Will I Know Better than the Lessons I'm Learning Now?

Here we are. It's been a while again, huh? I could say that I've been busy, and while that's true, I think I probably wind in and out of my love affair with my own stupid words. There are moments when I love my writing, not just because it's cathartic to me, but because I genuinely believe that it's good and of value. And then there are times when I borrow the words and music of other people to get me through. I've been living that reality for the past several months.

I'd been thinking for the past week or so to give this a refresh, but I was catapulted into action this morning when I woke up to find that Anthony Bourdain has died. I think it hit me hard because he's living the life I would most love. He travels and eats food and talks about it. He's been called the rockstar of the culinary world. His taste in music was incredible. I think what hit me is that his death is proof that happiness doesn't come from the outside. Stuff, and places, and experiences can't make you happy if you just aren't happy.

My Nanny, a saint, an angel, a precious lady, who loves everyone and will offer you the food from the table and a share of the roof over her head, because that's what Jesus said to do, told me many, many years ago that happiness comes from within. She's a wise soul.

I don't mean to equate happiness with clinical mental illness or addiction. Those are obviously not the same thing. In contrast, I think what I really mean to do is highlight that there is a distinct difference. The notion of "what do you have to be sad about?" doesn't really apply to mental illness. No amount of stuff or money or experiences can fix something wrong in your brain. That requires doctors and therapists and sometimes things like drugs.

That said, I realized that what I have legitimately been doing is chasing my happy. I travel around with my friends and go to concerts. I support musicians who I firmly believe can change the world. If you don't know Lilly Hiatt, if you don't know Elizabeth Cook, if you don't know Amanda Shires, and my friends, Jon Latham, Nick Nace, and Darrin Bradbury, you need to. These folks are changing music, but they're also changing the way the world looks at music.

And maybe I've just been hiding or haven't gotten to see the underside until now, but I've seen the real beautiful people and I don't think there's any turning back. I don't think I can go back to the world of tight jeans and boots that only get worn on stage and bad veneers and fake tans because you actually haven't ever been on a farm in your life.

My people are real people who write their own songs about their own lives and the lives which touch them. And once you hear something authentic, that nonsense about some vacuous girl in her cut off jeans just don't cut it anymore. Sing me a song about your grandfather's guitar. Sing me a song about the one guy who supported you and everyone else and made it his life to move you up. Sing me a song about being on your own, on your own terms, and realizing it's the greatest blessing you have. Sing me a song about how hard it is to go home to a home you don't know. Real stuff makes real good music.

And things are coming. I can feel it. I mean, it may take me another ten years, but they're coming. I can't wait to share some of them. That's how the good happens and I want to spread that good all over the place. That's what makes me truly happy.

I've been doing some traveling as I've always wanted to do. I went to Mexico City in March and I'll spend a week in July in Salamanca, Spain, taking trains around the country and learning about places beyond myself and my little world. I'll have another few days in Oaxaca, Mexico later this year and some domestic travels to the Pacific Coast and the Midwest. I accidentally ate some grasshoppers and I'm sure it won't be the last weird thing I eat. I've tasted local wines from different countries and learned and saw and was seen. I apparently tend to stand out in a crowd no matter where I visit. And this is the life I chose.

To fund my travels, I've been making strawberry jam for a local organic farm. It's hard work. I've cranked out 48 dozen half-pints of strawberry jam. I'm happy to report that the last 17 and a half dozen all set and looked beautiful in those jars.

It's funny because my favorite part of my day job is seeing the final product. Seeing something printed out and shipped off in its final form to people who can use it is my very favorite part of my job. I get that same satisfaction initialing these boxes and stacking them neatly to go to folks who will enjoy my jam on their morning toast or ice cream or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches makes me smile big.

And there's also the notion that it's pretty much paid for my trip to Spain. That's not a bad use of the cash, all things said. Hard work rewarded with my first trip to Europe. I could not be more excited.

Okay, we're going to get personal for a minute. I managed to turn down a marriage proposal. That was the best decision of my life. The ring was beautiful. The night was beautiful. I had the time of my life. But it would be selling myself short. I'll never fit into the assigned box. I don't want any more children. I want to travel and chase my passions and live my life.

 I've started removing people from my life who cause more harm than good. It hurts, but I can't keep dumping my energy into people who just use me like a juice box: insert a straw and suck me dry and then toss me aside. That isn't fair. It's exhausting for people to demand my time and energy and then get mad when I decline. I don't owe anyone anything. Love has nothing to do with it. I love so many people and for so many reasons, but I will not continue to be treated as if I have to do anything. I don't, by the way. If I invest my energy in you, it's because I damn well want to.

I know I'm unconventional, but not every woman wants a ring and a bunch of kids and a husband and a house to clean and all the trappings. I feel like it's time to succumb to my gypsy blood and wander. I have a teenager, for goodness sake. And I feel like I've been gaslighted for three years. It's taken its toll. I'm emotionally exhausted and for my own sake, I have to take care of myself for a little while. I don't want to date. I'm exhausted. I've never felt this way in my life. I'm trying to retract from him and breathe, but it seems like the farther I retreat, the more he wants to smother me. I feel like my life has kind of been taken over. Well, that doesn't work for me.

I set terms when I left. Those terms have not been met. I will not back down. I will not be emotionally manipulated and I will not be controlled. It may have worked on women who you think were like me in your past, but you've met your match. I'm not weak. I'm not fragile. I'm not delicate. I am not stupid. I know my value. I do not need another person to validate me.

But I'm finally around people who do. And I'm not going to lie, it feels great. They believe in me. They believe in me more than I believe in me. They encourage me and tell me how awesome I am and it feels good. Not a single one of them responded to my being published in a collection as "almost like being published." It's wonderful to have someone hold a magnifying glass to your light and watch it dance across the ceiling. It seems to encourage everyone to get their magnifying glasses out. Before we know it, the whole world is going to dazzle.