insight, life, Writing

Dry July- Day Four- Independence Day

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I suppose for many people on July 4, in the United States,  it’s hard to say “no” to imbibing a cold alcoholic beverage (or two, or ten) during one of the myriad of barbecues and festive events happening during this auspicious holiday.

I mean, I am pretty sure this is the American Holiday that brought us “Drunk Watermelon” and garbage cans full of “Jungle Juice.” Why do I think that?  Because according to the police scanner these summer beverages pair best with explosives.

One might wonder if people NEED to get drunk, in order to appreciate the sounds and colors of  supposed Independence at the end of the night.

I didn’t have any Fourth of July plans.  My day was pretty much like every other day, with the exception of trying out a new Chicken Teriyaki recipe, and firing up the grill to make a beautiful meal that probably SHOULD have been photographed and put on Instagram.  I drank a nice Sparkling Lavender Water, and listened to sirens and fireworks.

And, let me tell you, the sirens and the fire works went all day, and well into the night. So, I just had to tune into the police scanner.

Would you like to scare yourself into never drinking again, and staying off the roads on a holiday?  Then listen to the scanner on a day like July 4th.  It is one call right after another of drunken, violent, idiotic, preventable, controllable nonsense.  Most of which is all fueled by intoxication.

I’ve never had so much compassion for our emergency response teams before.

As I listened to the dispatchers taking calls, patching in officers, and making instant decisions;  I couldn’t help but be surprised and amused.  I listen to the scanner every now and again, but I have never tuned in for hours at a time, where there are very few breaks in the feed.  Yesterday was one of those days.

Selfishly, I kept waiting for someone to call about fireworks being shot off near my house (illegal to do because I am in city limits.)  A few calls came in about the disturbance, but the officers were never able to make it to those calls, because more pressing issues would over ride their direction.

Drunk drivers.  Runaways.  Fights in parking lots.  A naked woman in the back of a cargo van with the doors open.  A man with no legs had fallen out of his wheelchair and was passed out on the side walk.  Grass fires all over town.  Domestic Violence disturbance.  Reports of gunshots.  A sixty year old man, on LSD had fallen down, hit his head and was unconscious…. 

The calls just kept coming.  All these people seem to be going to some weird mental extreme to express their “Independence.”  But how many of these people woke up today, July 5; only to realize they may have just lost what little Independence they may have had yesterday?

How many people ended their night with the vision of  red, white, and blue flashes of an emergency vehicle taking them to jail, or to the hospital.  Maybe even the flashes of light behind smoke as firefighters douse fires on property, like homes.

How many people will have their cars towed, and their licences revoked?  How many will have lost their pets in the chaos?  How many of them will be impressed with deep regret for their carelessness?  How long will the blotter brief be, after two days of full throttle parties?

I don’t know, I am just glad I wasn’t apart of any of that nonsense.

We choose where we go, and what we do.  We have a responsibility toward ourselves and our fellow humans, to be self responsible.  How many people were doing just that, only to have someone else encroach on their life with bad decision making?  It happens more often than we would like to admit, and a “holiday” is no excuse for that behavior.

And, this is what I was worried about; If I don’t drink, and I going to become an even more Judgey McJudgerson and the Judgeyville Judgers – type person, again?

No.  No. I don’t think I am being judge-y.  I am telling it like it is, based off of clear observation.  Yesterday and the day before, was a SHIT SHOW for emergency response teams, and I am guessing that 80% of those calls were preventable; that is, if people presented a modicum of self control.

Holiday’s and celebrations seem to trigger the thinking that everything is a “free for all”, and self control goes out the window.  It appears people believe the norms of function go on hiatus for 24-72 hours surrounding a celebration.  It isn’t healthy.  And, worst of all, it appears to be a self-feeding beast.  It is an energy that we, as Americans have been fermenting for quite some time now, and it feels like it might burst.

 

If you enjoy following these posts, feel free to like, share, or leave a comment.  I would love to hear about your July 4, 2017.   Did anything crazy happen?  Did you have any realizations about Independence?  For updates on new posts, press the FOLLOW button.

To read the first four parts of this saga, click the links below!  Cheers!

Dry July

Dry July- Day One

Dry July- Day 2- Eleven Facts

Dry July-Day Three- Epigenetics and Sleep

 

 

insight, life, Writing

Dry July-Day Three- Epigenetics and Sleep

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What does full throttle exhaustion feel like?  I don’t know for sure but I assume it feels a lot like I have felt for the last three years.  I’ve been constantly tired, that is until I would have a double shot of Jameson on the rocks.

My senses would perk up as I would hold the cold astringent liquid in my mouth for a whole minute before choosing to swallow; letting the taste of liquor bathe my tongue, the chemicals seeping into the porous flesh of my mouth.  Those sweet chemicals breaking blood brain barriers, causing synaptic sensations in my gray matter.

By the end of the glass, I would have an artificial second wind.

Maybe that second wind would lead to starting a new experimental project; maybe it would lead me to dancing in my dark back yard under moon light until I was breathless and sweaty, maybe it would lead me down some conspiratorial rabbit hole, maybe it would lead me to do some mundane domestic task that I had been putting off (like my own laundry.)

Either way I would chemically prop myself up, until I was tired again; falling into a sedated sleep, where I would lay still for hours.  To be exact, by “hours” I mean,  four hours.  Four hours for my body to metabolize the poison, and send signals to my brain and bladder to get up and get moving, urgent to purge the remnants of spent cells from my internal ecosystem.

I would wake up, quite easily,  but my brain and body both felt the neglect of real rest, so I would go to the bathroom, and crawl back into bed, where I would quickly fall asleep again, only it was a fraction of the quality restorative rest I needed and was chronically neglecting.  Maybe I could grab a nice three to four hour stretch, but when I got up the second time, my body and mind would both be dragging.

Every day I would have the same conversation with myself, ” If you just get up the first time, and get your day started, you could take a little nap later.”  

 ” Maybe if you didn’t go back to bed, you wouldn’t be tired all day.”

“But, I have a natural tendency to be tired at 6:30 am, I think it has something to do with the time of day I was born and my circadian rhythms.”

Interestingly enough, I might not have been wrong about my natural sleep cycles.

  February 6, 2016  livescience.com reported on this topic discussing genetics and it’s effect on our circadian rhythms.

“According to a new study by the genetics company 23andMe, the preference for being a “morning person” — someone who enjoys waking up early and going to bed early — rather than being an “evening person,” who tends to stay up late at night and desperately reaches for the snooze button when the alarm goes off in the morning, is at least partially written in your genes. Researchers at the company found 15 regions of the human genome that are linked to being a morning person, including seven regions associated with genes regulating circadian rhythm — the body’s internal clock. ”

Full article here.

When I was younger, in school, and very sober; I was on a schedule.  I had to be up early to catch the bus or be at school extra early for an event, or be at the pool by 5:00 am to open.  It was ingrained in me to never be late, in fact, ALWAYS BE EARLY!  And let me tell you, I was a pro.

When I was in High School, on Speech and Debate trips, sharing a room with three other girls; I would make sure I was up the earliest, in and out of the bathroom first and situated on the bus well before it was time to depart.  Mainly, I didn’t want anyone to get in my way, and I didn’t want to have to wait on people who were sluggish.  This is just one example of how I would adapt just enough to get by without conflict.

What no one knows though, is that I probably had the worst quality of sleep due to excitement for the next day, the fact I am a light sleeper and some random sleepy team mate is snoring next to me and stealing all the blankets.

When I went to Christian College for a semester, I didn’t have to be up early every day… so my schedule adapted to that.  I would stay up all night sometimes, trying to study; finally I would give up, go for a run around three or four in the morning and return just in time for the doughnut shop to open with fresh doughnuts.  Then, I would take that box of doughnuts back to the dorm and leave them for my suite mates.   (When everyone else was gaining weight, I was losing pounds like I never had before.)

Genetics testing companies are now capitalizing on areas of health, wellness, and fitness of individuals interested in making the most of their genes.  Companies like FitnessGenes®  and DNAFit are using genetic data to help people maximize the physical benefits of their unique genetic make up.  FitnessGenes® blog  assert that “Your Genes Are Not Your Destiny”    through a process called  “epigenetics”.

So though the DNA code is fixed, the epigenetics can be changed by outside influence.   For instance, a person with an active genetic marker to be a night owl, living in that schedule, will reap more benefit exercising later in the day than they will exercising right when they first get up.

These epigenetic markers can be influenced by what we eat; what our sleep cycles look like, the quality of our social interactions and frequency of exercise.  All of those activities send signals to our cells which effect the bodies rise and fall of hormones in the blood of the individual; so what may be good for the goose, might not be good for the gander.

I think it’s safe to say that alcohol consumption has an effect on our epigenetics.

 The National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism   says  “Alcohol can influence gene expression, and specifically epigenetic regulatory processes that modify the activity of genes, through a variety of mechanisms. Some of these are related to the metabolism of alcohol in the cells, explains Dr. Samir Zakhari. In general, several metabolites, such as nicotinamide-adenine dinucleotide (NAD) in its oxidized and reduced forms, acetyl-coenzyme A (acetyl-CoA), and S-adenosylmethionine (SAM) serve as cofactors for numerous reactions in the cell, including reactions related to epigenetic DNA and histone modifications. Dr. Zakhari reviews some of the pathways through which alcohol metabolism alters the levels of these metabolites in the cells and how the changes in metabolite levels may impact epigenetic processes such as DNA methylation and histone acetylation. (pp. 6–16) ”

Well, shit.  What have I been doing to myself?  I have always considered myself smart, if not a bit rebellious.  I am starting to see very clearly that I have thrown my common sense to the wind in regard to this issue for far too long.

It’s is Independence Day, here is America… perhaps today is the day to gross myself out to the point of quitting cigarettes because I am sure it is negatively effecting my epigenetic expression, I think I might be ready to be the best I can be… I’ve gotten a taste of my own personal rock bottom and quite frankly I am over it.

 

Feel  free to leave your stories of how you notice outside influences effect your body and mind in the comments.  Give this post a like and feel free to share with your friends.

To read the other posts in this saga, click the links below. Cheers!

Dry July

Dry July- Day One

Dry July- Day 2- Eleven Facts

 

 

 

 

 

insight, life

Dry July- Day 2- Eleven Facts

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Let me tell you eleven facts about my drinking history.

1.) I drank (more than a taste) maybe a handful of times before I was legal to, starting at eighteen.

Once on New Years Eve, my senior year with my older boyfriend and his friends ( I believe they brought over wine coolers and beer.  I told my parents I wasn’t drinking but my face and attitude were all bubbly.)

Once at some airmen party my  Air Force boyfriend took me to, I drank a few Apple Pucker/vodka shots.

At, nineteen, I got my first “apartment”, (which was really just a room in a boarding house for women in Berkeley, California) My friend Seth and I christened the room by drinking a horrible bottle of Brass Monkey.

At the age of twenty; a couple of times I snuck into the Crown with some friends.  I would drink Bloody Light Beer and Frog Balls ( Tomato juice in BudLight and green olives) because that is what my friends drank.

Then there were probably a couple of house parties in there where I imbibed.  But never to excess.

2.) I have always enjoyed being in control of myself and my ability to leave; so I would never want to get “drunk.”

I would enjoy the feeling of social lubrication because I would get anxious in social situations with new people.

I enjoyed the way alcohol would lower my inhibitions, so that I felt I could easily talk to strangers, or new people.  I enjoyed the way it got me out of my own head, and into the present moment.

I liked how it “chilled me out”; being sober (to me) meant being hyper in many ways.  Hypercritical; hyper-mental, and hyper-insecure.   When I started drinking, I became less hypercritical of the behavior of others.  I was less inclined to be “judgy” about others drinking.

3.)  I didn’t go through the average path for drinking.

I started drinking later than most people and when I went to a private Christian College for one semester at nineteen;  I didn’t drink at all during that time.  So I never got on that whole “college binge drinking scene.”  I really believed that you shouldn’t do mind altering substances, until your brain had fully developed.

4.)  I have always drank for the taste.

  Every New Years Eve, my parents would give my brother and I maybe a quarter of a champagne flute of champagne, you know, so we could “participate.”  I loved the taste of the bubbly… my brother, not so much.  I would drink mine in one quick gulp, and then his.

When I was about 12 or 13 and my parent’s weren’t around, I would crawl up on the counter top, and visit the “little bottles of booze” in the cabinet above the refrigerator.  I would only take a sip.  The only one I liked was Malibu Rum.  I loved the smell, and sweetness (it reminded me of Mexico.)

I turned twenty-one in San Jose, California.  My boyfriend at the time and his friends, were dare I say it, “Alcohol Snobs.”  They enjoyed elaborate drinks, like flaming Dr. Peppers, and Oatmeal Cookies.  I don’t recall any of them drinking cheap beer.  My vice of choice when going out, would either be a Vodka Cran with Lime, or Long Island Ice Tea.  This is where drinking became a habit and a reward system.  “After a long hard day” my boyfriend and I, and sometimes his mother, would have a few drinks together on an almost nightly basis.

In San Jose, I  would use drinking as an emotional crutch, as I got the feeling his friends didn’t really like me that much, and I didn’t have that many friends of my own in this unfamiliar land.

At the age of twenty two, I started to really get into craft beer.  And, admittedly I became a “beer snob”, you know,  before it was really hip to do.

5.) My unconventional life path, catered to drinking.

Being the type that doesn’t want to get drunk or black out, I know how to pace my drinking.  I have had some very unconventional jobs, where drinking at work is actually encouraged and provided for, the employees.   As you can imagine, not everyone “stays in their body” in those situations.  I have always held pride in keeping my shit together.

My “style of  drinking” is slow, paced.  I can drink through out the day, and not get drunk.  By the time for bed, I would just be tired, and at times maybe irritable.

Some of the jobs I have had, where drinking was acceptable on the job were; working in a dive bar, working for a brewery/ hop farm; farming vegetables/ cannabis, working at a distillery, house sitting, dog sitting, and working as a promotional model.

I am a good worker, and I never let my consumption get in the way of my work performance.

6.)  I made money while drinking.

While I had jobs that paid me, while I was working and drinking; I have also used the social lubricant to help me sell art work.  I have sold more paintings out of pubs, than I have any where else.  I would bring my art supplies, and some finished canvass’, order a craft beer and a double Jameson on the rocks, or maybe a Bloody Mary and get to work on some art.   Eventually some one would come over to see what I was doing, and BAM, I just made an art sale.

People with money, who are drinking, are usually VERY GENEROUS.

7.) I started drinking alone near the beginning of my legal usage of alcohol.

I moved around quite a bit after I left home after High School.  When I moved to Summit County, Colorado at twenty two, I found myself in the closest thing I can relate to what may be the “college party” environment.

I like, many other young mountain residence, sought employment at the  Keystone Ski Resort; cheaply living in a dormitory.  The first few weeks I was there, it was downtime right before the summer season was set to get going.  There weren’t many people around, and I literally lived across the parking lot from a little liquor store.  I would go buy a bottle of Chardonnay, and dance alone while making art work in my room, and then I would go take a hike or maybe clean my room.  Either way, my brain was being triggered by the dopamine, and I was riding off the exhilaration of being able to purchase alcohol on my own, as an adult.  I didn’t have anyone judging me, or telling me “no”.  I was free to do as I pleased.

I have spent many hours and some times days where I am alone.  Drinking was just something I could do that accompanied any of my creative en-devours; be it writing, painting, or dressing up in characters.  It was also something that everyone else was doing socially… so I’ve never really been a binge drinker; just a consistent drinker.

8.)  I took pride in how well versed I became in my knowledge of different liquors and beers.

It’s people like me, who made craft beer the thriving industry it is today.  Every where I would go, I would be educating people on drinks.  I don’t know why this made me feel like I had some sort of upper hand, but it did.  Now I am a little ashamed that I was basically just being an enabler.

9.)  It’s only in the last couple of years that the effects of alcohol, have really started to gross me out.

Be it my own weight gain, or how I see alcohol effect people around me; I’ve gotten really disgusted.  The hardest part is watching the effect of alcohol really turn someone into a nasty little gollum, which is what I have experienced in the last couple of years, second-hand by watching a friend struggle with their addiction.

I don’t get mean when I drink.  I actually stay in a very kind head space.  Occasionally when I am under stress, or near my moon,  I slip and let my deep, hidden emotions out.

Many times in sobriety I have felt misunderstood, or that the people I care about, give no fucks about my internal state of being.  Drinking with people that I care for, has allowed me to purge some emotions that I keep locked inside.  I do have an unspoken expectation, that if they know how I feel, things can change; however, they rarely do.  It really isn’t their responsibility to fix anything in me; namely my own perceptions.

Drinking alone while writing, allowed me to feel the freedom to put those deep emotions down on paper, and many times I would surprise myself with how far I was willing to go down that personal rabbit hole.

10.)  I only recently started judging myself for my solo consumption.

I’ve had so much freedom; free time, and self authority as an adult, that I haven’t been very self critical of my consumption.   It’s just something I can do, because I want to. I still get my work done, and do it well.

I have found that it to be a medicine of sorts because in my youth I felt very structured and controlled.  That structure and control felt like jail.  And though I was thriving in jail, it was partially because I am a mutable personality, and I try and make the best of any situation by conforming just enough to get through with out drama or trouble.  Funny thing is, that DOES actually work in jail.  It’s like some places, it isn’t okay to swear at work, so you even though you may swear like a sailor all the time; but, you reign it in at work because you need to get paid.  It doesn’t mean you lose your sense of humor, or intellect.

Why am I judging myself now?  It all comes down to the lasting effects.  The slow suicide.  The fact that I know I could accomplish so much more without alcohol hanging around all the time.  The fact that, living in the situation I am in, is temporary; and I will be better equipped for the next stage, if I reevaluate my consumption.

11.)  I knew at some point, my mind would just change.

It’s been the case for people in my family.  My grandma use to drink Milwaukee Light, and crap beer like that, and smoke cigarettes all day long through my childhood.   Then one day, she just quit.  When I asked her why she quit, she simply said, “I didn’t like how it was making me feel, anymore.”  And that made sense as a very self aware decision.  Granted, my grandma has had some health conditions that definitely benefit from cutting out beer and cigarettes, but her will to change on a dime, is inspirational in a logical kind of way.

Dry July

Dry July- Day One

 

insight, life, Writing

Dry July- Day One

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Let’s get down to it.

Day One, I didn’t even really think about drinking.  The day before I spent probably a good four hours watching youtube videos of peoples tips, tricks and before/ after pictures of weight loss after stopping alcohol.  I embedded my mind with all the health reasons I’ve been over it for a long time, but negligent to take the next step.

I exercised twice during the day, because I knew that the night time was going to be the hardest for me.  See, if I am sober and listening to my circadian rhythm, I want to go to bed around 9-9:30, but my grandma doesn’t want to go to bed until later.  I never feel good about going to bed, unless I have tucked her in, and know she is in for the night.  Drinking would give me a second wind to stay up later, because I wasn’t drinking just one drink.  Just one drink would probably be enough to exacerbate sleepiness, but it would also lead to sleeping for four hours and waking up wide awake as my body had metabolized the alcohol.

I’ve been self medicating sleep for years, so I know when I take breaks my body is tired, but my already active mind is trying to reboot and rewire.  I was hoping that by over exerting my body, it would be easier to settle to sleep.

Well, that didn’t work.  I was restless.  I used my usual breathing and mental techniques to fall asleep for a sober nap and my body just wasn’t having it.  My mind was in some peak awareness and I could hear the popping of fireworks behind the white noise of my air conditioner.  Usually white noise can be enough to help me sleep, because I am a light sleeper, but the fire work noises sounded like some one periodically knocking on the walls of the house.  Just as I would feel myself slipping toward sleep, another noise would shake me out of it; leaving me to start over from the beginning.  Slowing my heart rate, breathing deep and focusing on that “falling feeling.”

I started my sleep journey around 11:30, tossed and turned until around 6:30, and finally fell into an uncomfortable sleep with uncomfortable and vivid dreams.

In my dream I was staying with this strange older host couple  that had a bunch of  young people staying with them.  The guests were rambunctious, and not very interested in keeping things clean. Especially the bathrooms.

I find myself in one such bathroom, and some one had plugged a toaster in near the toilet.  The counter top was covered in miscellaneous objects.  I accidentally bumped the plugged in toaster, into the toilet, which created a spark… and I freaked out.  (In real life I am intimidated by electricity.)   I approached the hosts and told them what happened and they freaked out, telling me I owe them all this money for damages.  I think to myself, “You are mad about this toaster incident, but you seem unconcerned about the filth and damage all these other people are doing to your home.”

I had to figure out how I was going to make the money to pay for the damage.  I got lost trying to find my car, where I planned on just running away from the situation.  That didn’t work and I was back at the house.  I tried to work out a trade, and I made a really interesting piece of art that stood about six feet tall, and they said, “That’s not enough.”  I began to see that they weren’t a friendly old couple; they were extortionists.  They wanted cold hard cash; which I didn’t have much of.  I handed off $22.00 out of the $72.00 I had in my wallet.  They aren’t satisfied, but I don’t let on I have more, knowing I will need it to get out of this place. 

See what I mean about rebooting and rewiring?

Past insecurities, like dirty bathrooms and electricity, which have played predominate roles in past dreams, rise again to the surface.  Shame, and feeling lost.  Trying to compensate for that shame with external actions attempting to convey worth, are thwarted.  The desire to run away from everything vile, in order to return to something beautiful.  The arduous journey; the internal struggle, the fear of loneliness.

As my body and brain attempt to regain a normal balance, I am sure I am going to have more restless nights.  More latent realizations.

Dry July

Dry July- Day 2- Eleven Facts

insight, life, Writing

Dry July

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I am going to take a hint from the Aussies and give my own spin to Dry July.  Dry July is a concept to encourage Aussies to cut out drinking alcohol for the entire month of July, in order to bring awareness and monetary support to those suffering with cancer.  It’s a sort of fund raiser, where you get people to sponsor your sobriety for the month by donating to the Dry July fund.  Those funds are distributed to people suffering from, or care taking people who have cancer to help defer costs, because let’s face it; Cancer is an expensive mistress.

The idea is, “people don’t choose to have cancer, but you choose to drink.”  By taking the month off,  you can focus on your own health and wellness.

Australians, much like Americans, live in a socially acceptable alcohol fueled society; and it can be hard to escape the temptation to drink because it is readily available and legal.

I myself have gotten into a lazy habit of  daily consumption, and not even the stereotypical consumption of social behavior.  In fact, looking at it, has made me redefine social behavior.  See, even though I have sat alone drinking, I am actively being social on the internet or on the phone.  So, even though I am not out at a party or a bar, I’m still engaging in conversation while staying up late and drinking.

Through this month I hope to start some new routines, and set some goals for myself.

I want to redirect my focus on my fitness.  I’ve jumped back into exercise in the last week, and I have dropped around seven pounds.  I know that by cutting out the empty calories of drinking, I will lose that weight much quicker.

I want to start a podcast.  I have wanted to do that for about seven years now, but I didn’t know how to start.  I think that Dry July is the perfect beginning topic, because I don’t expect it to be easy.  I live two blocks away from a bar/ liquor store.  I don’t have any bills or debts, so it’s easy to spend my disposable income there.  Topics that I would like to talk about are the effects of drinking in a sedentary environment, how to stay healthy while being a care taker; and my personal experience of taking a break.

Over the last few days I have been watching many youtube videos of Australians who decided to do Dry July.  I have been finding all the tips and tricks of tackling a sober month.  The consistent point that is expressed is; “What is your personal reason?”  Most people reach a point where they just make the decision because they have a personal epiphany, like how much weight gain they have gained.  Or taking a new look at their societal norms and wanting a break.  Some just want to save some money.  Some people just need the collective energy of a group dynamic to cessate.

For me, it is definitely the weight gain, and the senseless use of money toward something that isn’t going to help me at all in the long run.  In fact, I know it has been suppressing me from my potential; and at 36 years old, I want to see where that potential leads.

If you are interested in taking your own spin on Dry July, and would like some accountability, please feel free to reach out to me.  I know that I will probably need some people to talk me through any urges that may come up.

Dry July- Day One

Dry July- Day 2- Eleven Facts

 

 

Art

Experience the Paranormal

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At this point in my life I have embraced the extraordinary, and now it’s pretty ordinary.  I suppose, if your eyes are open to see; then you will.

As a child, I loved to read.  I loved mysteries, and chose your own adventure.  I pined for the newest R.L. Stine books.  There was so much to be left to the imagination, and I had no lack of that.  I loved the practicality of Nancy Drew, and the hint of macabre given in Christopher Pikes writing.  I wanted spooky, heart racing adventures.

In the fourth or fifth grade, my class went on a field trip to the Fort Laramie.  A rustic old fort, maintained as a museum.  We visited several buildings, examining the living conditions of a soldier versus an Officer.

The building I remember most, was the Captains Quarters, originally designed to be large and decadent housing, it was later split with a wall down the stair case to turn the building into a duplex in order to house more people.

Each Room was walled off ceiling to floor with Plexiglass.  You could see the staging of the room, but you couldn’t touch anything.  The tour guide had just regaled us with the story of the Woman in the Green Dress who haunts the Fort.

On the bed, on the top left hand level of the Captains Quarters, was a beautiful green dress laid out on the bed.  As all of my peers filed out of the building down the stairs, I just stayed there, staring in that room… until the rocking chair began rocking with out assistance.  There was no airflow coming into the blocked off room.  The tour leader hadn’t mentioned that this specific building was said to be haunted.   Upon further research, it has been documented as having haunted activity.

Haunting at Fort Laramie

I immediately left the Captain’s Quarters feeling very chilly on the hot day.  When I got outside the hair on my arms was still on end, and one of my friends asked if I was okay, because I looked pale like I had seen a ghost.  I responded with, “I think I might have.”  Everyone thought it was a joke, but I know what I saw… that rocking chair should not have been moving on it’s own.  I couldn’t find a tangible logical solution, so in my mind, it must have been a ghost or some dimensional residue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Shadow People

So, people didn’t take my ghost story as real.  They probably thought I was being over dramatic, and since no one was with me to legitimize my claims… perhaps they just thought I was a liar.  Who knows?  The weirdness over the years didn’t stop there.

A couple of years later, (I was probably about twelve or thirteen), I went to bed like any other night.  I would shut my door, and go to bed.  My head of the bed was at the west window, and I could see right out the door, as the bed was right in alignment with the entryway to my room.

I felt myself relax, and at some point I feel like I am laying there on my back, and the door is opening.  I feel like my eyes were open, because I could see the nightlight outside of my room.  My door opens all the way, and slowly these tall shadow figures start filing into my room, one after another.

They have no faces.  They aren’t completely opaque.  They are just indistinguishable human forms. I am paralyzed.  They completely fill all the space in the room, and it feels like they are all looking down on me… but they don’t have eyes.  Their shapes remind me of a person wearing a cloak.  My body fills with a panic, and I try to yell for help.

My younger brother comes into my room, from his, next door; and he proceeds to try and get me to wake up.  I can’t wake up. I am not even aware that he is there.  He goes and get’s my parents, and they also struggle to snap me out of it.  It takes a while.  When I finally come to, I am shocked to see my three family members in there, looking distraught.

For years I would ask people if they knew  of the shadow people.  No one I knew had experienced anything like that.  I didn’t start finding stories from others about this phenomenon until about 2006.  Now you can easily search the web for the topic of shadow people, and how others have experienced their presence.

This was my only contact with the shadow people.  Some people only experience one shadow person… I had a whole room full of them.

 

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The Day I Probably Should Have Died

or Did Deja Vu Save Me?

 

The summer between my sophomore and junior year, I was life guarding at Municipal Pool and Sloans Lake.  Occasionally I would be sent over to Johnson Pool, if they were short on guards.

On such a day, I was sitting at a red stop light on Lincolnway, in the turn lane to get on the overpass to head to the south side.  I was on the inside turning lane behind a Napa Auto Parts delivery truck.  As the light turned green, I made a quick look behind me and shifted into the outside turning lane. (Knowing the rules of the road, I knew that I shouldn’t be doing this, but I was hit with the feeling that I had to do it.)

The rolling door on the back of the Napa truck was open, and just as I switched lanes a huge rolling dolly came flying out the back end of the truck.  It would have flown through the drivers side window, had I not taken that lane change.

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My Jesus Moment

In the fall of 1999 I was attending a private Christian College in Kansas.  I was feeling kind of boxed in with the rules, and I wanted some adventure.  One of my new friends and I decided to stay in Kansas City, Missouri for my birthday weekend.

I was not disappointed with the adventure, the whole trip provided some unexpected turns; most notable was my Jesus Moment.

Being from a small town, and living rural most of my life to this point; I was unaware of the plight of homeless veterans.  We were two freshmen in college, looking for a place for the under 21 crowd to dance.  No such thing was available on a Friday night.  The streets were busy with bar hoppers, and clubbers, and the homeless.

As my friend and I wandered around, looking for something to do, we saw some college age guys harassing two homeless vets begging for change.  They had a ball cap upside down on the sidewalk where people would throw them change.  One of the harassers, kicks the ball cap into the road and the coins go rolling in every direction into traffic.

One of the homeless men looks defeated as he gets up to dodge cars and retrieve the coinage.  I am appalled by these college kids surrounding me, and I snap.

I feel an overwhelming calmness come over to me as I walk up to a vendors window called “By The Slice”.   A young man named Jude is taking orders at the window.  I say to him,  “I’d like two large pizzas.”  Jude says, “I’m sorry, we only sell pizza by the slice.”  So I say I need two large pizzas  worth of slices.”   I spent over $80.00 in pizza and a large Mt. Dew.

I returned to the two men who had their change kicked around, and I asked if they were hungry.  They looked afraid, like I was taunting them.  I say “Here, have some pizza, I got it for you.”  One man shyly opens a box, and pulls out one slice, and hands it to the man next to him.  “I say you can take more, I got it for you.”   The man in front of me, begins to get tears in his eyes.. and he says “Are you mad at me?”  And at this moment, I don’t even feel like I have control over myself, but my eyes tear up as well, and I say very honestly “No, I am not mad at you; I love you.”

On that trip, I felt very imbibed in the spiritual nature of who ever we think Jesus to be.  That I was over taken in that spirit in that moment, and it was pure and beautiful.

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Premonitions

The earliest premonition I remember having was a dream that I had at 3 years old, that the Wicked Witch of West was trying to kill my mother.  My mother died less than a year later of Ovarian Cancer.

The second premonition I remember, was around 8 or 9 years old; I told my parents “someday, I will be able to travel all over the world, because I will have friends there.”  How real that is now that we live in a digitally connected world.

Around the same age I was obsessed with the idea of mind over matter.  I knew at a young age that the secrets of illness and healing had a lot to do with our mental states.  This has later been confirmed in neuroscience and quantum physics.

In Elementary school, I had to wear glasses and a retainer.  I had premonitory dreams about breaking them both at various times.  I remember getting mad at myself, because I knew better.  I knew the manner in which the object would get broken, and how ultimately it was my irresponsibility that would lead to their destruction.

In high school, I wrote A LOT of poetry.  I would just free write, go with one line and not think about it.  Many times I would read back my writing and it wouldn’t feel relative to my own experience.  Often those poems were picked up by a friend who needed it in the moment.  The writing was for them, not for myself.

In my adulthood, I have had premonitory dreams about the death of my brother, grandfather, and aunt.  As well as knowing my sister was pregnant with my first niece.

I also have a keen connection to weather.  I know exactly when to travel when weather is imminent.  I listen to my gut, when it says ” take this road.”

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Strangers From NoWhere

Have you ever had a stranger, pop out of nowhere to tell you something you needed to hear at the moment?  I have.

I was in my early 30’s, I was having a bummed out day.  All of my friends were busy, and I was feeling artistically defeated.  I was walking around downtown Corvallis with my dog; wandering up and down the silent alleyways when we popped out at a main intersecting road.  Just as we come to the outlet, this dark haired lady walks by.  I had never seen her before.

She stops in her tracks and looks directly at me.  There is no one else around on the street.  She says, “Don’t stop painting.  I know you are feeling down about it right now, but don’t stop.  You don’t know who it’s going to help yet.”

I felt the emotion rise in me.  “Thank you.” I say, and she continues to walk south down the sidewalk.  I turn to walk north, and think “Who was that?  I should get her name.”  So my dog and I turn around and I run down the street looking for her, but she vanished.

In my mid-twenties a similar thing happened while working at a coffee shop in the high altitude of Nederland, CO.  It was early morning, and I was bantering with my friend who was our baker.  I said “You know what I was thinkin’, if you had an appointment or a job down the canyon, and you didn’t feel like going in, you could just call them and tell them you have a bear asleep on your porch, and you feel it’s better not to leave right now.”

And we laughed at that.

We had one patron in the shop, who wasn’t a regular.  He was a black man who had a large stature, and he was dressed very differently then most of the black men you see in the mountains.

He excuses himself from involving himself into our conversation to ask ” Are bears a big problem up here?”

“I mean, they can be, if you leave your trash or food out.  We get some that wander into town, but it’s not usually a big deal.  Why do you ask?”

He says, ” Well, I have been trying to get some creative work done, and I live in Denver.  And it’s too busy out there, so I prayed, and I heard  ‘go to Nederland.’  I didn’t even know this place existed, but I looked it up, and saw that I could get up here by bus.  And on the front page of your town website it was all about bears.  Ya see, I am from Florida, and I ain’t been to the woods since I was like twelve.  Last time I went to the woods I was chased by an alligator.  So, you see when I came up here I made sure to wear my running shoes.  I thought ya’ll might have bears at your bus stop.”

My friend and I are cracking up.  I tell him I want to hear more about how he prayed and it led him up here, so he ends up hanging out until I get off of work, and we go have a chat.

He tells me that he speaks with God, and God leads him, and he is there to see me today.  He says he needs me to know that I am a “Spiritual Mayor of the Rocky Mountains.”  I tell him that I find that idea interesting because I tend to be either the first person new comers talk to, or the last person they talk to on their way out.

We spent a few hours sharing our own strange experiences with each other, and that was it.  We didn’t communicate again after that.

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What Are The Chances?

I think people from Wyoming, are inherently attracted to each other when they are outside of Wyoming.

Wyoming boasts of being the least populated state in the US, with just under 600,000.  Cheyenne, at the time of my graduation in 1999, was around 50,000.

In 2000, I went to a massive rave at Candlestick park in Oakland.  The estimated amount of attendees was roughly 40,000.  In the first couple of hours, I found one guy named Orlando, from Wyoming.  I thought the statistical odds of that happening were pretty slim.

Wyomingites, are kind and friendly people, in my experience.

In 2006, while visiting friends in Oregon, my car had some radiator issues, and I was leaking coolant all over.  Due to parking limits in down town Bend, I had to move my car every couple of hours, but I was trying to limit how much I was driving so that I didn’t drain the radiator.

I pulled into a parking spot near a candy shop, and a couple stood on the sidewalk in front of my car.  When I exited the car, the man excitedly unzipped his jacket to expose a University of Wyoming Ladies Basket ball shirt.  He had noticed my Wyoming license plate, and he and his wife were excited to connect to familiar relation.

We get to chatting, and they wonder what I am doing in Bend.  I tell them that I use to live here and I am back to see friends and get some tings I had in storage, but that I was having some unexpected car trouble.

These people made a few phone calls to people they knew in the area and set me up an appointment with a mechanic.  I was so moved, I asked “Why are you doing this for me?”  Their answer, “You remind us a lot of our daughter.  She is wild and nomadic like you.  We would hope that if she was in a similar situation that someone would help her out. And besides, we are all from Wyoming, we look out for our own.”

This was just another case of statistical improbability in my mind.  Out of all the spaces I could  park in, out of all the people out on the street that day; that I would be met with such connection and kindness based off of a location we both shared.  Strange, but beautifully true.

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A Loose Conclusion

These are just a few shortened stories of my life.  Some people do not believe in magic, or energetic connection, or the paranormal.  Perhaps that is why they don’t experience it.  I do believe in phenomenon and I find it curious.  These experiences are precious to me as they connect me with life and death and everything in between.

I would encourage you to examine some of the weirder stuff you  may have experienced over your life.  You might see a silent hand in there, stirring the energetic pot of your existence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art

Hoping The Message Isn’t Buried in Layers of Fat; or My Fear of My Meat Suit

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People ask if I was nervous to give my TEDx talk.  I answered “no.”  Which I suppose was only partially true.  I wasn’t worried about speaking in front of people. I wasn’t worried about my message.  I was worried as hell, about my ridiculous weight gain over the past five years.

I have always struggled with dysmorphia.  Wikipedia says this about it; “Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) is a mental disorder characterized by an obsessive preoccupation that some aspect of one’s own appearance is severely flawed and warrants exceptional measures to hide or fix it.[1] In BDD’s delusional variant, the flaw is imagined.[2] If the flaw is actual, its importance is severely exaggerated.[2] Either way, one’s thoughts about it are pervasive and intrusive, occupying up to several hours a day.”

I don’t believe this to be a mental disorder, of my own accord.

Even when I was a strong and muscular child, I endured the taunting of “being fat and ugly.”  I was taller than many of my peers, and larger in body structure.  I was healthy, I was some what athletic as a swimmer.

I use to wear a one piece racing suit, almost everyday as a life guard.  I still felt fat.  Clothed or not, I was constantly comparing myself to the females around me.  Even then, I didn’t see myself as I actually was.  It wasn’t until decades later, through photographs, that I realize I was spinning with worry over nothing real.  But those words from others, seemed real.

There was nothing wrong with me.  But now, when I compare myself to that person… I feel, “I have let myself go.”  I feel gross, yet I no longer have people telling me I am fat.  When I see pictures of my current self, it’s all I see.  I have conditioned myself to fixate on that one thing.

When my talk goes live, online… I put myself out there to the wolves in the comment section.  I put myself out there for friends to critique my physic, whether vocally or mentally; and that scares me shitless.

When I had a youtube channel, I looked hot.  I got off on seeing how my farm living lifestyle changed my body for the better.  I was far more confident showing it off.  I don’t look like the same person today.

That is what scares me, most of all.  That my message will get lost in my layers of fat.  That I will re-attract those people who live off of taunting others for fun.  That some random people I don’t even know are going to cruelly judge me.

Despite my self knowing, that this sedentary lifestyle is temporary.  Fat doesn’t have to be forever… at the moment, it’s hard to face myself in the mirror.  Despite all that I have triumphed, my own body is no longer on that list.  It’s scary to know I have so much work ahead of myself.  And I admit, it is SO hard to do alone.  I want someone to hold my hand through it, every step of the way, because I have a really hard time self motivating out of the dysmorphic mind set.

I just want to get to a point where I spend less time obsessing about this meat suit.  I know that my body doesn’t represent the totality of who I am, or what I have to offer.  I believe if I could just stop worrying about it, that I could retrieve some of my lost energy and vitality.

I want to be adopted by someone who already has a solid routine that they can pull me into, because I admit to having a hard time doing that for myself, and in my current situation that aspect of change doesn’t have many support systems.

Sometimes, I think, after my grandma passes, that I am going to have to fully immerse myself again in a lifestyle that requires a lot of physical movement, because that is what works for me.  I don’t enjoy conventional gyms… I would rather be hiking or throwing sheep, then standing in a stuffy gym full of mirrors, or waiting for a moment to do exercises prescribed by a youtube exercise guru.  It just doesn’t hold my interest.

I like exercise, that masquerades as “work” and “function.” I get shit done, and burn some lbs.  I wear myself out, I sleep better.  My tendency toward fresh foods becomes more noticeable.  People spend money, going to gyms; when just living an active lifestyle can give you similar results.  If your job is active, you actually get paid to help your own physic; which is awesome.

If there is one thing that I could manifest soon, it is some how some way, to get babied to some degree, into weight loss.  To be assisted in keeping up the motivation.  It is so much easier to agree to drinking beer, then it is to set up a schedule of walking partners…

 

 

Art

Relating to Relation

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As I gather myself together to take the second annual TEDx Cheyenne stage tonight, my body is flooded with energy.  How auspicious that I get the privilege of performing my own material on the full moon in June.

I get to tell my own story, while immortalizing my grandma.   I get to share my love and pride of her with an audience who is excited to hear the story.  I have the amazing opportunity to share some valuable insights about life, and death.  I am allowed to speak candidly about a topic many people would rather not discuss.

I feel like crying right now, because I am so overwhelmed with excitement and feeling.  I have a strong feeling, that this moment might change my life in ways, I can’t even fathom at this point in time.

The story I tell, is not solely my own.  My story is about relation, and that my dear friends is something we all seek in various ways.  My gift of using words to convey relation, is so priceless, and it’s been a while since I used my whole body to express them to an audience.

I get to stand again, on my favorite hometown stage, with my own work and I am elated.  I will be surrounded with peers that I have met over the years.  To them I will bare part of my soul.

Though my grandma will not be in attendance, I hope that she is proud of me.  I hope that I honor her through my talk, because she deserves it.  If I didn’t come back for her, I wouldn’t have this wonderful opportunity.

The thing I want most in the world, is the ability for humans to spend more time working at relating to each other.   I want us to move beyond our differences, and see where we are most alike.

For generations people kept their truths, and pains hidden.  I find that it is the time to draw back the curtains and expose those lost gems to the sunlight.  To embrace ourselves and each other, despite the cracks and shadows.  Story telling, is one of the best ways I know how to do that.

I am thankful for every lesson that brought me to today.  Thank you to all of you who listen, and participate with my growth and my life adventure.  I look forward to new experiences, and new stories to share.

Art

Write to Make Yourself Right

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I am 36 years old.

I have twice as many journals as my age.

You know what they tell me?

Almost everything, and I am sporadic writer.

But one of the first things I can tell you that writing will help with, and work you through, is cyclical pain from past trauma. The time, the season, the trigger. It will show you your insecurities, your triumphs. It will remind you of what “good” feels like, when you feel bad.

It will bring back vivid detail of times, people and things of the past.

It will beg you to question yourself and the world; your perception and acceptance.

It will take you to new heights, and hold the burden of your losses.

And if you love some one like a daughter, a niece, or whatever; the gift of passing it along is priceless.

Write, even if you have always told yourself you are a bad writer. You are under no obligation to share it, unless you want to.

If you want to know yourself better, do it.

Usually I have 3-4 notebooks going at one time for various things… charting territories of my personal observations, feelings, and evolution.

Our world so badly wants relation, but we hide in cyber hibernation under status updates, while our internal worlds spin with no outlet, like a plugged up washing machine caught on the spin cycle with no outlet.

We want to purge. We want to connect. We want to remember. We want to be remembered. We want to know all is not for naught. We want to learn and grow. We want a road map.

Writing can provide all of that and more. Leave self judgement at the door, and pick up a nice pen and some strong paper… it is willing and able to hold the weight of your soul.

A portal of inner exploration