SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. Los Angeles, CA.

Is this really where it starts? Readiness is a choice. If we are our actions, I have to surrender to having lost control. If I am my actions, I am scared and looking for reasons not to recover. I am looking for every reason not to write, right now. We all want to believe that there is nothing wrong with us, and on a base, conceptual level that’s true. When faced with the things in our lives we wish were different, there’s really nowhere else to look but at ourselves. This morning, this is what I am faced with – standing on the edge of my roof looking for the sun that’s hiding behind the LA smog. I can be eco-conscious but I can’t single-handedly make the entire city’s smog go away. So I surrender. It’s amazing what will reveal itself, what will become clear, when you simply slow down, stop running, and let your eyes adjust.

In doing so, I have found the first half of my life to be covered with haze. I was made to believe that my childhood was fine. My brain only remembers the big gifts, my father and I making silly faces and my mother driving me everywhere. I had to stay busy. I had to stay on stage. I had to be going from dance classes, to singing classes to rehearsal and I remember, when a show would end I would feel this incredible ache. I would feel what I now realize to be grief. There I would be, a kid or a teenager, having to look at myself during the in-betweenness as I auditioned furiously to get myself back outside of myself. There was comfort in hopping out of my body and into anothers’. There was what felt like love when I would get on stage and I would hear that applause – and with that, they noticed me. I was accepted and special.

It’s amazing how a pattern started in childhood can continue and be transferred into our relationships in adulthood. Eyes focused, I now see how relationship after relationship has bonded around this pattern of seeking dramatic distractions outside myself to escape the question of myself. A lot has changed in the less-hazy last half of my life and at the same time, not much has. I left acting all together; I discovered myself to be a leader in booking punk shows, I co-founded a non-profit and moved behind the camera pursuing my passions of photography, writing and documentary filmmaking more aggressively. My needs now involved having friends, love, a successful career and to give meaning to my life. Leaving acting was a conscious decision to leave a behind a legacy and take control of my life and not allow my fate to be sealed by directors who were constantly thrusting me into victim roles.

Although the form of my relationships have morphed and changed, the patterns remained the same. Love became my stage – the theatrics of unhealthy attachments became my new distraction that prevented me from ever really attaining the needs in my life that had finally crystallized. An endless slew of unhealthy partners were planted on my path and I ran away from feeling emotions for anyone that was actually available to me. Who was I? I gave more of myself than I was ready to my first love who set the precedent of betrayal and abuse that after I became accustomed to in varying forms. The people changed, even the types of relationships changed. The pain inside vicious cycles of avoidance persisted. I was getting attention masked as love. I was getting false promises masked as truth. I was getting a lesson masked as what I thought could be forever. I got smarter seeing the red flags yelling at me to STOP but I kept running. I violated myself. I broke my own heart.

Sometimes it takes learning the same lesson over and over again before the sound of its teachings can’t be unheard no matter how far we run. Today I get my stuff back from the last lesson I’ll ever have to deal with, because readiness is a choice. It starts by saying goodbye, it starts by ending one thing to realize a new beginning. It starts by stopping. All I can do is surrender. All I can do is admit that I am powerless and remember that I am not alone.

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. Killington, VT.

Attempting to write this on the train before I pass out.

Wish I didn’t feel the need to pass out at all. The colors of the sky right now are golden – or maybe that’s just window tint. My route is running along the Long Trail River coming from Rutland, Vermont and then a straight shot to Penn Station. Not having a Monday morning ride back to catch my flight turned out to be a blessing. The views down are breath-taking. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I know I’ll be back.

There’s a lot I’ve missed because I’ve been too exhausted from pain to stay awake for the good, or the medium, or the mundane. The mundane is worth keeping our eyes open for too. Though in those moments, when it’s not so high or so low, I just want to sleep. The energy it takes to hold all of these emotions, to face all of this darkness is more than I really have right now. Any downtime, to prevent from ruminating on the darkness, I check out. I check out to survive. I go to sleep at 8 or 9pm so I don’t hurt myself anymore. Something about waking up at dawn gives me a better sense of hope. The day is still coming. There’s still a chance to turn things around and make it a great day.

I’m raw. I’m like a snake poking its head out of its new skin and everything hurts right now. The sun is too hot, the water is too cold, the air is too brisk and my eyes are pink. Pink from opening them for the first time and seeing things as the really are. In their purest state, I see who I am. In this moment, I’m trying to keep my promise to myself to write at sunrise. I shot just before the sun crested over the mountains, but just after it crested over the horizon. My timing was off, but beauty was still created. Finding the magic in the moments that aren’t quite indigo and aren’t yet golden. The reflection of the rays on the cabin. The fire that was down to smoke and soft embers. The teepee that once held ashes from other exes letters.

Before I left the cabin, I sat and observed the candle that was still lit from the night before. Its flame was still burning strong. It burned though 60 bodies were moving around it. It burned inside a wooden cabin and the flame remained contained. This fire could have consumed the entire structure it flickered in, but it stayed controlled on its wick. Despite the times it could have been carelessly knocked over by eyes that couldn’t see their own legs, despite the blankets and pillows rustled nearby, despite the flowing robes waving around it, it remained on its wick. This little light had the power to destroy everything around it. It had ample opportunity, but it just shined.

This little light just shined.

There’s comfort in knowing, that not everything that can destroy you, will. I don’t need to be consumed by my thoughts or my emotions. I was blow-torched with lies and betrayal. The burns are fresh. They’re so fresh they feel sticky and wet. New skin is growing and some has all ready grown. My light was consumed by his destruction. But its not out, it’s just a tiny amber. I just need some air, some deep breaths, to bring it to a full flame again. Starting by writing, by meditation. By doing things that I don’t actually want to do but know will help heal me faster than just sleeping through everything waiting for new skin to grow.

I don’t actually like waking up for sunrise and shooting in 40 degree weather. None of this feels good or is fun. But it’s work. It’s working with the faith that one day because of all of this work, I won’t need to suffer anymore. I won’t need to be torchered anymore. One day I will look at this time of deep reflection, of waking up early, of reading the books and talking to my mentors and friends and making this growth a priority, of being alone for a while so I can get to know myself and learn to deal with the inner turmoil that I had been running away from and feel nothing but gratitude.
Hope is on my wick. The more I breathe, and choose to keep breathing, the brighter it will become.