confessions of imagined amnesia

confession: because i’m coffee high and procrastinating i fell down a youtube rabbit hole of common freestyle rapping then chris rock roasting people then celebrities freaking out meeting other celebrities and now i’m laughing and crying and clenching my jaw (from too much coffee) and i wish you were here procrastinating with me and drinking more coffee because that sounds more fun than whatever we’re *supposed* to be working on. oh yeah, work. whoops. i forgot.

confession: since i’ve forgotten about work for the past 28 minutes i figure i can write to you a while longer and work through lunch…which is snort-worthy since i don’t actually stop working to eat lunch because i graze all day on crackers and yogurt and chocolate-covered coffee beans which is more sad than funny but i don’t want to be sad (therefore, the chocolate-covered coffee beans) and i’ve met people who voluntarily eat salad every day for lunch and i want to envy them or be inspired by them but i’m actually just confused by them. how do they maintain motivated, healthy, responsible eating habits? my eating disorder craves sugar and carbs and coffee and diet soft drinks and more sugar and carbs and then i work out for hours each day because i’m terrified of gaining weight (because i internalized the lies from my parents, advertising, society, and the patriarchy that fat equals unlovable) but you can’t tell if i don’t tell you because i look “fit” but seriously…if we all need reminding for the millionth time–looks are deceiving and most of us are suffering our own stupid addictions and other shame in silent isolation so let’s be kinder and gentler with one another, okay?

confession: whew. i need a breather after that last confessional rampage.

confession: i also probably ought to refrain from finishing this very large cup of coffee.

confession: i wish i could sit in your living room on your couch in my pink and blue fleece pajamas and listen to you tell me everything that flies out your uninhibited mouth when you are coffee high. i miss knowing the things you would say only if the coffee spilled the words faster than your brain could censor them.

confession: have you ever wondered who you might be and what you might choose if you woke up tomorrow with amnesia and never again remembered the people you’ve connected to your life and the choices you’ve made to maintain those connections? if i forgot the people i love, who would i choose to be? where would i go? what would i do? for every major life decision as an adult i have considered and weighted how i can best love and support my chosen family. if i woke up tomorrow and couldn’t remember them, wasn’t attached to them, didn’t prioritize their well-being, i don’t know what i might do, where i might go, who i might let myself become. i like to fantasize that i’d follow some internal impulse landing me beachside in another country but with amnesia i might not associate freedom with the places the ocean touches on every continent in the world.

confession: when i reread that last confession looking for the feeling beneath the feeling, the question beneath the question, and the desire beneath the desire, i find tension between love and freedom. i value both. i prioritize love. i always want to love better and love more. i also want more freedom, fewer attachments, months and months alone on a beach in a country most people can’t point to on a map.

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confessions of rebooking and forgetting

confession: yesterday’s travel consisted of mechanical issues, missed connections, weather delays, and several rebookings. for each of my multiple rebookings a kind service agent helped me. those kindnesses were the highlights of my day.

confession: in the midst of missed work due to unforeseen travel mishaps i realized for the umpteenth time that each day unfolds according to its timing, not mine. yesterday i practiced surrendering to moment by moment reality.

confession: i accidentally attended a jazz performance on monday night. i will take better precautions next time.

confession: i have a new platonic crush. i love love. i love loving. i love falling in love with each new friend.

confession: my new platonic crush is jumping out of an airplane for her birthday next month. she invited me. i don’t know how my mouth replied but my face yelled, “hell no!”

confession: some people chase an adrenaline rush of fear by parachuting. i get a dose of adrenaline with every unexpected ptsd trigger…which is why i have no desire to scare myself intentionally.

confession: a few weeks ago at the art museum i stood before a wall-hanging tapestry watching a friendly monster emerge from the design. during my second pass through the exhibit i read the explanatory plaque next to the artwork. the artist intended for the audience to see something else but my monster was warmer, more playful, and more inviting than the symbols she wove. one of my favorite aspects of art is that once released into public, an artwork has its own voice and message extending beyond the artist’s vision.

confession: i visit art galleries all over the world. on average i am inspired to buy one extraordinary large piece of visual art each decade. sometimes when i sit and stare at each piece in my home i wonder who will inherit these pieces, who will cherish them as much as i do, where will these pieces continue their inspiring service once they leave my possession or i leave this earth (whichever comes first)?

confession: my friend l makes gorgeous art in every medium she chooses. her art beautifies every room of my home.

confession: i fantasize recurring desires to paint.

confession: i have fewer regrets than i used to. partly because i have forgiven myself for some and partly because i have forgotten what i used to regret.

confession: forgetting regrets, forgetting hurts, and forgetting grudges fall under the domain of my forgetting superpower.

confession: i wish you forgetting or forgiving of whatever thing first comes to your mind as you read these words.

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confessions of closing

confession: this week’s daily practice is to curiously notice when and in what circumstances i close my heart.

confession: when i’m brave enough to make eye contact with a homeless person on the sidewalk and they ask me if i can help them, sometimes i give whatever i have (food, water, money, extra sweatshirt) and sometimes i say “not today, good luck.” on the “not today, good luck” days, what do i mean? why can’t i help them? what specific help are they asking from me? does the person need directions to a shelter? does the person need help standing or walking? does the person need food or water? i don’t ask. i don’t help. i keep walking without pausing to listen or understand what i’m being asked.

confession: my heart closed on sunday night when the only man at the superbowl party i attended said that lopez’ halftime performance wasn’t “age appropriate.” who the fuck is any man to decide what is age appropriate behavior for any woman? (i still have work to do keeping my heart open while confronting patriarchal noise.)

confession: when i close my heart, i stop listening.

confession: when i stop listening, i can’t connect with another or seek to understand.

confession: there are some things i refuse to understand. my refusal keeps me in the dark, keeps my heart closed, keeps me from my desire to love well.

confession: being “right” underpins a paradigm that enlightenment transcends.

confession: judging my unenlightened behavior ascribes to the “right/wrong” paradigm instead of aligning me with enlightenment.

confession: enlightenment is easier to attain dwelling alone inside a mountaintop cave than in the world among people. i spend most of my hours each day (sometimes all of my hours for several days) alone in my apartment because i prefer feeling enlightened. entering the public domain and interacting with other humans mostly wrecks my “enlightenment.”

confession: more patience and less judgment toward my unenlightened moments move me closer to my goal.

question: when and in what circumstances do you close your heart?
question part two: how do you reopen your heart?

confession: the most effective way i know to reopen my heart is to take a nap. the second most effective way is to take a walk. the third, fourth, and fifth most effective ways are to pet a cat/dog, call a friend, and dance to a favorite song.

confession: i feel like i’m running out of time. time for what, i’m not sure. but i know at the end of this life i’m gonna wish i had loved more, forgiven faster, and listened better. i already wish for that.

confession: my goal for the day is to make the most loving choice in each moment. compiling evidence from this morning, i’ve failed in more moments that i’ve succeeded. but i keep trying. please keep trying with me. doing better is gonna require our dedicated and patient practice.

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confessions about a dead granny

confession: my paternal grandmother died ten days ago. my brother texted me of her death because the news didn’t warrant a phone call.

confession: my paternal grandmother disowned me via handwritten letter a week after my 20th birthday. i never saw her again, in accordance with her wishes.

confession: my grandmother was righteous and judgmental, paranoid and hypochrondriac, smart and skinny, domineering and unforgiving.

confession: my paternal grandmother left me the family legacy of sexual abuse and incest via my father. she role-modeled and coached me in anorexia.

confession: her death brings peace. for me, at least. hopefully for her, too.

confession: my grandmother was 98 when she died. i’ve got long-living coded into my genetics if i don’t subvert them with self-destructive patterns.

confession: i’m not sure living to 98 sounds like the best exit strategy, though.

confession: my grandmother passed while i was vision questing with my group of spirit grandmothers. my spirit grandmothers infuse me with grace, strength, resiliency, humor, and unconditional love.

confession: sometimes i win BIG. i win BIG in the adopted grandmothers category.

confession: i win BIG with every friend and all the members of my chosen family.

confession: i win BIG with my increasing compassion and releasing the past and setting healthy boundaries.

confession: loving more is the biggest win.

confession: my paternal grandmother repeatedly lost at the loving game.

confession: a few days after grandmother died, i called my brother. we talked for 45 minutes about his daughters, technology, privilege, upcoming travel plans…and eventually he brought up grandmother’s death. he asked about my response. i told him i had no emotional response, only a mental one. i perceive her life as a cautionary tale, suggesting by contrast that my life will be better lived by practicing the unconditional love, compassion, and forgiveness that she could not.

confession: when i asked my brother about his response to grandmother’s death he said he also had no emotional response and his mental response was concern about how his daughters would perceive his lack of emotional response to that news. i assured him that since his daughters are young, had never met her, and had no personal connection to her that they wouldn’t think too long or much about the lack of tears for her.

confession: i joyously celebrate that my brother considers his daughters relative to all of his ways of being in and reacting to and participating with the world. he is intentionally the opposite of what our father was.

confession: i like that through this spiraling life we can learn from everyone and everything, including learning by example of what NOT to do.

confession: everything is a gift. i forget this truth more than i remember it lately but i’m remembering today that everything is a gift.

confession: everyday i remember to love well. i fail most days but i don’t forget. i’m here to love you more, dear ones. loving you more is what i want most in this life.

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embarrassing confessions

confession: i am way more dramatic and romantic than i admit. i am faced with this hard truth every time a richard marx song comes on the oldies radio station and i know all the lyrics and sing them with conviction.

confession: several times a week i ask myself, “did i just bleed on my jeans?” because i’ve picked and bitten the cuticles of my fingers until they’ve bled (usually there is a slight delay between the tearing with teeth and the bleeding) and haven’t noticed until i put my hand into my jeans pocket to reach my lip balm that, voila, i’ve bled on my jeans.

confession: when i told a friend on monday that i didn’t think i was competitive she guffawed at me.

confession: my brother’s ideal pet dog has been overruled by his two daughters and wife. my brother’s household now includes a guinea pig. my brother lost bigtime. (this is embarrassing for my brother and hilarious to me and its hilarity points to my unrealized competition with my brother.)

confession: my second or third or fourth response to negativity inside my looping mind is “reframing.” last night i reframed “my dress is too short” to “my legs are too long.” damn, that one feels goooood! feel free to borrow it. i’ve always wanted legs that are too long.

confession: although i hadn’t run into her in three years, i remembered her son’s name, her son’s age, details of her divorce, details of her post-divorce sex-life, specifics about her professional practice, but i couldn’t remember her name. i knew her too well to ask her. my forgetting of names (but remembering detailed stories) of people i adore is a real problem. and fucking embarrassing.

confession: i remember his name because i was calling him the wrong name for six months and felt like an asshole when i found out his correct name.

confession: i wish i could use the nicknames i make up for people whose names i forget but most of the nicknames have potential for being considered offensive. i don’t intend to offend when i make them up but i also don’t intend for the person to find out. if you haven’t figured out by now, my humor naturally leans hard toward the offensive.

confession: i displayed my less-than-enlightened thoughts about someone to another in a public setting. the other offered me an arbitrary imaginary rule to curb the less-than-enlightened behavior that tempted me. i’m grateful for the arbitrary imaginary rules that keep us and others safe from unenlightened encounters.

confession: but the dude who would have been on the receiving end of my tempting unenlightened behavior totally earned it.

confession: theoretically i aspire to love more and to be the love and i know that the least lovable ones need love the most, so ta da, there, okay, i’m glad i didn’t do or say something unloving.

confession: but i continue to indulge vengeful fantasies.

(confession: the embarrassing part of the above confession is that i probably have more frequent vengeful fantasies each day than sexual fantasies. that’s embarrassing on any count, but especially since i have multiple sexual fantasies a day…so, you know, math.)

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confessions of sex & money with green dragon sauce

confession: “any day now i’m gonna be enlightened.” this is what i catch myself thinking/mocking when i’ve noticed myself judging another.

confession: i’m more likely to judge someone when i’m smooshing against my own sex or money stuff. (socialized humans have sex and money stuff. this is why i wish i were an alien whose species reproduces by asexual means and lives within an intergalactic self-sustaining equality-generating spirit-honoring gift economy.)

fact: george washington died twenty years before the first dinosaur bones were discovered. george washington didn’t know about the existence of dinosaurs.

confession of my first reaction relating to above fact: whoa, dude. that’s nuts.

confession of my next reaction relating to dinosaur facts: “what will we never know in our lifetimes that will be mind-blowing-to-not-know after we die?”

confession: i’m not high, just delirious. they sound similar. but high is more fun and an itty bit paranoid with less hand trembling and better at body temperature regulation than my current delirium.

confession: when packing for an 8-day excursion the only things i must remember are my identification, credit card, birth control pills, and mouthguard. everything else can be replaced or gotten upon arrival. i’ve double-checked that i have the four most important things in my backpack; i’m having difficulty planning for or caring about whatever else i ought to take.

confession: i had to stop looking at zillow.com because i was seriously debating buying a house in a place i don’t live.

confession: in the place where i do live, i have no desire to purchase a house. (but i really love my hundred-year-old cracked-walls-and-ceiling many-times-remodeled asylum-vibe apartment.)

confession: jasmine green tea doesn’t taste as good as it sounds like it should. (but i drink it anyway for its proclaimed health benefits.)

confession: green dragon sauce tastes even better because of the dragon in its name. lately i’ve been pouring green dragon sauce directly on saltine crackers to experience its full spicy fire effect.

confession: usually i delete food confessions to y’all but i’m too delirious (and hungry) to delete this morning. besides, it’s not like any of y’all are in my kitchen naked under an apron frying eggs. (i’d put green dragon sauce on ‘em if you did.) i’m writing about food because it is a cover, distraction, and white-flag-waving surrender for shame about sex and money.

confession: i wish i could share more sex and money with y’all and none of us would feel shame about it. mostly i can’t. not with most of y’all, anyway. we aren’t allowed to have sex. i mean, hypothetically we can but most of y’all wouldn’t want to and in the real world sex would fuck up our dynamic or the dynamics we have in other committed intimate relationships. and we aren’t going to pool all of our money and address everybody’s needs and wants because we aren’t all operating under the same goals, values, and visions for how best to invest our resources. see? this is why i write about green dragon sauce. whether you partake or skip spicy sauce, it is a safe-to-disagree-upon won’t-fuck-up-anything-among-us topic.

confession: i’m stepping onto the delirious brink of wanting to keep the peace for the sake of easy flow and wanting to fuck shit up to see what happens. until i sleep it’ll be wisest to leave y’all with this dollop of gratitude–i love that you are here, that you show up, that we are a community based on love and confessions and connection and i wish us all more sleep and less shame, less judgment, more freedom, and more grace around sex and money.

 

 

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confessions of death’s stopwatch

confession: if i wrote a list of the most important things this week, crab and avocado toast would top the list. not because crab and avocado toast is important because it isn’t. crab and avocado toast was a frivolous gift passed to me that i then passed to another and the sharing of gifts is what matters. sharing the best things, the favorite things, the most delectable things is important. crab and avocado toast is my best new discovery in the past two weeks and that’s why i want to share it.

confession: i’m stressing about my schedule for march. (i was stressing about my schedule for march beginning last november.) what if i canceled everything in march? what if i ran away and spent the month in paris and pissed off everybody who is counting on me and what if i didn’t care?

confession: i care. not much about pissing people off. i’m okay with people’s strong emotions and i can tolerate other people’s anger. but i care about the commitments i’ve made. i also care about my health. sometimes these conflict.

confession: running out of time. those words flip-flop-skip through my mind insisting that i pay attention. time is a limited resource. every day i’m reminded to use time intentionally. (and quit mindlessly eating saltine crackers while i’m at it.)

confession: i keep noticing that people uncomfortably close to my age have died. mortality underpins time as a limited resource.

confession: if i died this week, i’d regret not spending more time with people i love. but why do i always feel like i’m the one that has to get on a plane? why can’t they get on a plane to see me? (probably because they aren’t watching death with a stopwatch in its hands.)

confession: i like answering rhetorical questions.

confession: on sunday and monday nights i observed myself from outside and above my body. i understand why people don’t like me. (it’s for the same reason people who reeeaaallly like me feel the way they do.) i’m too much. too much touching. too much gushing. too much affection. too much sincerity without earnestness. too much talking about deep, real, and messy stuff while mocking myself and making jokes about horribly inappropriate subjects. if i weren’t me and had to interact with me i’d alternatively love and hate me. which is often how i feel about me anyway. i’m congruent. i’m authentic. i’m too much. i’m good with that.

confession: i want all of your too muchness. i love, honor, and celebrate the too muchness of you.

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