i would venture that recognizing my nature and sitting with it in lieu of letting it carve my path is really the lesson here- or certainly one of the lessons. there is a very strong yet obscured sense of fear of failure with this project. there have been so much synchronicity that my inner voice tells me that something’s gotta give.
am i in fear of losing face? losing faith? appearing foolish? letting others down? succeeding? not having enough? honestly- prolly a little of all of them.
i took my mother to see “gatsby” last weekend. mixed review- but overall i loved the texture of the film. baz luhrmann always does over the top and there was no disappointment with this picture. leonardo was fairly droll, but his costumes seriously made me swoon. two in particular- the white linen suit with the orange tie he wore when he was being re-introduced to daisy and the pink pin stripe with the raspberry and orange necktie took me by complete surprise and triggered a memory of shopping on oak street in chicago at a boutique by the name of ultimo. the 1970’s always include vintage art deco as there was definitely a resurgence. it was fascinating, elegant, sensory, and educational.
i was 17 and was a dancer (go go boy) at a little hell hole. i met an older guy who took me to acapulco, ft lauderdale, and spent ridiculous amounts of money on me. it was like a game to me. sadly i was too young to understand that it was not at all a game for him. i believe he left our trysting with a sense of loss and a feeling of being wrung out. i walked away feeling just as empty as i had engaged in the affair. i had fun, but i really didn’t care much for the sense of hindsight and stupidity that i hadn’t seen or understood all that was involved in this affair. although i had collected a very sleek and sophisticated collection of french and italian ready-to-wear, it hadn’t made my life look any better than it had before the fling. as a matter of fact, another layer of fantasy and hope may have been peeled away.
i am certain that drug and alcohol use shielded (or barricaded) any significant personal growth with this experience. it took at least 30 or 35 years to distill all the fractured images and impressions from those days and repackage them into a collage that makes sense. i still love great clothes. shopping, and dressing with some style. but i try very hard to not dive into situations, relationships, and situations without trying to zoom out once in awhile. i certainly try to walk away from things in my life now without those same underwhelmed feelings i used to know so well.
try is the optimum word here. i fall short as much (if not more) as i succeed. but the thrill of living (and surfing) is paddling out and waiting and catching another wave.
“I am not a good surfer. In fact, I used surfing as a metaphor well before I ever left the beaches of my childhood–the painted desert and the valley of the sun. For those of you who do not know Phoenix well, you should understand that although it may seem paradoxical for an Arizonan/Phoenician to think about surfing, surfing provides an important psychological and metaphoric role in desert life. Desert rats (something I definitely was) think about sand as a medium upon which one can perform feats with postmodern sprezzatura. I grew up skateboarding, wagoning, bicycling, and generally sliding down sand dunes to break the boredom and to show my balance prowess. The taller the dune, the better. I was also lucky enough to spend a summer fortnight in Carlsbad California at a music camp (“one time at band camp…”). Every afternoon, for two weeks, I had the opportunity to boogie board and bodysurf until I was sunburned and my ears rang with the gurgle of the surf bubbling in my ears. The only analogous feeling to catching a wave and riding it in for me was riding a horse at full gallop. The energy was terrifying, electrifying, and almost mystical.”…from surfpoetry.blogspot.com