creeps in these days, sending crescendos of joy into my marrow.

For years, while I’ve been here, whenever someone told me
that they were in school full-time, I looked at them as though they were a
movie star, a little starry eyed and goofy and admiring, and said (I remember
so clearly), I envy people who do that – go to school fulltime. And now I’m one
of them. I forget that I really asked for this. I asked for it often and
deeply.

As each of the cells on this corporeal form have dived their
swan song into the ether, I have changed. People sometimes use the term inwardly
rearranged – how literal it is here.

Yes, I intended to write my blog about that – about the
nature and surprise of continuing to beat a heart consistently for 7 years.

But I read my email before I came to write this, and there’s
some poetic noise in the interwebs about some highly public class tension that
occurred last night in the direction of a classmate, and I’m just sort of sad
about it.

We are all human. We are all trying to be free from
suffering and doing the best we can.

How we act and react — teacher, student, classmate … parent, co-worker, acquaintance, dude who cut me off on the highway — is simply and ultimately the best we can offer for that day. We may not like it or approve – we may reprove ourselves for how we acted or reacted or neglected to act – but we also get to reflect and change what isn’t working for us, whether that’s our perspective or action.

So mixed with the awe and gratitude I feel for not being the sloppy,
grubbing, manic splash of a young woman I was when I arrived in San Francisco 6
years ago today, I also feel a melancholy compassion for last night’s wounded artist (who
for all I know, may not be), and for the reality that we are all somewhere in the process of this perpetual
self-renewal.