Red is the New Black

It’s been a long time since I felt beautiful.

Years really.

And before you say or think anything...this isn’t a fish for compliments or affirmation or anything of the sort so, yannow, just let me finish.

When I say “felt beautiful”...that has very little to do with physical appearance - although physicality does play a small part. I think what I generally mean by feeling beautiful though is feeling good, positive, energetic, peaceful. 

I hadn’t felt beautiful or ugly or anything in between. I just...hadn’t given any thought to beauty or myself. At all. Completely disconnected. 

Invisible.

2013 was an epic year for major change - a series of (mostly) unrelated events - that would seem to change the trajectory of my life in ways I’d never anticipated. 

You know I bought a house.

You know I moved my dad to an independent/assisted living apartment.

I changed jobs.

What you don’t know is that Spux and I, well, we had a massive falling out. And someone who’d been such a huge presence in my life wasn’t there anymore and I started to withdraw from the places and scene where I might run into her to avoid conflict and discomfort.

You also don’t know that I quit Denhac. I didn’t have the time or energy or the enthusiasm to dedicate to the space anymore and I felt the members deserved a Board who could be there in ways I couldn’t. 

I suppose you might say I withdrew from that scene too.

So I was already feeling kind of lost at sea.

And then?

And then.

In November and December of that year, 2013, Acr0nym - my near constant companion, my non-sexual non-husband, my BFF - suffered a MAJOR mental health crisis. I mean, y’all, it got bad. And then it got worse. And then it got to New Year’s Eve and, well, I did the unthinkable. 

I had him committed.

It was dawn on New Year’s Day 2014 when I rolled back into my garage after having spent the entire night talking him down off the proverbial ledge and convincing him to go to the ER and subsequently sitting in the ER with him while waiting on pins and needles for the doctor to decide whether or not to place the 72-hour hold on him.

I fixed myself a cocktail at 7 a.m, watched the sunrise, and collapsed in ginormous racking sobs as the anxiety and terror and exhaustion of the prior weeks rolled right over the top of me in waves.

He was safe.

And I could shut down.

So that’s what I did. For many, many months.

Before I go any further, Acr0 was hospitalized for 13 days. During that time, his father died and so the staff worked to stabilize him enough to be able to release him so he could be with his family. It’s been a very long road since then but he is better now. So ever much better! For real!

2014 was a blur. There’s not much to say about it except to say, while my friendship with Acr0 was still intact, he had his hands full just trying to get by and so, for the first time in years, I was on my own. I think, after his father’s memorial service, I saw him a total of maybe six times throughout 2014 and even less in 2015. Also of note, my father, already declining in hearing, mobility, and function, was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February and underwent radiation daily for 6 weeks (the treatment worked - he’s cancer free). 

Mostly, 2014 and the first part of 2015, as far as I can recall, didn’t actually happen. (Although something good did happen! Spux and I made amends and are, for real, great friends again!)

Shut down, beat down, withdrawn, disconnected, I had a vague sense of the passage of time but viewed it with apathy - like time was passing but it wasn’t related to me - I was moving on automatic right through it. The more tired I felt, the more invisible I tried to become, and, with invisibility comes silence...on the blog, on social media, on any platform where I might have been heard and/or seen.

I will, however, assert here that I don’t believe I was depressed. I’ve experienced depression and this wasn’t it. Rather, I believe I was physically and mentally exhausted and getting sick...sicker by the minute and much sicker than I realized.

Until…

In the spring of this year, I suffered a series of health problems. 

I won’t go into it here...at least, not tonight...but it was an extremely loud and incredibly close wake up call to PAY ATTENTION! I wasn’t taking care of myself in any way. I thought withdrawing from people in my personal life would help me re-charge, re-energize and that would get me moving in the right direction - ANY direction - again. 

It didn’t.

The only purpose withdrawing did was to allow me an uninterrupted path to a complete physical break down. Woot.

That wake up call, as so often happens, was the exact call I needed to get moving in more ways than one. I started eating better. I started walking again. I bought a Fitbit. I started thinking more about myself and what was good for me and less about what others needed from me. I started to evaluate what was good, what was bad, what was necessary, and what was nonsense.

I started to care about and pay attention to me again.

I started to sleep again.

I started to really feel compassion again.

I started to forgive...everyone.

I started to emerge.

To see and be seen.

And THAT is how we come to now and feeling beautiful.

About a month ago, while I was on vacation, Acr0 took the day off to spend with me and he told me we could do whatever my heart desired.

I made a list. 

• Visit his mom. 
• Tour Tinkermill. 
• Have lunch with our friend, Monk. 
• Tour the Wild Animal Sanctuary in Keenesburg. 

And so that’s what we did. It was a perfect day. The weather was gorgeous. There were no hiccups or tensions. Everything was entirely right with the world and incredibly easy in a way it hadn’t been in a couple of years.

At Tinkermill, where we ran into Monk earlier than we’d expected, the three of us walked out to the parking lot together and, as the sunlight hit me, Monk exclaimed, “You are beautiful!” completely out of the blue.

I was taken aback.

I hadn’t thought of myself as beautiful in what felt like forever. No one had thought to acknowledge me as beautiful in nearly as long.

And so I chewed on that for awhile.

And then I went shopping...for clothes...which I normally dread.

And all of a sudden what appealed to me wasn’t black, black, and some more black.

What caught my eye were reds and purples and blues. Oh my, yes. Lots of red.

I spent way too much money on clothes in colors and patterns...things I’ve abhorred in the past.

And then I wore them.

And, on the first day I wore red, as I drove toward work, I thought, “I feel really beautiful. I should wear more red.”

And so...I am.

Red. It’s the new black.

And I’m beautiful.

WIN!...and Fail

I should be writing about today's #reverb10 prompt.

I should be...but I'm not.

Instead, I'm thinking about generosity. About giving. 'Tis the season, right?

When I got up this morning and checked Paulie's kickstarter project page, he was just at 48 hours to go and was less than 2/3 of the way to goal.

And, while I have some experience in the world of fund drives and know that there is always a mad dash to donate at the end, I must admit, I was discouraged. Really discouraged.

As I wrote out my donation checks at lunch time, wrote the letters to accompany them, and addressed the envelopes, I started to think about what other project/fund/organization I would donate to if my donation to Paulie fell through. Certainly, this year I've had no shortage of places to put my heart's money. Frankly, it was much more difficult to decide this year than most.

Still...

I wanted to donate something to at least one positive, encouraging place in addition to those places driven by grief.

And I didn't know what it was going to be.

At 5 p.m. Paulie's ticker had moved only just a smidge. Less than 36 hours to go and still nearly 1/3 left unpledged. *sigh*

I launched my solitaire game hoping maybe it'd take my mind off some of the bitter shame-on-you-Scrooges thoughts I was having.

And then? Less than 10 minutes into my 30-minute solitaire session I got an e-mail chime on my smartphone. THE e-mail I was hoping for had arrived!

Paulie made his goal!!! Not only did Paulie make his goal but he exceeded it with 35 hours to spare. Yay! Yay! Yay!

And I'm ecstatic for him. This has been today's WIN.

Yet...there is this little hidden away despair lurking.

Literally thousands of people were exposed to this project. THOUSANDS. Paulie alone has over 1000 Facebook friends who were made privy to this project time and again.

Do you know how many people got him to his goal?

54.

That's it.

It took 28 days to scrounge up 54 people out of a cast of thousands to raise $3,000 to support art, a dream, passion, talent.

I'm attempting to not be nasty here. Truly, I am.

I understand many people have their own priorities, their own special causes to which they donate time and money, and how those causes might not fit into my idea of a good cause.

Still...54 people?

And I wonder how many of the thousands minus 54 have never given a dime to charity or an hour of volunteer service and, instead, suck down $5 lattes like they're going out of style. What is that? Project Caffeine High?

Michael - over at his Fish Bowl - posted an entry a few days back about Ronnie Greene - Tennessee's own year round Santa. A man who has literally given away everything he has earned to the "poorest of the poor". Wow. Just...wow.

Of course, I think perhaps Ronnie may be a little batshit crazy given that now he may have to sell his own house in order to pay his own debts but, you know, the sentiment's still incredibly cool.

And certainly Paulie isn't poor quite in the same way. Paulie was asking for help to make his dream a reality. Perhaps that's harder for many people to stomach when they themselves either don't have any dreams or are too busy wondering why no one is helping them realize THEIR dreams.

Although...if you've got dreams, perhaps you ought to ask for a little help from your friends.

But...really my point is this...

Give. Just a little. Just to see what it feels like.

Like Redhead Writing Ranting posted about the other day:

Do it. Give. You’ll do a favor to them and to yourself with each of these little gifts, and every other you can think of.

Give…

• A hug
• A smile
• A cup of coffee to the guy next in line
• A book you cherish
• Some time that you’d rather spend on something else
• Biting your tongue for a change
• Speaking your mind for a change
• Not being so bloody stubborn for a change
• Standing your ground for a change
• Forgiveness
• If you want to give some money to someone or some cause, give it
• Lots of forgiveness
• Love, of course (What, are you dumb? Of course love)

Anything will do. Give something to someone, as often as you can, just because you can.

Giving just once - even if it's a dollar or a hug - just might make someone's dream come true. It may make your dream come true.

54? *shaking head*

Getting By With a Little Help From His Friends

So...remember when I posted way back here (you know, a month or so ago) the video and poem by Paulie Lipman - poet extraordinaire - in support of the It Gets Better project?

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting (and hugging) Paulie this Saturday just past which was, in a word, fantabulous (which is really a mashup of 2 words but, you know, whatever).

He's just as awesome and personable and well spoken in person as I knew he would be.

During our conversation, we talked about how he was getting ready to launch a kickstarter.com project to raise money so that he can begin to record and produce his poetry and music independently.

For an artist, the digital age has made some of the most far out dreams of artists everywhere a very real possibility. It no longer takes getting "discovered" by an agent or a record producer nor does it take tens of thousands of dollars, a recording contract, and access to a recording studio.

No. Artists - GREAT artists, like Paulie - have the ability to record and master their own material, distribute it electronically, and retain control of content...

IF! And that's a big if - they can get just a little bit of help with the start up costs to do so.

Paulie's committed to his art and manages to eke out a humble existence through performances and sales of his chapbooks.

But he needs our help.

His kickstarter project launched today and he has 30 days to raise $3,000 - the cost of the computer and recording equipment he would need to make his dream a reality. If he does not get enough pledges to meet his goal, he receives nothing and no one is charged.

Donations can be as small as $1 or as much as anyone would like to give and charges are processed once the goal is met via Amazon.com payments.

I had the pleasure of being the first to pledge.

Will you have that pleasure too?

Still...I Hope

Over at the loveliest modchen dot com, the supreme queen of all things (I just made that up) was talking about the revelation from the Bishop Jim Swilley to his congregation that he was gay.

The title of the post - Valor and Compassion - was certainly fitting for the circumstances as the story itself - about how, driven by his need to speak out against the rash of suicides by gay young men and women, Swilley came out to his evangelical mega-church congregation - is full of both.

You should totally go read her post. I can't say what's in my heart any better than she.

Don't worry. I'll wait.

Now that you've read it (what?! You didn't go read it? For shame. Go read it now.), you will have certainly remembered how she spoke about how she hoped his church would continue to flourish even after said revelation...although she expressed doubt.

And I was reminded of what happened not too terribly long ago - just a few years - to Bishop V. Gene Robinson.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I was raised - for the first 10 years of my life - as Mormon. *gasp* I know. Still...I was. After that, I switched - due in large part to Blind Betsy - to the Episcopal church. Betsy was raised Episcopal herself, converted to the Mormon church when she married my dad, and, when things nosedived in their marriage, she went back "home" to the land of the "relaxed" Catholics.

She is still heavily involved in her church.

So I was relatively strongly impacted - more so than, say, someone who has little to no ties to the Episcopal church - when openly gay, non-celibate Gene Robinson was appointed to Bishop of the Diocese of New Hampshire and the Episcopal church was ripped apart.

Betsy's church was ripped apart. Her priest and, up until then, good friend, could not, in good conscience, condone Robinson's appointment. He left the parish and took many of the congregation with him. A story heard from all over the country, frankly, unfortunately. Many long time friendships were severed over one man's sexual orientation. The Anglican realignment continues to this day...over one man's sexual orientation and the Diocese who supported him.

Isn't that sad?

So, when modchen expresses her hope, I nod, agree, and hope myself. But, I know from experience, it ain't likely, Sister. Not from a southern, ultra-conservative, evangelical congregation. Not when the liberal Episcopalians couldn't accept it themselves.

Still...I hope. It gets better.


A year ago: They at the church...they getta married

Attitude Adjusted

When I wake up at 2 a.m, take a long pull from the glass of water on my nightstand, realize it still has a few last ice cubes in it making it refreshingly cold, and smile? That's a good sign.

When I wake up to a mashup of Cee Lo Green (F**k You...Diva would be so proud) and the Supremes (You Keep Me Hangin' On) in my head? That's definitely a good sign.

It wasn't Johnny Nash. It was better.


A year ago: ¿Dónde está ese puente maldito?

Thank you, Paulie (UPDATED!)

Unless you've been lately under a rock or just never get on Facebook or turn on the television or have no GLBT supportive friends, you've heard of the It Gets Better project started by Dan Savage (secret boyfriend) and his husband, Terry.

In my mind, this is the single most important message going out to kids today in a medium they can relate to by people who, I hope, they can relate to.

This video grabbed me especially. Posted by a Denver local poet, the delivery is particularly potent.



"Only so much silence can be born until action is all that's left."

It gets better.

"They have to live their WHOLE LIVES as THEMSELVES."

I swear it gets better.

"Live. Just to spite them. Speak bright, bold sparks..."

And better and better.

"Please. Just live."

UPDATED: Paulie, because he's awesome, gave me permission to post the poem in its entirety here.

It Gets Better: Fight Song by Paulie Lipman (Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.)

Rainbows did not kill them
The colors of their noose
were red, white, and blue

Tell me again, why?
Was it their vibrant color
that set bulls to charge?

Maybe the Bible
seldom read, never once grasped
and bereft of Christ

Like we use
god forsaken for emphasis
and not its true meaning

God did not abandon
these 4 or millions before
That, would be us

Those who vowed to shepherd
all lost souls to heaven
condemn them to burn

Who swore better
lives for their children but
drown their color in ashes

Those who inherit
parent’s hate like good silver
spend it into fists

And the rest of us
who bear all other epithets
keep lips sewn silent

But sulfur will find
other ways inside until
spectrums flow out our eyes

Only so much
silence can be born
until action is all that’s left

For you, with hues locked
behind your teeth, remember
it will get better

The priests, parents, and
pundits who demonize you
will soon be punished

They, have to live their
whole lives, as themselves
This is your vengeance

They will all work for you
and you will give them money
but they will pay


This is better than
any fist you could throw back
Live, just to spite them

Speak bright, bold sparks while
their grey ash blends to roadside
and irrelevance

Dance brash and loud, live
love wide as your arms will go
Live, hallelujah

Live joyous, like you
never knew its antonym
You are not alone

Please
just
live