This post would probably be a lot better expressed as a video, so you can see all the weird, animated facial expressions I make when I talk. But alas…I forgot I was going to try my hand at vlogging today, and I ended up putting some special oil treatments in my hair, and since I have not yet honed my turban wrapping skills quite where they need to be, trust me, you do NOT want to see this hot mess on cam today.
Versus Being Hung Up on Being Hung Up
The other day a pretty wonderful human being smacked the living bejeesus out of me (figuratively of course), when she gently and politely yelled at me, “You need to Chill OUT mom! Seriously! Jebus Crust!
I often have this sweet little fantasy about myself–I think I need to be perfect, and I need to be perfect right now! You know the drill: The perfect job and career, the perfect bank account, the perfect personality, the perfect body, the perfect hairstyle, the perfect lifestyle, the perfect mom and the perfect woman for my man–Just your regular, everyday and instantly available stuff.
That’s totally not a ridiculously stressful thing at all, in fact, I’m absolutely not getting panic attack here, just talking about it. Breathe…Breathe in…Blow out…
This morning, I was reminded of a thing. Yes, a thing.
The thing is this: we are all (okay, never “all”. Also never “never”) quite hard on ourselves when it comes to who we used to be versus who we’ve become.
Many of us, even those of us who are doing quite well in our 40s (and I don’t necessarily include myself in that), look back on our high-school years and 20s with nostalgia. We used to think of ourselves in affirmative, active, future-facing terms: singers, dancers, poets, models, athletes, competitors, expats, world travelers; even “former cult member” has a certain sense of celebrity to it.
In another post, I mentioned something I called a “victim coat”. Since then I’ve had a series of conversations specifically about this particular not-so-obvious-to-the-person-wearing-it-but-glaring-everyone-else-in-the-face fashion choice.
The other day, I had a rather heated exchange with one of my best friends, someone I love and care about dearly. This person was fully wearing the victim coat. In fact she was cuddled up in it so tightly and comfortably, buried so deeply in it, I could barely see the top of her head poking out from it–and since I really want her to be incredibly happy: I was furiously exasperated!
Like many of us, I’d always seen Jim Carrey as an effortlessly hilarious comedian actor and funny man.
It was only fairly recently that I discovered (and honestly, I was a bit surprised) he’s got a deep, beautiful and spiritual side as well.
I’m not talking about religion here, but spirituality.
“The very thing that makes you different makes you special”.
Advice from The Flash series, of all places (alright, I confess, watching comic book movies and series is one of my guilty pleasures).
Could that really be true?
Could the thing that makes me so different from everyone around me, be the reason I have a hard time fitting into any category or designation? Is it actually the thing that makes me special?
What if because of it, I am the amazing person that I am, one who will bring huge amounts of value to many, many people?
The Powerful Feminine:
What is it about this kind of woman, that awes and inspires both men and women…
She’s a goddess, a lover, a warrior, a psychic, a lawyer, a fantasy, an illusion, a rock, a spiritual being, and a girl-next-door.
What is it about her that is so damn seductive, endearing, tragic, playful, magical, powerful, strong, tender, vulnerable, courageous, undefined, unpredictable, steady, certain, iconic, and then she tops it all off with a single glass tear that shatters your heart, makes you feel like a glittering rock star, a humble servant, and her brave knight in shining armour…
…all at the same time?
Take a deep breath and steady your heart rate.
You’ve just had a close encounter with a Powerful Feminine!
Not that I or most people ever would–haute cusine aside, I find boiling, or eating frogs to be a rather disgusting thought.
That said, here’s why I’m talking about suspiciously borderline culinary arts today.
One of the big questions that comes up when someone hears about how I was born and raised in a cult, and the thousands of people who actually joined the darn thing, is: How does a person knowingly sign up for that specific brand of wacky-crazy? What kind of weirdly demented, twisted or psychotic person do you have to be in order to join a cult in the first place?
The answer is pretty scary:
Why did I paint Thor? I get that question a LOT.
This painting is very special to me. I painted it just after I had finally met my dad again (face to face), after 27 years of separation. I think on some level, it represents the strength I needed to get through, both those 27 years, as well as the (initially very awkward) meeting.
Have you ever kept a deep dark secret? A secret you hoped no one would ever discover because it is too crazy, too painful, too dark, too weird, too…just about everything. Maybe you feel no one could possibly understand.