Deep Links

The Now-Here

I write this from my living room. Dog crashed out on the couch beside me, a favorite cup of coffee on the table. The air is balmy and cool. My shoulders, back and right leg ache. I've done a lot of driving. Fragments, moments, tidbits from my journey.

Unlike past drives, I was not focused on "getting there." I invoked the power of the open road, to live it, experience it, as I desire to experience life. Consciously. With choice. As a Journey. I needed an interrupt. I needed to shift. I needed to heal. I need fresh inspiration. The open road is my best medicine.

As I live my life, the trip has not merely one purpose. Business, family and personal intentions braided creating the journey. Business colleagues, first hand research, friends, family, meetings, adventures, hikes. The crisp hot air of the Mojave. The fecund humidity of verdant Iowa fields. Hiking to my favorite Indian caves. Eating awesome Indian and Mexican in small town America. Small town America - which some day the world will re-discover. It's what we need, crave today. It's right here, in this country, in the heartland. 

I return with a pirate's booty! My heart refreshed, stronger than ever. Connections refreshed, stronger than ever. Inspired and delighted and pregnant with words. Direction clear, ready for action. Exhausted and pushed and reduced to basics: gas, water, food, shelter. Return to Iowa, Return to Los Angeles. Returns along the way. I paved no new path, I returned to my favorites, strengthening them, and in return they strengthen me. In the weaving, strengthening of these bonds, the possibility of something new emerged.

When you are the net, there is no place to fall. 

There is no place to go. You are always NOW-HERE. 

In the Now-Here.

--

The three young cowboys in the pumped up truck, I-15 south, yesterday. The caked ice was scattering across the freeway. Cute young thing was waving his hand out the window as I speed Mom's black Jaguar with the California plates. You caught up later (nice job navigating the cockblocker in the left lane) and we gave each other mutual thumbs up as you passed me. I'm sorry I had to exit to refill my tank. I would have loved to continue our anonymous speed filled conversation into Nevada. I'll dream up the conversation we'd have in the bar when we stopped and put it into one of my books.

--

Crossing over the Missouri in Omaha, I realize I am on known territory. It's surprising, this feeling - the same one I have in Los Angeles, in the Mojave... known land - this is my land. I am humbled to be welcome back so.

I drive the ribbon of highway up and down the Iowa hills - greeted with wind farms. These fields though, so green. So fecund. I can't get over how green everything is. The grass is a plush foot thick under feet and paws. I want to dive and swim in it. As I drive south, I'm the only non-Iowa license plate. I think, how strange it must be for a local to see my Black Jaguar with California plates deep in the heart of Southern Iowa. I wonder if they know I'm from here. That I'm returning? Why else would I be here? This is no place for tourists from California.

--

Bach on full blast as I drove west into the Sunset. A full moon rose from the southeast. I replayed memories in my mind. Tasting, savoring them. Soundtrack changed and in the magic hour I thought of you - of our moments. Bodies connecting, exploring, feeling, getting lost in the feeling, the emotion, the passion, the pleasure. The moments with you, and you, and you. Montage of memorable moments. Mind visiting them, licking them, breathing in their memories. Walking the full way down the fractal hallways to turn and come upon another view of our kiss, touch, deep connection of heart/soul/body/mind. Expansion. Day becomes night.

Time is an illusion, but we made some and funked until the dawn. Moments in our past, memories remain. Moments yet to come.

--

I breathe deep into my heart. Chest expanding as I speed deeper into the night. To the mountains. Humid fecund fields transition to dry mountain air and mineral infused springs. Dog is my co-pilot. My mostly silent, constant companion. He's changed too.

When we return to the Hollywood streets, we'll walk with a bounce and show more of our hearts on sleeves. Remember jumping in the tall grass, stopping to smell the lilacs, the ozone of thunderstorms - all the memories of the open road - A pirate booty indeed. 

What the Thunder said

Thunder is rumbling in the distance. There's a tornado watch. Only a few slight sprinkles - I hope for a real storm. My uncle has briefed me on where to go if a Tornado comes... my plan though is to put the dog in the basement and run outside. Why would a miss an opportunity to experience awe-some natural power?

I've spent the last few days visiting my grandmother in her assisted living home. It's a beautiful place. She is happy. She is healthy for a 93 year old woman. I come from rugged stock. Unusually, I am at a loss for words. The mundane everyday stories, chit-chat, feels .... indifferent. I want to be in the present. To take in the moment. The snapshot in time. There are no words - only embodiment. Awareness.

My eyes take in the wrinkled face of my grandmother. The brown liver spots. I feel the knots as I massage her shoulders. Her arms. Moving the blood and lymph. Knowing how good that feels. I think of her vanity. My mom's vanity. My own (that I try to pretend I do not have). I think about the entropy of the human body. In some ways my mom was lucky. She died young - 67 - no wrinkles, still in a prime. She didn't watch her hands age to 90. I've noticed my own hands aging this past year. My veins. My freckles, that were so cute to me a decade ago, now, not so much. 

I'm thinking about my life. I'm thinking about my dreams. I'm thinking about money. I'm thinking about the future. I drive farm roads. Gravel roads. Two-lane freeways. I pass classic houses. Farm houses. Barns. Grain silos. I have lunch at "the club." Filled with parents a decade younger than I. Reminded of a recipe for life I did not follow. 

At dinner with my grandmother last night I met her table mates. We had a lovely conversation. Everyone is so happy with the place - their apartments. These women, widowed. The recipe unraveling. They have lived good, satisfying lives. I know my grandmother is sad to be alone. She misses her husband of 67 years, gone at least 4. It occurs to me, I am not much unlike her, though 53 years younger, living alone...

Birth. Copulation. Death.

In the end, at the end of life, we all end up the same. Dying. Alone. Our body decaying. Disintegration. Unravelling. Part of me wants to run back to LA, to my friends. Or to the internet, to my friends. To ignore the inevitable. Instead, I sit and breath. There is nothing to do, but be present in this moment.

Driving home, through fecund fields of black soil, I think I'm more empowered than ever to follow my dreams. To live life on my terms. If the end of our lives are the same, if I'll end up a widowed (or single) woman in an assisted living home, what matters is the journey to my death.

When I am sitting around a dinner table, wrinkled face and hands, reflecting on my life. Remembering. Choked by small-talk. Will I be satisfied? Will my death by satisfied by my life? Will I have regrets? Will I have enough money to hire people (or robots) to care for me? How will my old age be different from my grandmothers?

Which leads me to reconsider my life. Am I truly, consciously living the life I desire?

 The thunder has cracked and the tornado siren gone off at least 4 times as I wrote. A moist breeze comes in the open window. The dog's ears are perked at the sound of the crashes and booms. It's really quite perfect. This moment. I'm satisfied. I am living a conscious life. I know what I want, and where I want to go. Some of that I have control over. Much though, I do not. But I swim in the cocktail of life that is life. A cocktail of love and despair, hope and fear, betrayal and passion. Of moments and memories. Of possible worlds collapsing into experience. Transitioning to memory. 

An ozone impregnated moment, released in expanding waves.

Invoking Chatwin, Thompson

I'm on the open road again. I surprised myself with this trip - deciding upon an almost 2 week road trip with no notice and no planning. Finalizing things four days before I left... 

These past months, I've had a bad case of writer's block. It's some deep emotional wounds. (And here I thought I was *done* with the deep self whatever after last year's Ph.D in grief.)  I tried powering through it for a few weeks... deadlines, self-flagellation - it didn't work. I switched to kindness, understanding, compassion for myself. A slight improvement, but not the results I crave, desire, NEED!!!!! My timeline doesn't matter. Things are happening at their own pace and I'm not in charge.

Staying home was not working.  Talking with my dad about an upcoming trip, he suggested I drive. That it might be a good change of pace. I liked that idea. The open road is my best medicine. 

I left my beloved City of Angeles yesterday. First kiss was deep in the Mojave - Pearblossom Highway. Damn, I love the Mojave. Then Barstow, Baker's Mad Greek - memories of a favorite Fantasy Novel - until I hit Las Vegas. I invoke the medicine of the open road - Bruce Chatwin, Hunter Thompson, Tim Powers. The glittering lights of Vegas - and their broken dreams - recede in my rear-view window. Deep in the night I cross through Arizona into Utah. I've retraced my roadtrip steps - with this exact car - from end of 2012. 

I awake this morning to blustery crisp morning winds. I can still smell the warmth of the Mojave desert. I'll leave her behind today as I head north to the Salt Lake. And then head east in the Heart Land. 

A Fine Man

My Dad sent me these quotes this morning:

“You have no responsibility to live up to what other people think you ought to accomplish. I have no responsibility to be like they expect me to be. It's their mistake, not my failing.”
― Richard P. Feynman

He also said:  “For a successful technology, reality must take precedence over public relations, for nature cannot be fooled.”
― Richard P. Feynman

And

We are at the very beginning of time for the human race. It is not unreasonable that we grapple with problems. But there are tens of thousands of years in the future. Our responsibility is to do what we can, learn what we can, improve the solutions, and pass them on.”
― Richard P. Feynman

And Finally, and this applies on many levels:

“The first principle is that you must not fool yourself and you are the easiest person to fool.”
― Richard P. Feynman

 

 

 

 

Alternate story of the Caterpillar

Sometime in the last two weeks I was sitting on my couch reading. A moving shadow kept distracting me from my reading, so I looked out the window. Outside on a branch of my Brugsmansia tree, was a small bird, with grey-blue feathers. It was eating bright green caterpillars. 

I had been thinking about a certain person, whom I have tried to inspire to follow their dreams. Days prior to this scene, I had started thinking about this person's possibility, as a caterpillar with potential to transform. You know, the typical caterpillar story, you go into your cocoon, liquefy your past self/ego and come out transformed. Yeah, we know the story well. But there is another Caterpillar story, and that is what I was shown.

I watched this beautiful bird eat several plump green caterpillars. It could almost be construed as sadistic what this bird did to the caterpillars before consuming them - but I am sure from the bird's perspective it was just making it's lunch especially tasty.

I was struck by their perfect bright green color. The skin was so smooth and plump but not in a over-fat plumpness. It was like a perfectly beautiful apple you search for at the grocery store. These caterpillars were beautiful and perfect in their form. 

The bird would pluck one from the leaf, then it would take it, dangling in it's mouth, to a nearby branch, where it would smack the other end of the caterpillar over and over on the edge of the branch - I surmised to stun it. Then the bird ran it's beak all along the soft body of the caterpillar, like you or I would run our teeth chomping an ear of corn. The bird wasn't eating yet, it was smushing all the internal parts of the caterpillar. It did this several times, back and forth along the caterpillar's body. Finally, the green body was slurped up through the beak. 

I was shocked by this show, doubly shocked when the bird returned to the same branch with a fresh caterpillar to watch again - the alternate story starting to sink in.

This story has stuck with me these past few weeks. I don't like the way it ends. I want all caterpillars to become butterflys. I want all of us to have our dreams come true. 

What the bird showed me, and I know it to be true, that some caterpillars are just food. They never get to the point where their dreams can come true.

Asterisk

Desert winds woke me at 3am. I heard them swirling all around my cocooned round home. I could hear them flicking their windy tongues through the swamp cooler and down the chimney. I wasn't afraid in the darkness. 

I awoke to their swirling in the bright 6:30am light. I turned over, snuggled under the soft blanket and told myself that my fear was an illusion. I thought of a man's hand in a box. Itching, turning red, burning, clumps of flesh falling off it. I recited with him the Litany Against Fear. My fear - the illusion I believe in - passed through me. I remained. 

So too, remained the winds blowing blustery. I know these winds. The last time I remember the ferociousness in the desert was almost 10 years ago. A remote location. The last time the Old Prospector and I camped together. It was Christmas I think. I don't miss him much, but I do miss what we were able to do together. Damn we were good together.

I have returned to an old practice. My movements are rusty. In my mind, I think of the spaces, the people I learned from. Mostly in the Bay Area, sometimes Westwood, Redondo Beach, the back patio of my Berkeley House, the Tango studio, the Art studio in the mission, and how could I forget the Barstow Motel, with it's all night train clanging. The clucking hens. I was then, and still remain, the young hothead. Although I am not as young. Someday, when I have my own grey, I may teach these to young hothead of my own.

I know these winds. Damn, I've missed their blustery ways. In a fit of abandon, or maybe nostalgic memory, I call upon an old old friend. A tricky friend who has caused much mischief in my life. Still, I love him dearly. I send him on an errand. It could backfire. I half expect it too. Perhaps I'm more interested in how he's going to shoot it back on me, o tricky fellow I have come to love. 

That's ok. I'm in line with that. The trickster is the easiest one to trick.

I check myself. I have not just regained, but more than surpassed my skills of a decade ago. Despite forgetting past expertise, newer skills retain power. I have been learning my latest, very fresh. It's unbelievable that my teacher literally came to my door. I don't have to leave my house to learn - but I stopped believing in the impossible years ago.

With my triumvirate, I discover the missing piece. Right in front of my face. 

I refuse to feel the pity my ego presses on me in these moments. The waste of years, trying to live a normal life. And utterly failing. Worse than failing, forgetting what I knew. What matters now, is that I'm here. And I can begin, anew. 

Boom Boom Boom Kombucha

It's been an exciting day for Heather's Kitchen. My awesome friend Mykl spent the afternoon installing my reverse osmosis filter. Then, as I was letting the water filter through the system, this huge BOOM occured. I was sitting at my desk and looked up - this hbomb didn't even flinch. I just calmly looked up and walked over to see where the noise had come from. My first though was - crap - one of the filter things blew up. But as I looked under the sink, everything was fine - no water leakage or drama. And then, I heard the sound of water falling from the counter.

For a brief moment I was sincerely confused... thinking there's no water hookup where I plainly see/hear water pouring off. But wait... that's where my recently bottled Kombucha was sitting for its second fermentation. And that's when I realized I had earned my latest Kombucha badge of honor - I had just experience my first batch of exploding Kombucha. 

Woot! I have to say, I was quite proud of myself for making highly effervescent, ne, exploding kombucha. 

The problem then became grabbing the [nearby] rag towels and containing the now bubbling and effervescing liquid gold. 

I'm celebrating now, drinking some of my beautiful homebrew goodness. Good one Heather.

Sad for the present

Sometimes I am overcome with sadness of my present. 

I had a realization earlier this week, that there is no one in my life that I talk to on a regular basis. No one who calls me to talk to me every day, or texts. No one whom I email daily with. No one I see everyday. I could kill myself and no one would notice for at least three days.

I've been trying to remember what it's like to live with someone. I think back to my years living together with S. What was that like? It's hard for me to remember. I remember a lot of the times he was gone and I was alone. He was at work, I worked from home. He was gone for the weekend for his second job, I would stay at home. Or he was traveling for his first or second job, and I was home alone with Mr Dog. The nights I was out without him. The nights he was out without me (although he would say these were rare). I spent a lot of time watching Netflix, working on my Master's degree, cleaning, reading, gardening.

What was this living together thing I fantasize about? I try to remember it. It's hard. How is it hard to remember what it was like to live with someone for 7 years? Even when we moved apart we agreed we had lived together well. How can I not remember it now? Was it so unmemorable?

The clearest vision of good living together is when Gloria and I bought the Future. The Future was a house in Mt Washington and for one year, we lived together as roommates. It was the first time either of us had lived with someone who was not our significant other for decades. It was awesome. I dream of replicating it.

My favorite memories of that co-habitation were sharing breakfasts together - coffee and pastries - talking about our dreams and projects. Then going off to our offices to work, or going about our daily non-routines. Sometimes we'd share lunch. For a while I was obsessed with afternoon espressos. Sometimes we'd share dinner together. Sometimes we went our separate ways. It was awesome. She would sometimes travel and so I'd get to take care of her dog. Often we would go on dog walks together, talking about our projects and dreams. I'm sure I'm romanticizing.

For almost two years now I've lived alone. [It's not the first time I've done this - I used to love living alone.] I feel like it's been much longer. I miss co-habitating. I miss someone caring about me daily. Yeah yeah, I can care about myself like this, and yeah yeah, I have Mr Dog co-habitating with me, but it's not the same as another human. And yeah yeah, I don't mean I need an extrovert lavishing attention on me. In retrospect I mostly co-habitate/partner with other introverts.

Sometimes, like today driving on Highland, I get really sad. I think about this person who is my future partner. I wonder what he is doing. Does he yearn for me as much as I yearn for him? He's obviously fucked up and/or not available, because otherwise he'd be in my life, of this I am certain. I hope he gets his shit together soon, because we're going to be so great together. Sometimes, it makes me so sad to not have him around now, because I could really use his help and support and belief and love. I miss having someone to do fun things with like that. Yeah, yeah, I have awesome friends and I do awesome fun things with my friends, and I love them and they love me but it's not the same. Still, I'm getting stronger than ever... I know he likes a strong woman.

Of course the flipside of having no one to check up on me or to live with is that I can literally do whatever I want. I am my own boss, I am fully responsible for my life (and Mr. Dog's). That's a lot of people's dream life's. Living like this is freeing. And it really is freeing - sometimes terrifyingly freeing.

Still, I won't have to give up the freedom I have right now, when Mr Awesome comes into my life. I expect he'll want to live the same kind of life. He'll have his grand dreams. We'll have some dreams together. I'm sure some times will be challenging. I'll hold him close and stroke his hair when he feels paralyzed by his fear. He'll hug me close, wipe the tears from my eyes when I feel all is lost. We'll laugh at some stupid internet videos or my newest pair of ridiculous rainbow unicorn socks. 

That day will come. Sometimes though, I get so sad knowing it is the future.

Fox and Wine

It's the evening dog walk. The moon is a fat gibbous. I can almost pluck it from the sky and bite into it - moon juices dripping from the corners of my mouth. It shines a diffused light through the sky and onto the pavement of West Hollywood streets - lined with tall regal Palms. I look up into that brightly lit starry sky, dark palms silhouetted. 

Mr Dog stops to sniff every 5 feet. After four blocks, this gets tiresome, but I indulge him. I look up at the sky. I look into my neighbor's windows. A shadow of a man picking up something in the back of his driveway, a moment later, the cat silhouetted in the window of the same house tucks its head, stops and I imagine stares out at me and then bobs her head again, I imagine licking her paw. 

A few houses down, Mr Dog stops to sniff for the 28th time and I notice images on a screen above a fireplace in the house in front of me. I stop to watch. It's animation. I recogonize it. The Fox and the Hound. I look at the room. The screen is situated above an ornate mantle. I enjoy that - I have one in my home too. I try to see who is watching this children's movie at 10:30pm. I notice a wine bottle. I smile. I like the idea of an adult, drinking wine watching this movie on a Monday night in West Hollywood under a fat waning moon. I'd join them.

Coming up on 40

In a few weeks, I say goodbye to the decade of my favorite number: 3. 

This has weighed heavily on my mind. And while, I am blessed with creating/living my dream life, I also feel a sense of terror unlike I've felt before. It's not about mortality. I've had a very full life - if I died this instant I would not be bummed out. I've done everything I've ever thought to do. It's not that I'm not living out my potential - trying new things - new businesses - creating new projects. It's not that my body is decaying - I am in excellent health, I'm taking the best care of myself as I ever have. I don't look my age. I'm equally practiced in forecasting the future and living by the seat of my pants. And I have accomplished my life "goal."

In my teen's I navigated an evil stepmother, thick forests, gravel roads and the humble isolation of growing up in the midwest. I speeded through college, got engaged to a jazz musician 10 years my senior, spent my 20th birthday in a hotel in San Juan with him (I would regularly fly down to meet him on the weekends. Kinda audacious in retrospect.) 

In my 20's, I moved to San Francisco and married my high school sweetheart - the marriage of envy among our friends. After a successful startup aquisition, we had an awesome house in North Berkeley and joked that we were DITC /dit-zy/ - Double Income Two Cats. I still miss my russian blue siamese mix: mik mak t-mac. He wrote, I killed myself working/commuting long hours in the tech industry. My only goal in life was "enlightenment" and I studied at the foot of philosophers, priests and sorcerers. I "attained" it, not that it mattered anymore. Things unraveled, our paths diverged. I left San Francisco a few months after my 30th birthday to jump deep into the SoCal unknown.

My 30's have been one love affair with Los Angeles after another. I met amazing collaborators and friends. I embarked on unbelievable projects - like buying a house with someone I met just 6 months prior (we remain good friends). My creativity exploded, I started a company, organized events that helped build LA's tech community, performed on stage and in the streets. Explored the desert with guns, burning unicorns and explosions. It wasn't all roses, I experienced my biggest failures and betrayals. Reinvented myself multiple times. Wrote a guide to creating your most awesome life. Became an expert at planning and organizing and evolved my career. A futurist I am today. Hollywood story as my life. I couldn't ask for more!

My 39th year has been a reformatting. A collecting of the best tools of the past. Rebuilding myself physically, spiritually, emotionally. Endings and healings. Closure of a dream. A new dream quietly sprouting in the ashes. There is more room in my heart and life than ever and it keeps expanding.

What will my 40s bring? With trepidation I enjoy the last weeks, days of my 39th year. I am not afraid to turn 40. I did not have a successful youth. I'm getting better with age, while not looking my age. ;) (Thank you youth obsessed mom!)

The thing that scares me about turning 40 is the closing of possibilities. The openness of anything is possible I felt when I moved to LA when I was 30 is gone. I know magic will find me. I know anything is still possible. But it seems like there is less of it for me now. (Feel free to prove me wrong Universe.) In this youth focused city - media culture, I feel less valued. I have more scars. I am more hesitant and equally ridiculously spontaneous, willing to take wild risks or stay home nursing my introverted emo self with Mr Dog and Science Fiction. I yearn for unforgettable experiences and irreplaceable partners more than ever. Sometimes these are easy to find on the disco ball dogwalk - and sometimes I feel I seek the impossible (I do). "Impossible is only temporary." But I am also impatient. I know life doesn't wait.

As I close out this decade, I try to put aside the assumptions I have about my life. Many times I dreamed what my life would be like in my 20s, 30s. I never once looked in this upcoming decade. Does that mean I have no expectations? I'm sure I expect more of the same sweet awesome reinvention evolution perfection of my previous decades. I'm a little afraid to say goodbye to my 30s. We have been so good together. So many great projects. I really came into my own and manifested absolutely everything I dreamed. It scares me to leave that locked away in this decade. Will I have the strength, courage to keep living my life this way? I hope so.

So 40 year old Heather... I look forward to meeting you in a few weeks. Take my trembling hand, let's walk down the aisle of the decade together and embark on a new adventure. I hope we have that in us.