sometimes, moving on is easy..

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http://hummingbirdgypsysoul.wordpress.com/

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Last night I went to my friend Kelly’s condo for dinner. Kelly was my first roommate in Virginia, what's interesting about our relationship is that it blossomed quickly and without reserve. If you told Kelly that I am a particularly reserved person who keeps my life very private, she’d probably laugh in your face, as there is little that I’ve kept from her.

Our conversation grew from friendly chit-chat and attempting to make masks over our faces with our hands to more serious topics, like my relationship with my brother, Kelly’s relationship with her father, our parents’ ever changing roles in our lives as we continue to grow, the once relationship I had with an unavailable man, and the rise and fall of my past serious relationship.

As I sat at the dining room table spilling my heart out to Courtney (Kelly's younger sister) about how my last relationship came to fall, I was overwhelmed with the sorrow that had once pre-occupied my mind. My light-hearted dinner experience suddenly transformed into a one-on-two therapy session. I battled the same stupid battle, again. I felt the same pain, again.

The past couple of months have been emotional dry-spells in terms of dealing with my feelings. Occasionally I’ll be graced with “blog vomit” -- when a spurt of emotional release flows from my heart onto paper. For the most part, however, I’m only good for offering sound advice or a good laugh, with the exception of some serious heart-to-hearts I’ve engaged in after drinking a bottle of ‘Christmas.’

What’s interesting about all of this is that in those few moments, as I divulged every detail of the sorrowful ending that once was my life, there was no release, there was no conclusion, there was nothing but the same wide-open feeling that I always have when it comes to him: unresolved pain, unspoken hurt, unforgotten love. While I have taught myself to deal with the pain and the hurt, the love, oh the love, it is torture all on its own.

We hold on to whatever bitterness and pain we can grasp, because these feelings are recognizable, tangible. Their power is reasonable and bearable. It’s deep, cutting deep.

It’s like my pain is the only real thing I know. When it hits me, I recognize its gloating chuckle as it watches me squirm under my skin. I can’t just move on, I have to stop and breathe—a reminder as necessary as my beating hearts serves to prove I’m still alive. The pain is the only thing I hold on to, to remind myself that the love I felt, the years I spent, the tears I cried all mattered; they all meant something. Because, frankly, deep down inside, he’s left me stumped, unsure that it was ever valid.

I’d rather embrace the pain than acknowledge that the love was real, that I was actually capable of being duped by him, duped into believing that there was something more waiting for me at the end of that brightly lit tunnel. I don’t hold bitterness towards him, like the normal response would be, rather myself—for allowing myself to be so involved, so consumed by him that I let my guard down that much.

Like I said, I keep my private life very private. My pain is really the only emotion I bear to the world. The inner workings of my heart, of the way I love, its depth, severity, all this I hold very close, very sheltered, because it’s as intense as it is.

I’m not afraid of getting hurt.

I’m not afraid of falling in love again.

I’m afraid of that empty, abused feeling that comes if it doesn’t work out. The one that’s burned in my memory, that’s tattooed on my soul.

braced my soul .. you loved my mind

thoughts to follow..

wild ride, stubborn ways

lately, I've been rather inspired not by what I'm reading, but by songs I've heard. I have a small network of friends that send me texts, IMs, Facebook posts, etc. of songs or song lyrics that they think I'll like. As they share them with me, I sometimes listen to the songs on repeat for hours, attempting to format the correct response to them. Often it's just a 'thank you,' sometimes it's more than that. The past couple of posts have focused on music I've come across, either through those outlets or on my own, that have inspired me. Not sure how long this kick will run, but it may become a strong trend for the future of this blog.

Here's the latest inspiration, followed by the song:

You’re hurting me. I don’t think you realize how much you’re hurting me. Let me try to explain it to you. It’s like a burning, a tightening, nauseating and painful, a roller coaster ride that never ends, slowly pulls into the loading zone, only to begin again. You’re like a sick disease, your words are poison in my veins. My strength is unyielding, my stubborn heart too proud to let go. I tried to end it, many times. You won’t let me, and while I promised to not get attached, to let it roll off my shoulders, I’m wooed by attacks of false hope and sweet words, only to be blindsided with her love for you. Every time we take a step closer, I let my guard down just a little, I’m hurt by it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was only a game. I know what I’m in for, I know it’s no good, but really, I can’t stop myself. I watch as I torment, I’m separated and torn. My friends provide comfort to deaf ears. I need answers, I need reasons. I don’t want to hold on to something that’s not there, and I refuse to continue riding this ride. It’s not fun anymore. I promised I’d never make you pick, I don’t expect you to, I don’t want you to. But, as my friend, you have to stop toying with my emotions.

32 flavors

a dear friend of mine always shares music with me, usually pieces that she knows will stick with me. below is the most recent selection she's shared, which I'm really loving.




squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
and I'm beyond your peripheral vision
so you might want to turn your head
cause someday you're going to get hungry
and eat most of the words you just said

both my parents taught me about good will
and I have done well by their names
just the kindness I've lavished on strangers
is more than I can explain
still there's many who've turned out their porch lights
just so I would think they were not home
and hid in the dark of their windows
til I'd passed and left them alone

and god help you if you are an ugly girl
course too pretty is also your doom
cause everyone harbors a secret hatred
for the prettiest girl in the room
and god help you if you are a pheonix
and you dare to rise up from the ash
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
while you are just flying back

I'm not trying to give my life meaning
by demeaning you
and I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
I'm not saying that I'm a saint
I just don't want to live that way
no, I will never be a saint
but I will always say

squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
And I'm beyond your peripheral vision
So you might want to turn your head
Cause someday you might find you're starving
and eating all of the words you said

naturally unattached

Have you ever watched a bird family? The adult pair spends weeks, months building and preparing the perfect nest for their eggs. Once they’ve settled on the tree, house, they labor every day gathering the right sticks, the necessary pieces of grass to craft a small work of art. Once it’s complete, they’re wholly dedicated to sitting on their eggs, taking turns, never leaving them alone, protecting their children while they remain so vulnerable. After some time, the eggs hatch, and again, the parents labor. They have to fetch food, protect their children. The ultimate payoff comes that first day when the little birds begin to spread their wings and fly. Sometimes they fall, sometimes they struggle, but eventually they soar.

I frequently bring this parallel between a bird family and my family to question. Some birds were born ready to fly; they’re unafraid of spreading their wings and taking that first leap out of the nest. Others take more time, slowly transitioning into the scary, unprotected world. They’ll leave and come back.

Naturally I wonder which is the better bird: the one that takes flight too early, or the one that cautiously approaches life. Where is the balance, the thin line between too early and too late?

I’m a flyer, a frequent flyer at that—my father and I joke that I was walking around on the ground below the tree long before my wings were fully developed. And while the payoffs of leaving the nest early are evident in my accomplishments, I’ve also lost some valuable development. I’ve heard it described as “fearlessness;” I’ve always labeled it as “naivety.” I’m not afraid, no, and I’m not dumb, but I’m still just a little bird taking to flight. There are challenges that come with the beautiful view.

As my life begins to take form, as the choices are more important and substantial than what to do Friday night, I wonder if I’m ready for these big decisions. I wonder if chasing dreams, a flight I launched years ago, is a beautiful challenge I’m prepared to handle. To what extent can I continue to uproot myself, for myself? What sacrifices are necessary, what sacrifices are selfish?

Then I remember, even a bird settles sometime, and while I took to flight early on, it doesn’t mean I’m ready to nest.

falling slowly - kris allen

i love this song. it's helping me get through the remainder of my afternoon.

graduated and unemployed...

It’s an interesting time to be a recent college graduate in America. For starters, you’re joining the workforce in one of the most powerful and influential countries in the world. American’s are lucky like that; they have opportunity, or at least a perceived opportunity ahead of them. On the other hand, America is facing one of the most difficult financial times since the Great Depression—or so I’ve heard. The current workforce—including those recent graduates—is comprised of some of the most prestigious intellectuals of all time. Not only is the job market tough, but it’s well-qualified.

I was lucky enough to get a head start so to speak on the dismal job market. A good friend of mine recently moved to the DC area and in his pursuit of a well-paid job, I’ve watched what I could be going through if I had waited to graduate. In an effort to aid my fellow graduates of 2009, I came across this article published by the PRSA on strategies for those graduated but not yet employed. It has a few key messages that can aid anyone in their job search.

rollin'

so, I apologize, I really dropped the ball on my whole seven posts promise. Things have been hectic.. but starting this week, I will actually take the time to blog.. weekly at the least. I pray that eventually I'll be up to seven posts a week and it won't be because of some arbitrary decision, but because I've been inspired to spend the time and share my thoughts.

purposeful and empowered

I might just have to subscribe to Esquire. In the 30 minutes or so that I spent perusing through the magazine, I was overwhelmed by the interesting elements to it—beyond the Ralph Lauren ad that actually kept me hooked (I couldn’t get enough of that scent, Black is my new addiction).

My attention was particularly captured by the Man At His Best (MAHB) segment, “Sex,” in which readers wrote in questions that some professional answered—not really sure who, I wasn’t paying attention. The first question (and cartoon image) related to a guy who finally convinced his girlfriend to let him take nude pictures of her—apparently the pics he took weren’t that hot… “she looks awkward,” he wrote. The response mentioned environmental changes like making the room warm, playing music and dimming the lights. There was also a mention of how she should position herself, and getting her “suitably, but not prohibitively wasted.”

Anyone who knows me well enough knows what this particular article/question was of interest to me. I have a series of theories about clothing, the gist of them all stems around the point that clothing is unnecessary and confiding. With that said, the article quoted Kathleen Rooney, nude model and author of Live Nude Girl: My Life as an Object. He quote spoke to the soul:

“It’s almost like nudity becomes a kind of clothing, so think of it that way. You’re not naked, which is vulnerable and accidental. You’re nude, which is purposeful and empowered.”

Purposeful and empowered. That’s how I look at nudity. It isn’t something to be ashamed of; it’s something that should be celebrated, comfortable, natural.

In western society, particularly in America, the body is treated as “bad.” I attribute that mindset to conservative values and the far-right religious foundations of this country. Regardless of where it came from, it exists. What’s worse is the newest incorporation of the body in mainstream culture subjects it to a tool of gratification, a simple object. It’s not longer celebrated as beautiful or art, like it was in ancient Greek and Roman societies. It is either rejected altogether—as awkward and uncomfortable—or objectified for viewers pleasure. I argue that a wider acceptance of our “nude” body, as opposed to “naked” would permit us to embrace the middle-ground appreciation of the human form. We wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by nude scenes in movies—you know what I’m talking about—or the person next to us in the gym locker room who insisits on walking to and from the shower naked. Better yet, where we don’t have to apologize or warn our roommates that sometimes we don’t wear a shirt around the apartment/change clothes without closing the door or in the middle of a conversation/walk around and undress at the same time… yes, I’m guilty on all three accounts.

In conclusion (which I’m using because it reminds me of writing five paragraph essays in high school), Esquire magazine is great reading. A true diamond in the rough. The next article, for example, shows real promise: “The Collected Wisdom of Esquire as it Relates to Drinking.” I suggest if you haven’t ever taken the time to flip through its pages, you consider doing so now.

Note: As I wrote this, I was casually perched on my couch with no shirt and talking to my roommate.. it doesn't get much better than this!

darkened, sweet

As I was flipping through Esquire Magazine today at work, while my computer ran the second of four virus scans.. I was blessed with the indulgence of men’s fragrance. Now, I’m normally not a fan of samples tucked between pages. There’s something particularly fake and flamboyant about them. This time, however, I was inspired—half by the scent, half by a letter to the editor that made little sense, but used the phrases “rich dessert of blended impressions to savor slowly,” and “a deep, dark wine with a secret finish of intellect,” and finally “take the foot off life’s gas pedal and submit to the nuanced flavors of language.” I was inspired by the full-bodied richness that was not only masculine but smooth and relaxing. It left a fullness, like I had embarked to savor the scent, slowly. There was also something dark about it, like a cigar smoke-filled room, tucked away in the basement down a muggy alley. When I finally turned to the culprit ad—already in love with it and prepared to buy a bottle to give to the boyfriend I don’t have—I was disappointed in the image, not quite what I imagined, but the name: perfect.

Polo. Black. Ralph Lauren.

a new beginning

I suppose an introduction is in order.

This is blog is round II for me. The first, which I found rather tedious and boring—more a chore than anything else—was an attempt to be insightful on my own life, a reflection of sorts on what is going on in my life. But, I rarely write in it and it’s more a chore than anything else. Obviously, if I think it is boring, naive and un-insightful, I don't presume that others think much more of it. With that said, this blog is set up with the purest intention to be intelligent and interesting. I hope to develop myself through thoughtful discussion of and on things I come across daily. Time permitting, it is my goal to post seven times a week—not necessarily daily, but seven times per week. I’ll do my best to leave the personal reflection on my life happenings to the chore of a first blog, and prevent this from becoming a sort of emotional dumpsite.

Hummingbird-gypsy soul is the combination of nouns that I’ve deemed most appropriate to describe myself, my interests and my life. They represent the way I view who I am. Hummingbird is the least obvious. It stemmed from finding the quote that now serves as the blog description. I was searching for a Mother’s Day card at Papyrus. Inside the card I selected, on a separate insert, was that quote. It instantly clicked that the simplicity of the hummingbird legend was a way that I looked at life. I’ve often said that I’m a closet artist, with a two-year-olds perception on life, but in reading this, I’ve come to relate to the hummingbird.

Gypsy is purposely gypsy, not capitalized. I recently read an article in the New York Times about prejudice against Gypsies (Roma) in Hungary. It sparked my interested and I did some research on Gypsies. There is a difference between Gypsy and gypsy. To learn more, read here if you so desire. I am in no way associating myself with their culture and lifestyle. I am however referring to the more conventional use of gypsy as a “wanderer” or “nomad.” I grew up in one town, in New Mexico. I graduated high school with people I went to kindergarten with.. since then my family has moved three times, and I ventured to New Jersey for school before my recent establishment in Washington, DC. I have no problem uprooting my life and resettling somewhere else. I view my home as where I am, regardless of any emotional ties or long-withstanding connection to the area.

The final piece, “soul,” is because I feel hummingbird and gypsy speak directly to my core, my embodiment, how I see myself. Soul is the easiest way to explain that without directly saying “hummingbird-gypsy to my core, embodiment, my self-perception.” It's the simplest way to encompass the broad application of hummingbird and gypsy to my life.

With all that out of the way, welcome and enjoy! (I apologize for the lame ending, but I’ve exhausted my creative energies for one day)