I was on a walk with Russ earlier when for whatever reason I decided to play one of my favorite Red Hot Chili Peppers songs, for reference it’s Fortune Faded. Next on the greatest hits album is Save the Population which I also let play through. After I finished the songs, I went to the By the Way album (arguably their best) and scrolled to the bottom. I played a song that evokes strong memories and emotions: Venice Queen. It’s probably worth mentioning that the Red Hot Chili Peppers were my favorite band as a teenager. I saw them in concert many times and even met Flea when I was 15. I had an entire drawer of RHCP shirts and relied on their music to get me through my happiest and saddest days. As a kid/teenager I was dressed like a tomboy and felt uncomfortable when I dressed too feminine—reasons unknown. To this day, I still tend to dress more in line with this style and feel like a caricature of myself when I feel too done up. This was an interesting crossroads to find myself at as a teenager because I was a competitive dancer and had to wear fake eyelashes, heavy make up and glitter regularly. To me, it felt like I was playing a role and in a way, I was. I kind of went along with whatever I had to do and put my best foot forward at competitions and didn’t complain.

There always comes a time in a competitive dancers tenure where they can start competing solo. I performed my first solo at 12 and I was so nervous I could have puked. I wore a black and red sparkly costume: a long sleeve crop top with matching pants. I danced to “Lose my Breath” by Destiny’s Child. My friends came to watch me and it didn’t feel authentic so in my next rounds, I tried to find something more fitting to my style. Finally, when I was 15, I decided to go against my own rule which was to ask my teacher to choreograph and dance to a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. The understanding in the dance community is that you typically don’t choose a song you love because by the end, you’ll come to hate it. You listen to it 500 times and will always have the dance associated with it. This solo was important to me so I decided to do mine to a song that wasn’t my favorite but I still enjoyed which happened to be Venice Queen. With solos, you even get to pick out your own costumes and I finally felt like I had found a way to express myself in an art where I often felt disassociated.

For several months, I’d meet with my dance teacher on Saturdays and we’d rehearse. She would see where we could push, what my special move could be and readjust when needed. To this day, 17 years later, I can still remember a decent amount of that choreography which is kind of amazing. Anyway, I picked out a black costume with these cut out tribal looking designs. I decided to only wear dance pads on my feet as opposed to shoes so I could turn and catch traction. I opted for dark, moody make up and statement hair. I tied my hair back in a high pony tail and teased the hair to make it appear untamed. I looked in the mirror and thought I looked cool. I was so excited to dance to music that I loved and feel authentic all by myself on stage. As I waited backstage, I watched the girls in my age group perform before me. I watched them in their pastel dresses leap across the stage to Lee Ann Womac, James Blunt and the Goo Goo Dolls. I looked at their neatly tied back hair with fake floral decorations pinned on the sides. I watched them smile and make eye contact with each judge, every move timed and perfected down to the count. I walked out into the hall and told my coach I didn’t want to perform. It was in that moment I realized how different I looked and felt amongst my peers and that made me want to back out all together.

I slid my back down the wall and buried my face into my hands. She came and sat down beside me, initially frustrated at the timing of this revelation. She asked me if I would have felt better to be dressed like them or choose a song similar to theirs to blend in or would I have regretted not doing something that felt like me. She told me how cool the whole piece was and how hard we had worked to put something together that I connected with and how the solo slot was the opportunity to do that. She told me at one point I’d look back on that moment in life with gratitude that I did something with conviction and brought me closer to recognizing my own sense of self. I’ve thought about that moment since but it’s only now that I can truly connect the dots and underscore the importance of identity and the bravery it can take to do something that is authentic for yourself. I got up and wiped my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I knew my brother Ryan and his girlfriend had come to watch me and I wanted to do my best.

Somewhere in my things back home, I have this performance recorded. I can watch it with a critical eye for the technical aspects but the emotion pours through. I wasn’t meant to smile in this dance or “perform” so to say. For me, it was statement if to nobody else but myself.

So anyway, that’s what I think of when I listen to that song.

Life has been moving slowly as of late and that’s not necessarily a bad thing just a matter of fact. I’m actually grateful for the slow progression of life when things are good because they moved even slower when things weren’t. I always beg for time to come to a halt when things are stable, even if it feels boring or monotonous. It used to be that I wished time away no matter what. Maybe a part of maturing is realizing when things level out you want to stay right where you are. Highs and lows come at a great cost to my mental health and I prefer to vibrate somewhere in the middle.

I’ve been settling into a quiet/lonely era and that’s by my own design. I’ve been keeping my head down and getting my life back in order post visitors. I’ve been watching nutrition videos for fun (lol). I’ve gone for long walks with Russ at night. I’ve been scheduling my workouts to keep the seasonal depression to a minimum and give myself a reason to leave the house after work. Over the weekend I went to a Halloween party and caught up with a friend. I spent hours listening to an audiobook and reorganizing my kitchen (pictures to follow). I did a cycling class and made a nice dinner. I’ve kept my social life very minimal for the past few weeks which has been uncomfortable at times but mostly peaceful. The other day, I walked down the street to a small stationary store that I’ve been meaning to go to and bought supplies to start writing letters again.

All in all, things feel wholesome.

I was talking with Carly the other day and she said something that struck a cord with me—something I’ve always known on a subconscious level but maybe not explored further or put into context. She mentioned that she was very bad or limited with discomfort but could handle pain well. As soon as she said that it occurred to me that I’m the exact opposite and this would reveal itself in the coming weeks. I realized that through the eyes of other people, I had surrendered to a decent amount of discomfort in my life and learned to live with it. For example: my microwave, an appliance I historically used every day, has been broken for a year. Instead of fixing it or finding a solution, I just worked around it and made my life harder. Why? I don’t know. But when it comes to pain, I have a low tolerance both emotionally and physically. On the contrary, I’ve watched people like Carly handle physically painful experiences with far more grace than me and vice versa with discomfort. Sometimes I wonder if my brain is wired differently…not in a way that makes me unique or interesting but one that signals that I don’t see things in a logical way and as a result, inherently make my life harder than it needs to be.

I digress.

The other day while I was cleaning my kitchen, I started an audiobook and the main theme is grief. The book centers around the loss of a sibling which unfortunately is too on the nose for me at the moment. I listened anyway. The book I’m reading before bed is also rooted in the theme of grief or loss. Hmmmm. And then, I recently re-watched Fleabag because in my opinion, it’s a masterpiece. Again, a central theme being grief and the loss of a friend and family member. There’s a part in Fleabag when she talks about not knowing what to do with her grief or the love she had for the person she lost. “Where does it go? Where do I put it?” I’ve had this thought, although maybe not as clear, many times. Whether it was losing a person by death or circumstance, I’ve revisited the idea of where does all my love for that person go when they’re no longer in my life? Her friend responds “Give it to me. I’ll take it.” And maybe that is the solution? Passing that love you’re carrying on to the people in your life and rationing it out to make it whole.

Yesterday was Omie’s birthday and I wouldn’t consider this a dark day but it’s one that does stop me in my tracks. It’s a day where I’m used to celebrating someone I love more than anyone on the planet. On this day, I allow myself the space to listen to her voice or sit with the discomfort of her not being here anymore. If I let myself do that more often, it would consume me. Not long ago, I started talking about her in therapy and the grief I experienced when she died and ongoing. For me, this was the person in my life who brought stability and a constant stream of love. She signified or represented a version of a life I desperately wanted to have. She was secure in herself and never withheld her love or affection towards me. She was even handed in her support and constructive criticism of my choices. When I lost my childhood cat Big Momma, I poured that remaining love into Russell. When I lost Omie, I found myself redirecting that love towards Adam’s mom, Lynn. Her energy and spirit are so similar to Omie and her overlap in my life, like Russell, bridged a gap with the loss that didn’t have me carrying excess love for too long. While not every aspect of my life or upbringing was ideal, I can say that when I audit my life and those around me, I ask myself how I got so lucky on a regular basis.

Lynn visited me a few weeks ago and noticed I didn’t have a working microwave. She asked me why and reminded me how much use I get from that one single appliance. Like Omie would have done, she bought me a microwave and wished me many warm meals and coffees. She knew it was Omie’s birthday yesterday and sent me a note with money to go have a treat in her honor. And then, my neighbor (and friend) Isabel sent me an apfelstreudel to celebrate Omie. We sat on my couch and ate it together which felt like the nicest way to spend a gray afternoon.

I’m trying to address discomfort and fix things rather than getting used to them or letting it become my normal. I want to take care of myself in a way that other people would—seeing my life through their eyes. I think I’m getting there and by spending some time alone, I’m doing just that. I don’t have to tackle it all at once which is what I need to keep in mind. Writing, even for nobody else but myself, is also a way I stay consistent and take care of myself so… here I am.

auf wiedersehen!

I’ve been offline for about two and a half weeks. The time changed in Germany yesterday so I woke up earlier than usual and got the day started on a productive note. I took my vitamins, made a wake up tea, and wrote in my journal. This morning was the first time I’ve been alone in a few weeks and it felt like a nice reset to get back to my routine. I’ve felt a little scattered in that regard, not to mention I’ve been battling a cold for roughly nine days which has been a pain. Anyway, I’m back to my ways and I’ve had a lot of thoughts in the meantime.

Not that it matters, but I took a small break to make a second cup of coffee and continue writing this. I’m not sure I look forward to anything in life quite like my second cup of coffee in the morning. Whenever I think about cutting coffee or caffeine I think of the joy this one thing/realization brings me on a daily basis and I determine it’s not worth whatever thing I’d be proving to myself anyway. So, let’s get into the real topic…where I’ve been and what’s next.

Adam’s parents (I actually don’t want to distill them just to his parents because they’re more than that- so let’s go with Lynn and Rich) were visiting for 10 days and it was a visit I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I stayed the night at Ryan’s place upstairs and gave them my apartment so they’d feel comfortable and have Russell with them. I got used to coming down the stairs and seeing them sitting on my couch with Russell while they had a cup of coffee and we planned out our days. Lynn and Rich are some of the most positive, appreciative people I’ve ever known. I knew our visit would be memorable and special if it involved sitting in the same room and not exploring an inch of Berlin but of course, we didn’t do this. We went to museums, parks, different neighborhoods, bars, restaurants, cinemas, shows, etc. When they’re near me, I feel safe. They brought a sense of home and familiarity with me that I really needed and sometimes repress in my daily thoughts.

I have a lot more to say about their visit and how I feel currently but I’ll wait until I have the time to do so. It feels good to be back but it felt even better to be away for a bit.

on repeat

ok this one too

I’ve been experiencing a creative drought recently which is frustrating for me. I haven’t been using my camera as much as I’d like, my writing is sparse, etc. I felt myself in a bit of a dip and then I read my good friend’s blog and felt inspired to create things again. Reading about her different projects and expressions of creativity reminded me that I can find outlets in unsuspecting places if I don’t have a lot of energy to give.

I read something the other day that said something to the tune of “Practicing yoga daily doesn’t mean doing a 60 minute asana or even practicing on your mat. It can also be journaling or meditating or operating within the yogic principles.” I thought about this a lot and the rigidity that often exists in my brain. Just because I’m not writing essays or taking photos with my analog camera doesn’t mean I’m not expressing myself in other ways. I find my creative expression in the little playlists I create, the outfits I put together, when I find myself assembling a little theme, and so on. An example that comes to mind was during the pandemic. I felt this immense pressure to be making the most of the downtime (creatively) whether it be baking, yoga, making art, or trying something new I felt stuck. When I look back, I see the ways I was expressing myself despite feeling depressed or hopeless given the state of the world. I made little collage postcards and sent them to my friends. On Sundays, I’d choose a different traditional breakfast to make for Adam and I from different parts of the world. I was still expressing myself, just in less obvious ways.

Yesterday I went for a six mile run around my neighborhood. I just kept running further away from my normal route and ended up in a corner of Schöneberg I hadn’t found myself in before. While I was running, I listened to German audio lessons which in combination felt kind of meditative. I thought about ways I could find my way back to creative outlets. One thought I had was the desire to understand and learn a new language. I can’t think of a more creative venture. I thought about the books I have sitting on my table and the one I just started reading. Learning and reading, moreover being curious, are the most creative ways we can explore new things. Anyway, I’m just saying that I was trying to open up my mind to the possibility that I’m not stuck in one set way of being creative.

I’m going to Vienna tomorrow and I’m looking forward to that. It’s my favorite city in the world. I’ll bring my camera and running shoes along. I hope I can get a decent run in while I’m there so I feel like I”m able to see parts of the city I wouldn’t be able to since I’ll be working most of the weekend. I’m going to start bringing my camera along more often without the pressure to shoot the whole roll but take a photo if I feel inspired. I like sharing the way I see things.

If you find other ways to be creative, please share them with me~

a nice Wednesday night with my friend Peter at café luzia. he gave me my belated birthday present! a hungarian book that all the kids read in school!