Moving Through Fear: Part 654...

"Humans need love in their hearts like cars need gas in their tanks." - The Dirty Lady

I wrote that in 2011 and it popped up on one of those memory feeds on the Facebook. The snarky bitch in me immediately assumed I must have been high on yoga to come up with that. And then the part of me where the feelings rent a little space remembered that I wasn't always so callous regarding love.

The last relationship really took a lot out of me.

There, I said it. I really loved him. I still can't pinpoint whether or not I was "in" love, frankly, because I don't know that I am capable of that. I'll own that and don't know that the verbiage is really that important to me. I do know that there was a time where I would have walked through fire for him, which sadly, I don't think he ever knew. Us finding each other was sort of like finding Bigfoot because there aren't many never married, childless, attractive people in the Midwest. I thought I hit some type of lotto, but it was a the Titanic from the start. Not in some terrible, "Jack, draw me naked" type of way, but because I had such high hopes for us. But that fucking iceberg. Our iceberg was a mass of junk--addiction, fear, mental health issues, insecurities, anger, abandonment--you name it and one of us probably carried the baggage of decades of hurt and bullshit. He was transparent with me from the start, though, so it wasn't like I didn't know what I was getting into, so I suppose I have to chalk it up to another case of hope triumphing over experience.



Finding the balance between guarding my heart and allowing myself to trust people again after the end of this relationship has been ridiculously difficult for me.

Ask anyone who knows me what makes me happy and your top answers would be the Bitches and running, preferably with the Bitches. My adoration for Alli and Joey is complete to the point of obsession and something I share with anyone willing to listen. While both dogs and humans are incredibly social creatures, our ability to tap into our connections with other people is critical to our happiness. As much as I might like to spend my days hanging with the Bitches, dazzling them with my wit and iPod karaoke skills, I need more human connection to really feel like I'm part of this thing called Life.

It's easy for me to think, "Sure, I'm connected," and go through the list of Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, blogs, and on and on. Having lived such an isolating life of shame and fear when I was sick certainly impacted me profoundly--just because I didn't have alcohol or other drugs in my system didn't mean I trusted people or felt I was worthy of positive attention. That said, a clear mind continues to give me the ability to search, learn, and do the work to make my life more meaningful and connected to other people. Like any lady would, I asked myself, "How the fuck to do I do that?"

I get uncomfortable.

Healthy routine is good for me, especially in respect to race training or eating habits. Sticking with the plan there is critical, but those are things in which I feel good about total control. Connecting with the other humans is gonna require getting uncomfortable. Until yesterday, I'd been in the routine so long, I'd forgotten the rush of being uncomfortable.

How did you stretch your wings, you ask? I did something really terrifying.

Recovery Queen talked me into participating in the Recovery Art Show last year when I worked on my piece, "The Big Picture." That was scary, but I also felt pretty insulated because it was Recovery Queen's project and a super safe space to put something out there. "What I lack in skill, I make up for in honesty," was the mantra. I really have no idea what, if anything, anyone thought or felt when viewing that work. I was surprised how deep my emotional response was during the creative process, so I continued messing around with it a bit after the show, even creating a few pieces I found amusing or provoking enough to hang at home. I'm really fortunate that my house is a bit of a gallery, so looking around my home and seeing something of mine near the work of an artist I respect was kind of a trip.

When I saw a post about wall space remaining for this weekend's Art Maze, a few thoughts went through my mind. First, "I wonder if I am good enough? There are some super rad, talented people participating in this." Then, "I need to get a hold of Recovery Queen and see what she thinks." That was followed quickly by, "Of course she'll tell me to reach our to the organizers because she always encourages people," which was followed more quickly by, "You should probably be thankful that you have a friend who is that encouraging," which finally led to my texting her and thinking, "I'm hungry." I"m always hungry.

Her response was quick and I know her well. I immediately reached out to the organizer because if I waited, I wouldn't have done it. Running off the end of the dock, while not always appropriate, has worked out alright for me lately. The brilliant news is that he was gracious enough to say yes.

It was only when I ran down to the space yesterday on my lunch break that I really remembered the terrifying and exhilarating rush of being uncomfortable. (Of course, that's tempered with the fact that, in true Schooly fashion, I picked a room, started nailing and writing on the wall, only to notice a name note on the door after the fact. I immediately assumed I had stolen the most important artist's room and through a series of messages to the organizer, proclaimed, "I fucked up." I imagined tears, yelling, and perhaps, bullets. Thankfully, he was kind and patient in my "How do I make this right?" rant. Also in true Schooly fashion, the name note was some weird remnant of the previous tenant and of no relevance to the show. The drama.)

Back to the rush. We forget that fear and excitement are cousins. I do love those little canvases and would have been perfectly content with them up at home, but, at least for the next two days, uncomfortable beats content and I'm pushing a little of my love out into the world.