Journey

     Ashland has been an absolute pleasure and a great learning experience, but Matt and I are saying goodbye and going back to Los Angeles (at least for now). We had been going back and forth about what we should do: Stick it out until Ashland's tourist season comes, which is still two months away, in hopes of getting jobs when business picks up, or head back to LA. The back and forth nature of our plans was driving me up a wall. Our decision to go back was in no way sudden or without great consideration, and ultimately we came to this decision because I love Ashland not Medford. A fifteen minute drive between the two cities, and yet they feel like different countries. Ashland is, however, much more expensive than Medford.... might as well be in LA.
   

     It is kind of funny how unpredictable life can be at times and how unclear our paths really are.

I was walking in one direction with confidence only to find myself somehow off course having to back track. When I got back to the place I had trod so confidently before I did not find a single perfect path but rather an intricate labyrinth. Fortunately, it was not frightening for me to see all of the different possibilities. Instead I stood there marveling at the beauty of it all before I tried again a bit more cautiously.

  

     I walk my path with intent. I have a purpose. I have dreams to follow. I have a direction. I have many lessons to learn.
     Goodness, I miss free parking after 5PM at the Getty Museum on Saturdays. I miss day trips to Solvang. I miss my mom arguing with me about how to pronounce 'Solvang'.
I am going to miss the scenic beauty of Ashland, the walker friendly roads, and most of all my cousin, her husband, and their kids.
I look forward to the future and walking in a new direction.

French Garden

     Matt suggested that I name my most recently finished painting French Garden. I was not quite sure if it fit. The painting was actually based off of a friend's Facebook photo, though it came out very different from what I had first had in mind. I have been ignoring painting lately, because somehow I decided that writing was the most important thing for me to do at this time when really both are very important to me.

     When we first arrived in Oregon (after our honeymoon) we were job and house/apartment hunting, and I had decided that I needed to devote my time mainly to this search. I did not bring any canvas or paint with me. I did bring notebooks (of course, because I don't even travel without them) and I wrote here and there. After a couple weeks however, I began to feel the urge to paint (probably due to the fact that we arrived in the Fall, and Oregon is absolutely beautiful during that season). Instead of buying acrylics, which has been my paint of choice since I started painting, I bought oil.

     I warn you that oil is a pain to clean off of your brushes, it takes forever to dry, and is definitely not the best choice if you have curious little kids around you that want to touch your unfinished project. But I am absolutely in love with it, and for now I cannot even think of going back to acrylic. 

     The job search is still extremely important. I have simply decided that sending out resumes and waiting for call backs is not a very fulfilling life style, and I will no longer ignore the Muse calling me to canvas, computer screen, or notebook. It has been three months since I have been without a job (the bright side is that I have been married for three months!), in a different state, away from my immediate family. I miss home. I miss my mom and dad. I miss my sister and brothers. God, I miss my nieces. I miss my friends. I miss California (well, maybe not the traffic).

     The larger picture of my family is spread out across the U.S. in California, Texas, Louisiana, Oregon, Virginia, Florida, and Washington (I may be missing something... do you know how big my family is!?!). It makes me wonder how they all had the strength to get through their moves, how often they thought about going back, was sticking it out worth while, and if so, what made it so worth while? No matter what anyone tells you, whether they say "It is going to be awesome, you will love it" or "You must be crazy moving that far away from family",  if you feel the need to do it, then you should. It will pan out later whether it was awesome or crazy. It is better than just sitting around wishing that you had tried it. I still have my youth, my awesome husband, and no children as of yet. My heart said "go", Matt said "okay", and we did. 

     When times are tough I try to count my blessings, I go to Starbucks and write(... though my gift card just ran out), I sit down and paint, I read, and I still dream about what it will be like to live with just Matt. When we find a place of our own, it has to have a bathtub, because I plan on taking a lot of them. 

     I don't know if any of my hobbies will ever pan out as careers. I have a responsibility to myself to do them no matter what though, because they make me happy. 

     I finished reading the book French Women Don't Sleep Alone, and I highly recommend it. I have decided to incorporate some of the tips from that book into my every day life, and I feel like I am just beaming with feminine energy when I do. I walk to the coffee shop, I smile at strangers (not a big smile, just a closed lip smile) that I pass on the street, I wear matching under garments, my writing is my 'secret garden', I wear pretty smelling lotion or perfume, and I just appreciate being a woman. Oh and I started studying French again. It ends up all I needed was a break from the classroom environment. I think college grads miss and romanticize their college days (I am certainly guilty of this at times.. until I see posts during finals week on FB). Learning does not have to stop. In fact, it should not. It should merely become more specific to your own tastes and passions. 

    The fact that I allow myself these little bits of joy every day makes me think that years from now when I am looking back on this moment the struggle will seem so vague that I may not even believe that it was really even going on. 

Healing with the Fairies

I am stealing this title from a set of tarot cards I received from my cousin a summer or two ago. Tarot is something I resort to when I am feeling a bit low... so today guess what. Yep, I am feeling low. A barista job that I thought was a certainty has somehow slipped away. I am currently living in a children's playroom. The jobs listed on craigslist sucked today. And I don't know what to do when I grow up.

My tarot cards are:
Follow Your Dreams
Vacation
Raising Your Standards

I cannot tell you how many times it has come up in tarot for me to "Follow my dreams". This is something I am striving to do. This sounds so simple and easy, doesn't it? Follow- like there is this perfect little path with flowers along the sides and happy bunnies urging me forward. My dreams- I can see it now. I have my book in my hands with Matt by my side, I've learned French, I look really cute in that dress I sewed myself, and I have three kids. If only it were this easy.
I haven't stumbled across my magical path, and every time I sit down to write or use Rosetta stone there is this little voice in my head saying "you really should be looking for a job". It doesn't help that this voice sounds whiny.
I love my fairy tarot reading. I do! And I am happy that it stays somewhat consistent. It makes me believe in them even more, but tarot cards do not do the work for you. They do not tell you directly to go to a coffee shop and write for an hour, to study French, to get off of Facebook, to go for a walk, make a nice dinner, plant a tree, donate blood, kiss your lover more often, etc. They state the rather obvious, and then we are supposed shut up and listen to our hearts and figure out what we think that actually means.
I am currently experiencing one of those "when life gives you lemons make lemonade" moments. Except it feels more like I can't find my lemons, I don't have a juicer, and there isn't any sugar in the pantry.

I hope no one is reading this in hopes that I can give you an answer. Maybe comfort. It is hard for a lot of people right now. If you have a job you are step ahead of one girl at least.

I do not want pity or worry sent my way from my parents, siblings, friends, or readers (if I have any). I just want the voice in my head to tell me "It's going to be alright. You are doing great. Keep your head up. You are going to get a job (insert exact date and time here)" and sure I would like the voice to sound like Julie Andrews or Professor McGonagall. Is that really too much to ask for?
I know it is, but it would still be awesome.

As far as "raising my standards" goes, well, that is hard for me to do while I am not getting jobs at my current/low self-standard. The words "ugh" and "help" come to mind.

And "vacation"- how the hell am I supposed to do that right now. Though it would be very nice indeed, and if I get the chance, of course (Solvang and Paris are the first things that come to mind).

This far in the New Year I have read the book The War of Art, and I am currently reading Abhorsen (great book. The last in the Garth Nix trilogy) and French Women Don't Sleep Alone.
Each has given me some bit of strength at this time of my life. (That's why I read and why I write)
1. Resistance is a human experience, and it is universal. Giving in to resistance is easier than fighting it off. And though resistance is the enemy, the artist has allies like a productive routine, the muse/angel, and the passion and strength of your own heart.
2. We all have a purpose.
3; I am woman hear me roar... no, but seriously, it feels good as a woman to embrace my femininity and even flaunt it sometimes. I am wearing some sexy undies right now, and I am wearing them for moi.

Allow me to end a little abruptly (I have to work on a dinner plan) with a quote that has been playing in my head for the last five minutes or writing. I feel I have to pass it on to keep my Muse from getting cranky with me.
                     "Keep calm and carry on."

Seeking, Searching, Finding, and Doing what I LOVE

I do not know how to write, and yet I can tell you that is certainly my passion. The thing I would find myself doing if I were the only person on this planet. I would probably paint as well, but I have never felt truly at war with painting. I just buy a canvas and do it. It becomes something that I like every time. The next time I paint I like it better than the last one. It is magical.
When I write I over think. It is possible that dealing greatly with words produces so many words in my head at once that I cannot get all of what I wanted out fast enough and some of the words, perhaps the best words, just disappear. Lost in my brain to possibly resurface or stay hidden forever. I read a part of Hamlet when I was 12ish years old, and my teacher said something like "see, he over thinks everything and that is his fatal/tragic flaw" and 12ish year old me said "I do that too," and then I thought about that and felt guilty for comparing myself to a Shakespearean character. I told one of my friends, and she looked at me like Yeah Right. I literally thought and thought about how she looked at me.
I realized later that I thought a lot and talked a lot and it was possible that I did not always express myself in a way that made me look super intellectually. I speak and think from a place of emotion, and so when people disagree with me (whether they are aware of it or not) my feelings get hurt. I doubt myself.
I am 23 now, and I am sick of doubting myself. I still over think and talk uncontrollably about things that I myself do not always truly care about, BUT when I write it matters to me. And the loss of words due to the speed at which I think is probably a good thing. Garbage is naturally dumped. I will write and want to throw away plenty of my stuff, but I have learned to keep even the things that I think are crap. Also I have learned that sometimes I need to draw write in the middle of a writing session. I used to get angry at myself for doing this. I no longer do. I love to draw and doodle and write and doodle some more. I am creating something that requires both.
I recently posted 2 resolutions, and have already failed both. I have only applied for one job in the new year and I had my husband cut my the back of my hair on New Year's Day. Why? Well just before the New Year I had an interview with US bank. I had applied over two months before, and had done it out of fear. I had/ have no interest in working at a bank. It sounds dull and painful. I don't even like dealing with my own money let alone yours or anybody else's. I sat and participated in the most fake setting lying to these two haunchos about how I would love to do this job and take these crappy hours. I had interviewed previously with a hole in the wall coffee shop in the tiny town of Jacksonville and been told that the job was mine if I still wanted it but the position would not be mine until mid-January which is yet to arrive. I was afraid this Pony Espresso job would fall through. So when I got the interview with US bank I said Yes, I am interested, even though I wasn't at all.
I have worked in the coffee industry for about three years and never saw it as a career option. I still do not see it as a career. It is not my calling nor is banking. Writing is. If it wasn't I wouldn't feel so irritated when I wasn't writing. I sat in a Starbucks for a couple hours and got out maybe three pages, and I read too. I can't tell you the satisfaction I got from this little part of my day. Maybe I should buy a license plate frame that says "I'd rather be writing." I could own that.
I get my writing done in coffee shops a lot of the time. Not at a desk, in my bedroom, living room, kitchen, etc. In a coffee shop! I suddenly understand that maybe being a barista is not my calling. In fact, I got my younger brother a job with a coffee shop I used to work for, and he has already surpassed me in a lot of ways. He can put a rosetta on top of a latte and is better with cranky customers. But sometimes I just need to bang out some pages in a coffee shop. It's my writing home.
I forgive myself for making a resolution that I couldn't stick to. At the beginning of the New Year, my hair started looking mullet-esque so Matt chopped the back of it off. I don't care what my old hair dresser thinks about it. I don't want to apply for a bunch crappy jobs that I would be miserable working. I want to care about what I do. I will apply for jobs that call to my heart and I will cut my hair when it feels like a mullet. Most importantly I am going to Write and write for me, my heart, my passion, and my truth.
I won't put my writing into a category. I am just going to let it flow from my head to paper or computer screen and hope that, out of all of my many scrambled thoughts, the things that are important to me get put down somewhere!