A couple of nights ago, I had a plane crash dream. Not a big deal, I have been having plane crash dreams for years – which I suppose contributes to my need to shit a brick every damn time I board a plane. But what was unusual about this one was that I was actually inside the plane when it crashed. Now, typically what happens during this recurring hell dream is that I am standing somewhere watching a plane takeoff and immediately afterward it crashes. Like, it plummets to the ground right in front of me and explodes. If I am lucky, right before it hits the ground, it turns into an inflatable whale, gently lands on the ground and old men with walkers all safely disembark by sliding down the emergency exit thingy (hmm, thinking 20th Century Fox needs to hear my pitch for Cocoon 3).
Category: shit I think about (Page 1 of 2)
On the morning of August 28th, 2014, at 9:45 in the morning I was sitting in a window seat on flight AC7738, and in the distance, perched atop the low-lying clouds, like a flawlessly crafted piece of art, sat the Manhattan skyline. I couldn’t help but notice how small, and insignificant it looked from so far away. But I already knew from my time previously spent there; it was anything but that. And it was for that very reason I was on that plane, that morning, anxiously awaiting touchdown and my first breath of New York City air. New York City is the love of my life, and as we approached – its vastness beginning to reveal itself – I sat hopeful, that somehow on the streets far below, she would be able to fix me. I was in desperate need of healing, and it was her I chose to help me. So, when I exited the airport shuttle in front of my hotel, I closed my eyes, inhaled the Manhattan air into my lungs and surrendered my broken self to the city…my love.
I was born in 1971, which means I am a true child of the 80’s. If you were born in the 80’s, sorry, it doesn’t count the same. You were just getting started. Meanwhile, I was sprouting hairs down there, riding out the angst of adolescence to the beat of Def Leppard and REO Speedwagon and driving around in a tree scented white Camaro with Rockaberry Cooler discreetly stashed between my legs. While you were learning to tie your shoes, I was outsmarting the local police department, and sporting stupidly teased bangs. I am a product of the 80’s. Not only was I raised in all its neon and hair teasing splendor, but I also survived to tell the tale.
Most of my friends are married, own homes, are parents of fabulous kids and are on a career path that’s going end with a well-earned pension. They all seem to have their shit sorted, are settled down and are adulting like normal people.
Then there’s me.
When I am out walking a dog and weaving my way through a new neighbourhood, I see not just homes, but lives. I see roots being planted. Stories being written. A place people call home. And I think, ‘How wonderful.’ But then. Then it happens. I hear the sound of a vacuum in a driveway and see someone cleaning out a minivan, see an open garage with boxes piled high – chaos stored within its walls, smell the scent of fresh laundry, notice unfinished renovations or see someone weeding their garden and instantly, I become anxious. What I see and smell reminds me that alongside all the ‘wonderful’ are things like chores, compromises, resentment, anger and unfulfilled dreams and I can’t help but wonder, ‘Are these people actually happy?‘ And as I continue on my way, I feel relieved, lucky in fact, that it’s not me. That nothing and nobody is waiting for me at home. I find domestication suffocating and thoroughly insufferable. The destiny that awaits me isn’t a white picket fence and routine. Oh no, out there waiting for me are lessons to learn, words to be written, Horizons to fly towards, and experiences that will lead me…to me, and my dreams. What has yet to make sense in my life, finally will, if I just stay on the path, I am on. Alone.
Yesterday I began pet-sitting for some new people. It did not get off to a good start, and I am now of the belief that it is imperative I stay extra on top of my game while I am here because it seems like if I don’t pay attention for even one second, something is going to go catastrophically wrong. Like for example, the cat is so large that when she lays down, she looks like a bath mat. It makes sense that this would be the week she explodes.
*This blog post was written in real time. I don’t even know if it makes sense. I have also decided I am not responsible for any of its content. I thought I was going to die. OKAY?*
My biggest fear in the world is flying – which is so weird because one of my dreams is to travel and see the world. My fear guarantees that when my dream comes true, I will spend a portion of it shitting my pants – a small price I am willing to pay if it means I will spend eternity reminiscing and celebrating instead of regretting.
Right now I am on a plane, and I think I am about to die. We are ascending, and I almost passed out twice already, due to the G-force I am experiencing. The pilot decided it would be best to head straight for the moon, instead of Calgary, like, right fucking now. (Dearest Pilot – HAVE YOU NO SOUL?) I have flown many times, but this ascent is unlike any I have ever experienced. So, I am documenting my final moments.
I hate the saying ‘The universe only ever gives you what you can handle.’ Like, hate. it. If someone ever says those words to me in my time of need or sorrow, I will have to refrain from punching that person in the throat (not really, but AHHHH!). I think that quote is absolute crap and makes no sense at all. The universe dishes out whatever the hell it wants, to whoever the hell it wants, and when it does, each of us is responsible for how we respond to it.
There is nothing more Meryl Streep needs to do to cement her legacy as one of the greatest actresses of her generation, or any for that matter – she is a goddess. But last night she catapulted herself into the stratosphere and will be immortalized not only as the brightest star ever to shine but as a hero. Standing in front of her peers, and millions of people watching at home, with conviction, grace, and courage gave a speech for the ages about inclusion and protection of freedoms. The strength she must have had to muster, I can only imagine.
*names, destinations, and occupations have been changed in this post…for obvious reasons.
I don’t like to refer to myself as a paranoid person (I totally am), I prefer to say that I possess a vivid imagination. When I was 15, I was often at home alone, which was great – my dad trusted me. It was not unusual, though, for me to ask my friends to walk through every inch of my house when they dropped me off at night to make sure no creep was lurking in a corner waiting to kill me. When I was too embarrassed to ask them to do it, I walked every inch myself, steel bar in hand. It was the only way I could close my eyes and fall asleep alone in my house, with the knowledge I was, in fact, alone. One morning, convinced someone had broken into my dad’s bedroom and was rifling through his dresser drawers, I jumped out my bedroom window, with my dog tucked under my arm, and fled three doors down to my friend Ronda’s house and called the fuzz. After a thorough walk-through of the house, they concluded that there was no evidence anyone had been there, and my dad’s underwear and socks were intact – still meticulously folded in his drawers, just as he had left them. Oopsie daisy. I told you, a very vivid imagination.
Recently I found out that someone let me down, like big time. It was a bit of a shocker. But the revelation didn’t make me question why that person made the choice they did; it made me question myself. How could I have gotten it so wrong? Is anything I believe real? Are my instincts that out of whack? Should I just go fishing with that guy I see every morning at Starbucks, instead of continually declining invitations to board his boat? I mean, he seems nice – surely he isn’t going to slice open my brain with a fish hook, right? Well, what the fuck do I know anymore?
Because I never make anything easy for myself, I, of course, started questioning everything. What is the point trusting people, if they are kind, give you a reason to believe in them, invite you fishing, only to turn around and gouge your unsuspecting eyes out? What in the actual hell is the point? AHHHHHH. My brain is such a bastard sometimes.
What was evident to me was that I was in need of some clarity.
So, I did what I so often do – I locked in my headphones and opened my mind to my music. Lyrics raced through my head, and I just listened, patiently waiting, song after song, for one word, one thought that would bring it all back into focus.
And then…JOSH GROBAN HAPPENED!
‘BELIEVE’ – simple as that. Just fucking believe. YES, JOSH!!! Once again it all made perfect sense.
I am chasing a dream, one that for years I didn’t think or believe was possible. But, when belief finally started to creep into my mindset, that is when everything began to change, when my goals suddenly seemed attainable. I now know that they are within my reach. I would still be sitting on the couch moaning and longing for something more while making no attempt to get the words out or the led out of my ass if I hadn’t started to believe.
My belief, though, didn’t just appear like the slip of a fart, ‘poof there it is’…NO, it came from people – people I opened myself to because I loved them, believed in them and trusted them. It came from the friend who knew the moment she met me that I wanted to be a writer, and who ever since has provided constant encouragement. Her belief in me helped establish the belief I now have in myself. She puts me in my place when I dare to speak negatively about myself and when my confidence waivers her encouragement reminds me that, I can. It came from the friend who looked at me and said, ‘you seem like the kind of person who will do exactly what you say you will.’ Her words have played a key role in pushing me and encouraging me to keep going because when doubt controls my thoughts, I remember that someone believes I can, and will. It comes from the friend who when I get frustrated says, ‘remember, progress, is still progress, even if it is slow.’ These words remind me that I need to be proud of even the smallest accomplishments because any amount of effort keeps me moving in the direction I want to go, forward.
These are the types of people I am blessed to have in my life – my family and friends – and with whom I want to share laughter, love, and the very worst and best parts of life. We wholeheartedly believe in one another, have each other’s ears anytime of the day or night and love the absolute shit out of each other. Even when distance separates us, love fills the space between us and keeps us close.
So, I ask myself once again – why take a chance, open your heart and put your faith in people and risk feeling disappointment or pain? The answer is a simple one.
Because when the universe is a nasty son of a bitch and rains down death, despair, and one fireball after another filled with pain – it is the people we hold in our hearts who lift us, who keep us moving forward when our legs become too heavy. And, who help us see that there is light, there is hope.
And, when that son of a bitch blesses us with a reprieve, it is these same people we celebrate and enjoy the beautiful moments with – the moments we treasure deep in our hearts. The ones that cause us to smile big and feel so incredibly blessed to be alive, and a part of this beautiful fucking crazy world.
THAT is the point. THAT is the reason.
Josh Groban pieced it back together for me. I understand that when one person lets me down, inside my heart is love for so many others and that I am so much more than just one. He says that when the magic has slipped away, believe in what your heart is saying and believe in what you feel inside. What I feel inside is love, unrelenting love. And to me, that is the magic.
So, when I lose my way, all I have to do is listen. I know exactly what my heart is saying.
Just keep believing because it is so very worth it.