resolution 510-415-650-408

Posted on January 6, 2011 by

or: the (re)definition of “adventure”

“so, any new year’s resolutions?”

it’s january 1st and my friend and i have just finished a lovely brunch in the city. he’s a rather ambitious person, so i figured that he–like so many of us–would take full advantage of this special time of year and throw off the yoke of failed new year’s resolutions past, to don new and ever more wildly unreasonable goals.

i was right.

“i plan to climb mount ranier,” he tells me. (which, apparently, is the most prominent mountain in the contiguous united states; read: very, very not small).

“and remember how i said i’m not a great swimmer?” (this is the point where i fully expect him to tell me that he intends to take, i dunno, swimming lessons) “well, i think i’ll swim from alcatraz.” (mind you, he says this with the same offhand tone you’d use for “i think i’ll order a pizza for dinner”).

“what about you, britt? any new year’s resolutions?”

he looks at me with the same genuine, encouraging eyes that any mogul-in-training would reserve for, say, a street urchin.

i’ll save the whales! no! wait–the pandas! (are they even in trouble?) and i’ll learn italian. an italian *opera*! which i will…… perform–in italy! where i will be living come the close of 2011. tah-dah!

by the time the crazy side of my brain has formulated this “answer,” the only slightly less crazy side has, thankfully, hit the emergency override shut-off valve to my mouth. which leaves me in dumb silence for more than a few seconds. but i figure that’s a better response than the verbal jazz-hands i had nearly regaled him with.

truth is, i did have a response. a real response. and, in fact, it’s something i’ve been thinking about for some time. now, for the sake of my sometimes fragile ego, let’s just set aside the fact that my friend’s two resolutions involved things like: 1) oxygen masks and professional-grade glacier climbing gear; 2) swimming in water so ice cold that the island located in it was turned into a maximum-security prison because it was believed no one could actually survive the swim to the mainland; and 3) the type of heroic, life-threatening experiences that spawn oscar-nominated films.

okay, so setting that all aside, i mean it in all seriousness when i say that my new year’s resolution is a big huge deal to me. and that’s because–as any good resolution would–mine challenges me to get way out of my comfort zone and really change things up. sure, my resolution doesn’t potentially involve things like death or a dramatic airlift rescue. but i tell you truly: what i have in mind feels just as bold. so, having given it much serious, hard thought, i have come to the conclusion that the scariest, most pattern-breaking, unfunkifying, *adventurous* thing i could possible do in 2011 would be this:

to date locally.

i know. now, if you don’t know me well, you might be laughing and/or casting a more than slightly incredulous look at the monitor. because, i’ll admit, that sounds like a completely lame resolution. and if you do know me, well then you probably already have a bookie on the phone and are placing your bets–most likely with the odds against me sticking to my guns (jill d from ncs, if you’re reading this: do you remember the time in high school when i put it in writing that i was swearing off boys forever? you burned that piece of paper, right?). now, you have every right to feel incredulous. and i know that’s why whenever i tell you about a new guy, your first question is always a wary “so where does this one live?”

it’s true, there has been quite a pattern. in fact, i think it would be fair to call 2000-2010 “the decade of dating distantly.” it seemed no matter what i did, i was always meeting and falling for guys who didn’t live here. i was like a beacon. the worst kind of dating beacon ever. like an anti-happiness beacon. in twelve years i think i’ve managed to have a total of four boyfriends who lived in the same city as me (i’m not counting the fifth because the only reason we lived in the same place is because i packed up and moved across the country with him). meanwhile, there have been two guys in hong kong. one in germany. one in mexico. the guy from istanbul. and most recently, one in hawaii, and two in washington, dc. which is like as far away as you could get from me in either direction while still being able to travel without a passport. so, really, the only way those dudes could’ve been any further away would’ve been if they’d been sitting in boats, circling off the east and west coasts of the country. oh wait: i did date that naval officer who went to sea for six months, so that circling in a boat thing actually has happened. then there’s the guy who lives in so many places that i don’t even know which city to assign to him. and that’s just a few of the “distant dudes.” so what i’m saying is: if i based a travel show on all the places where the guys i’ve dated live, rick steves’ ass would be grass.

i mentioned all of those examples to make a point: i’m a (hopefully recovering) serial long-distance dater. which can seem like a very adventurous thing to be. and, it’s true, i don’t actually know anyone else who would dive off as many dating cliffs (and survive!) as i have. and i can certainly say that when i settle down someday, i will have zero regrets–because i will have scratched every possible itch in just about every major language on the planet (you can tell who i’ve dated by looking at the collection of foreign language phrase books on my shelf). but it’s a real problem if what you actually want is intimacy. see, as fun as all the sex-and-the-city type adventures are, those memories and stories don’t curl up with you for chinese take-out and a dvd, or tuck you in when you’re sick, or hold your hand.

and i think all of you attached people out there (and single folks who know how to date like reasonable people) know this. in fact, as much entertainment as i know my dating stories have provided my friends over the years, they have always told me “i’m so glad i’m not dating.” well, yeah. add distance to that equation and you, my friend, have the world’s best blueprint for locking yourself up like an emotional fort flippin’ knox. romantic flings with people who live in far away lands are easy. allowing someone to actually get to know you and all your bat-shit-crazy garbage that you prefer to hide away from sight–that can be way harder and less fun in a lot ways. so, really, my resolution is actually a statement about committing to being, you know, “committed.”

there is one other big dating pattern i can identify in my life, and it would really be okay if this one also went gentle into that good night. it’s what i think of as the “this just isn’t normal!” storyline. you know, as in: it was never ever a guy i met through friends or under any other even remotely ordinary circumstances. it was always the guy i met on the plane on my way back from mexico. or my butcher who was also the lead singer in a hard rock band and wore leather pants. or my yoga instructor who cried when i had a bad day. or the cocky-ass pilot who insisted on, in all seriousness, calling himself “king” and “a ninja.” it was the guy on the train who basically stalked me despite the fact that–no lie–he worked for the city’s anti-stalking division. or he was the younger brother of a dude i dated in high school. *or* the dude was just full-on imaginary. that’s right. several years ago i had a pathological (i came to realize) liar friend who actually created a man from thin air. who would write to me from his fake email account. needless to say, “skylar anderson” is not a pediatric physician who works at one of the city’s major hospitals and enjoys jet-skiing on the weekends. mostly because he doesn’t actually, you know, exist. so yeah, as far as i’m concerned, normal guys = good. so normal they’re almost boring. let me, however, emphasize almost.

i know that right about now it would be temptingly easy to think that i’m just bitching here. or bemoaning my dating life. but i’m really not. i mean, sure–i’ve been lonely at times over the years. but who hasn’t? even in a relationship. and, in truth, i am grateful to each and every one of the guys i’ve been involved with–from real relationships, to dating, to the kinds of unsustainably romantic flings that will make you smile when you’re like 98 years old and laying on your death bed. these encounters taught me a lot about men, about myself, what i want, and what i deserve.

so i suppose this post is as much a tribute and farewell to the men who helped make me the woman i am today, as it is a new year’s resolution. sometimes you have to look back one last time before you can move forward. and by you, i mean: me. so fellas: please know that you will always have a special place in my heart. and here’s hoping that i never ever never date anyone as geographically-challenged as you again.

so that’s my wildly un-sexy but highly responsible and pattern-breaking 2011 resolution. if you have a resolution–big or small, snow-capped or not–i wish you only the best of luck sticking with it in the coming year.

i know a lot of people like to make resolutions around money. and this week the big buzz has been about the mega-bazillion lotto numbers. but i tell you truly, i’ve already got my magic numbers for 2011, and they are: 510, 415, 650, and 408.

Posted in general superbrittness | Tagged | 4 Comments

the revenge of nanowrimo

Posted on December 8, 2010 by

how to speak “dude”

it’s true: it has been, oh, a month since i lasted blogged. but here i am. so, technically, my blog is not dead. it’s just, you know: heavily sedated. but you should know, my blog has missed you. and it hopes you have missed the superbrittness.

what can i say? i went on a (really great) date with a guy from out of town about a month ago. and the date kinda didn’t end for, like, a week. so, sure, i got sidetracked. but if ever your blog and novel are going to get sidetracked, trust me: that is how you want it to go down.

but the following week i realized, in no uncertain terms, that i really missed writing–whether for my blog or the nanowrimo thingy that i was now hopelessly behind in. and i knew this because, night after night, i found myself waking up in the middle of the night. and thinking. like wide-awake kind of thinking. and it went way beyond just thoughts. i mean really if you’re actually narrating your thoughts–like, to yourself–as if someone were reading them on a page, then trust me: you are either a frustrated writer or a candidate for a fetching new winter coat. one with arms that cross over each other and attach at the back with buckles.

so i got back to writing my novel. and that happened to be at about the same time that my bestie and i were, um, remarking to each other on this pattern (see excerpt below) that we’ve noticed with many of the men we’ve met. so it really seemed like an appropriate time to set up some background on the novel’s main character, bridget. specifically: her dating history.

and so, in the spirit of,  you know, doing what i said i’d do: i’ve included another (draft) excerpt from my nanowrimo novel. to all the single ladies out there: this one’s for you.

(second excerpt from Bridge Through Time begins below)

Two espressos, one chocolate-almond croissant, 14 emails, and one long, hot shower later, I feel like me again. Which, I have to give myself credit for sometimes: is not something most people could handle, even on the best of days. For you see, somehow I have managed to surround myself with hordes of wildly normal people, with normal lives. Now, I have a fantastic life—don’t get me wrong. I am happy and healthy—all the things that would be of exactly zero comfort to most of the sad-sacks out there in the world. But not me. No, I take great comfort in knowing that I have family and friends who love me, a career I adore. Yeah. Then it kinda hits a wall. The last piece of that sentence that ended so abruptly—we all know—is “and the love of an amazing man.” I’m not saying that is the magic formula for everyone. But it’s what I want. Coincidentally—and in a totally not at all funny way—this is precisely what has managed to evade me for, let’s call it, most of my life. Which has made for a very special flavor of misery and lonliness.

And so, on the surface, I might seem cynical when it comes to love. Well, guess what? Scratch even a little and you’ll see that—despite being eternally hopefully—I actually am hard-core cynical. And it’s not like it’s just for shits ‘n giggles either. I’m talking about years of research. Aka: my life. More specifically: my dating life. Granted, for the past few decades there certainly has been no dearth of male candidates. But the relentless revolving-door nature of my love life has created a magnitude of emotional bankruptcy for which there is no bailout plan whatsoever. However, my experiences have also bestowed upon me certain talents—talents that I know my other, more settled, content, stable, relationshipy girlfriends could not in their wildest dreams imagine possessing. For instance: I am fluent in “dude.” It’s like how Harry Potter can speak parseltongue—the language of snakes. Not that I’m saying all men are snakes. Although I’m not saying they aren’t either. You draw your own conclusion. Anyway, my many “adventures” with men have made it very easy for me translate what they say into what they mean, or what they will soon do. Here are some of my all-time faves:

(three weeks into dating)
He says: “You’re the kind of woman I could marry.”
Translation: “Not only am I so totally not going to marry you, but in fact one month from now I am going to completely freak out in new and creative ways, then promptly break up with you. Tah-dah!“

(from a guy who lives in another city, any city)
He says: “We will see each other again.” (common variants: “Come visit me in abc;” and “Let’s meet in xyz.”
Translation: “We are not going to see each other again. As in like never, ever, never.”

(After I express even mild skepticism about any of the aforementioned sentences)
He says: “Baby, you’ve just been with the wrong guys.”
Translation: “Baby, *I* am the wrong guy.”

(used in place of your name at any point before you are exclusive)
He calls you: “Baby” (common variants: “Babydoll;” “Babe;” “Sweetness; ” etc)
Translation: these terms of endearment have very little meaning early on for a guy, so there’s really no translation; however, women should avoid using any of these terms, regardless of the level of wild abandon with which they are uttered by the man—even if he has already spoken all of the above phrases; calling him “Baby” will trip the fear-of-commitment alarm and start the countdown-to-dumpage clock.

(spoken at any time, ever, anywhere in time or space)
He says: “Sometimes I just feel like a scared little boy on the inside.”
Translation: “I am a scared little boy on the inside. Some part of me has mustered the will to admit this to you and so, for your own sanity, you should run away from me very far and very fast, and right now. No, no really: I’m not just trying to seem all wounded so that I endear myself to you. Run.”

Which is all a long way of saying that, with a few rare exceptions, most of the men I have dated have displayed the integrity of a Jello mold. Or, you know: just plain mold. And I am now so over it, that I am simultaneously above, below, beside, across from, perpendicular, and kitty-corner to it. Yet despite all this: I continue to date. That seemingly odd life choice, coupled with the fact that I haven’t (yet) been driven to drink, is what, I think, truly mystifies even my closest friends.

(ends)

stay tuned for more excerpts. or whatever else finds its way out of my head and onto my blog. and remember: if you love the superbrittness, please share it (there are all sorts of buttons and fun stuff below for doing that). and/or you can leave me a lil’ love note here with any thoughts you have on this post. but don’t go thinking i hate men. it’s just a little too easy to think that–give me some credit, people. i love men. i just love myself more.

ps: hi mom :)

Posted in general superbrittness | Tagged , | 2 Comments

nanowrimo-a-go-go

Posted on November 3, 2010 by

or: Bridge Through Time

here’s an idea: start a blog.

waitwaitwait! here’s an ever better idea: write an effing novel and a blog. which is exactly, somehow, impossibly, what i decided to do this month. i know: the laid-back-people-of-america club is so about to revoke my membership. except that, you know, they’re so laid back that they don’t even want to bother. and, really, let’s face it: it’s not like i was ever a card-carrying member anyway.

so here i am, at the end of day 2 of nanwrimo. this is the part where i get to say WOOOO-WHOOOO! and you just let me, even though like i just said: it’s day 2. nanowrimo stands for national novel writing month. a dude in the bay area (of course) decided to create this challenge to get people who say they’re too busy to write to novel to actually, you know, write one. so the goal he set is 50,000 words (that’s about 1,600 words a day) between nov 1 and nov 30.

now, it’s not like i ever aspired to this. it’s just that i’ve so enjoyed the outlet of writing this blog and–let’s be honest–1,600 words is what, like, maybe 13 sentences in my style of writing? so here i am.

i thought it would be fun–and, you know, sanity-preserving–if i made my november blog posts about my experience of writing my novel. because how many of you are really going to do this? exactly. so this way you can read about what it’s like to basically give up everything else *every* day for thirty straight days in the name of writing something that probably only your parents (thanks mom + dad!) will ever read. so, yeah, if you see me and i look exhausted and have like nothing to say, you’ll understand that it’s because literally every word and phrase and idea i have ever heard, read, or dreamed up is going into this novel.

and because it’s me and short posts are, well, anathema, i figured i’d include little excerpts of my novel here and there, whenever i think it’ll be fun, interesting, and only mildly embarrassing to me.

my novel plot in six sentences. single gal who doesn’t believe in metaphysical stuff has a past life experience in which she sees the love of her life. that experience starts her on a journey to learn more and hopefully reunite with her long lost love. all the while she struggles with her wild skepticism and tries to resolve it with her powerful desire to find love. sounds serious but really it’s like Bridget Jones’ Diary meets The Secret meets Eat Pray Love. and the main character is named bridget–you know “bridget,” “bridge,” “bridge through time,” hence the name of the book…. oh forget it. while she’s highly skeptical, her expressions are a lot like mine–so basically if you like the tone of this book, you’ll probably like the novel excerpts.

so, at the time of this posting, i am 3,231 words into 50,000, and officially on-track (as of day two. i know: shut up). here are 629 of those 3,231 words. keep in mind, it’s a first draft and i’ve done zero editing. it’s a from-the-brain-to-the-page process. and the creator of nanwrimo advocates for quantity over quality. after all: january is national novel editing month.

(first excerpt from Bridge Through Time begins below)

I am the world’s greatest best friend ever in the history of ever.

And I say this not just because it’s true, in my mind, but because of the overwhelming evidence in support of my assertion. Mind you, this has nothing to do with the fact that I have, for weeks, been planning my best friend Grace’s 35th birthday party. Nor is it related to the four dozen Scorpio-themed cookies I spent the last two days baking and lovingly decorating. Do you have any idea how fist-smashingly annoying it is to individually add the little arrow thingy to the end of 48 letter “M” cookies so they look like the sign of Scorpio? I do. And while the ginormous Scorpion fruit sculpture is, I must say, truly a thing of beauty (it’s amazing what you can do with fruit, an abundance of toothpicks, and just enough OCD), even that is not the reason why I feel thoroughly entitled to claim the designation of “World’s Best Friend.”

But it has everything to do with the preternaturally soft-spoken little man I spoke to on the phone two weeks ago. The same man who, God help me, should be sitting in Grace’s living room at this very moment. And, by the way, God can’t help me—not with this. In fact, I’m thinking there’s more then a good chance that God is not overly impressed by this guy and, by extension, the fact that I dug this guy up. And by even more extension: me.

Dover Jones. In my still-somewhat-practicing-Catholic-heart, that’s the name of the dude who I am certain will bring about my own personal apocalypse. Just, please God: not tonight. Not on this special of all special nights. Not on my Gracie’s night. I’m (for no good reason) confident that God is somehow down with brokering this deal with me, and deferring any unpleasantness until after tonight. Especially since Gracie is so ridiculously happy about Dover Jones being there. Which is exactly why he is my gift to her tonight. Because he is The Very Best at what he does. More specifically, Dover is the most recognized and respected past life regressionist in the world. And on this dark, early November evening, he will do what he does best, not on stage in front of an auditorium packed with hundreds of believers, but rather, in the middle of Grace’s living room, in San Francisco’s Mission district, with a handful of metaphysically-inclined folks, one very excited birthday “girl,” and me.

But you’d better believe he won’t be doing a damn thing until I get there. Not after everything it took to get him here. Running your own events management company can be a thrilling, wacky, and thoroughly bone-crushingly tiring experience. It can also be great for meeting all sorts of people. Like the more than a little creepy but heavily connected guy who attended one of my events four months ago. Brendan the Bonehead. But for these purposes: Brendan the Book Publisher. Specifically, books on all topics metaphysical: tarot cards, astrology, palm reading, you name it. And because I have the kind of memory that all card-carrying Control Freaks are blessed with, I was able, three months later, to instantly recall exactly who it was that had rattled off these two very disconnected but now highly important phrases: “famous past life regressionist,” and “anytime you need anything, babe.”

So take that, coupled with my boundless love for my dear friend Grace, the occasion of her 35th birthday, and her somewhat (to me) inexplicable and relentless fascination with metaphysical subjects, and that is how you end up with me hoofing it down Valencia Street, laden with bags of astrologically-themed edibles, on my way to a group past life regression.

(stay tuned for more….)

Posted in metaphysical | Tagged , | 2 Comments

wof

Posted on October 16, 2010 by

aka “ycdi!”


for years i have suffered from terrible, awful stage fright.

when i’m in front of people i have these near-out-of-body experiences. i can see and hear myself talking or dancing or whatever, but meanwhile i’m thinking “how did i get myself into this mess?!” now, this barely-contained panic, which is an experience in and of itself,  also usually induces wobbly legs, visibily shaky hands, and breathing so shallow that i find myself–every single time–thinking: this is it; this time i will actually pass out. in front of all these people.

it doesn’t even really matter what the magnitude of the situation is, whether it’s a simple internal staff meeting or a large audience at a dance performance–it can all feel the same to me.  and the feeling, the feeling is fear.

when i tell people about my stage fright issues they tend to react with a level of incredulousness typically reserved–i would think–for statements like, “i possess the power of invisibility,” and, “i can control the elements.” but i’m being very sincere here. despite my thoroughly, unstoppably, predictably outgoing personality, i have a long-held discomfort associated with people watching me–in a formal way. casually telling a story that several folks happen to stop and listen to, or even making a grand entrance into a room and strutting across it like i own it (which i have been known to do. it’s fun, you should try it)–all fine. but the minute there is intention behind the attention, my internal freak-out-o-meter goes clear off the charts.

now, this has proven to be an especially unfortunate tendency for me, given that most people expect me to crave the spotlight, and possess a natural ability to bask in it rather than, you know, rapidly lose consciousness under it. but it was a pattern to which i had become accustomed–or better yet, something i expected but always hoped would be different. you know, like a pair of uncomfortable shoes you keep wearing in the delusional hope that you’ll someday break them in. only to find that, more often than not, it’s you that’s being broken.

so having said all this, you might at this point be able to begin imagining the complete and utter terror i experienced when, several weeks ago, i was suddenly and unexpectedly thrust in front of 200 some people. to dance. on. the. spot.

anyone who knows me even a little will tell you that i love to dance. so much so that for the past two years i’ve studied bellydance. which, i quickly realized was the answer to the voice freaking out in my head (“how did i get into this mess?!”) as i looked out at the 200 pairs of strange eyes looking back at me. the bellydance company that i am so very honored to be a part of was performing at a local festival that afternoon. and, as usual, a few hours beforehand my teacher had asked if i would intro our performance. you know: because i’m so comfortable on stage. see: this is what i get for successfully emceeing several dance recitals–mind you, in front of friends and fam–during which i did meat-head things like teach the audience bellydance calls and crack shakira jokes.

but this impromptu thing that happened at the festival was a whole other beast. my simple lil’ performance intro mushroomed in front of my horrified eyes into some on-stage improv dancing, as well as a lesson–for the entire audience. “but my teacher is over there,” i thought weakly as i looked to the right of the stage and found the figure of my stupidly stunning, dance-tastic, spotlight-loving teacher.

and then the weirdest thing happened. some little, teeny, tiny voice in my head said, “you can do it.” and, i gotta tell you, it sounded for all the world like this. that’s right: god help me, i had the voice of rob schneider as the character “townie”, from that great american cinematic masterpiece “the waterboy” talking to me. perhaps even weirder: i listened to him. and, to my total shock, i did my little improv dance, taught a mini dance lesson to the audience (which was, like, one hairball shy of herding cats), and introduced our dance company–all without passing out, falling off the stage or having an out-of-body experience.

okay. for the moment, let’s just set aside the more than slightly disturbing i’m-hearing-rob-schneider-in-my-head development. because what’s perhaps more important (especially to you as a reader) than my hearing the voice is the fact that what it replaced was my fear. and i think i might’ve had a hand (albeit shaky) in that outcome. but really, i have the Art of Living to thank, as well as my two teachers there, and the founder Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, who i have never met (i know: it’s astonishing how many references one blog can make to a five-day course). see, it was at a recent Art of Living course where i learned this handy little technique for, well, it was described as an “ego buster.” but wait: isn’t ego good, especially if you’re going to perform? well, mayhaps not. if i understood correctly what my teachers said, it’s our ego that can often make us feel separate from people–and that applies to every life situation whether it’s conversation, an argument, or even being on stage. despite having attempted to teach this ego-busting technique to several friends over the past few weeks (yes, it did help them), i’m not going to do it here. you know, by writing it. i think that you need to learn it in-person, and ideally have the experience within the class setting, so you can see how powerful it is. let’s just say that this wonderful and slightly odd-looking technique had me, before both performances, standing with my back to people, eyes closed, letting out several *loud* emphatic sounds of “hmmmppffff!” i can’t tell you why it works (no really, i actually don’t *know* the answer), and it seemed that even my teachers couldn’t. but it doesn’t really matter. it works. and on those two instances, when i was really scared and felt anything but connected to the people i was about to step in front of, i think this simple technique made space in the crazytown known as my head–for that little voice (albeit of rob schneider) to speak up and cheer me on.

this new-found confidence of mine came out to play again two weeks later when i performed a solo bellydance at our studio’s student recital. but i didn’t know it was there until i got on stage–until it was actually too late to do anything else but go through with it (or fake a seizure–believe me, i’ve considered it before). my two previous solo performances had been studies in keeping-my-cool-while-faking-it. both times i had been so gripped by fear, so utterly oxygen-deprived (also from fear) that i’d managed to forget my moves–despite having choreographed them myself. but i (barely) survived both incidents and, if nothing else, emerged with the knowledge that i possessed the ability to sufficiently cover any panic-induced screw-ups. that was also around the time when i developed my when-you-forget-do-a-hip-circle technique.

a technique which, to my surprise, i didn’t have to bust out the night of my third solo. in fact, what i seemed to be busting out was a whole lotta attitude. even–dare i say–superbrittatude. instead of feeling like the audience was watching and judging, i felt like we were dancing together. you know, in that i’m-dancing-and-you’re-sitting-and-watching kind of way. but really, it didn’t feel like them against me. i connected with them, played with them, flirted with them (more than a little). and it felt so… natural.

so perhaps after 35 some years i have finally figured out how to be comfortable in front of people: just be me. even with the knowledge that sometimes being me will inspire people to say, in complete earnestness, things like, “you could *totally* be a mexican soap opera star!”

i explained this sudden transformation to my friend (the same one who is currently interviewing mexican soap opera agents for me) recently. and then in the next breath i detailed my plan to participate in nanowrimo–aka national novel writing month, which is in november. the idea behind it is that participants write a 50,000 word novel between nov 1 and nov 30. and somehow, i have managed to–perhaps more easily than i should’ve–convince myself that this would be a perfectly reasonable thing for me to do with all that “free time” i have.

at which point my friend looked me in the eyes and declared, “you are what my mom calls a ‘wof’–’woman on fire.’” she went on to explain that when you’re a “wof” you’re in the zone, the flow, and any other metaphor you can imagine for being in a good place. a place where confidence and ease reside. and it’s not like there’s no fear in this place. but here it’s more like “fear” than “FEAR!!!!”

and when i think about it, i realize that ever since that day at that festival, followed by that night at the recital, i’ve started so many of my thoughts with “if i can do that, i can do this.” followed very quickly by “you can do eeeeet!” (thanks rob). and as a result i think i have completed more coma-inducingly mundane (but important) tasks, gone to more death-march-esque exercise classes, and been more of the person i want to be–because it takes courage to have integrity–than i would’ve had it not been for that little voice. the same one that seems to speak a little louder every day. i remember this voice. it spoke to me for several years after high school. that time it was inspired by the “a-” i got in algebra (thanks ms bynoe from ncs, wherever you are!)–a subject that, no lie, brought me to tears more than once in class. and now, as i prepare for nanowrimo, and whatever other adventures await me, i am so grateful to have that little voice cheering me on.

i’m even contemplating signing up for that meditation class that i thought i had signed up for in september. the one that turned out to actually be (an amazing) breathing practice class. which, i’m sure, would be a wholly singular experience for me.

if for no other reason than the fact that i’d (probably) be the only person who shows up to the meditation class with their own mantra. from, umm, a character in an adam sandler movie.

Photography by Christopher Husary.

Posted in breathing practice, general superbrittness | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

a couple past lives + one hope for the future

Posted on October 6, 2010 by

or “watch me attempt to weave together several seemingly unconnected threads”

if i were to keep a running list of things i’ve never said, this would definitely make the cut: “my life is boring.”

here’s another: “you know what i need in my life? *more* lives.”

on most days it feels like no minor miracle that i have managed to keep myself, my three-legged cat, and several rather high-maintenance plants alive. in this lifetime. so one would think that my capacity to take on the trials and tribulations of any past lives would hover right around, oh, zero.

and yet there i sat on a sunny sf saturday. in that awful beyond awful “ballroom.” (it’s more than a little strange to me how i hear that word and think: elegance, chandeliers, opulence! when, in fact, most modern ballrooms are distinguished by a windowless, fluorescent, soullessness that, if anything, inspires me to curl up into a sad little ball–not dance around and have one.)

but my 500 or so workshopmates and i, clearly, were not there to experience the myriad joys of modern hotel architecture. we were there to hear Brian Weiss speak. he’s the author of seven books that are generally on the subject of past lives and past life regression. which, by the way (according to Brian), more of the world believes in than not. now before anyone potentially gets all twisted up about this, please read my i’m-not-trying-to-brainwash-anyone disclaimer (scroll to the bottom of the post).

so there we are, several hundred strangers, mashed together shoulder to shoulder in this so-called ballroom, awaiting the chance to participate in a group regression. hey so have i mentioned that i don’t much like large groups? and even–depending on the day–people? but despite that i was about to open myself up to this special form of hypnosis, and to make myself rather vulnerable amid a room full of complete strangers. so really, at that point all i could possibly do was trust the process and hope against hope that the dude two rows ahead of me wouldn’t, like, regress to a past life as Genghis Kahn, wake up, and start cutting us all down like so many blades of  grass (it doesn’t, apparently, work that way, but the highly crowd-averse voice in my head was having none of this “reason” business).

luckily for me, i was  securely sandwiched between two lovely ladies who had joined me for the day, so i felt safe. surely this  protective layer of girlfriendly vibes would sufficiently deflect any errant spirits and general weirdness. right?

without getting into the particular particulars of my experience, i did see something when he took us through the regression process. but even i, with my more-malleable-than-most personal boundaries, am not interested in sharing that here. that’ll have to wait for my memoirs or, like, the major motion picture that’s based on them.

but i am willing to tell you about some other interesting stuff that happened. like the woman who said she remembered a life when she was a leopard.  a leopard. as in: a very large kitty-cat. one that could be more than a little enticed by the prospect of having you as dinner. scanning the room as this woman spoke, i could tell that most people were trying to work out in their head whether they’d heard her right: “did she say leper–or leopard?”

then there was the woman who couldn’t participate in the healing exercise we did because, according to her, there was–wait for it–absolutely nothing wrong with her. nothing physical. nothing mental. nothing emotional. nothing spiritual. now, she was one of four (!) people who initially raised their hands when Brian asked if there was anyone who had not yet identified something within themselves that they wanted to heal. but, you know, he was able to knock them out with a few simple questions: “any physical pain? or perhaps something about your body you don’t like? any mental anguish? phobias? emotional pain?” and then there was this woman, who had somehow managed to live out a life on this planet for many, *apparently*, blissfully worry-and-pain-free decades. Brian wanted to help her identify something so that she could participate but he was also clearly hesitant–with both of them holding microphones–to dive headlong into all her personal business. it was at about this point when i think many of us started to wonder whether the most fitting “ailment” for this woman would be “denial.” an idea that she, more than a little shockingly, rejected. mercifully, however, she finally acquiesced and agreed to use “headaches”– because “i’ve had a few of them in the past–even though i don’t have one right now.” is that so? well guess who has a headache now, honey.

trash-talking aside, there is one other thing i’ll share with you about that day. we did what was designed to be a fun, intuitive type exercise. but we didn’t bring in an official intuitive. we used each other. Brian asked us to pair up in twos, ideally with someone we didn’t know well or at all. i partnered with one of the women i’d come with that day–who i’d met only two weeks prior. Brian then asked us to exchange objects. something personal. “no, the blue paper wrist thingy that gives you access to the workshop doesn’t count.”

even before i could tell my brain to slip it off my finger, my friend was pointing at the ring i was wearing, saying she’d been drawn to it all morning. which was perfect since that was what i’d wanted to give her. now, i’m about as woo-woo as it gets, so i think it says a lot that i was taken aback my what she proceeded to tell me about this ring. she said that as soon as she held it, even before the exercise started, she felt “great happiness, followed very quickly by great sadness.” and she was right. the ring is like a modern day version of the saying “this too shall pass.” except that it was my life, not some fable. and a life about which she had zero knowledge. again, without getting into the details of the circumstances around the ring, i can tell you that she was able to recount to me the places associated with this ring. the room and the color of the room, the furniture in it, the general locale. and she also knew it had not been given to me by a man–she sensed very strong female energy. in fact, i had bought it for myself.

i’d figured that she was somewhat intuitive based on stuff she’d told me before. but this was just beyond your everyday experience. without any clues from me she felt all the emotions–good and bad–that i had poured into that ring. and in that moment i felt incredibly connected to her. and that experience reminded me that we are all connected to each other–but so often we just aren’t tuned into it (or even to ourselves).

so the last thing i’d like to say here is not actually about past lives–although they deal very much with connections that are *so* strong they have the power to endure time and space. but no. the last thing i’ll share is a hope: that all of us can experience a greater sense of connection with others. i’m not saying go off and become everyone’s bff–i’m talking about compassion. and i’m not saying to do this just with people we love or like. i’m talking about people we don’t understand, or who we think we hate. i know, it’s awfully “namaste” of me, but just walk with me here for another minute.

many of us were rocked last week by the sad news of four young men who took their lives as a result of the torment they suffered for being gay. and it made me think about what Brian said about how if you feel connected to someone, it’s much harder to wish them harm–it would almost be like harming yourself. so, yes, here’s hoping that all of us can feel more connected with, show greater compassion toward, and develop a deeper understanding of others.* and i really truly believe that this idea applies not only to the ones who are tormented but also to the actual tormentors (yes, really). moreover, i think this applies to everything in life, and every “hater”–not just homophobes. if you think about it: what kind of totally awful world must you come from if you think it’s okay to treat others so badly? i’m not saying people should be excused for terrible acts or even minor bad behavior, but it’s important to show these folks compassion, and to try to understand how their (albeit often disturbing) world views were born. so maybe, just maybe, part of changing things for the better will come from connecting with even the people we don’t understand and who we find the most repugnant–not just the people who already agree with us.

i’m not saying it’s easy. i’m not saying i’m always successful at it. but i am saying it’s definitely worth a try.

* there is (at least) one particular organization that is built around the idea of reaching out beyond an established community (in this case the LGBT community). it’s called friendfactor.org. it’s more about changing things by connecting people through networks of friends, and less (i think) about reaching out to people who actively disagree with them. but i still think–in the spirit of connection–it’s worth mentioning here.

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the new adventures of superbritt

Posted on September 29, 2010 by

now with more adventure and 75% less misery!

folks who have known me for some time also know that, up until now, the majority of my adventures have shared a couple traits: 1) a high level of ridonkulousness,* and 2) a dudes/dating/disaster-theme. which made most of my experiences seem less like fun fresh new adventures, and more like slight variations on the same, over-produced comedy-action-thriller. identical storyline, different (albeit usually rather hot) actors, and way too many special effects.

and then, this weekend, it was like the universe changed the channel on me. “we interrupt your regularly-scheduled train-wreck-of-a-date to bring you three shockingly normal ones.” that’s right. on saturday i went on three dates with three different dudes: the all-american vet (lunch); mambo italiano (coffee); and firecats, who is new (drinks). all of them were nice. in each case i enjoyed myself. and one dude actually *called* me. with a phone. and left voicemail. twice! now, i’m sure i don’t have to explain to anyone except–bless them–my parents, that in these days of both high technology and low interpersonal connectedness, the rarity of such an act means that he and i are like practically married in at least three counties. moreover, since saturday i’ve even heard from two of the dudes–without me having to come up with some fake reason to contact them so they reply to me (“hi…. yeah so i really loved that garnish we had at lunch–what did you say the name of that baby lettuce is?”).

my point is: i experienced something i had done a bizillion times (going on a date) in a new and most excellent way. i mean it was even beyond the universe changing the channel on me. it was like going from the dating equivalent of bunny ears and screen-snow to the entire cable package, with like on-demand, the sci-fi channel and those weird channels that play music but show no images. and i really think that’s what this blog is all about: the new adventures of superbritt. in fact, i’m going to update its name as soon as i finish here.

but the newness doesn’t just apply to dating. in fact, i’m really looking forward to throwing my superbrittness into some entirely new experiences. and this is a notion that actually exists as a personal goal for me. you see, on september 12th, two of my dear friends and i made a pact, prior to one of us (clearly, not me) leaving to return home to london. we helped each other identify several goals for ourselves (some attainable and some stretches) for the coming 365 days. and so on september 12, 2011, we are officially scheduled to check-in with each other–even if only on skype–to go over our progress and celebrate our victories. i even set an alarm in my iphone calendar, with each of our goals meticulously documented in the notes section–which starts with a reminder to my future, perhaps somewhat confused, self:  “we were in tartine and agreed to this. yes we did.”

one of my goals was to basically make more of an effort to get out and do things, make new friends, meet new people, and generally stop sitting at home watching old stargate episodes on hulu with my cat. i think the breathing course i took through the Art of Living Foundation was a good start. several folks who have taken it have written to encourage me to try the meditation course (already on my list!) and the five-days-in-silence course (in part, is suspect, because they want to know if my head will actually explode). for my part, i have a running list of things that i’ve always toyed with doing but never gotten around to, like archery, and riding a horse on the beach. then there’s this realm of already-scheduled adventures that might seem a little, well, overly adventurous–if you don’t already know me well. things like pole dancing, and a past life regression workshop. and, finally, there are the adventures that feel like such fiction, like such unicorn-ridden fantasy, that i hardy ever imagined experiencing them, you know, in reality: nice dates; sweet men; a stable relationship.

and so let me be clear: i’m in for all of it. all of my new adventures. all of my new, train-wreck-free stories.

i hope you’ll come back to hear me share more of my new adventures. and that you’ll, perhaps, be inspired to experience more of your own too.

love the superbrittness? then share it!

in a fit of bells-and-whistles fervor, i added “share” (facebook, email, twitter) buttons, rating stars, and an email subscription sign up–so that new superbritt adventures can be delivered straight to your in-box. if you like my blog, please share it, comment on it, give it some stars, sleep with it under your pillow. i mean really, what’s not to like about a blogger whose posts include tags like “meaty deliciousness”?

* dad: that means “ridiculousness” :)

Posted in general superbrittness | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

nosh. om. crush. (days 2-5)

Posted on September 23, 2010 by

great wreckspectations.

one of the central topics in the five-day course i took was “expectations reduce joy”. i’d go further (based on personal experience) and say that expectations full-on wreck joy. and so i think the only solution is to wreck your expectations. and both of these ideas–i’d like to think–can be captured by the superbrittism “wreckspectations”. so here are some thoughts about the various wreckspectations that formed the past five days of my life.

the meditation class i thought i’d signed up for was actually a breathing (pranayama) course. guess what? i know how to breath. so do you. we’re both doing it. right. now. but this is special breathing. which i also (ahem) already  knew how to do. i’d learned from a guru, thank you very much. and the topics we were covering? done it. i mean really: what have all those years of therapy been for if not to address all this life/ego/expectations garbage? so going into day two i was definitely very happy to be there but most certainly also feeling like i was going to get more of a refresher of stuff i already knew, not learn new things. and i was for sure feeling closed up. like emotional fortress closed up. think moats of fire and archers on the battlements and whatnot. i mean, i’m open + all. but it’s not like i was going to hug anyone.

moreover, after drinking coffee on day three (no-no), showing up with doughnut holes as my contribution to snack time (not very om-shanti of me), and breaking down in a fit of meatlessness-induced dyslexia and eating 2/3 of a burger on day four (which in relative terms makes a no-no look like a big fat yes-yes), my expectation was that i was going to 1) burst into flames upon crossing the threshold of the meeting space, and 2) be sent directly to pranayama hell in a large vedic handbasket.

and then something changed.

we practiced sudarshan kriya–a very specific breathing pattern for mental and emotional cleansing. i watched a pretty shy, 6 ft 4 engineer get up in front of the group, hop up to each of us and wiggle his butt like it was a bunny tail–an act of trust that has forever endeared him to me. i heard another man tell the group that, after months of sleeping only 1-2 hours per night, he slept for 9 after the fourth day of the class. to me, that’s not life changing–that’s life saving. i looked into the eyes of several of my classmates for something like two minutes straight–and saw such depth and beauty. i told a ten-minute version of my life story, and heard others tell theirs. i willingly hugged strangers. i met classmates who are now my new friends. and i started day one individually looking everyone in the eye, taking their hand and saying the words “i belong to you”, but ended day five saying those words to the same people–and actually meaning it in a way i could not have imagined before.

i also go to go out into the world and was granted the (super fun) opportunity to test drive some of the concepts we talked about, like “expectations reduce joy”.  and let me tell you, it’s much easier to manage expectations in theory than practice. so just remember that the next time your saturday night plans to meet up with both an incredible italian and an amazing aussie turn quite suddenly into two very random hours sitting at the westin union square bar drinking ginger ale and lime with wyllie from thousand oaks and phil from detroit, deconstructing with them a series craptastic text messages from mr. mambo italiano and mr. hottie mc hotterson–neither of whom will end up making any real effort to see you that night. maybe you’re miserable because you were too tied to the outcomes. maybe if you just let them go gentle into that good night (and take both dudes out of your phone, for god’s sake), without resentment, you’ll feel better.

especially a few days later. when both of them (along with the shy, all-american veterinarian from two weeks ago) get in touch with you.

now, i didn’t manage to fulfill my whole “nosh. om. crush.” fantasy over the past five days. i didn’t do any true noshing. and there sure as hell wasn’t any romance. so perhaps that is to come. tonight is the fall equinox and a full harvest moon. so ima put it out there to the universe: bring me food + bring me love.

but, you know, it’s not like i wreckspect it or anything.

ps: guess what? my blog gets kinda lonely. know what keeps it company best? comments. like the ones you can leave here.

Posted in breathing practice, serenity now! | Tagged , , , , , | 23 Comments