Monday, December 26, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
There’s this incredible tree, in front of my doorstep, that I marvel at everyday.
I just sort of sit and listen to it.
The way it moves, the way it lets the wind sort of take it and rustle its leaves. I don’t know what kind of tree it is, I don’t know how long it’s been there- but I know that it’s this magnificent organism that’s functioning, breathing, sustaining itself and there’s something about that, that I find incredible solace in.
There’s comfort in knowing that amidst the dis-order, there’s destined order and routine, the kind that doesn’t have any agenda, rather exists to remind you that when anything/everything falls you will still react to the wind, to the demands, to the seasons and you will grow anyway.
Music, but not just any music- the music that wakes up the slumbering soul, the music that suggests you should “go there…” the music that suggests you should stand up, strip down the façade and just. Fuckin. Dance. The music that brushes against nerves and makes the heart pangs flinch into submission, the music that makes your chest cave in and hurt so good. My root is in utmost conviction, loyalty, and unwavering reliability as a friend, as a partner and as a family member. In knowing my damn priorities and not for a minute, second-guessing who and what is important and needs attention or care.
My root tap, tap, taps on my shoulder and says, “you’re going to do that someday….carry on…” my root reminds me that I am capable and intuitive, gifted and prepared.
My root is shamelessly a lover of the vices that make you feel good and in no apologies necessary, My Dear. My root is somewhere amongst the stars and the moon, castles on clouds and neck-bending beanstalks and all the ladders, spaceships, slingshots and time traveling machines that it takes to live in their company. My root whispers; connect, create, CHALLENGE, understand, observe, demand.
My root is somewhere wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a change of ridiculousness tucked away, just in case.
What does the ROOT of yourself tell you???
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
I feel different.
It’s funny…. The days you think you’re supposed to feel different aren’t usually the days you do. Your birthday, usually just feels like another day and every year Christmas, Thanksgiving and Halloween inch further and further away from feeling special, especially without serious planning and allotted time for tradition and childlike enthusiasm (all of which seem to need a calendar date, otherwise they won’t happen.)
EXPECT MORE FROM PEOPLE and the energy they carry, bring, share- because making excuses for them won’t actually help them find their subtle shifts, the ones they need and you need, to wake up. To step up to version Rad.0 (mhm.) When there’s a million things on your to-do list, manage your extra oomph appropriately- surround it with the vibey responsiveness it deserves and you will sustain it. Notes, to self Chels.
When was the last time you felt "different...." and why?
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Pay attention to your instinct. You've ALWAYS known....alternate title: I cannot be tamed and other wild things.
You know those moments when you read something and it sort of makes your heart skip a beat? The ::gasp:: happens. Then, the “Oh fuck” stomach drop hits like a sucker punch? You know the times. The times when you understand why ignorance is bliss and you’re pissed that you can’t just remain fucking blissful? Yeah, well.
When I read that sentence, from Women Who Run with the Wolves- a book that, in my opinion, needs to be on the bookshelf of every woman, (especially the ones seeking to live free, wildly, BRIGHTLY)- I literally set the book down and decided to process, the way you grieve and mourn- visceral and rapidly.
For the most part- this whole breakup, I’ve dealt with gracefully. I’ve been respectful and supportive, put his needs in front of mine…I've been trekking up the HIGH. ROAD. Wearing shiny sunglasses, peering onward and West, sans rearview mirror. I was everything I’ve needed to be for the both of us, to transition into this new period with dignity and acceptance….. so yeah, all of that happened- then somewhere between a bottle of wine and Saturday night mass emails to friends about how/why we’ve broken up, my inner resentment and I had a little TALK. A little come to Jesus, if you will. Spoken through a megaphone entitled, “Pinot Noir and Truffle Fries.”
There were things that were happening between us that I’d let myself say, “this too shall pass…” To say any of the reasons why we split came out of “left field” and sneak attacked me, would be playing the victim card and that’s not my gig. That would be a lie that I told myself to cope and frankly, I don’t have time for nonsense and lying anymore. There were things that I’d convinced myself would be “okay forever, till death do us part,” things that, in hindsight, are so far from okay the Old Me looks like she’s heavy on the crack pipe. Somewhere between acknowledging all of that and opening my inbox on Saturday night, to glass number three of my good friend Pinot- I realized, boo. Devil- I was so. Goddamn. Angry.
I wasn’t angry at him- in fact, I was the exact opposite. I was still proud and loving and maternal as every towards him. Him and I are still healthy and fantastic, no regrets. I still want him to be wildly, happy. I was….. angry at myself.
Angry at myself for getting THAT FAR AWAY FROM MY CENTER.
Angry at myself for not listening to what my intuition had told me all along. Not just one thing that I’d ignored, but a series of things. I was angry that my brain had loved someone so intensely that I was willing to accept something that, even in my happiest moments, I knew would eventually leave me sucked dry that to the point of needing him to continue. I was angry that I’d let myself love someone so hard, that I may not be able to actually care about ANYONE like that, to that capacity, with that optimism and faith….ever again.
I realized; you know what Chelsea Belle, right now- you're worth letting someone worry about you, take care of you, show adoration and excitement in YOU. Let them open doors, let them chase, let them see that you aren't here to be tamed, but you're willing to let them run alongside you-- if they can keep up.
Forgive yourself for staying longer than you should, for wishing it was going to be something that it wasn't, for seeing ALL THE SIGNS and doing it anyway. For turning a blind eye, for compromising too much, for giving it all away. Ease your instinct back out of it's cave, because you need it.
Listen to yourself. PAY. FUCKING. ATTENTION. Question their motives and as much as you want to give your heart freely, be cautious of who you give it to. Not to say that I have regrets, because I do not- but this next time around, I will be alert. Demanding of honesty. Of utmost respect and transparency.
Instinct. Your feminine nature that just knows. EMBRACE THESE THINGS. My wild women. Run with the wolves again.
What part of yourself are you not listening to???
Monday, October 31, 2011
Now is the time to make space.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
For most people, change usually goes something like this; something major happens and the moments to follow are greeted with a steady routine of processing first, adjusting second, adapting and continuing, third. That's for most people.
For people like me, change is usually followed up with a plane ticket. Most of the time, the plane ticket is one direction only….. A few weeks ago, I packed a carry-on bag, for my one way trip to LA Livin' on a prayer really, hoping that something would "work out." I'd been looking for job opportunities in the city since May and NOTHING. WAS. HAPPENING. I started to think I was being Sixth Sensed. Dead and didn't know it yet. Or something equally fucked up where the world just doesn't respond to your desperate pleas for change.
.....the instant I got to LA, with my seven outfits and my Non-Plan Plan, I realized why nothing had worked beforehand. I hadn't made the statement yet that I was ready for it to.
When I got here, after two weeks of an whiplash inducing, stomach churning, emotional rollercoaster rides, sans cotton candy and over-stuffed prizes--- Saying Goodbye to one life and Hello to a new one, holding onto the ledge still with one hand and reaching for New with the other, I let go. No net.....and like they always say it does, one appeared.
The day before I was about to go back home to get the remainder of my things and come back, (still with no job, a few freelance clients, a mangled soul, dwindling money and nowhere to live) OR stay in my room for the rest of eternity feeling sorry for myself, I got a phone call. About a job. A really. fucking. fantastic. job. After a few back and forth interviews, I was offered a dream position that I didn't think existed. I've taken a position for a small company that (in simple terms) assists high-profile clients, celebrities and their brands across all digital/social platforms. i.e. I get to work with amazing creative, inspiring people strategizing how to translate their awesomeness offline, online. And everyone knows what a Pop Tart I am, so working with some of my favorite celebrities on a daily basis is BASICALLY THE BEST THING EVER.
After the job was a go, the apartment fell into place, the dream neighborhood, the great furniture, the move was.....like butter. Smooth, easy, delicious. Not that I'm calling Butter slutty or anything.
Ironically, I live across the street from this lovely bird, who's an old friend (and fantastic blogger) and a few of my best friends in the entire world live in town, which means a lot of hair braiding and couch cuddling and all the drinking. The support system is incredible. Openly, unabashedly…. just, starry eyed, you-are-totally-fucking-stellar sort of adore these people.
My Ex-Love and I parted maturely, packing up my U-Haul together, moving pieces and making room like Tetris with our lives and our heart. Fitting. I miss him, everyday, I send love and light (I cry a little, or a lot) and then I continue. One foot in front of the other. Embracing all that's in front of me and sending smiles to all that is behind me and living, still, inside of me.
Gypsy Girl is used to describe the general way in which I approach life; freely, with optimism, story worthy characters, a little absinthe and a eagerness for adventure. She's back, my friends.
...sure... maybe she's running away, but she is running towards something. Even if that "something" is just a new perspective, inspired by looking at the same situation from a different angle. I like who I am when I'm moving. When I'm active, when there's demands on me and expectations that that I may not be able to live up to (but I will, boom.) Imposed pressure turns me on. So here we go.
Back to the Gypsy that I was....
Here's to all the uncomfortable, awkward, perfectly ripe and eager NEWNESS that is upon us.
WHAT'S HAPPENING IN YOUR WORLD MY BEAUTIES??
Thursday, September 22, 2011
On my way to see My Love the other day I noticed a group of girls, about eight or nine years old....skipping alongside a reservoir, picture perfect really--- I loved that they had time to skip, I remembered having that time, what it was like....to be joyful enough to just skip, unprovoked.
….these little ones, skipping, were holding a net. Probably for bugs, or fish....or maybe, for butterflies. I was charmed by that idea.
The idea that when you leave your house, you will encounter a butterfly and that butterfly will willingly, settle into your net, long enough for you to marvel at it.
I loved the optimism of it all...... capturing a butterfly, with no door, no motivation or expectation- no way to cage it in, just for a moment, to marvel and let it go.
Sort of what we do in life right? Look for something delicate and miraculous, something so fancy and unique and utterly beautiful, so we can hold it in our hands, open palms and just hope that it stays.
It’s been interesting. This change.
I heard my inner voice fighting without my rationale, “But I still love him” and gently, like a a schoolteacher placing her hands on top of your tiny ones, fumbling and frustrated trying to your laces, my Other Voice said, “Then, love him.”
Then, love him.
...so that’s what I did. Just, loved him--with no real place of belonging for that love to land. Just, Open heart, flexible mind...sort of love.
I spend so much time PLOTTING life-- writing lists, planning the next step, plotting “the way.” Almost, like I’m trying to find a loophole so that everything can go the way that I planned it, instead of they way fate plans it. Dodging under beams and ladders. Starting with a running leap. Anything to just make sure there’s no mishaps.
...then you realize, life happens to you. it HAPPENS to you, whether you’re plotting, dodging, scheming, or not. It just. happens.
Let it... (Ohhh, HA! so that’s surrender, gotcha Lesson.)
Then, the way the new pieces fit into your life will feel less clunky, less awkward---they’ll settle into their nooks....in due time, of course. You’ll walk around holding all this New in your hands, thinking, “what in the fuck do I do with this? I don’t know where to put this.” Until, eventually...you’ll decide to replace certain pieces and it’ll feel like surgery, it’ll feel like sticky, reluctant excavation...but you’ll do it anyway. To free up your hands.
Life is shifting in the most bittersweet and beautiful way...... and all I can hope, is that I’m here palms up, open, ready for my Butterfly to land. That’s what I wish for you.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
It’s important to sit. To waste time. To give your thoughts breathing room.
To having “wasting time” be a goal.
To feel the weight of it all. To feel sadness and aches, for no reason....when everything is perfect. And then, to be jolted like a slingshot into joy when it flashes across you. Wildly, unexpectedly...the surprise guest, the kind you wear your party dress for...hoping they’ll come again soon.
Bask. Mope. Drag your feet, deliberately.
Nimbly tracing, with the tips of your fingers, all the way to the end of the rope, where the fraying first began- inch, by inch. Don’t skip a moment.
Pace. Play it on repeat. Pay attention to the detours and not just the destination.
Feel sorry for yourself, silently. Ride it out.
Demand tears to come, not “if necessary,” but always necessary. Insist on hammering it out.
Lay on the floor, for an indefinite amount of time. In every room of the house. Sit in the shower....draw smiley faces on door and watch them drip.
Drift off. To sleep. To that room in your brain that you haven’t explored yet. To nostalgia, where you've convinced yourself "things were better."
Watch yourself cry in the mirror. Notice a new way in which your face moves and wonder how many people know that specific way in which it moves and think of it any time they hear your name. Associate yourself with that face....tell yourself a sad story. Imagine conversations, that haven't happened.
Stare into your coffee cup. Let your eyes tell a story, so you don't have to keep repeating it....your brain already does enough of that.
Do less for awhile.
Regret the Tipping Point. You know there would be one....eventually... you just rolled the dice.
There's never enough time, is there?
Drink too much. Have a marathon day. Do less for awhile, so you feel less guilty about DOING IT ALL.
Admit you need tending. Forgive yourself, for knowing all along.
Wake up. Put your hands, over your heart...... and remember, It's all going to be okay. Every single thing.