10 days to love LA

Any opportunity I was given to vocalize my disdain for Los Angeles I took. When I'd visit other cities my hash-tags consisted of the following: #nevercomingback, #laterla and #futurehome in an effort to prove to my followers how crappy the city I inhabit is; that my friends and I should take our things and evacuate before we run out of water and are forced to do so anyway (too soon?).
It's things like the smog, the non-friendly and life-threatening biker commute (to be fair I was intentionally hit by a car on Pico one morning after addressing the human in the 4,000 ton car that he came to close to me at a light), the sad fact that anywhere else in the country -aside from Houston and New York and maybe Chicago- if you need to go to the store and it's ten miles away it will only take you ten minutes to get there, having the highest tax rate in the country and the poorly designed (and operated) public transportation system...to name a few. I just didn't feel like I was winning in Los Angeles and there were enough people surrounding me who felt the same way that it became easy to throw my fist in the air at the city every morning. 

     There is something about loving the place you live in isn't there? But like I said, for many people I know in LA, this city seems to be the stop in between getting out of the small town they grew up in and all their dreams coming true; where they were and where they want to end up after they make it big. It's transient and it's been no different for me in the seven years I've lived here now. But a friend recently explained why it's so important to love the city you live in and she's very much in love with LA.

     "If you don't love the city you live in you should leave. The city has enough hopeless people in it who discourage it from getting any better it doesn't need another body adding to that." And it's true. It needs hope because a hope will produce a change. Not only did I discover how unhelpful it is to the city and those dwelling in it for me to rant about how awful it is, it became poison to my own spirit. It made what was hard even harder and because I’ve found that embracing something you don't like seems to offer some amount of resolve, I decided I was going to choose to fall in love with Los Angeles. I began to walk about the city looking for more. I spent ten days focusing on really seeing Los Angeles, looking her in the eyes every day, dating her. On these dates of ours I’d add a little mood music and play my Artie Shaw & Billie Holiday Pandora mix (if that’s not on your playlist add it right now). I wasn't in a rush, I wasn't just using the city for what I needed in the moment. I wasn't focused on anything other than the city and her walls. I let her show me what she wanted to show me and here is what I found: 

Ornate architecture intended to inspire, fire escapes that remind us of the east coast (minus the temperatures), bridges with the mark of creativity, parks with outdoor concert halls, lakes with ducks and fountains, churches that have seen lifetimes in this city, pleated plants and braided trees, color everywhere and 1950's inspired walls for all your grocery needs! Even our sidewalks are dipped in love- did you see the tar heart above??  I mean ! And these are just in my surrounding workplace, think of all the rest that awaits beyond this 90005 zipcode!

I was pretty enamored after my ten days and I'm looking forward to continuing the journey. For now, Los Angeles, it's you and me and I promise to try and see you every day I dwell here.

September Soiree

I grew up in a household that was always alive and full. Whether it was my siblings filling that space, my grandparents or our friends, it was always buzzing with bodies. My life is very different now. My roommate and I have opposite schedules and because we rarely see one another throughout the week, home is a pretty quiet space. Quiet isn’t bad but it’s not the buzzing I grew up with. I think a big part of why I enjoy bringing people together under lights and over food is to tap back into that place and that feeling.

It’s also about this idea of being lavished upon. The times that I have felt most lavished regarding a dinner have been at weddings; my name was intentionally placed at a table, I didn’t worry about the cost of food or the beverages and I danced the night away enjoying the love in front of me and the surrounding strangers. Regarding the recent dinner party I hosted, I wanted to offer that to my friends but wasn’t about to have a wedding (just yet) in order to do so. And frankly, we shouldn’t have to wait for one to come around. The soiree achieved the buzzing my spirit longed for and the lavishing it had hoped for. At one point, as I walked through my house, I compellingly paused; outside my windows the lights charmed the faces of my friends and their laughter and conversations drifted around in the air like smoke from a cigarette. 

This is home. 

the whole and nothing but

The truth is, when we are rejected by another we tend to use phrases like, "Oh he's just not mature enough," or "we're not compatible, her strengths and my own don't really sync up" and these can be quite true. However, when they are used in the context of pain they are like masks we cloak ourselves in. They are used to keep us from looking foolish for having such faith in the possibility that this is the human we are supposed to do life with or from seeming unwanted as if we have nothing to offer to another. But the reality is, in wearing these masks we are fools for when we put them on we build walls and walls are much harder to climb than keeping a clear doorway so that it can be opened by the right person.

I've worn the mask far too long. I was rejected recently. I chose someone but I wasn't chosen back. For someone who put brick upon brick and enclosed herslef in,who uses doubt as a map and who panics at every decision from how I want my coffee prepared to whether or not I really am going back to school, the beautiful thing about choosing someone whole-heartedly but not being chosen back is that I finally made a choice. I was brave and bold and I made a faith-filled choice. There was no room for doubt. I befriended clarity and I chose this person with all their strong suits and every thing I was aware that they lacked. I was willing to give my whole heart and such a thing is quite rare. Such a thing is a most precious act and such a thing gives us our power back.

I submit to you and encourage you, take off the mask. Let authenticity be your map through this thing, this life and capture the power that your heart makes in just making a decision whether the decision is reciprocated or not. All in.

the Velveteen Rabbit vs the Easter Bunny

As a child during the awaited Easter season, the hunt for colorful eggs left by some esoteric rabbit was always an exciting plot twist in the Resurrection of Jesus. Yet, unlike most children, I always preyed on the real eggs vs the fake ones packed full of sugar-coated candies.

I remember rummaging for as many of those hard-boiled canvases as I could find while my siblings and cousins bolted for the shiny plastic ones. Maybe it was the creation process, turning them from eggs into art, or maybe it was the treasure in finding colors that plastic-makers couldn't touch. Whatever it was, I always found myself on the slate-grey steps of my grandmother's porch trading my plastic eggs for the hard-boiled ones of my competitors. Later, I would take my precious cargo into the living room and sit atop a very enveloping black bean bag, peeling one after another and devouring as many as my belly would let me. Art never tasted so good.

So what was it about the real eggs vs the tantilizing sugar I could have participated in had I taken a fancy to those fake eggs?

I didn't know it then but now I truly understand the value and the goodness of the real things in life versus the seemingly real things in life versus the not-so-real things. It sounds simple and agreeable, yet there's so much biding for our attention, so much that enters into the rooms of our hearts and begins rearranging the furniture in there-sometimes even motivating us to toss the good pieces out. We find ourselves so quickly and so effortlessly distracted by the sugar-coated plot twists in life which usually leave us empty and sick and craving more.

I don't know about you but I know about me and I want the real things. I want real love- the kind where I love someone more than I love myself and the other way around- where love grows beyond that "in-love" feeling into a forest of commitment and security, that even and especially on the days when I don't feel like loving this person, I still choose to by my actions and with my words, and that I make the choice to eternally do so every single day.
I want real friendships where we truly see one another and hear one another. Where sharing the deepest, realest pockets of ourselves pulls others in and we build not just a forest but a city, a country, a world of vulnerabilty, of real.
I want work that I really love, that I believe in, that's true and that propels good into the world. I want to make real art and not attempt cheap tricks to get people to like me or to win some lacking approval.
And I want a real God. One that entered my humanity, Who has endured my suffering and can empathize in my pain. One who has experienced insurmountable joy and Who shares it freely with me. One Whose patience astounds me and Whose grace overwhelms me. A God that would do anything for me and has proved that through the immeasurable sacrifice of a cross, through love. A God Who I don't have to work to obtain love or approval from but Who unleashes it and lavishes me with it every day. A God who chooses me every single day whether I choose Him or not.

"It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” 

Getting a sugar rush from a fleeting moment in time leaves you longing for more but sitting in the waiting room for the birth of something ever-lasting is fulfilling and makes us whole. It makes us real. Don't settle; wait and fight for and pursue what is real.

On the Verge

     I've been having a conversation with myself for some time now along with my many friends who are either on the verge of ending their twenties or who have already packed their boxes and moved out. This marks my very last year renting space here. 

I've also been reading articles and hearing from thirty-somethings who say they've never been happier than this third decade of life. [See below]

"I’m happier in my thirties. I feel clearer about who I am and less apologetic about it, and more accepting of my limitations and also more aware of the ways in which I’m capable. I was always looking forward to this time because people talk about it in very romantic terms. And I think it’s true. Gravity hasn’t had too profound of an effect, and you’re a little less emotionally gangly. The twenties are a deceptively challenging-slash-painful time. I’m just glad to be out of that phase." -Claire Danes

     Unlike most twenty-somethings, I have absolutely no fear of entering my thirties.  Without wishing my life away, I'm actually kind of aching to turn thirty. I've endured my twenties (endured being the operative word) and I've felt it to be less like the these-are-the-best-years-of-your-life-live-em-up idea I heard upon entering them, but rather like a second, more painful and more obvious puberty.
     In your twenties you're more aware of yourself than you were in middle and high school when you went through that first phase of discovering your embarrassment of your parents and your oily skin. You don't have the distraction of a class schedule or hanging out in the hallway with your friends as you eye your crush leaning up against his locker or the math test that will end your world if you fail it. You are deceitfully free in your twenties; held hostage by not knowing how to make friends as they stop being given to you when you graduate, the quarter-life crisis of not knowing if you really do want to pursue a career in the major you so confidently (and recently) conquered, and when exactly you might be lucky enough to stumble upon that love and marriage thing everyone else around you seems to be doing. (I won't even get started on the baby thing that follows.)

     Yet, it's supposed to be this epic epoch where parental and institutional authority no longer apply and you're allowed to be selfish and foolish, even encouraged to be. So what of the old soul that would rather share life with someone selflessly and learn the art of compromise now? That would rather sit beneath wisdom's tree and eat of her fruit? The tug of war between new and lived-in, free and more free, blind boldness vs. courageous confidence?

     You wait it out.

     While incredibly challenging and undeniably uncomfortable, you absorb each awkward moment. You relearn the kindergarten skill of making new friends while practicing the girl scout skill of keeping the old. You risk revealing interest in the guy with the great smile at church holding onto a hard hope he'll finally ask you to dinner, without writing him off if he doesn't but most importantly without writing yourself off if he doesn't. You give yourself grace for not knowing exactly what you want to do anymore because your childhood dream turned out to be less of the dream you fell asleep to every night and more of a cement freeway you don't move for hours on. You take those weird jobs you'd never imagine doing while you explore more endless interests and opportunities to do some of that other stuff you loved doing before you were pressured to pick a major.

And you stop apologizing for who you are.
    
     That twelve year old who dreamt of winning an Oscar, who chased after romance like a child with a net after a butterfly, and who participated in water balloon fights on the sidewalk of a small town is the same twenty-something year old staring back at you. He/she wants to dream again, to play again, to make friends worthy enough of friendship bracelets, to romanticize among the wildflowers and to take adventures to unknown places on bikes befriending bravery. So let them. 

Don't let your twenties stifle you- rise up to the challenge of liberating yourself within them so that moving into your thirties is less like getting a lung transplant and more like a breath of fresh air.

Your twelve year old self will thank you tremendously.

Hip hop hippy to the hop you don't stop

...but really you should stop.

I recently took an Uber home for the first time tonight and neither the driver nor I wanted to talk so we turned the radio on instead. Within two minutes I felt that same wave of awkwardness we all experienced while watching Pretty Woman with our parents. (I know I'm not the only one.)

Been around the world don't speak the language
but your booty don't need explaining.
Thank you Jason Derulo! What a relief! My 'booty' doesn't say much and when she does she certainly doesn't want to have to explain herself.

I want to take a moment to rewind and reflect on the past state of the music industry, primarily regarding hip-hop and the shape it has taken from whence it came. Remember James Brown, the father of funk, the Godfather of soul, the grandfather of hip-hop? Below is a sample of lyrics from one of his most popular songs, It's a man's world.

This is a man's world, this is a man's world
but it would be nothing, not one thing without a woman or a girl.

This message is clear to me. I am not distracted by anatomy, there is no over-sexualization. This is a message that brings awareness to sexism but is also uplifting to the female. That, though it is a world of man-made things and is male-dominated, women are necessary in this man-made world. What a positive and timeless message for us to hold onto.

I realize James Brown came from a different era so one might argue that times have changed and the music industry is only reflecting that, a sentiment I do not disagree with. I only wish the reflection weren't so dark. However, we don't even have to go so far back as Mr. Brown.
One name, two words: Tupac Shakur, a force not just in the hip-hop culture but world-wide, his influence spanning beyond oceans. Tupac's talent was unmatched and his gift with words was undeniable. Below is a sample of lyrics from his song Keep ya head up.

And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?
I think it's time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don't we'll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can't make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one
So will the real men get up
I know you're fed up ladies, but keep your head up.

My sincerest gratitude, Tupac. What life these lyrics carry, what an encouragement to men to hold females in high regard, in treating them well because they matter. This message is also clear: women are valuable and should be treasured- another timeless and worthwhile message to share and to hear, how necessary and positive for our society and culture. Sadly, these lyrics are few and far between- a stark contrast to what we find on the radio: 
Dos Cadenas, clothes are genius,
sold out arenas you can suck my ______.
Boat or jet what do you expect
her _____ so good I bought her a pet.

No need to fill in the blanks. Clearly there's a very different message the music industry wants to make sure we all hear and due to its power and influence, hip-hop has been the chosen tool for this. In comparison to where we started and have been recently regarding hip hop, where we currently find ourselves today (short of a few artists we are privileged to hear from), it is quite clear that the hips have gone weak and the hops have gone bad. What happened to the culture of hip hop that was predominantly used as a platform for artistic humanitarians and courageous-could-be politicians? (And not today's definition of politician but Wikipedia's definition of politician) What happened to the many voices that brought truth and sobriety to the many ears that heard it? Where minds were awakened and lyrics were like flashlights leading to truth. Instead of writing lyrics that bring awareness or healing to a people, our minds are being assaulted.

I want to make it very clear: I am not against hip-hop. This article does not come from a small, white, Midwest girl who thinks hip-hop is evil and that it should be eliminated from the music industry. To clarify, this comes from a small, white Midwest girl who respects hip-hop, who understands as much as she can in her small white-girl body how influential it is, how intentional it is, how powerful it is. It is because of hip-hop's power and influence that I believe it has been targeted and used for bad, why we find that more so than in any other music genre, hip hop is so inundated with perverse lyrics that do not empower and do not bring life but cut it out from our very veins.

Here's my bottom line. The beats you think you're just dancing to at the club that don't mean anything are deceiving you. If it's true that words bring life then it must also be true that they can do the very opposite. Sprinkled with subtle words of violence, perversion and anger, if we are not careful these songs and words will begin to form an anthem inside of us and a rhythm we start to live by that we would have never consciously claimed over our lives. If we continue to listen and allow these words in, they will consume us and we will start to reflect the darkness that bides to blot out the light.
And I still say long live hip hop. Long live the James Browns and the Tupacs of the world. Oh, but Mr Derulo? Please leave the music industry and volunteer at a battered women's shelter for a minimum of one year. Then come back and sing for us. I bet you'll really have something to say and something we all need to hear.

Bottom Lines

A bottom line is defined as "the final total of an account".

Perhaps then, bottom lines define who we are?
 

For example, there is a dog that needs saving and I asked my roommate if we could foster her until we find her a home knowing that I myself do not wish to be responsible for another dog. Her response: is it house-broken? I mean, the reason I'm fine with Lucy (my dog who resides with us)  is because I trust she's not gonna tear my stuff up but what do we know about this dog? Ugh but I mean... bottom line I don't want the dog to die so yeah, if we have to take her for a little while then let's do it...but how long is a little while?


Her bottom line means she has a heart for animals and cares about redemption. This is part of her makeup. This is also part of what connects our hearts and provides a meaningful friendship.


"Bottom line, your body is a temple, and you have to treat it that way. That's how God designed it."
Ray Lewis


Ray Lewis' bottom line is he believes that the body is a very valuable and treasured thing- a temple, sacred. Ray Lewis's bottom line is he believes in God and that God specifically created the body this way.

Perhaps our bottom lines are our core values, our moral compasses, our innate beliefs. That regardless of what we prefer or what's convenient for us, what's right in us is what we desire to choose above all else (whether we actually do or not).

What will be the final total of your account, your bottom line?  What will people know you for? And will you choose it when the choice stands there in front of you, both hands outstretched?