Lessons from 2013 #1: Let it go and _____ your _____
Lessons from 2013 #1. Let It Go and _____ Your _____.
Summer 2013: I was flinging myself dramatically and sadly around a Hemi performance art gathering a few days after after my motorcycle was stolen, a friend went into a coma, and my girlfriend told me she didn’t want to be my girlfriend anymore. Trying to hold it together, I engaged Lois Weaver, brilliant femme performer and co-founder of Split Britches in conversation*. She asked me how I was and I described my on-pause raised fist writing project and mentioned being bummed about my bike. She listened, then looked me in the face and told me, “Let the bike go and write your book.”
I realized she was giving me a gift bigger than advice from a femme elder who I respect deeply, which is big enough. Part of me was felt like HOW CAN I LET ANYTHING GO EVERYTHING IS SO INTENSE and a deeper part resonated: she’s right. I could cry about this bike forever, about the tragedies everyone in my family whispers about. I could tell you made-up Why God stories forever.
She reminded me that I have a purpose other than to feel overwhelmed by events around me and the ones that happen to me. That life has a longer timeline than a tragic year.
So, as learned from 2013, in 2014 I will take this as a direction and am going to kick off the year with a fun-a-day fist-a-day in order to write my book.
I invite you to:
Let it go and _____ your _____.
Let it go and write your book.
Let it go and start your healing practice.
Let it go and tell your friends they matter.
Let it go and make up with someone.
Let it go and start your band.
Let it go and love your self.
Let it go and _____ your _____.
*after trial runs of “talking like I’m not about to cry” with amazing artists Ariel Speedwagon, Sabina Ibarolla, Coral Short, and Mieke Dee.
Lessons from 2013 #1. Let It Go and _____ Your _____.
Summer 2013: I was flinging myself dramatically and sadly around a Hemi performance art gathering a few days after after my motorcycle was stolen, a friend went into a coma, and my girlfriend told me she didn’t want to be my girlfriend anymore. Trying to hold it together, I engaged Lois Weaver, brilliant femme performer and co-founder of Split Britches in conversation*. She asked me how I was and I described my on-pause raised fist writing project and mentioned being bummed about my bike. She listened, then looked me in the face and told me, “Let the bike go and write your book.”
I realized she was giving me a gift bigger than advice from a femme elder who I respect deeply, which is big enough. Part of me was felt like HOW CAN I LET ANYTHING GO EVERYTHING IS SO INTENSE and a deeper part resonated: she’s right. I could cry about this bike forever, about the tragedies everyone in my family whispers about. I could tell you made-up Why God stories forever.
She reminded me that I have a purpose other than to feel overwhelmed by events around me and the ones that happen to me. That life has a longer timeline than a tragic year.
So, as learned from 2013, in 2014 I will take this as a direction and am going to kick off the year with a fun-a-day fist-a-day in order to write my book.
I invite you to:
Let it go and _____ your _____.
Let it go and write your book.
Let it go and start your healing practice.
Let it go and tell your friends they matter.
Let it go and make up with someone.
Let it go and start your band.
Let it go and love your self.
Let it go and _____ your _____.
*after trial runs of “talking like I’m not about to cry” with amazing artists Ariel Speedwagon, Sabina Ibarolla, Coral Short, and Mieke Dee.