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?) 🙂

action · healing · joy · meditation · performance

BART: BY ALLAH, RISE THESPIAN!

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Hahahahaha! Hahaha! Sorry, that was the acronym that
occurred to me when I was trying to figure out how to express “spiritual
experience on a urine-smelling trans-bay public train.” And, lol, I really like
it – it makes me laugh!
In any case, I will start toward the middle, and work my way
back to that.
I arrived at the audition for the musical theater company,
attempting to still my breathing into something less hyperventilatey. I
arrived, got the information sheet, and took a seat on a plastic chair in a
long white hallway with other hopefuls. If you’ve ever sat with a group of
aspiring musical theater folks, or watched Rachel on Glee, then you have some idea of the kind of energy that
is spit balling, pin balling, manic speed balling against the very narrow
walls.
Add to this the fact that at this particular audition, the
walls were very VERY thin. i.e. we,
hallway hopefuls, could hear every single note of the person auditioning as we
sat on our “Next!” chairs.
So, while sitting, I decided it would probably be good to
get my heart rate down from 76 Tromboning through my chest. You know that
really high heart-rate feeling, where you’re pretty sure everyone else can see
this thing pulsating through your clavicle? So, I began to meditate. Because it
was the only thing I knew that might calm me down. I’d looked at my music
again, but at this point, whatever was going to happen, would happen. I knew I
didn’t know the lyrics as well as I’d like, and I knew I hadn’t rehearsed as
much as I’d like, but, there was no
more, really, I could do at this point. I even tried to read a little from a
spiritual book I brought with me, but I wasn’t absorbing a thing. It was like water slipping off oil.
So, instead, I sat. And began to breathe. “Think of your
breath as a bridge between your inner world and the outer world. Notice where
your breath goes as it comes in and goes out. Don’t try to change it, just
notice. Is it deep, shallow, cool, warm?”
And I continually came back to this line of meditation
guideposts, because it would often be interrupted with comparisons. “That
person sounds really good. Why didn’t I choose a better song? Oh, they didn’t hit that note right. Eesh, are they
really going to hold that note out.” And this, began my heart-thumping all over again. Back to the breath.
Because that’s what a lot of the hallway energy is – am I
better or worse than you? Are you better or worse than me? How to I stack up?
How do I compare? How will I do?
And, believe me, a constant chatter of comparison against
anyone, “better” or “worse,” was enough to bring me out of any sense of
acceptance of que cera cera, whatever
will be will be.
To quote what I’ve heard many times, my job is only to do the
work and show up, and leave the results to G-d (Higher Power, Universe, … or
Invisible Sky Fairy, as my great friend likes to call the Power and Calm and
Connectedness we all have within us). So, however I do in that room is really
none of my fucking business. (It is my
business to prepare more, but, c’est la vie. What’s done is done.)
There comes a moment when I’m meditating – vaguely aware of the
people going in and out of the room, shuffling through their sheet music,
someone’s mom nervously helicoptering around her – when suddenly, and
surprisingly, it all goes numb. Suddenly, my heart rate has slowed to a lull,
my breathing to a calm almost still stream, and I begin to experience the tingles that I’ve come to associate with my HP. Perhaps you’ve experienced them
– I had them at that camp experience I told you about, and when I hear a
particularly moving piece of music, or when I hear a story of divine intervention,
and sometimes even at the end of one of those sappy rom-coms when everything
swells (uh, pun intended?) and joy radiates from the screen and sops right into
my core. – Those tingles.
Suddenly, sitting in this hallway, I am calm.
It’s hard to express the depth of that moment, but you will
perhaps identify with it, and also with the near-immediate return to the more
fervent breathing and heart-rate. But for a few seconds, my tromboning heart
was still. I was moved, and grateful, and surprised, and most of all,
reassured.
On my way into the city for the audition, I had to get
copies of my acting resume printed, and was in the copy shop. I was ahead of a
woman who offered me a stapler, and I said, Sure, as soon as I stop shaking! I
said I was heading to an audition and I was really nervous. She said that when
she was 16 (i.e. a long time ago), she was going on a clarinet audition, and
her teacher said to her, Imagine you are 74 years old, and how insignificant
this will seem to you then. And though there’s a part of me that feels that
auditioning for a musical for the first time since I was 17 is actually quite a
significant and really awesome thing, she’s also right. It’s one audition out
of many I believe I’ll have. Whether it’s this, musicals, theater as theater, or none of the above, I
don’t know. And I don’t much care.
What I do know is that sitting in that plastic chair, I
knew, bottomlessly, that this was a part of my path. Showing up, doing this
righteously scary thing, is beyond significant for me, and is helping to shape
the entire rest of my life.
Which, then, brings me to the BART moment. For those
uninitiated in Bay Area public transportation, BART actually stands for Bay
Area Rapid Transit, and is a train which crosses under the bay, connecting SF
to the East Bay. It is also a carpeted train system, which means it hangs onto
every loogie, urine, spill, and foot traffic odor and stain that marks it. It’s
not the place you want to bring a hot date. Nor, in fact, is it the place you’d
imagine having a spiritual experience. But, to get back to the point.
Sitting on BART, on my way into the city with my headshots,
and resumes, and sheet music, and palpating heart, I began to go inward here.
Where I went is somewhere I know – it is an open field, surrounded by a forest.
I discovered this place the first time I said it aloud to my therapist a few
years ago, “I feel like if I step out into the light, there’s a sniper waiting to take me out.” I have
felt, for a very long time, that if I step out into the sunlight, the stream of
life, my power, my gifts, my nudges, that I will be cut down, metaphorically
gunned down by the sniper(s) who stalk those trees. That as soon as I step foot
out of the shade and into the field, BAM!, dead.
Although we’ve, and I’ve, been doing much work to dismantle
this fear, it’s always been on my radar of “Don’t step too far into your own
life, Molly. Stay small, stay hidden, stay safe.” I am mostly clear on when and
how these ideas formed, and indeed, it had been important for me for a long
period of my life to stay small, hidden, silent, and therefore safe and
lovable. I am only lovable if I am small. If I get too big or loud, I will be
quashed down.
These beliefs are very old.
So, yesterday, on BART, I found myself in that forest and field. I
stood in the middle of the field, flanked by all of my teachers, guides, and
supporters. A troop, or a menagerie, or a coven, of strength. From this place,
I invited all of the snipers to come out of the forest. I told them that their
work was done, and they were no longer needed. That, as you can see, I have an
entire community of entities to help protect and guide me now, and that their job
is now obsolete.
I swept my mind’s eye through the forest to the right, and
invited the soldier there to come out. He came forward, and I thanked him for
his service, and let him know he could now leave. And he did, through a wooden
hatch door that appeared in the grassy ground before me and my team. Down he
went. I scanned through the woods from right to left, and invited all the
troops out, watched as they lowered their guns and slung them over their
backs, in a position of neutrality and peace. I thanked each one, and at one
point it felt like there were dozens, and they just all flitted down through
the hatch with my general blessing.
Finally, it seemed like there were no more snipers in the
forest. But, I went to take a look to ensure I’ve created an entirely peaceful
and unendingly safe place for myself. And, in fact, I found one last sniper. I walked into the forest, and a ways back, he was, lying on the
ground, resting against a tree, maybe with his camo hat pulled forward over his eyes. And I approached
him, and told him it was time to leave. He nudged up his hat, looked up at me,
and said, “Are you sure?” Are you sure you don’t need me anymore? Are you sure
it’s safe to go out into the fields? Are you sure that my work at protecting
you is done?
Yes.  Yes, soldier, I am sure.
And so, we both walked out, tromping through the forest into
the sunlight of the field, and I held onto his arm, like an old friend, because
in essence, he was. And we feel kindly toward each other – even though yes,
he’s attempted to kill me, that was his only way of ensuring my safety.
We walked up to the hatch, and I saluted him, and he saluted me, and in real life on the BART train, I got a little emotional at it, at this
goodbye, and down he went, through the grassy hatch, which closed, and sprouted a flower, or perhaps flowers were laid upon it, like a memorial.
But. After this? You wanna know what I did? I went
CARTWHEELING through that forest!! I began to run and jump and sing and yell
and cartwheel all throughout that fucking forest. It was free. It was clear.
This was a safe place for me again. Or perhaps for the first time.
I was free.
Sure, perhaps it will take some getting used to, this
walking out into the sunshine, this taking the reins of my own life, this
“owning voice” thing. But, clearing out my psyche and my heart of obsolete
warriors feels like an incredible start. And after years of toeing the line,
stepping up to it and back away, don’t get too close, Perhaps now. Perhaps NOW,
I get to cross it, in cartwheels.
Amen. 
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. 😉
abundance · action · growth · recovery

Serenity Moths

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

First off, I’m embarrassingly late to work. My alarm went off early, but since the retreat, I’ve been ddddrrrragggging to get there. Luckily, I’m a temp, get paid by the hour, so, one hour less today…and yesterday…and Monday 😉 But, it’s also just news to me that this phase is coming to an end – both literally and spiritually. My regular temping with them will come to an end this Friday, and then I do have the option of coming in two days a week once school begins, but we’ll see what happens. I’m taking this enormous and uncharacteristic display of lateness to be a sign that this isn’t my gig. That I’m indicating to myself it’s time to try another door. This one is closing. I’m not going to burn bridges – though I suppose being an hour late is a way to do that! – but I am going to begin to place my energy and search into alternative sources of income once school begins.
Secondly, I’m dressed in all black today. My motorcycle jacket-looking shirt, black skinny jeans, and the black slouchy flat boots I bought recently, giving in to the whole slouchy boot look, but actually thinking it looks pretty awesome on me 😉 I began to buy a few pieces of black clothing last year – this was a HUGELY new development. If you’ve seen me, or know my closet, it’s like a colorwheel exploded in there. In fact, someone once told me that I looked like a box of Crayolas threw up on me, I wore so much color. And, I took that as a good thing. My mother wore bbbeeeeiiiigge throughout my early childhood – every shade of oatmeal, sand, tan there was. Eventually, she went black with stark red lipstick and leather pants (this was around the time of the divorce!). And now, she’s come into color, soft pale, kinder colors. Some bright, but for the most part, soft. Obviously, color means a lot to the way women in my family express themselves and their inner landscape.
So, when I began to move away from blinding, bold color, it was a major shift for me. Black. All black today. I’m thinking that for me at the moment, it’s not about goth, or despair, it’s one part blank slate – a tabula rasa period of resetting the color wheel before what’s next. It’s also one part, I’m cooler than I’ve let myself ever be. Black is cool. It’s also off-putting sometimes, but, now I’m rambling a bit about it – but I guess my point is that I’m observing change happening in myself and on myself from a very unconscious subtle avenue.
Lastly, re: Serenity Moths. Last night, I was reflecting about ways in which my life is unmanageable still. I began a list, which started with “Overdue library books.” And not like a day or two late, but like, I returned a stack a few weeks ago, and the amount I owed was over $20. And, last night, I had a stack that needed to get back to school, but with the miniscule amounts of time I have after work and on weekends to take the bus to and from school, these books are starting to accumulate fees.
Serenity Moth 1.
Serenity Moth 2: I have a battery-powered air freshener spray I got when I got my cat, because I am LOATHE to allow my home to smell like a cat lady’s!!! I replaced the actual spray, which had run out, about a month ago, but the battery has been running down. And instead of a firm spray at every 30 minute interval, it has begun to be a sort of sad pthhhhtt… dribbling down itself from lack of power. Every thirty minutes I’m home, I hear it go pthhhhtt… and think, I should change the battery. But I don’t.
It’s not like I don’t have batteries – I do. I just have let the thing wind down for a few weeks now. This is a Serenity Moth. Something which I could easily do something about to make my life work better and which I just don’t need to be thinking about! Wouldn’t it be lovely if every thirty minutes I wasn’t reminded how sad the air freshener was? Wouldn’t it be lovely if my brain didn’t need to have one more thing needling at it?
Lastly as an example (the list of serenity moths, as I’ve termed them, was very long – and included things like, waiting till the last minute to memorize monologues, not going to music shows, … being late to work) 😉 when I came home from the retreat on Sunday, I wasn’t ready to dive back into facebook or rush back into reality, so I decided I was going to cook a hearty winter vegetable stew. And I did. Stew done. Some imbibed. Time for bed. But… I had an entire pot of stew I needed to put away for storage. Problem? I didn’t have enough tupperware containers.
But, that’s not true. I did have enough. I had many. In fact, I had them right here in my fridge. But.
About 5 or 6 containers were in my fridge, filled with food which had been there for lengths of time ranging from a few weeks, to …. a year. Yes. Sadly, Serenity Mothingly, Yes. A year.
How do I know that? One of the tupperware containers belongs to my ex. So I wouldn’t have borrowed or cooked anything there in over a year. My fridge has been full of rotting food. A lot of it for a long long time. And I needed some tupperware.
So, I finally did was I was wanting to do, but could never bring myself to do for a very long time. I emptied out the science experiments. I held my breath, opened the containers, and dumped out all the bad, sad, self-defeating, energy-sapping, brain space intruders. And washed them till they squeaked. And now, I am currently storing my stew (in the freezer!). And I have zero zero rotting food in my refrigerator.
Perhaps that’s entirely gross, and you didn’t want to hear about that – but … the point is that this is all growth. Even the being late to work. I’m not chastising myself around it – which I could – but I’m seeing it as an opportunity to do something different. A chance to listen to what my body and my energy is telling me – which is that I need to be brave enough to try something else, because this option is no longer an option.
I’m willing to see myself as I walk in the world differently, as a woman who isn’t hiding behind color – cuz you can do that too. Distract people. I’m willing to let myself feel cool, powerful, visible, and allow for whatever wants to come next to enter slowly, and kindly.
And, when I got home last night I spent some time in action, and was able to cross about 5 Serenity Moths off my list. These are the holes in the sieve I’m going to need to close in order to hold the grace and abundance I have in my life and I have coming to me in my life.
And now, off to work. In my really hip new boots. 🙂
joy · serenity

Crouching near creekbeds and small plants.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I am definitely finding a reluctancy to plug back into the frenetic pace of life. I feel like that movie A Waking Life where it’s this wonky combination of real life film overlayed with animation. Walking yesterday out of the office at lunchtime to go meet up with some folks, I found myself looking up a lot more – seeing the trees, wondering how they’re doing in the smog, and looking at the glimpses of sky through and sun on the tall buildings. Although I felt rather serene in doing that, I also feel a sense of resignation or sadness to “have to” jump back in whole hog to everything.

I sort of feel like my priorities have shifted. Like everything that was consuming me before I left is like an echo of a memory of a dream. 😉 And I sort of like this ‘one foot in this world’, ‘one foot in another’ kind of feeling, and am sort of curious if I can, and how long I can “keep it up.”
I kept on remembering the very clear sound of the crunching of the leaves and branches under my feet as I wandered off the paths on the 300+ acre camp this weekend. The feeling of my legs lifting up over the dried wiry plants, catching my jeans on them, pausing to plot the best route through the poison oak. (Luckily, I learned a while ago I’m not sensitive to poison oak, but I don’t rub my face in it.) We were given time to simply go sit with nature, find a spot, and sit. Things are so alive and moving out there. It’s like, even if you’re just walking, you don’t even notice. The redwoods creak. It sounds like someone stepping on an old floor board. The sound of the wind coming through the dry leaves on the trees made me wonder at first if there were a highway or a stream near where I was, but no, it was the ebb and flow of the wind having a conversation with itself.
A small bird was pecking its way through a bramble bush near where I was sitting, and although I couldn’t see it for quite some time, I could acutely hear where it was and hear its progression closer to me through the underbrush.
I also took a walk on my own on Sunday morning while a good portion of the women did yoga. I wanted to be outside. I said that I’d had the strangest urge to rent Castaway when I was sick last week, and that I think it was part of my desperate thirst to touch base with the elements. This weekend wasn’t “real” camping, or any kind of fend in inclement weather. But, it was certainly natural.
I walked into the unknown hillside, knowing where the stream was, and wondering if I could get to it from my side. When I couldn’t be sure I could actually get back up the steep drop in time to join the others for breakfast, I still felt drawn to go hang out by the creek. So I went around the other way, climbed over the wooden fence, and crouched by the trickling stream. It was nice to have spent some time not near the water, as sometimes that sound, although harmonious, drowns out what other sounds there were – like the small bird’s progress, and the creaking of the swaying redwoods (which was, by far my favorite sound).
But I squatted by the river – I read once that this stance used to be much more common, and aided in childbirth, but we’ve come away from it as a society – it was nice to squat there, to feel my hip bones sort of melt open and my body familiarize itself with the stretch of my calves and achilles’ tendons. I know according to Seinfield, squatting is a bad naked pose, but that’s okay – I wasn’t naked 😉
I watched the stream’s progression for some time, and noticed where the water level must have previously been judging by the carved out, mossy underside of some tree roots. And I drank from the creek water. (I told a girl later that if I die in a few days, they know why.), but it was so clear, and it was from a running portion of the creek, and … it tasted better than Fiji water. It tasted like clarity, life, calm. And it was so cool, a freshness that I felt as I sipped it from my cupped hand.
You can imagine why, now, coming back to the current reality –which looks like me in front of a computer screen, copy machine, or cataloguing library books– is lacking in a sense of enchantment for me. But, it’s alright. I remember all that of this weekend very clearly. And I made a note too that the stream is now a part of me. I drank from it. Whatever clarity, calm, wholeness it embodies (or doesn’t, maybe it’s just water), I now have that source within me. Surely, perhaps I always have it, but as I crouched down and noticed the fresh eetsy beetsy red leaves of a new poison oak sprout, I laughed at its cheeky, unwavering confidence.
direction · maturity · recovery · relationships · spirituality

The Life of an Asparagus

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

There is a story I’ve heard about bamboo once, and about
asparagus once, and because they were intended as metaphors, I’ve never
bothered to look up their validity, as that wasn’t the point. It goes something
like this:
Asparagus (and bamboo) germinate under the soil for years, months.
For quite some time, on the surface of the earth, it looks as if nothing at all
is happening. The land looks quiet, unproductive, fallow. Then, as if by
miracle, overnight, the asparagus sprouts up through the ground all at once in
a burst of growth and joy. (“joy” added by literary license) 😉
The metaphor’s intended lesson is that, sometimes, when it
looks on the surface that nothing at all is happening, when you begin to lament
that nothing is growing, will grow, that the land itself is bunk, suddenly,
sometimes overnight, suddenly there is the evidence of new life. The point is
that “nothing” has not been happening; there have been great somethings
happening, we just haven’t been able to see them in the way we’ve been looking.
But in fact, a great amount of life, growth, germination, determination, and
nature have been happening all along.
This story occurred to me this morning, having come home
from my annual New Year’s women’s meditation/spirituality retreat yesterday.
What I felt is that this is going to be the year perhaps
right before the sudden overnight growth, or the year I begin to see progress.
In all likelihood, it’s not going to look like “by the end of this year, my
name will be in a playbill,” but it will look like something. The beginnings.
Forgive me if this sounds vague or oblique, but it’s sort of
hard to concretize what’s beginning to feel like satisfaction. The last several
years, according to the above metaphor, have been a lot of laying of groundwork. There’s been a lot that has
been happening under the surface. And sure, it’s looked like a ton of busy-ness
above ground – moving, jobs, school, relationships – but, in reality, there
hasn’t been as much movement or change above ground as you might think. (Being busy and changing are two different things, I realize.) A lot
of it has been happening internally, subtly, and slowly.
I’m also just coming back from this intense, sort of
un-summarizable weekend, so honestly, I’m still getting my head around what new
knowledge, support, direction, I’ve gotten. And, truly, I imagine that a lot of
what’s happened this weekend will take months to settle. And that’s cool. And
that’s what I like about them.
The retreats become this sort of psychic wisk, stirring up
all kinds of stuff, and it takes some time for the pieces to settle enough to
examine and integrate them.
What I can say for semi-certain is that I am feeling more
confident than ever about who and where I am and am going in my life. I had a
sort of montage-y thing happen in one of my meditations where I was
fast-forwarded through all the work I’d done since I’d sat in that very circle of redwoods around that very fire 4 years ago. It’s a lot. I’ve done a lot of work. I’ve excavated a lot, I’ve healed a lot,
I’ve been presented with some of the most frightening aspects of my past and my
fears and my blocks. And I was brought up present to what I have to do next.
It’s not surprising, and in fact, I’ve been preparing to head here, but it was like pieces falling into place. In order to move forward, in order to begin doing the work I want to do, this is what needs to happen next. It’s a very “If X, Then Y” scenario. I must address a very particular series of old and rather severe
wounds in order to really come out from the
side-lines of my own life — I have to address this long avoided and discounted pain. In order to “own
voice,” have voice, allow my voice to be heard, via song, performance,
presence, I have to unblock this constriction. A constriction which is and has been very
clear on saying, demanding, and indicating that I “shut the fuck up.”
Brightly, what was also indicated to me, and what I felt/feel
very strongly, is that I have allies. That I have the community to draw from
which I will need to get into, through, and out of this painful mutedness. And,
too, that any teacher or mentor I don’t yet have will become available as
I need it – and as I ask for and accept help. That’s been a theme for me lately
– about not being as isolated and fiercely independent as I’ve been. That I
don’t have to do this alone. I’ve begun walking into part of that process, and
it’s a lifetime thing.
So, asparagus. This will be a year of rubbing my hands over
the soil, brushing some of it back, and revealing the incredible tip of the
asparagus bounty that is about to happen.
I am grateful for the women who have helped me to come to
this place – and I’ll be reaching out to you for your wisdom, experience, and support as I move forward from here (if I don’t, text me) 😉
community · growth · painting · school · spirituality

Spirit Animals & Oil Paint

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, this may be a mini-blog, as I’ve got to run to get ready
for the annual new year’s retreat I’m going to today through tomorrow up in the Napa Hills. I’m excited. I never know
what will come of these, but there’s always something.
I was reminded yesterday of accepting things as they are, not
as I want them to be. And of the phrase, We ask G-d for what we want, he gives
us what we need, and in the end, it’s what we wanted anyway.
I got a text from the Catholic saying he was bummed; and I
admit that I am too. But I let it lie, because there’s nothing really else to
say. It’s a decision I’ve finally made, and maybe it’ll change, but for now,
this is an option I’ve never let myself explore, and if that’s not being open
to change, I don’t know what is.
Another thing on my mind have been creeping thoughts of
“not good enough” as I begin to prepare for my singing and acting auditions
next weekend and the following. But, luckily, I heard myself telling my friend
yesterday that, to quote Julia Cameron’s Artist’s Way, we’re in charge of the quantity, G-d’s in charge of
the quality.
That, and maybe I really do need lessons of some sort. Maybe
I don’t have to do it on my own. And maybe, as this is the consistent nudge
I’ve been getting toward performance, maybe a miracle of funds to afford
said lessons will “appear” or make themselves available, or maybe my ideas of
my priorities will change and the money is actually already there.
I have, however, been thinking “car.” One of next week’s
auditions is for the live modeling guild. It’s reputable and on the up and up,
and you need reliable motorized transportation in order to be a member. So,
that, and the desperate desire for the freedom my own car would provide… I get
my student loan money soon, and will be filing my taxes early online as usual,
and although I didn’t work as much as I’d anticipated this week due to being
sick, I will have some money from this temp gig to throw in as well, with my
January costs all still being covered from the work I was able to do in
December.
I think part of my self-doubt around performance too is that
I have been sick and sort of isolated this week, which contributes to too much
time in my brain – and feeling lethargic is not a good motivator. But, I’m on
the mend – this retreat will help recenter me, I hope, as will getting back to
work, and getting back to school … which begins the week after next.
You know what I’m taking? Painting. Advanced Oil Painting to
be exact. What else? My thesis credit, and that’s f’ing it 😉 I’m so excited to
get back into the painting studio. I’ve tried to use my kitchen as a studio,
and even have a small easel that I got off craigslist, but it’s not the same.
The light, the space, the feeling of being in an artistic venue. I’m so excited
🙂
I will also be taking the other half-credit of my Community
Teaching Project class, which will be the execution and implementation of the
Spirituality & Creativity workshop I created. And to be honest, going to these
retreats & workshops with this woman over the last 4 years has absolutely influenced the
way I see my workshop, and I model a good deal after what she and Julia Cameron
have to offer. I have some great teachers.
Maybe I’ll let myself have some teachers in performance too.
I ran into a friend at the modeling gig I did about a month ago. He was one of
the musicians in the band I sang with about 4 years ago – it was one song, to
be performed in the one performance of one local community play, but I
rehearsed with the band, I practiced my song, and what did my friend have to
say to me last month? That when I finally let myself really let go, I was
great. And, I believe him. It’s letting myself get there that’s the frightening
part.
To shedding that which no longer serves us, See you on
Monday! xo,m. 

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.