It Has Arrived

My book. It is in my hands. I walk around the backyard staring at it, taking it in. It is real. A thing I have dreamed about but could never truly imagine. It is real. I spend about ten minutes by myself walking around the coral tree, stopping by the sage, feeling the cover, opening to random pages and reading. It is mine. I made this thing.

I am not a parent. I've never birthed a child. This is the closest thing to a child I've had. And it's no coincidence that it took nine months to write after fifteen years of musing, writing, outlining, living, grieving, loving, growing up and growing down. I have done something big and sweet and finally all mine. I am touched deeply by the many loves, lives and hands that it has taken to get me here. I miss my parents, but I know that if they were still here, this book would not be in my hands.  

I am flooded with love and bittersweet longing.

A Little Bit of Calm

Breathing. 

In. 
Out.

After a crazy month readying my solo show for the Lucy Comedy Festival in Jamestown, I now have a few weeks to find my center before the seriously chaotic book promotion begins.  

I am truly looking forward to my first book being out in the world. But I am not looking forward to talking about it over and over again. I am hoping to find a way to talk about the things that truly fascinate me about this journey - balancing independence with familial loyalty; trusting spontaneous creativity while holding onto a vision; struggling with my vulnerability while yearning to unfold my inner self for all the world to see. 

This is all new territory for me. I do not have a map. But hey, when you're joy riding, who needs a map?

Two Months Out

In two months it will happen - my book will be on a shelf in a real book store. What the fuck?

It's still not real to me. After years of fantacizing about an actual book in my hands that I wrote, I still can't imagine it's really happening. It's just too far away from the self-image I've carried for so long. Other people do things like write books, make films, walk on the moon, but not people like me. I'm a mere human, and they must be something greater than that. They must be a chosen one.

I'm not alone with this thinking, we all do it. We all project supernatural powers onto people we admire. I'm not sure why we do this, but we do. It's like our own brilliance and capability is too much for us to accept, and so we must fling it out and onto others we deem more worthy.

But what this book writing and publishing process has taught me is that this is no longer necessary to do. When you get right with yourself, really take your creative visions and urges seriously, and sit your ass down day after day and do the real work to make progress toward your goals, you begin to see yourself in a new light. For me, I began to see that even though I am human and not perfect, I'm getting better at my craft. Sometimes, I even blow myself away with moments of brilliance. I've learned that we all have enormous potential and that the only thing that keeps it unknown is fear.

So today, even though I don't feel completely ready for this thing that's going to happen in 60 days, I know that if I show up everyday authentically, compassionately and in touch with the joy of a new adventure, I'll be okay. 

I'm beginning to see that maybe what it really means to be the chosen one is that we chose to take our own creative urges more seriously than our self-doubt. Maybe faith is believing in ourselves for once.

Day One of the Audio Book

Not knowing what to expect today (except for little girl giddiness because I am recording at The Village in West LA where all of my musical heroes have recorded for the last 40 years), I did pretty darn good for living through the first 18 years of my life in one day.  

I read over 100 pages of my book in about 5 hours. My mom almost died from alcoholism and then got sober. My dad went from clean cut guy to counter-culture god to his first heart attack. I was born, got to be a kid, then had to be an adult way too early, then became a teen and did my best to almost kill myself. Phew.

The producers said I did a good job, and I felt good reading it all. I felt great when I left the studio, but the minute I got home, I laid on my bed and slept for an hour like a dead person. If my dog, Stella, had not needed dinner and wasn't poking at me with her cold nose, I think I would have spent for three. My god, that's a lot of life to live in one day. Holy shit.

Tomorrow my first marriage, panic attacks, cocaine, college and my mom dying.

I think I need another nap just thinking about it.

Audio Book

So, this week I get to record my audio book. I'll be at the Village Studios which is a really cool place. Everyone who is anyone in music has recorded there.  

I have no idea what to expect, except for reading my book out loud six hours a day, and probably hating what I've written, and regretting the whole endeavor. I've been worried about this the last few weeks - regret. Have I done the right thing by telling about my life? Is it too much? Will anyone give a shit? Am I just another asshole with too much to say about me? 

Ugh.

But then I think about how when I have been bold enough to tell some of my stories from my life, and they meet up with another's story in such a way that they get a fresh perspective or permission to be human, I know it's worth it. It makes it okay. It's why I wrote my book - to invite others to not feel so alone. 

But also, I have discovered, I wrote it so that I no longer feel so alone. I see that most of my life - let's say the first 30 years - was spent feeling very alone in my confusion and anxiety. 

Sharing my life now, I am inviting people into my private space. 

As I was laying in bed waking up this morning, I was fantasizing about being at the Village Studios. We are taking a break, and I go into the kitchen to grab some hot water for my tea. I walk in, and there is David Bowie. One of my life's heroes. He says hi. I say hi. He grabs a juice from the fridge, I some non-fat milk for my tea. My heart is exploding with love, my head is swirling with words, but I stay quiet. I act like I belong there, and that I'm not a fangirl from 1978; that he didn't change my life with Young American; that he kept my head above water with his acute take on teenage angst and modern life.

He smiles at me with his piercing eyes, nods and turns to get back to his work. I take a deep breath, feel my eyes fill with tears, and know that I'm once again in the right place because I am here living it.
I know that because I chose to write, something I have longed to do my whole life, I am not alone. I know that by stepping out of the shadows, I have chosen to be a part of the whole.