Back in the Groove

Oh, dieta, here we are again.

I've been back from Hollywood for over a month now.  I'm back to my job and my kid and my dog and the desert.  It feels good to be back, at least for now.  I wasn't expecting that at all, to be honest.  I was gone for three months, which, as it turns out, is the amount of time it takes me to REALLY miss my family and having a place of my own.   By the end of it, I was looking at photos of my apartment almost as often as I was looking at photos of my daughter. 

I miss lots of things about LA.  The lack of responsibilities was altogether new to me, and while I didn't party like a rock star, I got to do a lot of whatever I felt like doing at the time.  A lot of what I felt like doing was getting crazy stoned and taking iPhone photos of Hollywood.  I also got to spend hours binge-watching Community with my temporary roommate (and permanent friend), Alex.  I couldn't have asked for a better host, especially in a tiny one-bedroom LA apartment.  It gave me a lesson in living with somebody.  When I was at the end of my marriage, I felt like I could never live with anyone ever again (not counting the kid and the dog, obviously), so giving up my apartment for a fold-out couch and a shelf in the bathroom was like flipping my world on its end.  By the end of the summer, Alex and I were still friends, even better friends, I'd say, than we started.  We dealt with our fair share of heat waves, food poisoning, depressive episodes, and cramped quarters with flying colors.  That said, I was definitely ready to have my multi-colored incense-filled Sophie space back.


I got to spend time with my Charlie, the first real time spent with him in three years.  It makes my stomach tighten up even thinking about how I have to live apart from him again, so I won't talk a lot about it.  He's the only male that I have let into my life that I can still trust not to break my heart, and we are gonna wind up retiring by the sea like Grace and Frankie.  It's less of a cruel joke and more of a hilarious plot twist that my soulmate is a sassy, video game playing gay man. 


Other than that... this summer is almost over, and it is time to direct my attention back to the present.  At this time, I am at the tail end of Ayahuasca dieta.  This is always the hardest part- giving up the things I love to eat (and smoke) for weeks to prepare for ceremony.   Upon returning from Hollywood, I felt the need to take my medicine.  I will sit in sacred circle this Saturday, and I will meet with Mother again.  She's been sending me blatant signs and synchronicities, and I am excited and terrified to see what is in store, especially after the ego death I experienced on mushrooms last June.  That was my last entheogenic experience, and I was processing it for months. These psychedelic experiences have taken me down rabbit holes within rabbit holes, and I am discovering more about myself and this planet every time I journey.  I feel less like a human, especially with the state of humanity at the moment.  But I know that I had to come here, for reasons that were explained to me last October.  And being human isn't all bad.  There is a lot of beauty in it, even when it's painful.  And the fact that it's temporary leaves it more poetic and silly than it is heartbreaking. 

I don't know what is next, and that usually leaves me feeling restless.  But I'm not.  At least, not yet.  

Photo by stoned Sophie on her iPhone 

 

Prepare for Landing

Tomorrow is my last full day in Los Angeles for the summer.  Saturday afternoon, I will leave behind the couch, the job, the friends, the beach, the cult, the metro, and the delivery froyo at midnight. 

It's kind of like I got to peek into an alternate universe where I got to see what my life would have been like if I didn't have the responsibilities of a daughter or a dog.  Part of me was scared that I was going to go crazy without having the two of them around.  They take up such a huge portion of my brain, my attention, and my anxiety.  But also... part of me was scared that  I wasn't going to miss them at all, exposing me for the irresponsible parent that I (deep down) assume I am.  What if I felt a new freedom in Hollywood that made me resent my life in the desert and the choices I'd made to get there?  What if I found out that I like my life better without them?  Just the idea of that, the fact that it was an option, made me feel guilty.

So what happened?  Do I miss my family enough to never want to leave again?  Or do I want to write off everything and spend my life selling handmade bracelets on the beach?

Ugh, if only it were that simple.
This is a pattern I keep finding myself in.  I see the possible outcomes in black and white, even though neither of the answers seem to be correct.  I go crazy trying to figure out which one of the options is the right one for me. I roll them around in my head until I finally see the gray area where the truth lives.  That line right in the middle of the yin yang, that Terence McKenna sweet spot, that is where I am truly honest about it all. 

I want to see my kid.  I want to hold her and pull tangles out of her hair and smell her stinky feet.  I want to squish my dog until he gets aggravated and goes to his spot on the arm of the couch.  I appreciate these things now like I never have before.  I know that I can miss my family so much that I feel physical pain.  I know that I am not a shitty parent and that I am connected to them on a deeper level than I knew before. 

I also know that I can leave the things and the people I love for long amounts of time.  I am not afraid of it.  It isn't always easy, but I am adaptable and capable, and that is a really nice thing to find out about myself.  I love California.  I always have.  And living here, even for a bit, was fantastic.  Well, it wasn't quite living here, but it was more than a vacation. 

Tomorrow I will pack up my bags.  I will say goodbye to the ocean.  I will cry buckets of tears for my Charlie.  And on Saturday, I will go back to my own place.  And I will integrate back into the world I am used to with all of the new information I've collected on this adventure.  I will reunite with friends that I've missed terribly and at the same time, I will miss the people I spent time with here. 

I have discovered that I can be happy in alternate versions of my universe.  And I can also be sad at the same time.  Because that is what life is, regardless of where I am or who I am with.

At the end of the day, which one do I want?  Do I want life here or there?

I want both.  I want to have everyone and everything I love in one place.
Since that isn't a possibility... I will just have to fall in love with even more people, explore more places, find new stories.

All of that.
Once I've unpacked and taken a nap with my daughter and my pug.

Erleichda

I really wanted to start off this entry with a story about my third Ayahuasca ceremony.  But I feel like every post for the past year has mentioned Mama Aya, and at this point, I'm sure you're all sick of it.  So for your sake, for my sake, and for the blog's sake, I will spare you another cryptic story of my psychedelic brain soup.  But just know that everything I'm experiencing in my daily life right now, it's parallel to that Easter ceremony.  Just know, everything is connected.  I'm learning the same lessons over and over, taking more in each time.  It's like emotional Algebra.  Ceremony was 101.  This summer is 102.  And so on.

I have this thing, I'm...busy.  I always have to be doing something.  It's this constant need to be working at something.  If I had one true calling, one passion, one art form or skill that I could really focus my energy on, this would be great.  But I don't.  I throw myself into one thing after another, in this obsessive cycle of whatever is next.  If you know me (which, if you're reading this, you probably do) you're probably just rolling your eyes because this is no new revelation.  It's textbook me.  If it's not one thing it's another.  If it's not stand up comedy, it's a plant-based diet.  If it's not donating a kidney, it's Peruvian plant medicines.  It's rearranging the lives of the people around me so I can spend a summer in Hollywood. 

I don't hate that this is the way I am.  I used to.  I used to beat myself up a lot for not buckling down and focusing instead of flying from task to task like a hummingbird on Adderall.  But that's not the way I am programmed.  Every time I try to stick it out, I become miserable.  I don't have a competitive spirit.  I have a lot of different interests.  And these things are okay.  There's a really good TED Talks that covers this, a lot more eloquently than I can. 

On the other hand, I do realize that even though it's not in my nature to throw myself into one project or cause for more than a few years, I also need to give myself time to have fun, to be still, and to process these lessons as I learn them.  It's hard for me to stay present when I am constantly asking myself, what's next?  Over the summer, I've found myself focusing about wanting to move to Hollywood for good.  I focus on finding a roommate and a work schedule so my daughter can be here with me. I focus on what I'm going to do in Arizona if I don't move here once my lease is up.  And then there is all this work I am doing on myself.  I've been dabbling on the idea of giving myself a year to live.  Not literally of course, but spending one full year living as if it were my last.  I was introduced to the practice a couple of years ago, and I've been reading up on it.  It is something that I definitely want to do in the future, but it's something that I really want to put my all into, and maybe this summer isn't the time for me to do that...


It's balance, and for me, it's really slippery.  My curiosity is one of the things I love the most about myself, and without having something to throw myself into, I become sad and complacent.  There is so much to do, and I've got so far to go.  But if I keep so busy that I don't take time to smell the roses and appreciate what I have and how far I've come,  I build up all of this emotional residue that builds up and creates problems later. 

*sigh*

What's a girl to do?

At the moment, I'm not making ANY plans to move or to not move.  I'm honoring the thoughts around them, but I'm not going to set anything into motion yet.  And I am going to try to live mindfully, for sure, but maybe I'll give myself a proverbial year to live sometime after this summer.  I have one month left in Hollywood.  I have three days left until my birthday.  And while I know that I have a lot of decisions to make and a lot of work to do...maybe I spend my days taking care of myself and doing things I enjoy, because I'm starting to believe that is why I came here. 

With all of this, I will say that I have done a LOT of amazing stuff these past two months, even with all of this internal conflict...

I've seen movies in the park
I've eaten a LOT
I've started doing yoga (almost) daily
I've learned to live with way less shit
I made some friends
I walk EVERYWHERE
I saw fireworks on the beach
I've been on hikes
I ate some ice cream
I went to the Science Center and saw the Endeavor
I joined a cult started by a former teen heart throb
I worked
I rode some roller coasters
Griffith Observatory
Harmontown
More ice cream
Flea Markets
UCB shows



It's been amazing.  It will continue to be amazing.  And right now, that is enough.  And I truly do feel that it is, despite what the Adderall-ridden hummingbird leads me to believe.  Right now it's balance, the same lesson learned over and over again. 
It's remembering to have fun because while doing the work is good, I have to take it easy, too.  I can't love someone that I don't have fun with, and that includes myself.

I'm going to set my intention right now for gratitude and not taking things too damned seriously. I hope you're having a fantastic day, and I hope you find silliness and joy where you can. Namaste, homies.

 

Tiny worlds on tiny backs

The world is a heavy place right now.  My heart hurts for humanity.  The tension is thick, and while I'm an optimist, I will admit that the present is an uncomfortable place to be sometimes. 

I had a mushroom journey before I left for Hollywood, and less than an hour into it, I was shoved headfirst into the icy waters of ego death.  I was raped by the land itself, I peed myself and once I noticed that my crotch was wet, I was convinced that it was because I had just given birth to the Earth's rape baby.  And I loved and was proud of my baby.   It was green and abundant and self-sufficient.  Then it grew to become fake and sugary sweet with loops of cartoon politician faces, and I mourned for my baby and had to love it through its darkness. 

So, yeah, that's kinda where I'm at.


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But here in my little Sophie bubble, life in Los Angeles goes on at life speed, which seems to be faster than usual.  This summer is halfway over and what the fuck?

I love it here.  Living is very different than back in Arizona, and not just because I am living on a couch.  I don't have a car out here, so I walk and take the metro during the day.  I uber at night.  So I had to buy a backpack.  I didn't want to at first; I had this cute vintage one-shoulder travelling bag that I was going to use.  But it was stiff and it hurt my back, so I gave in and now I dance around the city with the fashion sense of a 12-year-old.  Slay.

Here she is, in all her glory, along with all of the important things that I've learned to carry with me.

Here's a list of what I'm slugging around the town with me:

* Work apron
* Reusable grocery bag- the most important thing to remember.  It holds food, laundry, dirty shoes, craft supplies, and anything that is too big to fit into the backpack.  It is the thing I forget to pack the most often and it drives me crazy.
* Book
* Journal - holds my deepest secrets, ukulele tabs, ticket stubs, receipts, and D&D character sheets
* Headphones
* Glue stick - to paste shit into my journal
* Sunglasses
*Giant safety pin
* Makeup remover wipes
* Hormone pills - taken daily since I had a hysterectomy a few years ago
* Atmos vape pen - I am out of refills for it and it bums me out.
* One-hitter box with weed- since the vape is out.  My rule of thumb is to have it with me but to never carry more than I am willing to eat if I need to do so.
* Phone charger for wall and car
* Matches - I always carry means to make fire because Silent Hill.
* TAP card
* Combination Lock
* Big-ass knife
* Wallet- has my ID, debit card, loose change and a little bit o' cash. 
* Pens and markers
* Keys
* Sunblock
* Eye Drops
* Front Bottoms lighter
* Chapstick
* Tiny rainbow rock - I don't ever really look up my crystals and rocks.  I just like having them with me, and I kind of trade them out periodically.  I just kinda feel out which ones want to go with me that day.
* "Brief Case" full of cheap makeup - when I don't know for sure where I'll be or what kind of plans may come up, I have become a makeup Macgyver.  Tinted chapstick as lip, a blush and an eyeshadow?  I'll fucking do it.

Not pictured: Chewing gum (because I'm out) and my reusable water bottle (because I left it at Sam's house)

on my way there

So far today, I've spoken to a homeless person about Sean Murphy comics, I walked by what seemed to be an unsettling amount of dried blood on the sidewalk, and an older Mexican woman told me I looked "fresh".  This was all on my 15-minute walk to the grocery store.  Oh, Hollywood. 

Sometimes I catch myself feeling frustrated that I haven't explored more of this city by now. But I started my job this week (just as I ran out of money), and once I get in the groove of working and saving again, I will be able to afford more adventures around town.

Working is making me feel more like a local, even though deep down I still feel like I'm on vacation. I don't know if that will ever go away. I get stopped by people on the street all the time for directions or opinions about places in the city. Everyone here just assumes I have always been here. Maybe a part of me always has.

Even though it's just to the grocery, I really like my walks. I make playlists and dance my way to the store and the subway. And I mean that literally. Even though I can't really dance, Los Angeles doesn't give a shit. Sometimes I think it even dances along with me (I don't mean that literally).

Here's a link to my city-walking playlist.

https://open.spotify.com/user/sophiaradcliff/playlist/31ElSXMNlcnYxlbbP8uxxu

(Spoiler alert)

It's lame like all of my playlists. But there's something kind of romantic about the idea of all of us walking around our respective sidewalks listening to the same thing. Even if it's lame.

 

 

 

This is Happening

Holy shit, I'm in Los Angeles for the summer.

It doesn't feel like it, mostly because I've barely left the apartment.  Or the couch.  I got hit hard with what was either food poisoning or a stomach virus.  Either way, it was gnarly.  I won't go into details, but I will say that I was very happy when I woke up this morning and could stand on my feet long enough to brush my teeth.  It was that kind of party yesterday.


I got here with a bang.  I went to Disneyland for the first time as soon as we got to California.  As much as I would like to hate on commercialism and the superficial veil of bullshit that is used to cover up real evil, I have to say... Disneyland is pretty magical. It changes you into a little kid again.  It really does.  I bought Mickey Mouse ears with my name on them.  I rode Space Mountain.  I had one of the best days of my life.  I don't know how people take children there, though.  Jesus Christ.


I say all of that, but I really do miss my kid.  She has been back east visiting my family since May, and while I'm really excited that she's having an amazing summer, I can't help but feel like part of my heart is missing.  The FaceTime calls and the photos are always nice, though.  She has been to Orlando, she's seen movies, she's met family, she's been swimming.  She's on her own adventure, just like I'm on mine.  She really is a good kid, and she deserves this vacation.


It's definitely different, living on someone's couch and not in my own apartment.  For the past year and a half, I've lived on my own (with the kid and dog, but still...), and that meant that everything was up to me- where my stuff went, when my stuff got cleaned, how my stuff got moved around.  It was hard for me to take time to relax, I'll admit, when I had dishes or laundry or a dusty bookshelf that needed cleaning.  I didn't write as much.  I didn't have time to read.  Don't get me wrong, I love my house projects.  Painting the trim or the doors of my apartment really is fun for me, and there is something really comforting about coming home to a place that looks and feels like me.  I'm sure I'll miss it a lot this summer.  But for now, all of my stuff fits in two duffel bags in the closet and one shelf in the bathroom. It's forcing me to spend time on other stuff.  Like blogging.  Or adventuring, once I am sure that I can make it down the street without vomiting. 

I start work on the 14th.  I'm scared of being broke, but that is nothing new to me after last winter.  I'm probably going to start exploring the city tomorrow.  I need to make my way to the ocean soon.  Once I get my bearings and can figure out the metro system here, that will be much easier. 

I'm trying to find my intention for this trip.  Is there anything I need to take away from it?  Or am I really just out here to escape the heat?  It's hard for me to set intentions without having expectations.  What matters in the present is that I'm feeling better than I was yesterday.  And I'm writing and reading again.  Maybe the intention will come to me, maybe it won't.  Maybe this will be an adventure for the sake of having an adventure.  And those are okay, too.

Adventure over everything

It's All Ceremony (and also, big summer plans ahead)

It's been awhile since I've written in here,updating on things and not just poems. 


Things are... different.  Words carry more power and memories carry less weight. 

I am still working with Mother Ayahuasca, not as much as I would like to, but definitely enough to work out some huuuuge realizations about myself and my life.  It's a long road to self love, but the medicine has helped me get through some of the deepest shit I have ever had to deal with.  I am learning how to become a better me because of it.  I am starting to catch myself in bad habits as they're happening and not just in hindsight.   And sometimes- SOMETIMES- I can catch myself in time to stop what I'm doing.  And if you're anything like me, then you know that's huge.  I have had three ceremonies, and I am absolutely planning on one more before I leave for the summer.

Because I am leaving for the summer.

 I got a seasonal job in Hollywood from June through August.  I will be crashing on a friend's couch.  I will be living in Los Angeles, right down the street from my Charlie (Momma's home, boo.  Momma's home).  My beautiful nugget child will be spending three weeks with my family in Kentucky and also going to Disney World with her grandma.  Then her dad and stepmom have agreed to pull full-time duty while I am finishing the summer up in Hollywood.  A friend of mine is going to live in my apartment and pay utilities and watch my dog.  I'll pay my rent from California and move back into my place once I'm done.  My new(ish) restaurant job, the one that I love SO much, slows down in the summer, so they are letting me leave and then return once school starts and we get busy again.  It's like a dream.

This is a big-time adventure. 

I keep stepping back and watching how everything is lining up and everyone is pulling together to make this happen and I cry regularly out of gratitude.  The plane tickets have been paid for.  The reservations have been made.  The paperwork is being filed.


After last summer and the low blows that the winter dealt me, this all is like a goddamned fairy tale.  I tell myself I deserve it, and while I want to, I can't believe it.  But I'm working at it and I know that deep down I should know that I deserve it.  "It's all ceremony".  Since I started researching Ayahuasca, I heard this phrase over and over by people who had worked with the medicine.  And I had no idea how true and profound that statement would prove to be. The ups and downs and love and surrender and fear and purging.  It's all symbolic for the stuff in our everyday lives.   I don't know if I'm making any sense at all right now.  But that's what it is.  All of this figuring out who we are and what we do and what all of this is.  Because that's all any of us are really doing, right? 

for my dad

I built an alter for my father tonight
I prayed for mercy on his shattered soul
little pieces of him everywhere
still crying from the traumatic separation.

I lit an incense cone and inhaled the sweet smoke
and it reminded me of the time he took me to the Paisley Peacock
we bought sticks that smelled like sandalwood
and vinyl bumper stickers with political statements that I halfway understood
he was so proud of his liberal daughter
that he was so sure was a closet lesbian


I burned a candle for his tortured mind
that was just recently diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
and it reminded me of the Christmas program in first grade
The first time I ever sang a solo
I was nervous about carrying an open flame to the front of the church
so sure it would burn me, no matter how many times the preacher told me it was safe
until my father the firefighter promised that he would be there to help

I set some crystals under the full moon for him
I let them charge under the yellow light and remembered the time he picked me up from work
he took the long way home
he slowed the car down and pulled out a joint
and we smoked weed together for the first time, driving down dark country roads
yellow headlights bouncing between black trees
before I moved out of state
before I cut him out of my life completely

I  knelt at the alter and sent out a prayer into the unknown
It reminded me of this past October
when I was recovering from a depression-ladled summer
when I wrote seven drafts of a letter
then gave the eighth to my grandmother, to give to my father
if she ever saw him again
if he was even still alive

I went back to my life
I was stretched thin and beginning to tear
it was the Christmas I was making minimum wage
struggling to find balance and healing in the desert
unsure of how I was going to feed my daughter after I paid the rent
when a card came in the mail, a response to the letter my grandmother had handed him
at the shelter where he was staying after spending years on the street
My father, who didn't even have his own home, bought us groceries that winter

I built an alter for myself that night
I set the intention to break the habits I had created from my relationship with my father
which carried over to every man I have ever held
I burned candles and incense and bathed my crystals in the moonlight
I acknowledged the same blood that runs through the two of us
I apologized
I forgave

and I thanked him for all he had passed on to me

Mama Ayahuasca

Mama Ayahuasca shows me why I have so many stories.  They're not all happy or sad or funny or even interesting stories, but I have a lot of them.  She explains to me that I am not defined by them.  That I have no control over the bad things that I've seen or been through and to just let these demons go to cast their shadows elsewhere.

She transmits to me what it feels like to be loved in the most pure sense and also to know that I am capable of sharing that feeling with others.  She shows me where to find that love when I feel like I don't have enough of my own to give. 

It's like having a conversation with myself, but faster and not in my own voice.  As soon as I think of something to ask, the response is right there.  The space between question and answer is tightened so closely that sometimes I'm not sure which happened first.  These words aren't like they are in our world.  They have mass and shape, they're tangible things.  And this is how I speak to Mama Ayahuasca.

I feel truly alone under the medicine.  It's just me and Her.  Except I am her, at least for the time being, and it is hard to wrap my brain around that.  I try and absorb as much of this world as I can.  Remember this, I tell myself, you're gonna want to explain this on paper and work this out later.  And then these words take over my brain, ingredients in this psychadelic soup that's moving through my body from my stomach to my head.  It's all I can see.

Except I can't see.  I'm blindfolded and still in my sleeping bag.  There are no visuals for me, at least there haven't been yet.  I ask Ayahuasca why I don't experience the beautiful fractals and lights that so many other people had described in their ceremonies.  And she tells me why.

Everything is connected.

She pulls the ocean from my guts and throws me onto dry land where I discover that the gut blob of depression, anxiety, and shame is gone.  I have to learn to live again without it.  (I'm still learning.  It is a process.)  I have this empty void where the blob used to be and suddenly I feel very delicate.  I am so happy and full of gratitude, but I worry that the gut blob will suddenly reappear at any second, that this was all just wishful thinking.

So Aya calls me back three weeks later, this time for Insight.  She showed me in my first ceremony what my purpose on Earth is.  Now she shows me my work.  The hard part.  The things I must suffer through in order to fulfill my potential.  She pulls a writhing black ball of  centipedes and spiders from my chest and clears a direct path to my heart, and from there she proceeds to break it.  I want to think about something else, and She gently pulls my chin back to face the things that I will have to accept about my life.   She tells me to look to Sagan.  To look at the stars.  I woke up from this ceremony not delicate at all.  I feel stronger and more grounded. 



*       *       *       *       *       *

There are so many stories, so many things in my everyday life now, that I need to write out and process.  Some of them, they are so bizarre, I couldn't make them up if I wanted to.  I am finally down to working just one job, and I apologize if it seems like  I've been blowing you off or avoiding you.  It's not the case.  I've been trying to find balance, and I am really hoping that I've created a little bit for now.   I am returning to Ceremony next month, and I am already nervous and excited.

I drew today

Some Pre-Ayahuasca Feels

I found this poem that I wrote a few days before my first Ayahuasca Ceremony last October.  I had no idea how much of an actual goodbye letter that this would turn out to be. 

I know you're in there
slimy, bubbling, toxic thing
you're trying to be still and quiet
but I can feel you
you're getting nervous, aren't you?
I can tell
and you should be nervous
because in six days, you'll have a new home
deep, deep in the ground 
and not in my gut
and I will no longer see you scurry
from the corners of my vision
and mistake you for the roaches in my kitchen

The Time Alex and I Saw a Psychic

Juanita works at the 24-hour massage parlor.  Everyone knows it's really a brothel. It's a yellow building with five-foot-tall pink flamingo on the sides in paint that was probably once very vibrant.  Now, during the hundred degree summer nights, everything in Phoenix seems to be covered in a dusty film.  July in the desert is seen through various filters of pastel depression.  Alex is having a hard time tonight, too, and we figure now would be a good time to get really stoned and get a palm reading.

We want our psychic readings like we want our Taco Bell: cheap, cheesy, and open at eight o'clock on a Friday night.

And that's how we find Juanita.

Alex and I stand in front of the massage parlor's front door.  Like the windows, it's covered with thick iron bars that are slathered in coats of the same faded yellow paint as the rest of the place.  Funny enough, it is built right next to a Taco Bell. Alex presses the call button (also yellow) to let whomever is inside know that the two people who had called and made appointments for palm readings have arrived.  We are a pair, standing in front of a brothel on a Friday night.  Alex has a mohawk and he has started to let his beard grow out over the summer.  I have been losing weight from stress so none of my clothes fit anymore, and my hair is neon pink.  Oh, Juanita, have fun down there with those damned hipster kids.

She shows up with the keys to the front door in her hand.  Juanita is both prettier and younger than I thought our psychic would be.  She's short and round and has a genuine smile. She's surrounded by a very calm and welcoming energy, and as she pulls open the heavy metal gate over the door, I notice a pink canister of pepper spray and I wonder if she has ever been forced to use it.

Alex gets his reading first, and this means that I am being contained in the waiting room that serves both Juanita's clientele and the massage parlor's.  Since I am the only person in the waiting room, I don't mind too much.  The windows in the waiting room are made of stained glass, and every time a car drives by outside, the headlights made the room burst into fractals.   The downside to this is that since cars are constantly driving by, the room is now very noisy and that means I can't eavesdrop on Alex's palm reading.

Ten minutes later, Alex opens the door, and it is my turn.

"So how do you two know each other?" Juanita asks me, referring to Alex.

"He came into the salon where  I work, and we were just kind of instantly friends" I reply, sitting across the desk from her.

I put my hands up on the desk and press my fingers together, then I proceed to fold and then unfold my hands, because I have never had my palms read before; do I wait to be told to present my palms or do I just throw them on up there?  These are things no one talks about and everyone needs to know.

"I am going to do a basic reading," Juanita tells me.  "Very general, nothing too in-depth, okay?  And good or bad, I'm just telling you what I see, no judgement, no hard feelings."


I nod, I stretch my open hands out towards her.  Juanita looks at them one time and immediately begins talking.

"I see here you are a very strong person.  You have been through a lot to become this strong.  I see that you are also a very kind person, but you are not seeing the karmic payback for any of your kindness; you're just getting bad luck constantly and you are thinking this is not fair.  Your life is like a roller coaster, okay?  And you just need to try and get through this down time.  You'll come back up eventually, but not right now.  You started this year very off balance, with an emptiness in you, inside your body, some sort of trauma, okay?  And you're trying to find balance with all the chaos around you."

I can't tell if my amazement is the result of me reading into Juanita's generalized observations in hopes of relief from the summer or if maybe she is the real deal, giving me an honest psychic experience.

"This year is a very bad year for you, and I'm sorry to say it's not going to get any easier until 2016.  That's gonna be your year, okay?  In the meantime, just try to keep your head down and get through this year.  You have very good spirit guides, they take really good care of you, but you have a chakra that needs cleaning and it's creating this gateway, like a portal, to one of your past lives.  You were a very evil woman in a past life...you were a witch."

When she says "witch" I pull my hands away.  I tell Juanita that as a child, I used to have recurring nightmares about being burned alive as a witch.  I know that I should try and play it cool and that this is just giving her more information than I should.  I know that but I tell her anyway.

She goes on.

"I see paperwork, legal documents, a courtroom.  Are you going through a divorce?"

I tell her yes, I am.

"It's not going to go as easily as it seems.  It's going to take longer than you think.  I also see a class?  Something that you put off for yourself awhile back.  Figure out what that is and get back to it."

Juanita tells me that I'm getting ready to go on a trip to see someone I love, in the next three weeks, to somewhere close.  California?

"Yeah, I'm going in two weeks to see my best friend, Charlie, in Hollywood."

"It's going to be a good trip.  Look forward to that, okay?"

I thank Juanita.  She gives me a hug and tells me I can come back anytime for chakra cleaning.  Alex and I pay her, twenty-five dollars apiece in cash, then we go to gay Denny's to discuss and compare our readings.

"Did she try to sell you chakra cleaning?" I ask him.


"No, it was super quick and super general.  Just a few, 'this line means this and this line means this' and that was it.  She did the reading so quickly, she felt bad for charging me full price so she let me ask her a question."

"So what did you ask her?"

Alex shrugs and says, "I asked her if I'd finish my book and she said that I will but that it will be a few years down the road. So she tried to sell you chakra cleaning?  How did that happen?"

I tell him everything I can recall from my reading, so he can analyze it now and so I can remember it all later. The bits about the divorce, the past lives, the starting the year off with an internal emptiness and no karmic payoff...I'm pretty sure I don't leave anything out.  Alex just listens.

"Dude," I say "Did you tell her I was getting divorced or started this year off with one kidney?"

"Nope," Alex says.  "We didn't talk about you.  I didn't talk at all, really.  Maybe I should have said more, then maybe I would have gotten a better reading.  I was too high to respond to anything she said."

I nod, take a drink of my hot coffee, and try to keep my head down for the rest of the summer.

One year

Twelve months ago, everything changed.


Everything.


It's amazing to look back now and to see the effect that surgery would have on every other aspect of my life.  I went into kidney donation thinking I was doing something to help change a stranger's life, and while I'm sure that I did accomplish that, I will admit that I was completely unprepared for the change it would bring about in my own life.


Nothing is the same.

NOTHING.

New home, new job, new car, new diet, new medicines, new freedom, new plans, new adventures, new friends, new stories, new priorities, new outlooks, new books, new life.

And I can trace it all back the one spirit journey, riding the Mission Beach roller coaster at midnight two summers ago during Comic Con.  Things in my life were alright.  I was married to a nice guy, we lived in a cute house in Phoenix, and I was out of hair school and working in a salon that I really liked.  Everything was...fine?  So why did I feel so lost and restless?  I had everything I had told myself that I wanted.  I didn't know what my next step should be, and it was starting to drive me crazy.  So I rode the roller coaster at midnight.  I sat by the ocean.  And a few days later, while sitting at Dairy Queen with my daughter, it just hit me: I was going to donate a kidney.  It was something that I was going to do.  Simple as that.


Then it was a whirlwind of testing and obsessing before it actually happened on December 1st.  Once those lines were cut, once I woke up in that hospital bed,   I felt so... free.  I saw my life for the gift it was. For what it still is.   It's my life!  It's mine to live and it's up to me to spend energy on the things that I love.  It doesn't matter what I've been told is the right way to live.  It doesn't matter what I think I'm supposed to be doing at my age. It doesn't matter that nothing is terrible and that everything is fine. It's not fine. I learned the hard way that if I don't stay true to myself, I will feel trapped and stagnant.  I will spend my time wondering what's wrong with me, trying to figure out why I'm unhappy when everything should be great.

BUT... if I follow the opportunities that make me feel love, I will be shown even more opportunities.  And even if times get hard, even if I run out of money, even if I feel like I'm going crazy....I will not feel trapped.  I will have an infinite amount of opportunities in front of me.  I will be free.

That's what happened when I donated the kidney.  I saw through the bullshit that I had been feeding myself for years.  I saw what I needed to do.  I accepted that I didn't want the things that I once thought I wanted.  I took a chance.  Then I took more.  It wasn't always easy.  It's still not.  But it is my life.  And it's a beautiful, scary, fantastic life. And I am living it so much harder now with more adventure, more openness, more honesty, and with one kidney. 

What I'm thankful for, 2015

1. A daughter who is happy and healthy

2. Everyone else in my family, blood-related and otherwise.

3. Friends, new and old 

4.  Ayahuasca and the things it has shown me and all it will show me in thefuture 

5. A job that doesn't give me anxiety 

6. People who let me do their hair in the kitchen because my job doesn't pay very much

7. A car that gets me from point A to point B

8. A place of my own to live that is safe and adorable 

9. My kidney recipient for turning my world upside down and showing me what true courage and freedom can be

10. Adventure

This Thanksgiving is completely different than any I have ever had before. I was supposed to spend it with a friend, but I caught a cold and spent the day (mostly) alone. Other than the sniffling and stuff, it was one the best holidays I've ever had. I knew my kid was with her dad's family, eating turkey and running around with her cousins. I didn't have to entertain anyone or worry about what they wanted to eat or do all day.  I could just fix myself some food, sit on the couch, watch tv, read, write, and be by myself.  For the first time in years, I got to spend Thanksgiving thinking about the things I am thankful for. Like really thankful for. Like the fact that I was born a human in this time period in this country. It is a miracle that my body came to be formed at all, especially in a place and time where I don't have to worry about scarlet fever or gential mutilation, and isn't that what the holidays are really about?

I don't know if I would have appreciated my own company as much in the past, but it's pretty nice. Plus, as things change, as life goes on, I know that alone time may not always be so easy to come by. Spending this next summer out of state and living out of my car is probably one of the most exciting things I have to look forward to, but in the meantime, I'm going to appreciate this bathtub while I have it. And yes, I may or may not be typing this on my phone while in the bathtub. My only regret is not bringing a bowl of leftover mashed potatoes in here as well...

I hope that your Thanksgiving is filled with love and gratitude, whether you are surrounded my family or whether you are spending it alone. Either way, I hope you feel peaceful and free and genuinely happy.

Rebirth

There is no way for me to type out my Ayahuasca experience. The written word has no room, in any known language, for what I experienced six days ago. I can't even journal it in a way that makes sense.

 

So give me a little more time. 

I'll make a video post describing my ceremony, and even though I know it won't do it justice either, it will be something a little closer to the truth. But there are some things I can tell you now...

I know my purpose.

I know where I came from.

I have started to learn a second language.

I have physically experienced and relived what it was like for our fishy ancestors to crawl onto land for the first time.

I have a lot more work to do.

And most importantly...

The gut blob is gone. Just like that, it is no more. 

I promise more on all of this once I get a chance to make a video.

I hold so much love in my heart for every one of you.

Ayahuasca is absolutely, 100% the most pure and raw form of medicine that I have ever witnessed, and my soul has been healed.  I owe my life to Mama Ayahuasca and I will spend the rest of my life working to make the most of what I have been given. 

I have never felt so much love in my life.

It was incredible.

Famous Last Words

It's here.

I can't decide if I'm preparing for Disneyland or my execution. I think both are probably pretty close. 

I don't have a lot to say except that I don't have any expectations, really, but I am ready for whatever Mama Aya gives me.

I've got my list of things to pack. I have an offering for her. I have my intention. I bought a neon pink pair of long johns in the kids' section at Target because it's gonna be cold tonight. And I'm bringing my snow bear from when I was a kid.

I'll share as much as I can as soon as I can. I have no idea how long it will take me to process everything, so please be patient with me. 

I love you all. And I'm hoping to be capable of loving you (and myself) even harder once I come out of this on the other side.

Over and out, captain.

The Chemical Our Brain Releases When We Die.

What's it like drinking Ayahuasca?
 
Some people compare it to being shot out into space.
Others claim that it's more like dying.
Or being born.
Or an exorcism.
Years of therapy condensed into a few hours.
Lifetimes of memory recall.
Losing control completely.
It's loss of time.
Loss of ego.
It's being thrust into the deepest darkest parts of your mind.
It's being (quite literally) face-to-face with your demons.
Face-to-face with God.
With yourself.
It's realizing that all three of those things are the same.

I honestly have no idea what drinking Ayahuasca will be like.  But I'm doing it in two weeks, and I'm sure I will have a lot to say about it after Ceremony.  Right now, though, I can only compare it to falling in love.  Every song I hear is suddenly about Mama Aya, every conversation makes its way to ceremony, every day is a countdown to when I finally get to meet her. 


I understand how all of this sounds to most of you guys.  It is some crazy, hippie bullshit.  It gets weirder, so strap in tight, kids.

She started calling me over a month ago, waking me up at three o'clock in the morning, not in a menacing or an urgent way, but more playful.  "Let's go!" she would giggle.  "Come on!  Let's play!" 

I told you it got weirder.  But that's the only way I can describe it.  She would wake me up in the middle of the night until I did more research, I read books, I met with friends and shamans and made plans to take the medicine.   There is no other way for me to explain it, or believe me, I would.  I was being called. And just in time, too, I might add.  There are things I need to find out.  There are wounds that need to heal.  There is wisdom that needs to be shared.  And eventually... maybe in this ceremony, maybe in one years down the road, Aya and I will play.

Dieta is hard, I will admit.  Giving up weed was not fun, as much as I don't like admitting it.  Neither was giving up ice cream.  Bread.  Salt.  Everywhere I go, fried foods and pastries taunt my nose.  Oils and sugars have been the most difficult, for sure.  But I want this.  I want to go into this as honestly and as humbly as I can.

And I've noticed things changing.  My dreams are vivid.  She appears in them occasionally, telling me to write apology/forgiveness letters to my father.  She pushes me to write, to create, to share my stories.  She shows me old friends that had my back way before we even decided to come to Earth to be human.  She gives me flashes of information (like being shown a movie for just a split second on a black screen right in front of my face) of the vastness and overwhelming awe of time and space, and then she shoves me back into my living room couch.  "Everything is connected," she tells me, "You can see it if you stay open". 

All of this, and I don't even drink the medicine for another two weeks. 

It's going to be big...

I'm scared to see what she may show me.  All of this self-abuse that I've inflicted, all of these lies I've told, these walls and false faces I've put up for ones reason or another- I'm going to have to answer to it. But at the end of it all, I will come out of it with knowledge, with more questions, and being more Sophie than I have been since I can remember.  And that will be a beautiful thing.

Thank you so much, as you read this.  Whether you know me or not.  Whether you like me or not.  Whether we speak daily or if you just stumbled across my blog.  We are all connected, and we are here to learn from one another.  I raise my glass of black coffee to you, even though I still can't help but wish it had caramel in there, too.

Here's to freedom.  Here's to friends who understand and support, to friends who don't understand but support anyway.  Here's to being shot into space and lifting the veil and to dying and rebirth.  Here's to synchronicity.  Here's to being called to do something big and following it despite all rationality.  Here's to the panic attacks that show us how delicate we are.  Here's to the next day when we realize how strong we are for surviving.  Here's to feeling love on a bigger level.   Here's to heartbreak. Here's to feeling everything we possibly can while we are here on earth for a few precious years.  Here's to learning and failing and learning and failing and learning and failing. 
Here's to being connected.
Here's to being open.

La Medicina

Ceremony is October 30th.

While I haven't buckled down on Ayahuasca Dieta yet, I have seriously cut down on my weed, dairy, salt, and sugar intake.  I have been trying my best to journal all of it- my hopes to purge all of the dark blob that has lived in my gut since I can remember and also the fears I have of seeing everything in that dark blob manifested in front of me.  I'm both humbled and terrified by the idea of stripping down all of the layers of my personality, breaking through my ego, and seeing what is truly there.  Will I like what I see? Will I even recognize myself?  Sometimes I wonder if there will even be anything left once all the bullshit has been cleared away. 

If you think I'm doing this to trip balls in the desert, you are sorely mistaken.

I'm doing this because I am ready to face that dark blob in my gut.
I am sick of being stuck in the same relationship cycles.
I'm sick of feeling trapped.
I'm sick of superficial conversations and feeling like I'm pretending to be a human.
I'm sick of having to smoke weed to get through stressful times.
I'm sick of being tired all day.
I'm sick of comparing myself to other people.
I'm sick of worrying that revealing my true self will also reveal that I'm mentally ill.
I'm sick of lying.
I'm sick of grieving for people who died almost twenty years ago.
I'm sick.
And there's a reason they call it Medicine.

It's not a quick fix, by any means.  The work that I will do on the 30th of October will only be the start of a long process filled with its own ups and downs.  I am alright with that.  The pills I tried before this only treat the symptoms, and they make me apathetic and lethargic. 

The other night, I let myself cry, really cry, for a long time.  It started out with tears of frustration, but once I opened up and let myself feel the sadness, it wouldn't stop.  Every bad thing that I had seen or done or heard or thought, every death I had mourned, every mistake I had made, it all came crashing down onto my chest. I felt judged in the worst possible way, like I was sitting in a courtroom across from every other human being in the world and they were pronouncing me guilty before I could even open my mouth to defend myself.  For the first time in my life, it was too much. 
I didn't know what else to do.
"PLEASE," I called out to my ceiling and whatever was out there that would listen.
"Please, please, please make it stop!  No more!  I can't take any more!"
The contents of entire rivers poured down the sides of my face while I continued to pray for the first time since Brandon died.
I wasn't praying to the Christian God that I had been raised with.  I wasn't praying to the Patron Saint of anything.  I wasn't even praying to Mother Ayahuasca.  I was pleading with anyone, anything that would take mercy on me.  A higher power.   A lower life form.  Anything that could turn the volume down on my life just until I got my shit together. 
After another minute or so of bawling on my bed, I wiped away my tears, I sat up, and I pulled my shoulders back.
You are a force, a powerful being, I told myself.  You have no other choice except to deal with this shit.  Now DEAL.  After my mental pep talk, I pulled myself off my bed.  From somewhere in my brain, the idea came to me that all of these bad things that I was dealing with- the bad decisions, the abuse, the mistakes, everything that has been beating me down this summer- it was all my doing.  I became aware that I had CHOSEN to have these things happen to me before I even started out in this life.  I had decided before I was even born that I needed all of these terrible things to happen so that I could learn from it.  And that thought, while it disappeared as quickly as it came, did not make me feel any better; it only continued to frighten me.
I marched into my living room with a sense of purpose and general ass-kickery to combat this depressive episode.  In my head, I personified it into this slimy, giant creature, and I was coming out swinging.  I am going to do some yoga, I told myself, to bring myself to center and to remind myself how strong I can be.
And then it happened...
As I pulled my mat from its spot in the corner of the room, I looked over at the framed photographs I keep of my family.  My sister, my mother, my stepsister, my beautiful daughter.  All of them stared at me behind glass, and I did not recognize a goddamned one of them.
I'm not being metaphorical.  I'm not exaggerating.
I could process that these people were related to me and I was aware that they were people in my life, but there was no emotional connection to them.  They could have been any four strangers on the street for all my heart knew.  The more I tried to attach myself to my family, the more distant they felt from me.
It had never gotten this bad before. 
I unrolled my mat with shaking hands and repeated out loud to myself the only thing I could think to say, "There is good.  There is love.  There is good.  There is love".
If you have ever been to my house, you know that I fill it full of things that make me feel good (because, let's face it, when you make eight dollars an hour, you tend to spend a lot of time at home).  My bookshelf, my walls, everything in my home has a purpose, and it all has been put together in a way that makes me feel like I am in my own space.  But my living room that night may as well have been a dark, empty cave on another planet in another dimension.  The bookshelf, the books, the art, even the crayon drawings on my fridge were foreign to me.  Nothing felt normal or comforting.  From where I was standing, I could see no good, no love.  But I didn't know what to do so I just kept repeating it to myself while I tried to stretch and breathe. 
After about an hour or so of poses, I wrapped my arms around myself.  I felt so tiny and weak.  I wondered if this is how my friends feel when I hug them.  I have lost a shit ton of weight since the surgery and the divorce, and I could feel it when my fingers found homes in the gaps in my rib cage.  Nevertheless, I pulled myself even closer, digging my fingertips in further.  "There is good.  There is love". Over and over again.  I felt a little better.
More poses.  More hugging.  More chanting out loud like a lunatic.
Once my house began to feel more familiar, I turned on all of my lights and burned some sage, leading the smoke out the front door of my tiny apartment.  Yes, it's a hippie thing to do.  But after an evening of praying to my ceiling and not recognizing my own family, feeling silly for burning some sage was the least of my worries.
I felt a little better, but I was shaken up for the rest of the night.  To be honest, I 'm still recovering from it.


I debated for days about whether or not to post this story.  It's not a happy one.  It's not even a sane one.  It negates logic and reason and everything that I have held true, and it only reaffirms the idea that I am crazy and incurable.  But the truth is, this is something real that happened to me.  It could happen again.  That's the bad news.

The good news is, wounded and broken, I'm still standing. 
The good news is, somewhere in space and time, I've already taken the Medicine.
The good news is that there IS good.  There IS love.
And I'm going to find it in myself, over and over, until it has become a part of me.

Turn to Face the Strange

I have some big stuff brewing in my life, both literally and figuratively. Once I can say things with more certainty, there will definitely be a longer, less cryptic blog post. 

Until then, here is a page from my journal that can give you a little peek.

On failing

I asked a few of my friends to tell me about a time that they failed.  I asked them if they felt like it was worth it to try something, even though it didn't work out.

I am really lucky to have friends who will tell me things like this.  Their responses were honest and raw and revealing.  All day today,  I've received texts and emails describing how each of them came up short in his or her life.  I know people who have lived through death, divorce, drugs, poverty, abusive relationships, and sex addiction.  They have let down their children, their parents, their siblings, and their friends.  And on top of that, they were willing to share their failures with me and have me type them up and put them on the internet. 

I don't think I knew what I was getting into.


There were short text message responses like: I'll take life for 1000.  Still waiting to see if it was worth it.  Other, longer responses came via email.  One friend of mine has started writing six different novels, none of which were ever finished, and he sent me the stories behind each of them.  With every email and text, every tale of humility and disappointment, I felt closer to these people, like having this information about them somehow made them more human and fragile while also making them more badass and admirable. 


"I failed at being the manager at (my job).  No matter how hard I tried or didn't try, once I was promoted, my team was consistently unhappy and so was I.  I was so wrapped up in...family stuff that I didn't have compassion for me, and even though I knew I shouldn't be the manager, I never did anything to release the stress."
 

"Last year I tried to pass the Motorcycle Rider basic course to get my license and failed 2 times, then the third time I crashed and dislocated my knee and sprained my whole leg.  Embarrassing and sad as I come from a 'long line' of riders and enthusiasts and both my 17 year old nieces and my 22 year old nephew were successful in passing and have went on to buy their own bikes and ride happy."

"One that comes to mind is school, mainly high school, I failed it because of the time I was in my life. Moving to 3 different high schools in 3 different states when your dad tries to send you to a mental house and when your mom kicks you out at 15 when all she was doing was beating and abusing made it hard. I had to focus on being happy and self worth, while struggling to pass my classes."


Sometimes we failed at things no matter how hard we tried, no matter how badly we wanted them.  Sometimes we failed people. 

The inspiration to write this blog came to me the other day, when I was running some errands with a friend of mine and her six-year-old son.  While we shopped and ate lunch, I watched the two of them together and made a note to try and be more like that with my daughter- more patient and considerate of her age and how she thinks. I unloaded all of my anxieties and some future plans onto my friend, and I was relieved when she responded with excitement and support.  Her opinion of me as a fellow mom means a lot, and I felt way better about my decisions once we had spent the afternoon together. The very next day, she sent me text messages about how she felt like a "shitty mom" because she feels like she is constantly making wrong decisions with her son.  This same woman that I use as an example of how to be a good mother, she is so worried about failing her child.  We do this with our siblings.  Our mothers.  Our lovers.  Failing people is something that a lot of my friends wanted to tell me about.


"I feel like I failed (at my marriage) because no matter what I did, said, showed, it was never enough.  It was never enough to prove I was throwing every piece of myself into the marriage...marriage is a two way street, both spouses need to put in the effort and I felt  like the only one drowning in both our problems trying to fix them and make it all work."
 

We've all felt like this.  The sentiment is still the same.  We've failed at things that we wanted soooo badly- like getting a motorcycle license or a marriage- and that is terrible. When we're kids, we're told to try our hardest, and it didn't matter if we succeeded, as long as we tried.  But we also are told that failure is not an option and that it's important to finish what you start.  Sometimes our best is not enough.  Eventually, we fail the people we love.  We can't always give them what we feel they deserve, and we take them for granted. The failure cuts extra deep on those days. 


"I failed as a big sister when I was younger.  I am 22 months older than her.  We should have been tight, but we just seemed to have two different childhoods, even though we had the exact same living situation.  I can still remember her coming up to me when she was a freshman, I was a junior.  She had gotten her period and needed help.  I showed her where the nurse's office was and went about my day. I still cry about it and tell her I am sorry. I was just an asshole at that age."  


"My marriage.  I thought I was ready to be with her for the rest of my life, but I didn't realize that I had many more years ahead that would alter and change me into a person that didn't need her around anymore.  I failed her and I failed our marriage."


We also failed at things that we didn't even care about, and that is such a strange sort of failure, like a double whammy.  Not only did we fail, we didn't even really want it in the first place and we STILL failed.


"I feel like I failed (college) because well...I literally did fail....but also because I failed to push myself to be better and actually try.  Looking back at it now, I feel like I was afraid to succeed and do the hard work I knew I was easily able to do but I failed to put in the effort."

"I moved away from home to another state when I was 22.  I lasted less than a year in Ohio before (I) moved back in with my parents.  Even though I didn't like living in Ohio, I still feel like I failed because I ended up going back to Kentucky, even though I'm happier here than there." 



These stories, they all feel important, like I should do more with them than just put them in a blog.  These are the stories that made the people I love into who they are.  These are the hard times that took the hardest blows to their spirits and made them look at themselves in new ways.  Success is a wonderful, beautiful thing, but it rarely makes anyone introspective.  Failure is so powerful, it can easily discourage us from ever trying again, but it can also motivate us to be better next time, to change and evolve to adapt to what life has given us.  My friends, they are experts on survival, and not only that, they are all way more optimistic than they should be. Nearly everyone said that they would love to go back in time and warn themselves to make better decisions.  But they ALL say that it was worth it to try something new, to gain the experience, to have the stories.  Despite the broken bones, broken hearts, broken egos, and broken homes, despite all of us having this underlying dread that we don't know what we are doing with our lives, despite all of that... we would take failure over nothing at all.

And that means everything.