4/12/12 on a flight from LA to North Carolina
confused lately. i have tunnel vision. i am pinpoint focused on success. i know what it tastes like now, craving more… the urge to document in any other way is fading, even this pen to paper had to be invoked with wine.
new people are coming into my life. these inspiring unstuck seekers. i see my ambition reflected in them. they want sparks of compassion and understanding, to process lessons. it is an easy transference. it is a relief.
i am forward thinking, a conduit. i am done explaining. i just want more moments, more love, more light. i’ve been so focused on what my 80 year old self thinks of my life right now, that i’ve completely forgotten my 8 year old need for acceptance, my 20 year old need for angst. i’m just holding on to the tail end of the comet i conjured.
‘pixie’ is everything i secretly desired to be as ‘cheryl’. unconcerned of judgmental gazes, positive creativity without apology, living in my own truth. what i share is truly what i feel now. there is minimal safe small talk, less static noise. experiences feel deeper, less on the surface. i care more about subliminal battles, less about traffic, illness, events. i want to help people feel better about themselves on a base level.
as a child i perceived growing older as growing stuck. cement shoes in the name of responsibility. meeting thriving artists causes waves of relief. i don’t have to grow old now. i just have to keep being affected and affecting others. i can still dye my hair pink and make money. i can still wear combat boots and be respected…. but i lack questions lately. i am so busy:busy, so much on this fast frequency that i am concerned that i’m losing perspective.
i want to slow down. i just don’t know how….
4/19/12 – NYC
the disorienting orange flicker as the bus races thru the Lincoln Tunnel. i’ve been in NYC for only 10 hours and already i need to escape. i crave comfort, crave my father’s reassuring smile. so i rearrange plans to jump on a bus to see him in NJ. no toothbrush or change of clothes. just an impulsive need to see him.
a spontaneous fight in front of Port Authority jolted me, rushing people on my heels, a sense that i’ll be run over if i don’t keep up. there’s a scent and a pull to nyc. pretzels, horses, exhaust, murky puddles, the rhythm of my camera bag rolling over octagon tiles on 5th avenue, remnants of cherry blossoms stuck under the handle.
i press play on billy joel’s ‘vienna’ my nyc theme song. ‘where’s the fire? what’s the hurry about?’ my life moves so fast, yet nyc and my family’s love remains the same.
my first memory of nyc was being 4 years old, sipping grape juice from my father’s office building. his assistant put me in front of a large typewriter and he pointed to the statue of liberty. my last memories of feeling like i was still a new-yorker, i was 26 years old and boarding a plane with 2 cats in crates, my father asking me if i was sure relocating to the middle east was the right decision. i was taking my life for granted and ready to stir the pot. comfort or exploration… i chose exploration.
my nyc life feels like another lifetime. i am a tourist in my own hometown. i stared blankly at a metrocard machine until a stranger offered to help. tears came when someone pushed me from behind boarding the crowded subway. i am so sensitive now to how people treat each other. i’ve become the person i used to think wasn’t hardened enough to handle New York, scoffing at the jovial 20-somethings that dared to smile as they made eye contact. now i am that girl, hurt by the bobbing heads of riders, sleeping uncomfortably against metal poles and the detached glares staring at the floor. gotta get out, need my daddy…