Dreamer

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.”– Harriet Tubman

These inspirational quips are easy to find as they roll along our feed like waves, but can easily hit the wall of our own stupid shit. I mean, do we honestly believe we can live out our dreams? Sure chosen folk like Oprah and Kobe seem to, and possibly my mother did, but what about you, or me? Can we push away doubt? Acquire a room of one’s own where we dare those dreams into action? I’ve known plenty of people with talent and possibility who crashed right into a waterfall of negative behaviors and let their own potential rush away. Maybe it’s the demons in their head, maybe it’s just their crap circumstances, regardless, they let their internal passions subside to a trickle. They put down the paint brush. They stop dancing. They quit imagining and believe something less about themselves, something more tragic. They’ve heard the sad tale so long they write one of their own.

feet in the sand on Santa Monica beach

What do you believe about yourself? Can you just pretend for one sunny moment that you are all that you envision you are? That the job you do is one that utilizes your full creative potential? That your future is in your own hands? Quite a mission if we feel tossed from day to day. But here’s the thing: why not choose to believe in the best outcome? I mean, seriously, what do you have to lose? Life is spinning by fast and then faster, so why not harness that rotation into your own glowing projection on this earth?

I know what you are up against. Whispers of “women can’t write, women can’t paint” have been heard even before Woolf penned those words in 1927. But even timid Lily defied that sentiment, right? Regardless of gender or age we can get trapped by societal misconceptions, from being the fat one or the stupid one or the talent-less one or just plain lazy and unlucky, we play out those limiting roles. Instead, how about we stand up to our own self-doubt as magnificently as Lily does in To the Lighthouse? Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision.

Flying away from the City of Angels is never easy for me.  My children live down there. And, besides the strings knotted between us, the city is built on dreams. Uber drivers write good screenplays. Waitresses are ready to hit the airwaves. Surfers design apps to cure loneliness. Seems everyone in Los Angeles is joined in believing in a vision beyond their current limitations. Over time, West Coast magic can break even hardened East Coast Northerns. Truly. Beyond Hollywood, there are garage bands making harmony and coffee shop plot lines and glittery dreams aplenty crisscrossing freeways. Even with Trump’s fatalistic fire and fury, one can reach for the stars here, believe in a better tomorrow, and let his improvisational rhetoric fall flat below. Maybe it’s the sunshine and palm trees, maybe it’s just a collective Los Angeles agreement that everyone should have the chance to change their world.

Flying over Los Angeles beaches

How about just for today you suspend your cynicism? The desperate voice in your chatter? Imagine something grander for your tomorrow. Be willing to turn off despair. Count your blessings. Start speaking out loud what you hold locked within. Believe we each have the ability to transform our dreams into reality if we follow our joy. Put that in your mind. Remember when all seems impossible. Joy. Latch onto that with me and together let’s dance right into a better world.

Move Ahead

A goal. A destination. A purpose. Life is filled with markers for all of us, from birth to death we move along a continuum of time, looking for meaning. In the beginning, unconscious or conscious, we encounter a string of firsts. First word. First step. First big tumble. First day away from mommy and daddy. The list goes on and on, seeming to stretch far into the milky way with possibility. At least that is the idyllic version we all hope for in life, that doors keep opening while our drive pushes us higher and higher along our projected paths.

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Writing What You Know: part 2

There is no denying that at the center of memoir is an unreliable narrator. As I wrote yesterday,”Working with memory is even less faithful than fiction. There is nothing to google or investigate. Sure I can ask a brother or two, but I don’t remember any of them standing with me in that short hallway between the kitchen and my father’s den.” In memoir you stand alone, even if the subject of your work is the whole lot of you, you have only yourself to corroborate with.

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As I plunge further into my own murky and dark past I have only my instinct to rely on; here the tenants of fiction and non-fiction collide, for they are both born of the creative spark that ignites my fingers across the keyboard. Beyond that they deviate.

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she’s gone where?

Sorry to desert you, my dear hard-working friends, but, I’m on VACATION, searching out some much needed sunshine.

Expect a full and glorious report on my return.

Until then,

xxoo

 

Dark Month Survival: Part Two

Darkness arrives before weIMG_8214 get home from work leaving us without much cheer to face the long night. To survive, we need to celebrate the little moments. This November I say take whatever flimsy excuse you got and congratulate without reserve. Work out in the gym five days in a row? Boom, Celebrate! Manage to wake up before hitting snooze to meditate with Oprah and Deepak? You’re a hero, Cheers! Remembered your keys, cell phone and wallet, for once? Take a bow, Santé!

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Nine Cent Girl Anniversary!!

Yippee!! I’m still blogging after another year! Yup it’s true, I’m sliding past year 5, because, well, I clearly have a vast outpouring of words and ideas and blogging allows me to release all of that into the blogosphere. Thankfully after each post many of you click the like tab, others leave a thoughtful comment, and there are still others who let me know in person exactly what my blog means to you. No matter how you contact me, I am humbled by your continued support and am encouraged to keep tapping my keyboard and publishing every Thursday evening.

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Harvest

Some weeks I go super broad in this blog– with topics that affect us all–you know BIG PICTURE stuff. Other times I write small–internal pulls–just me stuff. I can’t say for sure which readers appreciate more, but each week I follow my heart and hope for the best. This is one of those small posts, for all I could do was ruminate and observe nature’s reflection around me.

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