… and every morning it goes away. 

I’ve had to remind myself of that this past week, when rainy days matched difficult circumstances, as work and Andy’s health issues came to a head and kicked my emotional ass. I did my best, and I faltered a few times. The state of the world is bearing down on us all. It can be, and has been, a bit overwhelming. For the most part, I thought I was doing all right – and I still think I am – but this has been a tough few days. The rain didn’t help matters, even if it did help the garden. And so I take the good with the bad, remembering that it’s all right to fall down now and then, as long as we can pick ourselves up again. It’s a cliche, and normally I’d cringe at using such a phrase, but when you’ve never felt that way before it means a little bit more. 

In the past, every little failure was a life-stalling disaster. Every flow or foible along the way was reason to dip into a stultifying state of immobility. Aloofness, shyness, sadness ~ name the ‘ness unless it started with happy and I’d embrace the chance to revel in the awfulness of it all. Each setback was compounded with a resulting mind-trap, and while the world generally, and genuinely, did not care what missteps I made, I took each and every mistake to heart, and I took everything personally. It took forty years to realize the grave error of such small ways. Hence this post. 

It’s ok to trip up and stumble. No one is perfect. The new trick, for me, is learning to embrace these setbacks as opportunities to learn and challenge myself, to grow and become better, because I very much believe it will lead to happiness. We shall see…

WHEN KIDS ARE DIFFERENT, YOU JUST KNOW. YOU CAN TELL ~ ADULTS CAN TELL. AND THE QUIET KIDS WERE NEVER, WELL, YOU KNOW, THEY JUST DON’T FIT IN. AND IF YOU DON’T FIT IN AT THE BEGINNING, YOU NEVER REALLY FIT IN, EVER, DO YOU?

“The attraction of the virtuoso for the public is very like that of the circus for the crowd. There is always the hope that something dangerous may happen.” ~ Claude Debussy

‘Under the Big Top’ gained a whole new meaning for me with the advent of ‘The Circus Project‘ in 2008. Fascinated by the abstract notion of a circus, and how it had historically been an occasional refuge for so-called freaks and the dwellers on society’s fringe, I wanted to explore the idea of being different in a world that treated difference with both wonder and disgust. That icky element of human nature that revels in finding things grotesque and monstrous while being unable to look away or diminish its fascination with them.

Apart and belonging, two sides of a dangerous coin, a trick coin really, as if the world was only ever made up of two choices. Very few things are truly binary. There is too much room for shade and nuance and varying gradations of just about everything. The circus exists in this in-between area of gray, though it disguises its flaws with garish color and death-defying acts to draw attention away from its problematic underside.

We seek the solace of a smile and think we’ll find it in a car with clowns. We seek the reprieve of a laugh in a prancing pony. We seek and we seek and we seek, and all the while what we seek proves ever more hidden and elusive, as though the very act of reaching for it perpetually moves it further away. Is there a string attached somewhere that pulls as we push? Some trick mechanism that results in an equal and opposite reaction, making the very act of our quest a nihilistic end unto itself? The Circus Project posits such challenges while making no motion to resolve them.

THERE’S ONLY TWO TYPES OF PEOPLE IN THE WORLD:
THE ONES THAT ENTERTAIN, AND THE ONES THAT OBSERVE.

~ BRITNEY SPEARS, ‘CIRCUS’

“I unconsciously decided that, even if it wasn’t an ideal world, it should be so and painted only the ideal aspects of it – pictures in which there are no drunken slatterns or self-centered mothers . . . only foxy grandpas who played baseball with kids and boys who fished from logs and got up circuses in the back yard.” ~ Norman Rockwell

“Damn everything but the circus! …damn everything that is grim, dull, motionless, unrisking, inward turning, damn everything that won’t get into the circle, that won’t enjoy. That won’t throw its heart into the tension, surprise, fear and delight of the circus, the round world, the full existence.” – e. e. cummings

“I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves or figments of their imagination, indeed, everything and anything except me.” ~ Ralph Ellison

{See ‘The Circus Project’ in its entirety here. Also see the first Project of the Past: StoneLight.}

Part of combatting a pesky strain of perfectionism I’ve been unable to completely shake for the past forty-four years is in gleefully accepting my own flaws, failings, mistakes and ridiculousness. I’m much better at that now. And I’m better at being wrong, apologizing, and moving on. That said, there is nothing wrong with this happy outfit. It’s not here for any reason other than I found it in a folder I was excavating, and since Andy and I are discussing a new pool liner, it felt right to put it up here. Has absolutely nothing to do with battling perfectionism. Which makes it absolutely imperfect! 

It was hidden beneath a pile of clothes on the bed in the guest room. Under scarves and a robe and the last few ties I wore to work, it poked its colorful head up above a black belt. Gaudy and slightly garish in a colorful geometric pattern, it was a wonder that it could go unnoticed for so long. I guess I’d forgotten about it when the world fell apart however many weeks ago. A new Trina Turk toiletry bag, it had been purchased in the preliminary excitement of planning a trip to New York City that encompassed a weekend at the Plaza Hotel, a couple of shows on and off Broadway, and, most preciously and importantly, time with some good friends. I uncovered it on a recent rainy morning and was hit with a wave of unexpected emotion.

It looked so sad and forlorn, if an object can appear to have emotions. Still packed with contents selected for a fancy weekend, it sat with its mouth zipped close, unwilling to even whisper of its secrets, unable to utter the least objection at being entirely underutilized. I paused, suddenly feeling too exhausted to stand, but the bed was too messy to sit upon, so I stood there, on the verge of tears and not quite knowing why.

Maybe I was in a state of shock.

Maybe some part of me knew I wouldn’t be able to handle the reality of what the current state of the world meant, or the dark possibility of what it might mean for our future.

Maybe I was genuinely ok with it and the meditation I was doing was keeping me calm.

Maybe it was a little of all of those things.

But when I saw that silly new toiletry bag, something wrenched in my stomach. It was like the sad half of a doughnut that I found on a plate on my grandmother’s kitchen table after she went to the hospital. I had to get some of her things from the empty apartment when I found the little doughnut: an act of life, so mundane and yet so poignant, frozen in mid-motion.

I stopped still, like I did back then, arrested by the sorry sight of this embodiment of dashed hopes and dreams, of a stalled and stunted moment of our lives, instantly ended and canceled and all those words that only ever lead to regret and sorrow.

Picking up the little bag, I unzipped it. There it was ~ my frivolous life put on hold, or perhaps snuffed out forever, at least in the ways and manners to which we have become so happily accustomed. A small bar of rose-scented soap from the Beekman Boys, to bring a bit of decadence to the hotel shower. A full-size tube of face wash, because there was only enough left for a few more uses ~ I was going to leave it at the hotel for a lighter trip back. A small vial of allergy pills ~ the first of the season, and always exciting to begin again because it meant better weather was on the way. A tiny glass sample bottle of Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Fleur’ in case I wanted to add that on a wrist. (My main fragrance was going to be ‘Straight to Heaven’ by Kilian.) All those plans came rushing back and a wave of sorrow washed over me.

It’s stunning how our brains work to protect us, but eventually those protection devices are removed for us to deal with things directly. It felt like it was time to mourn.

That night, Andy picks up a dinner from Yono’s ~ they are doing a one-night take-out special of Indonesian comfort food ~ bakmi goreng. When at last he arrives home, I dive into it, and as delicious as it is, I pause in my enjoyment and think of Yono’s family doing all they know how to do ~ helping and bringing joy to people through food and merriment ~ it’s what they have done for years ~ and I’m struck with grief that we are not sitting in one of their restaurants, surrounded by other people laughing and celebrating and eating good food. I realize how much of the human experience we are losing every day.

I want to rage at the world. At the leader of our country who allowed it to get this far. At the stupid people still spreading it through their own selfishness and stupidity. At the people who say too much. At the people who say too little. At the need to blame. At my image in the mirror. At the sparkling coat I never got to wear walking down a staircase of the Plaza Hotel. At my pettiness. At my vanity. At my validity. I want to yell and scream and tear the walls down. I want to weep and cry and wail, thrashing around on the floor, ripping tears from my eyes like a child in the throes of a tantrum.

Mostly, though, I want to mourn, because I know it’s time. This may very well be the new normal for the foreseeable future, and to be ok with that, to embrace it and find new ways of joy, I know I have to go through the sadness and the sorrow and the anger. I have to acknowledge all of those difficult emotions, and the unknowable outcome of what may or may not happen next. We are not good with uncertainty, but that is our reality now. And so, I make motions to grieve.

I mourn that I don’t make plans in the future anymore, like I used to do, in the way that once brought me such profound happiness and excitement and silly exuberance.

I mourn that I can’t see a movie with Skip. I mourn that I can’t spend a weekend in Boston with Kira or in the Cape with JoAnn.

I mourn that I can’t talk to Marline and Sherri and Lorie every morning in the office.

I mourn that Andy and I can’t celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary in Boston.

I mourn the time we have lost with loved ones ~ family and friends and all the big and little events of which we are being robbed.

And so I watch. Seeking out images of comfort. I see Melissa Etheridge and her daughter singing and smiling. I see Dominick Purnomo and his family feeding our city. I see Rufus Wainwright playing the piano in his robe for us. I see the musicians at The Front Porch broadcasting their concerts for FaceBook. I see people Zooming and connecting in whatever way they can. I see my friends teaching their children. I see my Mom taking my Dad for walks and patiently explaining that OTB is closed for a while. I see Andy making me a cup of coffee in the middle of the day when I would normally be at work. I see the people I love finding their way through all of these unknown and untread paths, and I think it might be ok.

We were meant to connect. We were meant to be together. That may be the greatest lesson in all of this, at least for me. Just when I was starting to figure that out, this virus came along and stopped the world, separating and dividing us. At the very moment I was ready to hug and be hugged, we were suddenly told that could be what killed us. It is a frighteningly primal thing, this need to connect and be a part of humanity. I didn’t realize or understand that until it was taken away.

I wish I’d seen it sooner.

More than that, I wish I’ll get to see it again.

Feathered finery is really the only way to Zoom right. 

I had an initiation into the uncomfortable realm of video-conferencing this week with two (technically three) Zoom sessions with friends. On the advice of my therapist, I’ve been saying yes to things I normally would avoid. (And a video-conference is very much something I would normally avoid.) Phone calls too, so I’ve been asking friends to call me out of the blue, and actually answering, which has proven helpful. It’s also a form of social connection that coincides with the online course on happiness I’m taking, further proof that I’m on the right track the universe has been designing for me of late. 

Baby steps and an O-light. 

It’s all happening here. 

Traveling back in time to the tale of the talented trickster, I turn the brittle pages of an ancient photo album, harkening back to the days when we once used physical photo albums. It was a time before photos could be taken on a phone, before they could even be taken digitally. The medium was film, the process was called development, and the whole experience was one that instilled patience and perseverance. It required mistakes and an endless cycle of trial and error, with just enough success to tantalize and keep us working for more.

All of my projects prior to 2004 were created in this old-fashioned way, some even glued and bound within a three-ring binder because that was all my limited resources and technological limits could produce. Yet rather than feel like I missed out on anything, those processes taught me more than the ease of whipping out a phone that gets perfectly-focused shots without a moment’s care could ever teach. It was the same sort of learning that cracking the Dewey Decimal system taught me in the library. We didn’t have information at the click of a mouse. We had to search. And then we had to research. And then we had to search again. It was an adventure, and yes, it took a lot of work. My patience and ability to slowly work through a problem was honed and improved. It wasn’t instantaneous, it wasn’t without effort, and it absolutely made me a better person.

That said, lugging around twenty rolls of film, a heavy, bulky camera, and waiting two weeks for photos to be developed wasn’t the ideal way of getting images. It took me a while, but eventually I came around to the digital camera. And then I gave in to the phones. Today, I find myself taking advantage of the technology, and very appreciative that I didn’t always have it. We tend to value things more when we remember what it was like before they got so easy.

As for these antiquated shots from ‘The Talented Trickster Tour: Reflections of a Floating World’, they remind me a time and space where lessons were learned – lessons that carry through to this day. In some ways, the idea of the floating world is more resonant than ever – an idea that the world is dark and destructive, and we might as well enjoy what beauty and pleasure we can find because everything is temporal and fleeting in nature. In the past, I would sometimes avoid the blooms of the cherry tree because I knew they would not last, and the regret that inevitably came with their demise would be more than the heart could handle. These days I seek out that fleeting beauty, sit with it in appreciation while I can, then move on, grateful for the experience, grateful for the smile it produced, happy with the memory. You cannot buy or keep the transitory beauty of the cherry bloom – you can only hold it in your heart.

On a rainy Sunday night, as the Sondheim 90th Birthday Celebration is getting off to a rocky, and late, start, I write this weekly recap before we begin again tomorrow. It looks to be a week of rain, a week of isolation, a week of hanging in there as best as we can. My mind is in a wonky place – perhaps the new normal is finally getting to me. I’m in the midst of writing a bit more about that for a post that will go up later this week – think ‘hot mess’ without any semblance of the hot. For now, let’s go back over what has already happened, because the past is the only thing of which we can be sure. 

I probably should have tried to stop the week when these fucking pancakes happened. 

A moment of indulgence and calm courtesy of Spring Blossom by the Beekman Boys. 

Remembering a time in Boston, long ago. 

The jonquil parade is not quite over. 

Recalibrating a meditation approach.

Franco Noriega gives the world this gratuitous beefcake post. 

Getting naked to get happy.

Whispering lily.

I’ve gone six months without alcohol. Good timing or stupid timing? See here.

The MAGA Challenge: whattya got to lose?

A crop-top and some skimpy briefs. 

Project of the Past: this was StoneLight from 2007.

Our peaceful Sunday night comfort post: awakening to awareness.

Hunks of the Day included Kip Moore, Jeffrey Bowyer-Chapman, Benjamin Godfre, Ryan Cleary, Nick Zano, Peter Locker and Jeff Goldblum.