Follow Good Vibes

I crave the depths. The deep work. I’m like most people though. I cling to safety while I simultaneously squirm to run and jump off a cliff into the dark unknown of the water below - all the while yelling and screaming and hollering indecipherable words that just need to get out before I try to make logical sense of them. You feel that too? That desire. Deep and visceral. Vibrating just below the surface. Fighting for space even if it doesn't logically make sense. I mean, there’s nothing inherently wrong with logic. But for me, it often seems to be the antithesis of creativity. The antithesis of authenticity. The antithesis of exploration. I’m king, queen, and joker of logically excusing myself out of remembering old stories. I talk myself out of challenging long-held beliefs. I unconsciously inhibit myself from creating anew.  You ever find yourself pigeon-holed only to realize you did it to yourself? That you were the only thing holding you back from diving into the depths? Or ma

My whole life I’ve had to mentally prepare before entering new situations. I don’t say this to gain sympathy or pity. I just say it to highlight the fact of it being an experience of individuals living with a disability. It’s made me incredible at anticipating future events. It’s also made me paranoid and anxious. Some situations require more preparation than others. One situation I was reminded of recently is this: What do I do with my drink at a party? I assume this isn’t a thought at the forefront of an abled bodied individual’s mind. But for me, the moment I get a drink in my hand I have to think of where to put it when I’m  introduced to someone new. Because when you meet someone new you need to shake their hand. But my only shakable hand is holding the cup. And if I didn’t think ahead of time then I’m stuck either smiling and refusing the handshake, Or running to find a spot to place my drink for a few moments. And if I’m feeling really brave

You'll never get that time back. They said to me after I decided to take a year for myself. I just couldn't bring myself to jump into my career world directly following grad school. I was tired, weary, and unsure of myself. For so long I had been surviving. Constantly meeting that status quo. No more. No less. Just enough. I wanted more for myself. I wanted to offer more to my future career. So I quit. I quit it all. I left the state with my dog, my partner, and only what we could fit in our Pontiac Vibe. I had never been a quitter before. My follow-through and determination had always been exceptional. But I gave it up for a year with my sister, my family, my partner, and myself. Some people got it. They understood. You can only hustle for so long. But others kept telling me I would never get that year back. And they were right. I'll never get back the year I spent most evenings drinking wine and cooking meals with my sister. I'll never g

  I jump into the water on an early December afternoon. Sure, it's California, but the floating thermometer reads 49 degrees. It's too cold for a leisure swim. So instead, I decide to tread water. The first few minutes are the worst. My limbs begin to tingle and burn as they do when too close to a fire. My body comes alive. I remember how used to pain I am. I remember part of me loves it. Part of me lives for it. But the longer I tread the less pain I begin to feel. Numbness takes over, Which I would say is second only to discomfort. I begin to feel completely neutral. A body floating in water. No limbs. No skin. No head. Just breath. In then out. In then out. And somewhere in the breath awareness breaks through. I am reminded I love my body. I begin to remind myself I do not need pain or numbness to survive. As I leave the water I ask myself, "Are you afraid of feeling good?" The answer is a complicated one. It is a sentence still being w

I don't have enough photos of you, Which makes me feel a certain way. Happy because it means we enjoyed the moments, Without fear of the future. We had no need to document the seconds as they passed. No thought existed to tell us we might want to freeze the moment in time. It makes me believe we lived fully in those years. But now as my brain starts to have a harder time with recall, And as the vivid memories start to blur at the edges, I just wish I would have taken more photos. I wish I would have realized how important the moments were, How fragile our time was. I wish I had more than my memories to hold onto. I remember journaling days after you passed, I crazily tried to write down every memory and moment I had of you. I was afraid I would forget. I was right. Not that I could ever forget you. But I'm starting to lose specific stories I want to remember forever. I imagine that is how we continue on after we are gone. We not only live through the

I've always hated my unevenness. But we're all a little uneven, right? Our eyes. Our feet. Our breasts. The two sides of our bodies are more like cousins than sisters. That's what they say. Right? Wrong. Research says that symmetry is beauty. Babies are drawn to it. Men make love to it. Magazines highlight it. Doctors will fix your unevenness. It's for your health. The less uneven you feel, the better. But I'm just trying to find balance. Equilibrium. My own sense of parallel.

Fear I grew up with a strange relationship to fear. It constantly felt near to me. Every new experience was wrought with an unnerving uncertainty. But I knew I would sink into self-pity and complacency if I didn't engage with the unknown. So I aggressively attacked fear. I armored up and fought my way through the distressing moments. I proved myself over and over again. I became obsessed with highlighting my bravery. I let fear know it would never win. And over time a form of masochism set in. I began to thrive off of the pain. I needed the difficulties. I had to have something to attack. The moments when fear was absent began to feel like the real terror. The calm was my personal storm. Safety was now something to avoid. I was uneasy at the thought of anything coming too easy. So I've had to begin to reassess my relationship to fear. The work is now finding out which battles are mine to fight, And which are mine to sit out. Not every mountain needs