Tag Archives: musings

Past Meets Present

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The future is not some place we are going to but one we are creating. The paths to it are not found but made. ~John Schaar

Courtney left yesterday.

At the airport, I was two seconds away from breaking down, sobbing my eyes out and dragging Courtney down onto the street, handcuffing her and ripping her boarding pass in two, three, no, five hundred little pieces. Luckily, this time, she was wise and said “Let’s make this quick and painless. Otherwise I’ll make a scene.” She saw into the future better than I did.

When I left Baltimore in December 2008 (Jock and I stopped in my home town on the way to England from Los Angeles), Courtney and I made a scene. It was bad. It was loud, and we were a mess. It went on for a painful amount of time – our crying and wailing and laments – and that didn’t make the leaving any easier. Thank God we refrained this time – for our sakes, and the poor English people around us. I don’t think the Brits are ready for the Bauer/Lopez breakdown.

Since Courtney left yesterday, I no longer feel like I’m living some type of fairy tale dream in England that doesn’t really exist. Don’t get me wrong, my life here existed before Courtney came to visit, but not really. I don’t really know how to explain it. I’ll do my best.

It’s like since there was no other human in Bristol who had experienced any other point in my life’s history – no one knew me as an actor (I acted for 17 years), or as a student (20 years), or as a single woman (most of my life), or even as a brunette (I was blonde for two years until three months ago). No one knew me in any other context besides being a foreigner in England and Jock’s girlfriend, so how did I know that any of my past really did actually happen? There was no one to talk to about it or reminisce.

Or, for that matter, how could I tell that my life in Bristol wasn’t all just a dream? How did I know I wasn’t really making it all up? Was my American accent even real, or was I just making it up to be different amongst these people? (These are some of the thoughts that would haunt me every once in a while).

Why do I need validation from the past to be happy in the present anyhow?

I’ve been in England for a year and three months, and although my sister was the first to visit last March, Jock and I didn’t have an apartment, a job or much money. So, we traveled with my sister and it was absolutely amazing as I love my sister to pieces, but I couldn’t show her where I lived. I hadn’t created a home for myself and I hadn’t yet made friends.

Having Courtney come this time – my best friend of 22 years – popped my illusive English bubble, and made it real. It was the first time I had my own living history walking next to me down my street, introducing her to my friends, showing her my town and my new country. It was the first time I had another American speaking in my ear while all the foreigners spoke in weird accents.

It’s only now that I can say that. It’s only now I realize that’s how it felt. I could write about my life here on this blog, my friends and family could comment on it, and I could send photos, but no one else was experiencing it with me. That’s the only way I can explain how it felt to have Court here – she made it real.

Our friends are a reminder of who we are. They bring us back to our hearts, remind us how we got here, and make sure we know who helped us to get here. They evoke forgotten memories and past lives. I miss my American friends. I miss them a lot, but I love my life here. Moving makes it impossible to always have everyone you meet along the way there with you (a lesson I learned young), but moving also brings the past to the present and makes you realize more about yourself than you ever knew.

That’s what I get from it at least.

PMS – an explanation?

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I have to give credit to my Dad for finding this piece of useful information. (He asked me not to share it with Jock – I can see why after reading it. Jock, don’t read this entry below.)

Side Note: I apologize in advance for the content of this piece as it may offend certain people (ah hem, some men or women who have no interest in the woman’s reproductive cycles.) However, I find this extremely relevant to my situation, and how to deal with life in general – which is, in fact, what this blog is mostly about. Thank you for the feedback though!

A variety of evolutionary rationales for the syndrome have been offered, including that it is an epiphenomenon due to the selective advantage accruing to other phases of the hormonal cycle,[11] that it leads to “intensification of male ardour during the next onset of fertility”,[12] and that it prompts females to reject infertile males (who cause PMS due to not impregnating the female). “… an infertile male/potentially fertile female partnership would tend to break down, thus allowing a new pair-bond to be formed. The greater the degree of premenstrual hostility of the female, the sooner a fertile mating could ensue.”[13] Any theory would have to account for the persistence of PMS over substantial evolutionary time, as it appears to afflict baboons as well.[14] ~Wikipedia

I have some problems with the excerpt (mostly that I don’t want a baby right now!), but it makes sense on an evolutionary scale. Hey, at least it’s something. The wording is a bit hefty, but the gist of it can be understood.

I’m really getting into this PMS research – hey, knowledge is power. So, perhaps the more I know about it, the more I’ll be able to control it.

The only problem is that the more research I do, the more I realize that actually, no one has a fecking clue what causes it! Heck, even women who have their uterus removed still get it. The one thing they do know is that it comes along with menstruating. Brilliant!

If you’d like to read some more, here’s a paper written in 1992, and printed in the Social Science and Medicine. Click here for the full article.

Abstract-In 1931 a physician coined the term Premenstrual Tension, thereby commencing an extensive biomedical inquiry into the relationship between women’s menstrual cycle and the occurrence of physical, emotional and behavioral changes. However, despite 58 years of scientific research, fundamental questions remain unanswered. For example, there is still no consensus on the definition of PMS. This, in turn, has led to disagreement among researchers about which medical specialty is best suited for diagnosing and treating PMS. Is PMS a disease whose pathology is best understood by physicians in reproductive medicine or in psychiatry?

This paper argues that the inconclusiveness surrounding PMS is symptomatic of the persistence of cultural beliefs in the production (and reproduction) of medical knowledge. The roots of these cultural beliefs and their ‘naturalness’ in the context of Western ideas about reason, rationality and women are explored in the first section. The second section discusses the ubiquity of these same cultural beliefs in contemporary scientific research of PMS and in the controversy surrounding the proposed psychiatric diagnostic category of Late Luteal Phase Dysphoric Disorder (LLPDD). Finally, a new, anthropologically and sociologically informed approach to understanding the phenomenon of PMS is suggested.

Another person he suggested reading is Camille Paglia. Might just order her book.

Thanks Dad, for teaching me more about PMS!

Love Pulls

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There’s a funny thing about love.

It seems I have to remind myself at times that I am not only worthy of my man’s love, but that he does indeed love me. No matter how many wonderful gestures or nice things he says, I still go through the uncertainties. Mostly because I know that there is a possibility he could pack up his bags at any moment and leave. And, it is possible. It is. That’s how life works.

But then there are other moments when I can’t believe how lucky he got to be able to go out with a gal like me. I mean, how amazing am I?! He hit the jackpot. And there is no reason he shouldn’t love this woman.

The best moments are when I’m just there. With him. And there’s a solid certainty in our love for each other. We are indestructible and solid. It could happen anywhere. Sitting in front of the telly at night, out in London amongst friends, or Christmas shopping late night. That’s what I aim to be consistently. There, in love, and content – laughing and unbreakable. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s just that feeling that we are meant to be.

Because I believe we are.

I aim to always remember the third option and to keep going back to it. And tell my head to shut the f*&% up please. Thank you.

Before Its Gone

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People say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

I disagree. I know what I have.

Perhaps it’s not knowing how you got what you have, and not knowing if it’s what you want at all.

In some instances, I didn’t know that this was what I wanted. In fact, in a lot of ways, falling in love with someone was the last thing I was looking for. Moving to England wasn’t anywhere in my horizon (although anywhere near Paris is good for me!). In fact, writing a novel was the only thing I dreamt about daily.

I appreciate what I have now because there were so many lost moments in my life, times of chaos and disconnect, and struggles before this. I remember being in my early twenties and thinking, wondering, if I had to go through all the hurt, poverty, and confusion in order to come out on top. I refused to believe that this were so. I truly believed that the only way to happiness did not have to be struggle and pain. I just didn’t know how to stop the cycle. Sometimes I still can’t believe I got out.

Without all that though, would I truly have been able to realize the greatness it feels to have found true love or the incredible freedom to be able to live and do what I love without really having to worry about money? Does Paris Hilton appreciate the money she has always had? Can anyone with parents still married truly understand how lucky they are? Or do you have to lose it first?

I remember as a child feeling like I could never fully show my gratitude for people and what they did for me. I was constantly thanking over and over again, wanting to make gifts for people to show my appreciation and never feeling like it was enough. I remember envying the British because it seemed they had learned to say thank you without any guilt attached. The words needn’t even be uttered because a blink of the eyes or a touch of the hand told it all. That was the way I saw it at least through the films I watched. I wanted to be like that.

There was a moment a couple of years ago when I looked up, and thought, I’m finished with this path of discontent. I want to be happy; I want to have money; and I want to get in shape. I refused to continue this cycle. Because, of course I knew somehow I was doing it to myself.

The way I found it is all a bit spiritual and psychic, but it happened for a reason. My mom’s friend, Joy, does angel readings and is an intuitive visual healing artist. She told me to take this telecourse by Crystal Andrus because the “angels were talking very loudly” in her ears. I swear to God, it worked. It was after this telecourse that I was working out with a personal trainer, I stopped going out to the bad-chi ridden clubs, got the highest paid job I’d ever had and focused on myself.

It was three months later that I met Jock. Eight months later that I moved to England and a year later that I began the novel I’m almost finished writing now.

It doesn’t stop there though. Every day I am aware that if I stop working on myself and the betterment of my life, it could all go away.

And I’m not panicked about it. I’m not freaked out. It’s just a fact of life for me. I want this life and I love this life. Things will go down (as they certainly have this year through adjusting to a new culture), but I know what I have before it’s gone. And, I think, for me, not for anyone else, but for me, it’s because I had to experience the other side first. Perhaps others don’t. Perhaps others can just be happy without ever feeling unhappiness. But it sure makes it sweeter for me having experienced both.

And that’s the most important thing.

Keep It Simple Stupid

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Lately, I’ve had a lot of reminders of my second grade elementary school class (or primary school for the British) where they told me to always remember the KISS rule – “Keep It Simple Stupid.” A life lesson in such a perfect simplistic phrase and at the age of 8.

Somehow, I can relate everything in my life back to that age. Had my mother known the pressure she was under to give me one good year that I based my entire life on, she might have been more worried. As it turned out, those life lessons have stayed with me for the best or the worst of it.

KISS Principle

I have two more weeks until my half marathon, and as I was running the simple seven miles (funny how now it doesn’t seem that far to run when just two months ago I would have guffawed, choked on my own saliva and legs turned to jelly), Jock and I began discussing future goals. I am afraid that after 26 weeks of training, once the half marathon is over, all my strength and new found toned legs will yes, turn back to jelly.

Well, Jock has another rule that he probably learned at a bit older of an age, and is a little more profound perhaps – he calls it, keep it SMART – Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant and Tangible (or Time Based).

For fun, along the run, we applied our rules to everything in our life. And, these rules are so great that you can do just that.

For instance, at first I decided to run another half marathon in March in order to keep my new athleticism. He thought that was too soon for me. What I realized after more discussion that in fact, I really just wanted to reach my goal weight, and keep strong.

You see, I tend to be pretty single minded. So, when my goal to run a half marathon is my focus – that’s all I focus on. And, when we think back, yes, that was ultimately a goal, but all in the grand scheme of things to lose weight and keep in shape. However, in order to have enough energy to run this half marathon, I need to eat a lot of carbs. Carbs is something my body does not process well, but that my hips relish. So, even though I love my strength, I don’t love my hips and butt looking swollen.

After the half marathon, I will continue to have one long run a week, two short runs, but now I will also start including a day of yoga and weight training all with keeping a balanced diet so that by March of 2010, I will reach my goal weight.

At first, I was like, MARCH!! That’s so far away. That’s not keeping it simple stupid – that’s postponing the inevitable! Jock explained that I could probably make it to my goal weight by December, but then there’s Christmas and New Year, yadda yadda. God, sometimes I hate it when he’s right. Attainable and Tangible – yes, yes.

Another thing to apply the rules to – my book.

I have to admit that I put my goal to finish my first draft as the 2nd of October, and it now being the 7th of October…well, that’s past the date, now isn’t it?! And do I feel a little embarrassed by the fact that I didn’t achieve my goal? Yes, a bit.

For my rule, I wasn’t keeping it simple. I have been distracted by researching blog sights, how to get read, how to get published, what agents want in a book. Blah, blah, blah. Basically driving me to want to hit my head on the dining room table over and over, and stab myself in the chest all at the same time. Putting so much pressure on myself to get this book finished and published, that I lost some of the reason why I actually started writing it in the first place. Just to have a book written. So, keep it simple by remembering what I set out to do.

What if I don’t actually care if it gets published?

What if I just want to finish the damn thing and make it the best thing I’ve ever written? What if that is my only goal. Jock and I don’t need the money, I don’t need the recognition. Hell, finishing it would be an achievement in and of itself.

Once I finish it, will I want to get it published? Yes, probably. But, focus first. KISS.

And, SMART. I was being a little over eager about the due date. Am I the only person who knew the due date? Pretty much. That doesn’t help me though.

So, what’s an attainable goal? Christmas. I have 71,000 words and should be able to get the other 20,000 finished within the month, but why give myself that pressure? Christmas is a good present for myself. Specifically, I can break it down into how many pages per week, etc.

But watch out, because around that time I may be asking for a lot of you to read my book and give me the most honest feedback you could give someone.

So, each week, I plan to start the week remembering this mnemonic and acronym (big words!) and writing down my goals.

I love getting back to basics. Ahhh, simplicity. That makes me happy.

Oh, and the run was over before we knew it. Chatted the whole way, and voila! Seven miles done in the blink of a KISS.