The Block

As the blank page stares back at me, I'm reminded of how many times I have attempted to write a post in the last month.  And it has, in fact been a month since I've published something.  Anything.  It is incredibly frustrating to have so much to say, yet when I sit down to write nothing comes out.  The blank page mocks me.

10 drafts disdainfully greeted me as I opened my blog page tonight.  If you are a writer, I know you can relate.  One day passes, then the next.  Each day the intention to write is there, yet the block sets in. In the old days I would have been surrounded by crumpled pages torn from the typewriter in frustration and cast toward the trash can. Discarded thoughts and words.  Meanwhile the blank page mocks.  I suppose I can take some solace in the modern method of writing where the "delete" button can come into play.  Although, as I recall there was a bit of satisfaction drawn from the violent act of ripping and crumpling the tangible paper.

I am determined this will not turn into another expendable draft.

I know what is causing my block. My life is changing. Everything has already changed.  I want to write about it all, and I will....in due time.  Now is not the time.  So on some level, I have allowed this to limit me.

As a woman, my first inclination is to reach out. Spill my guts. Talk to other women who are going through, or have gone through, similar life changes.  Additionally (and this may be my ego speaking), I'm certain my story could help others.  Even if I could help one person it would be meaningful to me.  We all struggle in life.  Ultimately we are never really alone.

A day in the life for me today brought me back to gratitude.  I spent some quality time with my children.  Time that is precious, as they are growing up so quickly.  My daughter will graduate from high school in a little over two months.  She will spend the summer as a camp counselor in Michigan, then will begin college in September.  My son will spend an extended time at the same camp this summer.  I spent the evening with them and enjoyed every minute.  Time is precious.  Life is short.

Some good advice I was given recently;  Relax....just take time and let things unfold.  I'm learning to be quiet and listen, and take the wisdom that is given to me by the people in my life I care about.  Progress, not perfection.

Little things are what matter the most.  Laughter.  Writing. Living.  Growing.  And, perhaps a little cycling.  More tomorrow....

Standing at the Turning Point

Here I am, yet again. The turning point. A position I've found myself numerous times during the past several years.  My toes are poised on the edge of the jump zone, the cliff if you will...yet an unseen force is holding me back. My arms are outstretched with hope...yet I remain frozen in fear. What the hell am I really afraid of?  Success?  Happiness?  Living my dreams?  What really is to fear in these options?

Realistically, there is nothing to fear.  There is only potential fulfillment in the path of happy destiny.  Yet, up until today I've chosen the path of least resistance. If I were to be brutally honest, I've been making this choice my entire life.  Don't ruffle any feathers....don't upset the apple cart...keep everyone happy.  My M.O.D. has been to be the good girl.  The one who smoothes things over.

It's time for me to break out of the shackles.  Here I find myself back on the edge of the cliff.

For my loyal readers...this is not a surprise.  I've been here for some time now.  The girl who cried "wolf!!" has seemed ready to move forward, then as she is about to make her move she falls back yet again. Those who know me well are holding their breath...expecting me to jump...yet here I have remained.  There is egotism there. What will people think?  If the caterpillar becomes the butterfly?  Change.... In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter who I please.  It matters that my actions reflect my own next right action.  To do "the next right thing." For myself.  Ultimately, if I am not acting in my own interests, what the hell am I doing?  Who's life am I really living if I care only about what others might think, or how my actions might impact others while thinking nothing of myself?

The cliff has seemed to be a safe haven.  Yet at the same time a stagnant place.  The strength within me yearns to leap into the unknown freedom, and meanwhile the fear keeps it's stronghold.  Deep rooted, as my feet seem to be in the rocky ground of the cliff.

Pain, frustration, stunted growth.  This is where I have sat, almost comfortably.  Just existing.  Allowing life to flourish around me, yet not completely free to join in myself.

For a year now I've been writing about facing my fears.  Through baby steps, similar to my athletic training, I've gotten stronger.  Comfortable in my own skin.

To thine own self be true.  Live honestly, nobly and remain open and in complete willingness to embrace life's challenges.  This is the only way I can grow.

Fear No More...

Cityscape

I love being in the city.  Any city.  Each has it's own unique character.  The people, the noise, the culture, the food, the adventure.  Cities breathe on their own and excitement streams through the streets.  Anything I can imagine at any hour of the day is at my fingertips. The ebb and flow; the darkness and light. Cityscape.

"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things". ~Robert Brault

For me, that means to seize every opportunity. Be true to myself in all that I do, which means be open, honest and willing.  Every minute has the potential to be a "big moment". At this point in time, happiness comes from being with the people that encircle me in this city.

As I stroll, I hear the countless footsteps of the pedestrians surrounding me. Like a swirling sea, the throng seems to pick me up and carry me down the gritty sidewalk with purpose. The countless sounds, the life blood of the city, pulse in my ears. Car horns, tires screeching, the voices of people filled with laughter, chatter, shouting and whispers join with the shrill sound of the policeman's whistle as he guides us across the street and on our way to various destinations.

I stop at a small cafe' for coffee and select a table outside where I can watch the madness. I revel in it; the hustle and bustle. I can choose to be part of the act or completely separate from it. I order my favorite, Americano with cinnamon powder.  Time to people watch.  I open my laptop and button up my coat a little further against the chill in the autumn air. The sun is shining brightly, which warms my face, and I adjust my sunglasses. There is not a cloud in the sky, which is bright blue peeking out from atop the sky scrapers.

Sipping my coffee, my gaze surveys the scene. I could sit here and simply watch people all day.  The characters come to life in my mind as I speculate on what makes them tick. A young mother pushing a stroller, the homeless man begging for change while well dressed bankers hurry past on their way to be important in their jobs. A beautiful couple walks by slowly holding hands, not speaking but occasionally glancing lovingly at the other. The vast difference between the faces of the crowd fascinate me.  Human nature on display in the natural flow of their day. I find serenity here, as easily as I might on a quiet beach or mountain trail. I am one in a million and that allows me freedom.  Freedom to write.  Freedom to be me.

Happiness and tranquility are mine for the taking, if I choose to find them.  And today I'm finding them in the cityscape.

Peace, out
xoxo

An Excerpt Snippet Two

Snippet two...

The view on the ground was somewhat less illustrious than from the penthouse. Rain had set in overnight and the streets of the city were gritty. Or maybe that was me. I felt as if I had been hit by a truck.

I raised my hand for a cab. Even after years of brutal taxi cab rejection, I still expect one to stop immediately. Twenty minutes later I was starting to consider throwing myself in front of one of the bastards, when miraculously one stopped. A fresh looking woman emerged and looked down at me disdainfully. I threw my disheveled ass into the back seat after giving her my best "Yeah? What, bitch!?" looks.  Didn't everyone wake up in a strange apartment with no memory and a hangover to end all this morning?  I blurted out my address to the cabbie and leaned back against the worn seat. "Wait...what is the address here?" I asked. He looked at me with an amused expression. He was giving me judgement...really? "Just tell me the address." Shaking his head he said "509 Park Avenue. Don't you live here?" He smirked. Shamed by a NYC cabbie. "Just drive." I said sharply.

We arrived at my "less than Park Avenue" address, I tumbled out and practically crawled up the steps to the building then up the two flights to my tiny apartment.  I dragged myself to my bed and collapsed.

I dreamt of beige furniture and passion.

I awoke an hour later to the buzzing of my cell phone.  23 missed calls.  15 from my editor.  I listened to voicemail, made coffee and turned on the shower.  As the steam filled the bathroom I called him back and listened to his tirade with the phone held 5 inches away from my ear.  "I know Tom, I will be in your office in a half hour.  Deadline will be met as usual. Yes I'm alive."  It was almost as if he cared. The next five calls were from the girls frantic about where I went after the bar. Well, that makes six of us. What the hell was I going to tell them?

The other three calls were from an unrecognized number.  No voicemail.  All received this morning.

I shrugged and got into the hot shower.  As I soaped my body to rid my skin of the NYC grime I attempted to piece together last night.  Interview with a local politico, drinks with some colleagues, dinner and clubbing with the girls.  It was after the club that was a complete blackout.  Not good.  OK, what was the last thing I remember?  Suddenly I remembered dancing with a man.  Tall, dark and handsome.  Dark hair with gray temples.  Physique of a marathon runner, grace on the dance floor. His hands on my hips drawing me close as the music pulsated around us. Lips I wanted to devour.  Then black.  Nothing until the sunrise nearly blinded me this morning in the Park Avenue penthouse.

I stood in the shower frozen.  Shit....what did I do?  The fact that it was a complete blank after that point shared the shit out of me.  I doubt I could pick his face out in a line up.  But his body....his hands on me...my imagination was going haywire.

The buzzing of my phone brought me back to the present.  When I picked it up it was the mystery caller.  Here we go.  "Hello?"

To be continued....

An Excerpt Snippet One

I am working on a piece of fiction, which is based upon a true story.  My true story. It promises to be raw and honest.  Names changed to protect the innocent and all that jazz.  It is a story from my heart that I feel I must write.  I plan to share little snippets as time goes by.....I hope you enjoy...Michelle

An Excerpt, Snippet One

It's the same dream.  I'm wearing a long, floating, white sundress.  My long hair is being whirled about by the wind as I run down the beach terrified.  My bare feet sting as sharp shells dig into my flesh. I turn to look back at my pursuer who is getting closer. Oh my God he's going to catch me!  I can hear his breathing. His effortless gait and his footfalls are rhythmic.  This is easy for him I think miserably.  He's playing with me.  God.  My breath is ragged but I run on.  Not knowing how I am going to outrun him, my fierce determination to survive pushes me forward.  I turn again to look back and stumble over a large piece of driftwood and fall hard onto the sand.......

I wake up.

The pain exploded in my head and a wave of nausea washed over me.  I keep my eyes closed.  The room was too bright to open them and I knew my head would hurt even more.  Groaning I roll on my tummy and press my face into the pillow willing the pain to go away.  I knew it wouldn't.  I need coffee.

I stretch onto my back and slowly peel my eyes open.  Where the hell am I?  The room was completely unfamiliar as was the man sleeping next to me.  Holy shit.  I sit up, my head throbbing, and slowly climb out of the bed.  My clothes are strewn on the floor leading to the door, but my shoes and purse are nowhere to be seen.  Shit.  I pick up my panties, my black silk dress, my red scarf and slowly open the heavy door.  The apartment was enormous, the floor a dark hardwood, the furniture white and beige.  Nice digs, I think.  Who the hell is this guy?  How the hell did I get here?  I stumble down a long hallway. My plan was to find a bathroom as far away from the bedroom as possible. I did not want to wake him up.

I enter a large open great room, with floor to ceiling windows revealing the New York City skyscrapers towering over the other side of Central Park.  Ah, of course this place is Central Park West, I mutter.  I find the powder room located off the gleaming granite, stainless steel kitchen and close the door.

Greeting me in the mirror was a wild looking girl, her long blond hair resembling cornstalks after a tornado.  Fabulous.  I get dressed, splash cold water on my face cleaning off the remaining make up from the night before.  I wipe my face onto an unbelievably soft, beige towel that probably cost more than my next paycheck from the newspaper would cover.  I laugh as my father's words rang in my head "you're too pretty for all that make up".  Right, Dad.  I try to smooth my hair somewhat, so as to not scare the doorman when I do the walk of shame through the lobby and out the front door.  God my head hurt.

I exited the bathroom, tiptoeing back into the great room, on the hunt for my things.  Not necessarily in that order.  I did not have the luxury of taking time to enjoy the surroundings, or for my journalistic nature to kick in to get to the bottom on who this guy was.  It didn't matter, I just had to get out of there.  I find my things on the beige sofa, grab them and head for the door.  My Christian Louboutin pumps were lying askew next to the door.  I had gotten them for a steal at a sample sale, yet they had cost me my previous paycheck. Worth every penny.  As I turn the door knob I distantly hear the sound of another door opening.  The bedroom.  He was awake!  I hurriedly step through the door, crossing the small hallway to the elevator.  I had been in the penthouse.

Another wave of nausea hits me, my hangover settling in for the long haul.  It was going to be a long day.