March is Ending

Well.  The month of nourishment posts has come to an end.  It’s wild to think this is the last post of the month.  It seems like I just started this challenge.

Over the last thirty one days, I’ve learned so much.  Not just about who I am as a human, a writer, or a woman, but about what I need in the day to day to sustain and fulfill me.  One of the beautiful things about being a writer is that words offer a sort of benchmark.  That is, unlike other creative works, writing offers the author and the audience a chance to look back and see progression.

Maybe the reason the Universe called to me to write about nourishment wasn’t so much to discover what helps me feel whole as to understand that this process, this journey, this life, is as much about looking back as it is about looking forward.

One of my favorite Bhakti teachers often leads us into poses that just don’t … feel right.  She does this on purpose – to remind us that what is behind us isn’t correct, what’s in front of us isn’t correct, but what’s right now, in the moment, is exactly where we need to be.

With that, I’ll end this month.

Stay tuned tomorrow! It’s National Poetry Month, and the posts are sure to surprise. 

Slowin' it Down

Well I did something special today. 

Today is rest day, which means I give my body a much needed chance to recharge and refuel.  Instead of going for a run or even squeezing in some tabata style HIIT, I went for a walk.

A motherfucking walk.

I’ve been running in my hood for going on a year.  While my feet pound pavement, I listen to hardcore rap and only look up when I feel like I need to.  This afternoon, I set out on my walk and turned on WGUC just in time for some waltzes by Brahms.  (While writing this, I had to do an image search for the B man.  He's kinda hot, right?)  

Immediately, I understood that the nourishment I might find from my contemplative walk would be much different than that to which I am accustomed.

Running is very much a yang energy. It’s aggressive, forceful, dominating.  And truth be told, running is hard, even for a semi-seasoned runner like myself.

Walking however, is a completely different activity.  So damn yin.  So thought provoking in an entirely new way.  I found myself noticing certain architectural attributes that I’ve likely run past countless times without bothering to really see.

So with classical in my ears and decision in my step, I began considering what it is that I actually see on a daily basis.  Likely, it’s just what I want to see, because that’s how this world is engineered.  Fuck, that’s how I’m engineered.  Forcing myself to slow down, to measure each step with precision and thought rather than trying to crush my last mile time offered me a new vision.  A new sight.  And a new way to feel nourished.  

Back from the Pond

On a whim, I traveled to the pond yesterday to spend some time with Anya.  Well, not exactly.  I drove to Kentucky to see Anya for a bit until she left for dinner … in Cincinnati while I sat in the formal dining room and wrote a really emotionally charged portion of this novel I’ve been working.  I know, I know.  I said I was finished with it last week, and had my personal dance party.  Turns out, I wasn’t finished with it.  So Anya and Kevie left for the Nati, I sat with my machine, Woodstock and Charlie Brown (Anya’s dogs) some super delicious noshing-style foods and a bottle of wine.

I sat down at the table, stretched, and took a deep breath.  Time to write.

Nope.

I got up. 

Walked around.

Played with the dogs.

Took some pics.  Scrolled Facebook and Instagram.  Reddit. 

Fuck, I didn’t want to write the scene.

A big swig of wine.  Changed the tunes from Freddie Gibbs to Nine Inch Nails.

Okay, I can do this.

Sat back down.

Another big swig.  Deep breath.

In the eight years since it happened, I finally mustered the courage to write a fictionalized scene of my rape.  It was so fucked.  Midway through the real parts, tears slowly started falling.  I had to reposition myself in my chair so that I didn’t damage my laptop.

What began as a slow trickle turned into a full on emo-fest.  And instead of denying it, I let it happen.  Let the pain of the event come through – not just in my tears, but in my words as well.

Four thousand words later, I was spent.  Emotionally so fucking raw that the only thing I could think to do was go to bed.  Not even nine, and I was ready to crawl into sheets in my room at Anya’s house.  Anya and Kevie weren’t even back from dinner!

Headed upstairs, accompanied by the dogs and nestled in.  And holy shit.  I slept.  So fucking well.  Dreamed of horses, running, recaulking my bathtub. 

Woke this morning, shared my words with Anya.  The story STILL isn’t finished, but it’s almost there.  After a good long sweat at the gym, I returned to my space and added these lovely pieces to one of my sacred spaces.  A rock from Clay Run, Tibetan prayer flags that will soon grace my back stoop, and a Reiki-charged candle. 

Deep breath.

Time to write the end.

Time to nourish my soul.  

Well, it Happened.

I mentioned earlier this month about the thirty day challenge that my sibs and I have embarked upon – pushups every day.  I’ve been hitting my numbers for the most part, though there were a few days where I could only squeeze our thirty instead of fifty because my arms were spent.  I think Ghost and Efed are keeping up with it too, but I should probably check in on them.

When the calendar turned over from 2014 to 2015, I challenged myself with a blog a day.  I missed a day when I had the flu in January, and then a post didn’t go out the weekend of the time change.  So two out of the whole year isn’t bad.

Yesterday, I missed another post.  I realized it when I was lying down after the gallery opening I attended with Willis.  We got a little drunk afterward, had a lot of laughs, did a lot of talking.  When I realized I hadn’t written yesterday’s post, I groaned, and started to open my machine to write something.  And then I stopped. 

Much like the days when I’ve only been about to do 30 pushups instead of my challenged 50, I felt like my brain and my words needed a break.  I’ve been writing a fuckton as of late … the novel, my thesis, random poems, shorts, and flash.  I could have tapped out some bullshit about whatever, but that wouldn’t have served me any good.  This month’s theme is about nourishment, after all.  Skipping yesterday nourished me in a way that I needed.

A challenge is designed to be difficult.  It’s not supposed to be easy.  Much like when I’m kicking my own ass at the gym (as I did this morning) sweating out the frustrations of whatever is bothering me, covered in sweat, this challenge is just as difficult.  I’m not seeing yesterday’s missed post as a fuck up, but more as a fuck yes.  I honored my self, spirit, words, and craft.

Personal Dance Party

So.  I often tell folks that I'm "sitting to pages" which means that I'm in the lab, looking at my screen and trying to find my way in this wacky writer world.  More often than not, the end result is whack.  The words suck, or the phrasing is for shit, or whatever.  

Tonight, after gym and cleaning my space, I sat to pages with the secret hope that I'd finish a project I've been working for a while.  I’ve been writing a novel for the last six weeks – a story that was birthed from a strange incident I saw with my neighbors a few months ago.  It started as a flash piece which quickly became a short story, and then a multi-voice narrative.  I recognized early on that it had promise, so I’ve been returning to it every chance I get.

Over this last month and a half, I’ve found a decided comfort in letting these characters speak to me.  Sometimes, I would sit at my machine and have no idea what the protagonists would end up doing; and other times, I sat down with a very clear idea of what I wanted to happen in the narrative.  It’s been a wonderful process, as much because it’s the first long work I’ve written that I’ve seen clearly; that is, I’ve understood the plot the whole way through, and because it’s been such a delight for work.  Some famous person once said that doing what you love isn’t work.  I’ve long held onto that adage, knowing it to be true, but this is the first time this process … well, hasn’t felt like work.

It’s been a glorious ride!

Tonight, I finished the first draft of this novel.  Finally wrote out the rest of the story that’s been itching inside of me for weeks.  And it feels fucking fantastic.  Personal dance party commenced immediately.  I kept staring at my screen, looking at my work count (35k plus) and my page count (122) and thinking, Fuck man.  I just WROTE this shit.  Hell yes.

Talk about being nourished.  About seeking out that which nourishes the soul, the heart, the mind.  I’m not even going to start thinking about revisions tonight because it’s DONE!  The novel is written.  Revisions will start soon enough.  For now, I’m going to relish in that which I’ve created.  And enjoy the fuck out of these moments.  Huzzah.  

Galactic Rocked It

The other Sunday, when Ali and I shared a beer in the afternoon at Habits, I noticed on the marquee of 20^th that Galactic was going to be playing a show in a few days.  A quick calendar check revealed that the show was on a Tuesday – my favorite night to go out and do something since I’m off on Wednesdays. I've been trying to see Galactic for years.  They're a wonderful combination of sounds that I just love - deep south, combined with a little soul, a little granola and a lot of truth.  I suggested we go to the show, and Willis immediately thought it was a great idea.

We locked in tickets and made plans to meet up at the show.  What started as a foursome outing turned into a group thing quickly.  Instead of just me and Willis going to jam out to some hippie tunes, it ended up being a whole flock of Nati folk who I love and adore.  My upstairs neighbors came to the show too and once there, I realized that this life, and the nourishment it offers is something that should be appreciated at all times.    

The show was everything I needed.  Opening act was legit; good southern sounds set to the perfect amount of granola-love.  The crowd was receptive, engaging, happy to be hearing tunes that Cincinnati doesn’t get very often.  Seeing many of the people I love in one space at one time was so wonderful.  I had great conversations with everyone there; even connected in a new way with Whalen about some shit that we both wrestle. 

Midway through the evening, I found myself looking around at the folks I’ve known for almost half my life … this ride has been wild and rife with all kinds of bullshit along the way, but it’s also been full of beautiful surprises, like seeing so many great people at the show last night.

Once Galactic took the stage, I knew it was time to dance.  I channeled my inner Phish-head and just jammed out, flowing in my own rhythym.  Helpful that I know all of Galatic’s songs so well that I knew the pauses and spaces, but even more so … I knew that even if I missed a beat, or stepped out at the wrong time, the folks I was with wouldn’t think anything of it. 

The evening was brilliant.  Everything that makes this city a wholesome and wonderful space to be in right now. I needed to shake the dust off my bones as much as I needed to be reminded that this life is what you make it.  Fuck yes.  Rock on, Galactic.  Rock on, Nati life.   

Almost a Sphere

Writing is a cyclical process, not a spherical one.  There is a finite beginning and end, not a boundary that cannot be penetrated.  It starts with an idea, that turns into a draft, that turns into a revision ... that turns into shit, then back to a draft, a revision, back to shit ... and the process goes on an on.  I'm super blessed to have a space in my apartment dedicated to writing.  My lab houses many of the important 'things' in my life - photos, windows, candles.  2015 Intention Board. My machine, memory boxes, calendars, mirrors.  More important than all of those things though, is that my Lab houses my dream - that to which I aspire, published writer, formidable in my own right, successfully comfortable in my craft.
I spend a considerable amount of time every week sending out my words into the wild world of publication in the hopes that some kind editor of some lovely publication will read them and find some truth, or something of merit and elect to publish my work.
Submission Sundays, as I've taken to calling them, are just as cyclical as the writing process.  I scour Duotrope, find available markets, write cover letters, send off work.  The process repeats and repeats.  Then, months later, I begin receiving the rejection letters.
Make no mistake!  I don't mind the rejection letters ... in fact, I welcome them.  (Not as much as I welcome publication, of course.  But I see the rejection letters as just another part of this wild process, as necessary as revisions, and edits, and dare I say it ... as necessary as writing.  If I never had the courage to send my work out, and just sat back smug as fuck in my chair thinking my words are tits, that would get me nowhere.  I'd just be a shitty writer.
Over the last week, I've received six separate rejections (and one acceptance!) and I think it's lovely.  It's a nourishing process, helps me remember what I'm doing and who I'm doing it for.  Makes me want to do it more.  I know that this cycle is a long and difficult process.  But I'm willing to do what it takes.  #cantstop #wontstop #theyaskmewhatido #andwhoidoitfor

Realizing Things

This is how I spent my Saturday night.

Not in the bar, or hanging with friends, or doing anything social.  Just me and my words at my desk with a glass of beer, my water, and my thoughts.  It’s a far cry from where I could be, but it’s exactly where I needed to be.  I wrote earlier about nearing the finish line of the piece I’m working on.  And as I look back at this photo, I realize I’m where I need to be.

Grad school is coming to a close more quickly than I’m willing to admit.  I don’t know what happened to all these months, or how it is that I’m nearing graduation.  I can only think of the next step; chasing publications like they are my ticket out of here, seeking a National Book Award, poetry in print in Poetry Magazine.  I know all of these things take so much work, but I know I’m working it. 

So.  Even though I might’ve seen my girls, hung with Rubin, saw Ghost and the kids, or skyped with Efed, I know that this is the best way to nourish me right now.  I have to believe in my dream, as much because I know it will come to fruition if I keep at it as because this … writing, working, editing, my lab, all nourish me in a way that I haven’t experienced in the last decade. 
Dreams are a funny, fickle sort of thing, right?  Some days, the goal seems so obtainable, others not so much.  But if I keep returning to this scene, to this moment when I’m feeling open and whole and raw all at the same time, surely something will come from it.  

#thatsmybach

I stepped out of my element today and flip-flopped my schedule.  Instead of heading straight for the gym for #gunsday, I spent my morning on meal prep.  Crafted some amazing and delicious food for the upcoming week, and it felt great doing so.  Wonderful use of my time, and so nourishing to boot.  WGUC’s Sunday Baroque playing softly in the corner, my countertops overloaded with vegetables, seasonings, sauces.  Made up five new recipes that involve all kinds of fun foods – mycoproteins, ginger, asparagus.  I can’t wait to eat all of this food!

After, I went for a run, which sucked ass. But it was a good reminder that not every run is stellar; and the point of my running isn’t just the run.  It’s the quiet space that happens in my mind that allows me to compartmentalize my thoughts into working order.  Raced back to my space to get ready for an afternoon Bach concert.  

Right now, Boch-Fest is going on in the Nati …only right then that Bach get some recognition too, right?  The concert was held at De Sales church in Walnut Hills.  It’s one of those building that I’ve driven past countless times in my life, but have never been inside.  The interior didn’t disappoint at all; amazing stained glass work, lovely cathedral ceilings, beautiful relief sculptures.  The combination of the company, the space and the music took me to a wonderfully nourished mind-space.  Once the concert finished, headed downtown to Goodfella’s Pizza for a slice.  Reminded me of NYC and my birthday, rambling around Times Square with Willis still slightly drunk the morning after that epic vodka party.  How utterly fantastic.

As the afternoon faded into evening, I found myself counting blessings.  Not just the moments from this weekend, but by and large, the moments of my life.  Nourishment is the act of seeking out the experiences which help me to grow as a human, a woman, a writer.  As the weekend caps, and I begin prep for the week ahead, I can’t help but think I’m on to something with this whole thing.  

Santa Came to Town!

Ever have one of those days when you just feel on?  I've been feeling mad on today.  

Driving back from Rubin’s this morning, I was waiting for the light to change at the intersection of Dana and Montgomery and watched a dude in a full-on Santa suit cross the street.  Yep, it’s March, not December, but the image didn’t strike me as being overly fantastic, just run of the mill Evanston in the early morning on a Saturday. I’m pretty sure dude’s beard was real, and he sort of looked like Santa, so it seemed pretty legit that he was dressed like Old St. Nick.

We locked eyes as he crossed in front of Loretta and I smiled.  I think that set the tone for my day.

I skipped a trip to the pond this weekend to sit with my pages and be able to make my deadline.  Salty to have to do it, but I guess this is the life a grad student.

Today was absoleutely gorgeous out, so I took my machine and my tea onto the back stoop.  Brought out some plants to get some good sun and proceeded to attack my pages with a decided dedication that I haven’t felt in a while.  After every fifty minutes, I made sure to get up, do something else, and then came back to it. 

Midway through the afternoon, I set out for a run.  It wasn’t super fab, but it was what I needed to get out of my writing world just enough and realize the missing pieces of this narrative I’m writing.

Once home, I sat back with my pages, and now, almost twelve hours after I started, I have completed edits of my manuscript.  Well almost.  Close enough that I feel okay sitting to new work.  What a wonderful way to spend the day.  I can’t help but think that Chris Cringle, crossing in front of my car, had something to do with it.  What a lovely present … to be present in this moment, this life, to find nourishment in this kind of day.  

First Day of Spring and a New Challenge

It’s the Vernal Equinox!  Officially spring.  Putting into words the idea that winter is slowly descending behind me is difficult.  It was a long one, full of dark days and cold nights.  I’m very much looking forward to sunshine and the green, raw truth that spring offers.

In light of this wonderful day, today also marks the beginning of a new challenge for me. 

As Efed preps for another move across the pond, I’ve been thinking about ways in which my siblings and I can continue to remain as close as we are right now.  Even though she’s in Philly and Ghost and I are in the Nati, we typically find a way to communicate at least once a week.  Efed and Ghost both travel a ton for work, and Ghost has that fledgling basketball troupe with his four boys, but we all make the effort to at least send a funny meme or something every now and again.

A few years ago, Ghost and I started on some random thirty day challenges.  No cussing.  Or, 100 jumping jacks a day, no spending, no whatever … just little things we could do throughout the day to remind us to stay present and to continually nourish our bodies and minds.

Today, the first day of spring marks the beginning of another 30 day challenge.  This time though, it’s not just Ghost and me.  Efed is in on it too.  We’ve all committed to doing a set number of pushups throughout the day.  It’s a silly challenge, sure.  But they all are. 

The root of this challenge, and the reason I wanted to do it with my siblings is because it will hopefully help us to remain in as much contact as we have been.  Efed moves next month.  That date will be here before we know it.  Maybe if we get in the habit now of sending our numbers to one another on the daily, we’ll continue that once she’s in the land of good beer and liederhosen.  In this way, I’m hoping to continue to nourish the connection that the three of us share.  

Introspection

Lackluster days make it hard to find something to write about that nourishes me.  Today was, by and large, a grey day.  The weather was somber, making me less than enthusiastic, and that’s always fodder for bullshit. 

Midway through my day, I booked tickets to DC in June.  Rubin and I are heading there to explore the city, visit the museums, see what it has to offer.  It will be my first time in the capital of this country; but Rubin travels there often.

I have dreamed of running in DC for as long as I have been running.  That I’ll be taking this trip with someone who is so kind and kindred is just icing.

After I bought my ticket, I sat back and looked around my office.  The fish man had just come to clean the saltwater aquarium we have in the reception area of the office.  The water was super clear, the fishes happy, the coral swaying in the breeze of the automated filter.  I looked back at my monitor screen, reviewing the purchase I just made and realized …

The wholesomeness of being nourished has less to do with what I think I need, and more to do with what actually comes to fruition.  The DC trip, for example, has long been a dream of mine.  The dental career I have, the position I’ve clawed my way to, has long been a source of pride, both fiscally and professionally.  Both of these things nourish my spirit, albeit in different ways. 

I returned home and sat to pages.  UGK and some clear direction for my characters finds me feeling whole, alive, real.  This is a completely different style of nourishment, but one that I dig. 

All in all, this wasn’t that grey of a day after all. 

13th Floor

Y’all know your Outkast, right?

Wednesday is always a welcomed day for me.  I’m off work, I can lift and run and attend to all the things that aren’t dental related.  It’s a free day in the middle of the week that is so welcomed, so precious and so amazing all in all.

This morning, I woke as I’m wont to do naturally, after just five hours of sleep.  It was way too early to be up, so I read a bit and drifted back to sleep.  Woke again in time to hit the gym before the litany of my errands and appointments.

At LaFit, I crushed the fuck out of my sesh.  It’s leg day, of course.  Ran a bit and then squatted, dead-lifted and lunged like my life depended on it.  (It really does, in so many ways.)  I listened to Skillrex during my workout, and the beats kept me right.  Like right enough that sweat was pouring and I was smiling after every time I failed on my weight.  There’s nothing like that.  Promise.  After, a visit with Neva and then I sat in Dryer’s chair for some revision work. 

Later in the afternoon, I transplanted some beauties and then sectioned off some succulents for new homes.  Some of these amazing plants took the ghost this winter in my faerie garden, so it’s only right I offered new light, new life, new truth.  It’s completely in line with the way I’m living these days.

Chatted with Rubin for a bit, thought about the weekend, and then sat to pages via Outkast.  Vibed with my collection of vignettes that my adviser is certain should be a novella … or a novel. Or something more.  Truth poured from my fingers, incense burned, tunes jammed.  Holy fuck, is this real life? Feeling so nourished, so complete, I thought that today was done and done, one for the books.  It’s been a pleasing enough day for me.

Feeling wholly nourished and decidedly complete, I started to prep for a delicious Pitta-Vata dinner.  Started chopping zucchini and asparagus, set them to simmer with coriander and cumin; pulled some Quorn and was thinking of how I’d season it when my phone chimed; an email.  Bullshit, probably, I thought.  Groupon or some nonsense.  Checked it regardless and whoa!   A message from an editor ACCEPTING my work.  A poem, little G Minor, part of a chapbook I’ve recently completed has been accepted for publication. 

For all the world, as Anya is known to say. Nourishment.  Boom. 

#alldamnday

Feeling like a total bad ass today. 

I saw this gem in a Clifton bar last week, and the meaning has stuck with me.  Every day is a new day.  The task we all face is to make it something special, monumental, fantastic.

Today, I’ve accomplished that.  It’s no secret I love my runs.  Seems like half of the posts I’ve written this month have something to do with running in one way or another.  It’s not just that running nourishes my body and mind, but every time I hit the pavement (or the mill) I’m challenging myself to do better.  It’s a single-woman battle that I get to have over and over again.

This morning, I woke at 430 to arrive at the gym by 5 and run for a while.  430 was really early, so I hit the snooze, and didn’t make it to the gym until 530.  Not a lot of time for the run I was planning … so, I decided to challenge myself a bit – see how fast I could run four miles.  I walked for two and then amped up the speed, covered the display and turned on Schoolboy Q really loud.  Two miles in, I upped the speed again, and finished out my run.  Cooled down for three minutes and then pressed stop, since it was six and my pumpkin time.  Had to get back home to clean up for work. 

The nice thing about treadmills is that the machine automatically averages out the mile split.  It’s great for me because math and I are not usually on speaking terms.  I could not believe my split this morning.  A FUCKING 6:31 average for all four miles!  Holy shit.  Nourished?  Hell yes.  Pleased?  Without a doubt.

But what I’ve found, as I’ve navigated through this day, is the way my perspective of this Tuesday has changed.  I’m still being tasked with the same kinds of things I always am, but I feel so strong from that run time that it seems like I can do just about anything. 

Next challenge – five miles at that pace.  Then six, seven, eight … a sub three hour marathon doesn’t seem so wild right about now. 

An Interesting Realization

So far this month, I’ve written about all sorts of positive things that have a hand in helping me to feel nourished.  Moments, experiences, people.  Reading back these last fifteen posts, I realize that it makes life seem like a rosy patch smack dab in the middle of “Everything-is-Awesome” land.  Truth is, that’s far from the case, but I’m a sunny kind of girl, so I always try to seek the light and not the dark.

Having said that, this realization started me thinking about things that outwardly might not seem happy and light that in the end, find a way to nourish me.  Sustain my growth.  Encourage my being.

Last month, I received some dark kind of news that rocked my world.  And I wrote a blog post about it.  And I thought that would be enough to tuck it away, not think about it and go on with my sunny kind of days.  Turns out, that’s not the whole story.  The news (and subsequent letter I received last month), dark as it was, has found a way to nestle into my brain.  I’ve been subconsciously allowing it to nourish and feed an anger that I thought was long gone.  Guess what happened? 

I feel stronger for it; whole, like I’ve grown as a human and a woman.  When one allows something to have so much power over her life, it ends up eating one alive.  Fuck that.  Instead of it eating me, I’ve let it marinate, nourish me with just the right amount of spice, and now I really am ready to let it go. Huzzah for progress.  Huzzah for truth. 

Spring, Soon

What a brilliant Sunday.  The precipice of spring is on the horizon, and it’s been evident in the Nati all day.  Woke after a sound and restful seven hours of sleep on my own at 7 this morning, and preformed my standard morning ritual of thanking the Universe for another day.  Clapped my hands to clear the air and smiled.

Last night, I had one of the most luxurious and heartfelt dinners of my life.  Rubin and I went to Prima Vista and caught up on all things pertinent.  Prima Vista is in Price Hill, the neighborhood where I grew up, and the circularity of the evening wasn’t lost on either of us. 

The hours passed too quickly, and before we knew it, it was eleven.  Almost Pumpkin Hour. I drove home, all smiles, feeling nourished, fulfilled, and decidedly present in this life.  Over dinner, Rubin told me that I’m more present now than I ever have been.  He’s right.  Something’s clicked over the last few months that’s hard to describe, but glorious to experience. 

So right.  This morning, after guns day at the gym (where I did eight by eights for every set, and kicked my own ass) I had Loretta washed and detailed and then chatted with Anya for over an hour.  We vibed about everything going on in our respective worlds, and hearing her laughter made my heart sing.  When we hung up, I found myself grinning like a school girl.  It’s welcoming and comforting to know that she has my back in everything I do. 

Feeling incredibly whole, I messaged Willis to see if she still wanted to link today.  We met at the gym yesterday afternoon and I took her through a small segment of one of my sessions.  Deciding to meet at Habits, I set out for a run.  What better way to earn my booze than to run for it, right?  So I ran there.  But I ran too fast, and had to double back through Oakley a few times until I was set to meet her.

I turned down Brownway and passed a woman who looked incredibly familiar.  She looked at me.  Our eyes locked.  And I thought for sure she was who I thought she was; but she didn’t stop, so I kept going.  But then.  I stopped.  Doubled back, and approached her on the corner of Brownway and Madison.  Asked her if she was so-and-so’s mom.  Turns out, I was right.  After a year in the Nati, I FINALLY ran into the mother of my shaman!  Rein, in the flesh.  How long I’ve been waiting to run into her.  Holy fuck, could this day be any more stellar? 

I couldn’t help myself.  Hugged her, sweaty as shit, and proceeded to gush about every reason why she’s been so instrumental to my life.  And really, she has been, albeit peripherally; early on this woman found a way to nestle into my core that has been pivotal in the way I live my life.

We exchanged numbers and promises for tea.  Met with Willis.  We sat in the sun a while and enjoyed what this Sunday in Cincinnati has to offer.  She drove me home, and we chilled a bit at my space.  After she left, I found myself looking around my spot, knowing that the blessings I can count are immense, fulfilling, and nourishing.

It's Here!

Earlier this month, I wrote about the fact that I took off the kara-type bracelet I’ve been wearing for the last year.  It just felt right to let go of it after it being around my wrist for almost twelve months.  I officially took it off a week ago today!  This morning, I locked myself out of my apartment again.  Please don’t laugh!  Okay, go ahead.  I laughed too.  And swore really loudly.  At least I had my tea and my phone with me.  Ghost’s key is still sitting where I left it Thursday, so I knew that there was no way I was going to get in.  Called Rubin, who dashed over from Clifton to let me in, chuckling all the while.  Who fucking locks herself out of her apartment TWICE in one week?  Obviously, I have a lot on my mind right now.

So Rubin let me in, and then stood in my kitchen for a minute, stoic and silent.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a kara direct from India for me!  “Here, hold out you hand,” he said, not having to tell me to offer my right hand.  I did and he pushed the kara over my hand and onto my wrist.  Karas are made of steel, and once they’re put on, they’re not intended to be taken off.

How apropos that he offered me this commitment at the end of week where I’ve locked myself out twice.  To me, it speaks to the commitment I’ve made (and continue to make) to myself to nourish my soul.  That is, to seek out moments and individuals that help me to grow, nourish my soul, and fulfill me.  This kara, this lovely gift from Rubin will forever be a reminder of these things for me.

Also, a forever reminder to check for my fucking keys before I leave the house! 

The Key!

Well, it finally happened.  I locked myself out of my apartment yesterday.  I’d been having a feeling that this would happen at some point, as much because I’m a forgetful creative at times as because my mind has been a bit distracted as of late.  Earlier this week, I received my workshop assignment for my next term at Spalding, and while over the moon with it, it’s started my mind thinking in all sorts of ways that are causing me to be distracted!

So, I leave for the office at 0540.  Yesterday, I noticed that my kitchen light was still on, so I went to turn off Loretta and head back … and that’s when I discovered I was missing the key.  Holy shit.  What the fuck kind of way is that to start a Thursday?  Pissed, I knew exactly where I left my key – on the placemat on my table after my run.  Salt.  I drove to work chewing over what to do.

Reached out to Ghost and Rubin, the only two souls on this earth who have a key to my space, and hoped that one of them would get back to me soon.  If you read my post about taking my GED test, you might notice a pattern here … seems I lock my keys in the most inconvenient places at the most inopportune times. 

Ghost and Rubin both got back to me at a more-human time (0700) and I was able to pick up my key in the afternoon.  Nourishing, yes to know I trust these two with a key to my place, even more so, that I trust them to keep it for me … because invariably, I’m sure they both knew that this would happen sooner or later.  I’ve been thinking today about what keys are exactly.  Sure they unlock and lock doors, or start automobiles, but they mean so much more sometimes , right? Big ups, yall, for having the key. 

Tunes for Days

Holy fuck.  I love this sunshine weather.  It’s glorious, and reminds me that after a long ass winter, there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

Yesterday, I had a lovely run and made a great snack of mung bean granola that I’ve decided to call #mungyum.  I think it’ll be my handle for everything delish that I make for this spring.  After I stuffed my face (as I said I would!) I sat in my lab.  Some new incense from the Indian market on Ludlow and 13^th Floor from Outkast’s old-old album found me decidedly comfortable and at peace. 

Much of my day was spent in silence, which is unusual for me since I live by music.  But the sun, the birds, the sounds of construction from the next street over all seemed like music enough for me.

As the daughter of a musician, I have a decided love for the beats that help my soul resonate.  I grew up with music, and by that I mean that there was always music playing in the house.  I don’t remember a single day of my childhood that didn’t include either Mama’s game, Name This Tune, or Papa riffing some chords on a guitar, a bass, the drums, a keyboard, saxophone, my clarinet. 

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I don’t have a television, or consider it when I’m wondering what to do with myself.  I just put on some tunes and vibe, much like other folks turn on the boob tube and let the craft of others take them to another place.  That’s exactly what happens with me and music.

It nourishes me.  Music sustains me.  I relate songs to certain moments in my life, and find a way to understand what’s happening through the music I’m listening to.  It’s one of the reasons I’m so charged when it comes to what I’m listening to.  When I get in Loretta (my Honda, remember) at 0540 every morning for the drive to the office, the music I choose seems to set the tone for the day.  Maybe it’s because I’m an artist.  Maybe it’s because I grew up with tunes.  I’m not sure.  But I know that it keeps me in the same way as I expect it keeps others – whole, alive, decidedly complete.  

Feeding Time

I couldn’t go too many days without posting a pic of some amazing food during this month of writing about nourishment.  C'mon, this is expected, right?

Today, my off day, started as they all do – a visit to the gym for squats and deads.  I added in some weighted lunges that kicked my ass and some Romanian deads to the mix.  Hard workout that got my blood moving and sweat pouring.  Yes please.  Left feeling super hungry. 

Before I went to the gym, I put some mung beans and some red lentils in water to soak.  Wasn’t sure what I’d made with them, but it seemed like a good start to the day.  During my lifting session, I considered what it was I was needing for my day.  Protein, obviously, but I also wanted something crunchy.  Pitta- Vata eating suggests that soft foods are best for me, and since adapting this eating style, I’ve been really good about what I ingest.  I mean, like super good.  No more almonds for snacks, or cashews, pistachios, or anything that hasn’t been … well, mush.  But fuck that, I need something to chew.

So this is what I made!

A red lentil and mung bean granola with nuts and a vegan protein powder Willis gifted me as a binder.  Doesn’t it look ridiculously amazing?  I took my time with this batch of granola.  After I roasted the pine and Macademia nuts, I left the lentils and beans on a sheet pan to dry while I went for a run.  Added in some edamame for good measure and went out to enjoy the sunshine.  Four miles later, I returned to almost dried legumes that I slow roasted for almost an hour.  Once I combined everything and returned it to the oven to crisp up, my entire place smelled just divine.

Over the course of the day, I sampled this concoction just enough to make sure it was legit.  And it is.  I’ve been anxiously awaiting dinner time (read RIGHT NOW!) to have some of this with some freshly steamed veggies.  Might not be for everyone, but this kind of eating appeals to me in the best way.  It nourishes my soul, my belly, and most importantly, my mind. Yum.

Commence stuffing my face in THREE, TWO, ONE … go!

Up and Down

I only ran three and a half on Monday night, as much because I only slept five hours the night before as I was worried it was going to rain.  There are few things worse than a crisp breeze and cold running clothes.  So, I clipped my miles, making a giant circle around my neighborhood.

While running, I considered my #urbanrunner photography and how I might fine tune it for this new running season.  After reading my post from Saturday showcasing a window I found in Norwood, Anya pointed out that I probably have amassed an entire collection of images of doors and windows.  A quick scroll through my Instagram feed confirmed that she’s right.

So on Monday, I was thinking about how to change that up.  I really enjoy the process of being aware, of seeing where I’m running and not just tucking my head down and looking at the pavement.  One of the reasons doors and windows speak to me so sincerely is because I understand the inherent meaning in the structures.  I find truth in knowing that both can offer differing perspectives, depending on whether or not one is looking out or looking in.  And maybe, one of the main reasons I chose to photograph so many doors and windows last year was because I was trying to figure out if I was looking out into the world, or looking in toward myself.

With that in mind, I began examining the structures I passed, and it occurred to me that stairs are a really underrated architectural feat!  Much like windows and doors, they offer a different view depending on where one is standing.  I often dream about staircases, and when walking up or down them, find myself counting the steps, no matter what else I’m doing.

I happened upon this set of stairs as I was finishing my run on Monday.  

They’re pretty well maintained, but I like the giant salt stain rippling down the middle.  I think it speaks to the duality of what stairs represent.  Moving up and down in life is part of the process.  It helps to sustain us as humans, feed our souls, and offer some truths along the way.  Nourishment in a concrete jungle, that’s what they are.  

Rising Up

Today, I had the unique experience of chatting with a patient who was so fired up about a personal slight relating to a cause that is quite dear to her.  Listening to her, watching her gesture with her hands, her voice ranging from frustrated to pissed touched something in me.

So often, I am guilty of only considering my own causes – the issues that are important to me, and to the narrow view I often hold of my world.  Being offered the chance to delve into the world of my patient was humbling.

After she left the office, I started thinking about my friends and the causes that are important to them.  Sunny has Rock 'N Aspire, a grassroots fundraiser that she crafted from the ground up that aims to raise money for Multiple Sclerosis awareness and research.  Willis finds her passion in attempting to understand the ways the environment is made toxic from the actions of humans; Edub seeks to help the world through her nursing; Anya finds her strength in her teaching and writing.  Not surprisingly, it seems we’ve all managed to land on one cause or another that helps move us, keep us going, churning our wheels and making this life worthwhile. 

We rise to the challenges of understanding these causes, why they are important, and more importantly, what we can do to make the world full.In these actions, much like the cause that is so dear to my patient, we find nourishment.  Sure, it’s not the nourishment that foodstuffs are made from, but it’s what keeps us going.  After the office, I ran a few miles in the greyness of this March evening and considered that even for all that I still want to do with this life, these sorts of moments sustain and feed me, and help me to be whole. 

In this Tradition

EDIT - This post was scheduled to go off into the land of the interweb yesterday.  I'm not sure if I fucked up or if the time change fucked it, but either way, the intent was there!  (Also, sidebar, this time change.  Ye Gahds, it takes me weeks to figure out what time it is.)

I have a bracelet made of red string and Swavorksi crystals that Efed gifted me last spring after her trip to Morocco.  On the bracelet is a hamsa, and I’ve been wearing it every day since she gave it to me, not just as ward, but also as a reminder.

Keeping something tied around my wrist provided me the chance to remember why I started this journey in the first place.  Sure, a hamsa might not be the most readily associated symbol with personal growth, but for me it’s important.  On so, on my right wrist it stayed over last spring, into summer and cabrewing, festivals and shows.  Was with me for November residency and the holidays.

Yesterday, I took it off for the first time.  In the Sikh tradition, one wears a kara, a bracelet made of steel to remind him/her of his/her commitment to the path and the faith.  In many ways, the hamsa bracelet I wore was my kara.  And for many reasons, I realized yesterday that it was time to change the way I view my path, and change the way I walk it.  That’s not to say I’m throwing in the towel with this whole gig; but rather, that I recognize personal growth when it hits me in the face, and well.  It just felt right to take it off.  

Since mid-afternoon yesterday, my wrist has been free.  And with that, it seems that I am as well.   This might be way too granola for many folks, and that’s okay.  It’s what works for me.  And, knowing I have a bona-fide kara on the way from India is an added bonus too.  

Pounding Pavement

Today marked an important day for me.  It was the first spring day that I was able to get back on the pavement and run.  Yesterday, I did a 10k at the gym, and every single mile felt like … well, every single mile.  There’s something so boring and awful about running on a treadmill.  It’s not even the running.  It’s that the scenery doesn’t change.  There are only so many times I can imagine I’m somewhere else, and only so many gym folks to look at until I want to pull out my hair.

So, after a much needed reorganization of the feng shui in my space, I set out for a run.  Wasn’t sure how far I’d make it, coming off of 6.2 miles yesterday, but I knew I needed the sun in my face, the wind on my cheeks.  Without realizing it, I found myself in Bond Hill, which seems to happen quite often on my runs.  I paused for a moment to switch up my music (from Desert Dwellers to TI) and this gnarly old crack-head dude approached me asking for a cigarette.  Right, because a white chick in Bond Hill in running gear is clearly carrying a pack of cigarettes.  Shaking my head, I put my gloves back on and kept moving.  Bond Hill is a strange and weird place.

Making my way back to my hood, I came upon this window.  

This is part of a church that I’ve photographed on other runs, but for some reason this window really spoke to me today.  Maybe it’s because I spent so much of my day cleaning my own windows, or because I understand the duality that a window pane offers.  I’m not sure.  But, as I paused to photograph this, it occurred to me how nourishing running is for my life.  It’s not just a cardio exercise that keeps the numbers of the scale in check.  It is meditation, and prayer, and devotion all rolled into putting one foot in front of the other.

Mirrin'

A 10k in ... I’m feeling decidedly nourished.

After work this afternoon, I took my standard Friday nap.  Slept and slept and slept.  Way beyond my alarm.  I heard the sounds of my street but ignored them for my sheets and my rest.  It was amazing. There are few things in my world that rival a good sleep.

Last night, I woke at 0230 like usual and found myself wondering about the day.  Messaged a bit with Rubin, still in India, and thought about what it is I want in my life.  Aside from the obvious PhD and National Book Award, I want to make an impact.  To meet folks who find truth and substance in my words, who are impacted by my story and ignited to action.  That’s not too much to ask, I think.

At the office, mid-morning, I was thinking all things writer-related and doing all things tooth-required and it occurred to me … it’s not the day-to-day that makes me, but the moments when I’m whole

So.  After my nap and my run, I ran my errands and found the perfect mirror for my lab.  

Look how it showcases the shot Willis took of water from her microscope.  Isn't it divine?  I think it's gorgeous, and all the segments add to seventeen! Woo!  Yay for numbers.  I’ve hung it facing the intention board I crafted back in January, and hope that the feng shui truth I hold dear will come to fruition.

Even though it’s Friday night, and there’s a lot happening in the city, I feel wholesomely nourished to be sitting in my lab with Alt-J’s new album (thanks Mulli!) and my words.  It might not be for everyone, but this life of writing and the solitude provides for me.  
In Kundalini, we end sessions with the words, "Sat Nam" meaning ... I honor the teacher within, I honor the teacher before me, behind me, in front of me.  Sat Nam, readers.  

Steppin

Today after work, I went to the gym like usual.  Had an amazing jump rope workout and a good kettlebell session.  After, instead of heading home, I met Willis for dinner at the new Ethiopian joint in P Ridge.  Holy amazing.

Not only was it great to connect with my girl and catch up on all the latest catch ups, but it was also nice step outside of my norm.  Sure, my lab and my words were calling to me, but I know I’ll quickly run out of things to write about if I’m not living life a little too. 

I had a delicious vegan lentil dish, and learned about a new grain.  Willis filled me in on all the latest wedding news, and we vibed like we know how to do.  It reminded me of the impromptu nights we used to have in our youth.  And well.  Yeah. Yum all around.  Time passed too quickly and before I knew it, I was set to turn into a pumpkin.

Driving back to Norwood, I caught a glimpse of the moon in the March night sky.  It will be full tomorrow, and round and glowing, it reminded me of a truth I’ve long known.  I’ve lived here a year already, a full on solid three hundred and sixty five days.  And the number of times I’ve stepped from my schedule to just be is too few.  Tonight, I’m reminded that what nourishes me isn’t just what I’m doing, but these sorts of nights that help me be … whole.

It isn’t the structure of my days or rigor to achieve my goals that keeps me moving.  Nor is it the load that I carry.  It’s the way I move, the way I hold the load that speaks more to who I am as a person and what I’m doing with life.  Over dinner, Willis and I talked about her future plans (marriage and mommy-hood) and mine (PhD and travel) and while our paths aren’t overtly congruent at present, we’re still living this life the same.  One step, one day, one dinner, one full moon at a time.

Yup Yup

Today has been a day.  It’s my off day, which is always welcomed.  I woke wearing only one sock.  What does that even mean?  I gave up caffeine on Saturday, and already I’m feeling the difference.  Even though I only slept six hours, those hours were rested, full of everything I needed.

So. This morning, I gave props to the world as I do every morning and then realized my sock.  It made me grin, and set the tone for the rest of the day.  Puttered around my place, finalized my thirty plus pages for my advisor, officially submitted my thesis and set off for the gym.  As I’ve mentioned, Wednesday is leg day.  I attacked my squats and weighted lunges with a fury I haven’t felt in a while.  After, I had a great kettlebell session and left feeling decidedly full.

When I arrived home, I found my steamer waiting at my door.  Huzzah!  Thig hipped me to the idea of steamer, and given my acceptance of a Pitta-Vata diet, it only made sense that I order one.  Last night, I came home to two pounds of mung beans, direct from India, and promptly put a cup to soak.  With the arrival of my steamer, it only made sense that I make a dal.

Now, anyone who knows me for five minutes or less quickly realizes I love cooking like I love words. So excited to make something with my steamer, I crafted a recipe that I thought would fit with my dal.  And look!  Doesn’t it look delish?

This is #vegancooking at it’s finest.  Asparagus. Tomatoes. Zucchini. Mung bean dal. How could anyone say no to this kind of meal?  While sitting in my lab and smelling the coriander and curry slowly rolling to a boil, I realized how whole this kind of thing makes me.  Not only did I make amazing progress on my new short story collection, but I crafted a fabulous meal to boot. Even sent off a draft of my shorts to Mulli for a first read.  Bonus that it’s snowing.  I’m feeling decidedly content. And very well nourished.  

Ooo, Lookie!

Like most creatives, my relationship with sleep is a little of a give and take.  I give a lot – fresh sheets twice, sometimes three times a week, a sleep-encouraging bedroom, lavender scented sheets, and I take what I can get.  If I sleep a sound five hours a night, I’m happy.

Today started for me at 0230; I woke, after sleeping for five hours solid, and felt rested.  But not rested enough to rise and begin to tackle the day.  Reaching for my phone, a green flashing light alerted me to a Facebook message.  Rubin, in India, showcasing pics.  Whatever time is was there was a good time to chat, so I stayed awake a while and messaged with him.  It was a lovely reminder that even across the world, communication has a way of connecting all of us.

After our catch up, I drifted back to sleep via a chakra meditation that Natalie hipped me to years ago.  It’s a standard Kundalini practice, and it’s one I return to when I’m feeling restless.  Four o’clock came soon enough and I didn’t want to wake.  I wanted to stay cozy in my sheets somewhere between dreamland and waking reality.  But, obligations, responsibilities and such-all got the best of me.  So after a quick kettlebell sesh, off to office I went.

Work did much to nourish my soul today.  One of my colleagues, (who for the sake of this blog I’m calling) Pamela Regina, and I get along really well.  And today was just one of those days when we were on.  We laughed, exchanged stories, bitched about the world.  It felt good.

After the office, I met up with Michee and Linds to select bridesmaid dress colors for Michee’s wedding to Ghost.  I bought my dress.  That’s two bridesmaid dresses in less than four days!  Eeek.  Wedding season will be here before I know it.

When I finally returned home, after twelve plus hours gone, I was greeted with this.  

My super cute annual bloomed during the course of the day.  I stopped when I noticed the soft pink petals.  What a lovely reminder that it isn’t just the interactions that help to nourish me, but the small silent moments as well. 

Wise Words

Aristotle said, “The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.”  While I’m no philosopher (though I do love me some Seneca from time to time, thanks to Ghost) I appreciate the candor and truth of Aristotle’s words.  Also, sidebar - check out this dude. Doesn't he just look like someone who would have some wise shit to say? 

This quote has been on one of the panels of the window that Anya gifted me.  I've been staring at these words for over a year, but just today did I realize what they really mean. 

The aim of my art, aside from writing out the truths I feel are important, is to offer a glimmer.  Some reflection of what it means to be human, of what it means to be whole.  I think this is one of the reasons I return to often to the same sorts of subjects – poverty, the underbelly of society, the folks who don’t have a voice.

What nourishes me, when I sit in my lab and try to dial in to what I want to say isn’t so much the idea that my thoughts will ever be in print.  But that, for maybe a few small moments, someone will read something I write, and find a truth within themselves.  Just like I have with Ari's words.  I can call him Ari, right?  I mean, we're cool like that.