thoughts from this day, 2013

by jenkapotente

“If ever I had a sign from the universe or powers that be or whatever you want to call it (essentially it is a pattern I notice and choose to call it a ‘sign’) that I have neglected time and again for the entirety of my life, it seems, is that I do not act quickly enough or at all on ideas. And this lag is costly at times and saves me at others. And once again all I know is that I know nothing. Welcome new climate. Welcome new season. Welcome inherent global change. I am a peon in the works of it all and yet I still vie for some sort of control in these matters of existence in order to gain some bit of individual happiness that I cannot fathom to matter at all, ultimately, and yet may matter imperatively if this system were progressing toward the imagined ‘good’ people tend to accept as truth, however that particular truth may take shape…

turning mind off for a bit now.”

…

It’s interesting to peruse writings of old, thoughts of old, and contemplate the changes one has made over time.  In reading this old bit I see my mental health quandary and recall how murky everything was and am able to recognize how simple everything has now become.  I want to delineate a year or specific time during which everything changed, but that’s not so clear in retrospect.  In retrospect it has all been gradual yet fluid in transformation. The memory softens edges.  It was likely jagged and a little disjointed as it all was taking place.  Maybe like the halting stops and jarring starts of an old, wooden rollercoaster.  I imagine it this way because I was strapped in to discomfort.  My melancholy seemed to consume me.  I was dissatisfied and not doing much but riding it for most of my life.  I knew I wanted change but wasn’t going about it effectively.  How does one fix that? Meds didn’t help me long-term, but they treated the panic.  I knew I wanted more in life but didn’t know how to go about getting it.  The problem was the “it”.  If “it” isn’t clearly defined, how can one achieve it?  No wonder I was continually failing.  I needed a solution.  A solution more than “fix it”.  What I was lacking was “how” but the how cannot be estimated until “it” is determined.  Depression and poor mental health makes most ideas nebulous, so to escape the cycle I had to do something drastic, something jarring to snap me out of the stupor and awaken me to clarity.

My first big change was my career.  I didn’t have one at the time, not one I chose for myself, just one I got into out of convenience.  In making this change, I went into a debt from which I am still recovering.  Was it worth it? Yes. Heck yes. Because that is what started my path toward effective treatment of self (it just so happened to be through the treatment of others).  How wonderful is it to follow a path out of one’s own volition?  In taking this new path I invested in self-empowerment, something I lacked from habitually taking easy routes in life. But in saying this last statement, I recognize how troubling my perception of self has been and how it is the root, nay, bud of a self-imposed quagmire.

Did I just use “nay” in a sentence? Who do I think I am? Someone, apparently.  But this exemplifies my very problem: I want to be someone and I want to be no one.  I want to be no one because I aspire to humility and I want to be someone because I don’t want to be ordinary.  Can I be both?  The ongoing flux of self-denial and self-actualization make up the contents of my quagmire.  And it is an exhausting charade.  My solution has been in pursuing a profession that allows me both and, perceivably, this profession doesn’t tip the scales of sacrifice and power too much to one side or the other.  And I like that, because I’m drawn to balance just as much as I am drawn to sacrifice and power.

But what was that about perception of self being the bud of my self-imposed quagmire?  If the dynamic flux of self-denial and self-actualization are the contents of my quagmire, then flawed perception of self is the HOLE that holds them.  I don’t give myself enough credit but I can simultaneously allow an elevation of self to obnoxious greatness.  It is a mess that involves continuous troubleshooting.  In treating a broken perspective I have to dismantle the flawed perception from which it spawned (this treatment will have to address issues of “the grass is greener…” and “keeping up with the Joneses” type idioms, but I will have to write the novel on that later).  In doing this, I accept I am in pieces.  To become whole again I have to address misalignment and broken parts.

I am still working on aligning wants and actions and in the midst of this is the fight against distraction.  What is distraction but a manifestation of avoidance?  Is it laziness? Whatever it is, does it make it okay for me to engage in negative self-talk?  To be unkind to myself and the small choices I make?  What’s key there is “small”.  Avoidance of big/important things seems to lead to dissatisfaction and melancholy, so I must address them eventually or risk depression.  But putting myself down along the way doesn’t help me execute positive attainment.  This is one intervention I’ve recognized to be imperative in extinguishing depression.  And you’re welcome.  Feel free to Venmo me your gratitude.

My next big change was physical, and it’s still ongoing.  But I’m done writing for now.

The Female Gaze

by jenkapotente

I was waiting on my sandwich-thick sliced madrasala curry chicken at the deli counter. I could feel the weight of his stare unwrapping the profile of my form. I glanced, askance, his fuzzy form tall, sinewy, long-haired and blonde. But my peripheral sense needed confirmation. When my order was complete I turned purposefully opposed to the direction in which I planned to move to get a straight-on look. We locked eyes. He was beautiful. His loose ringlets and sinuous physique resembled Robert Plant, mid ’70s, at the height of Zeppelin appeal. He was young, perhaps too young, but replete with erotic force. I opted for cheese. Sweet relief. And traipsed to this divine curdly section to catch my breath and stabilize myself where he could not see. Why is cheese so amazing? Why were his clothes so loose? He could do painted-on bell-bottoms justice. Did he know? Does it matter? I moved on, slightly disoriented by my baser impulses, eventually stopping for a sample of food. And there he came again as I bantered with an employee, catching my gaze, a powerhouse of male beauty, plowing me with testosterone. I needlessly roamed the grocery aisles to shake this off. But here I am, home now, still catching my breath.

Do you ever have intense connections with strangers? Why don’t we act on them?

Fare well, husband.

by jenkapotente

During a fun-filled night of cosmic bowling we were confronted with hunger, the hunger that comes with hoisting heavy balls down slippery neon lit lanes and imbibing pitchers of beer. Our options: typical subpar bar fare, and while the pangs were acutely in need of addressing, my fine friends agreed we had better options for our tummies at home. So between 0100 and 0200 we sat down to a modest 3 course meal of California honey-pitted dates with handmade and cave aged blue cheese, my home-made white bean chicken chili and a sweet treat, pistachio baklava from my preferred bakery in Dunwoody: Zukerino’s (with a little extra blue cheese on the side because why the heck not?). I’m still in a daze from the news. At first I searched hard to understand the why and how a fabulous person and epic writer like Anthony Bourdain would choose to end his life at this seeming pinnacle of his progression but had to stop. Because it doesn’t make any sense. And it probably never will.

In the wee hours, my friends and I debated the arguably aggressive positive mood/tone of the space we were inhabiting. It is a space filled with light and explicit happiness (“live, laugh, love” type sentimentality); the debate was whether it was too suggestive. In defense of the space, I posited that for someone in a dark state it could be therapeutic. I feel fortunate to be inhabiting it during my stay in Birmingham because once I got out of bed this morning upon hearing the news, I was able to engage a normal, healthy practice of rising well, making a comforting hot drink, and making the bed beautiful again–I doubt I would have done so with the lethargy that comes with grief in my own home.

Our especially late dinner choice feels extra satiating knowing what might have been going through the head of a man I have adored and respected for the past decade at those very same hours. This beautiful man who imbued me with a newfound appreciation for my anthropological course of study during my first collegiate tour introduced me to the adventures one can have on plates, through food and through travels. I jokingly referred to him as my husband for many years because I knew no other way to elevate him to a status that could properly encapsulate my respect and adoration short of blaspheming him as God. But he was no god, just a man, just a wonderFULL, complex, subversive, satirically-inclined, brilliant, culinary renegade of a man who catalyzed palate awareness, heightened cultural awareness, and awoke many of us to the inner workings of restaurant kitchens and chef hardships. He was the first chef rock star and while his sense of humor was dark and full of rabble rousing gibes at his contemporaries, upon reaching global fame much of his work was in doing political good through speaking on behalf of immigrants and women’s rights.

We have lost a marvel of a man this morning but that loss should not keep us from honoring our palates, our selves, our loved ones, and our neighbors. Just after midnight I unknowingly honored him on my plate, and I will continue to for the rest of this day of mourning. I wonder what his last meal was. What would you prepare for your last meal? Let us eat as if every meal might be our last. If not every day then at least today. Eat well and travel hard. 🤘🏼

by jenkapotente

When struggles mount, let us remember our warrior pose, that we may greet our demons with ferocious force, and if we are too weak from the hard knocks of unyielding blows, may we know the kind of kin who do not hesitate to carry us, fight for us, and see us through to another day;

The Manic Calamity of We

by jenkapotente

I’m wide awake.
Aren’t you too?
I’m here waiting
for you, but
you’re biding time.

Did you feel that spark?
Its continuous ignition?
Or are you afraid.

We can count our parts in the dark
We can mount our fears while apart
We can burn our walls down
We can burn our walls down
We can burn everything
and set the circumstances aflame.
Because I just want to be new with you.
I don’t need a history.
I want the future of you.
Just you.
Just our time.
Just us.
Justice.

Climb, Kitten, Climb

by jenkapotente

I feel like it hurt you when you asked if my previous post was about you and I responded no.  It must have been hard to ask.  Maybe you were feeling bold.  That kind of courage is difficult to summon.  You are beautiful for summoning it.  You are beautiful when you are courageous, confident, and move about in clarity.  But oftentimes you’re fuzzy and I just don’t know what to do with that.  I know it’s easier to just not care, but that’s not how we make progress.  You are a sweet and tender kitten.  And capable of so much.  You deserve everything you want.  But I can’t play with you intimately.  I maintain distance because I don’t want to see my dissatisfaction spread.  If I became emotionally vested I know that I would become pushy, taxing, overbearing, because I want more from you.  It is hard for me to admit that I wouldn’t accept you as you are if we transcended friendship, because all we ever want to hear is we are okay as is, and I have no right to ask you to change.  I need to know you have goals and are en route to achieving them.  Introduce me to your drive, your initiative, and I will introduce you to a me you’ve yet to meet, kitten. No alarms and no surprises.

Sun and Water

by jenkapotente

I was talking about you today.  I shared that your energy feeds me in ways I’ve never experienced. And that your presence nourishes my spirit, soul, intellect, every meaningful part of me, universally and infinitely.  You elicit my confidence and nurture it.  Many have been complimentary but they evoke my doubt.  Somehow I trust you when I distrust so many.  Your nature is honest and draws the better parts of me.  And along with them I bring my lesser parts in tow, because I can trust you with them.  You consistently handle with care in ways I didn’t know a man was capable.  You are fragile and strong, beyond any human I have met thus far.

Navigating the abyss with you would be a most excellent adventure and treasured journey.

Shine on you crazy diamond.

The Nurse

by jenkapotente

I’m present, she communicated.  Hoping it wasn’t too late.

But she didn’t know if he was present, too.  His messages were mixed, at least to her.  She couldn’t interpret him and he wasn’t offering translation.  Initial frustrations slipped away and she chose rather than malign him to see him as inherently good.  Rather than interpret him as manipulative she considered his own confusion.

What is it that he wanted?  Why express an interest in meeting without having availability?  Was it simply for the exchange of a trivial item? That just didn’t make sense. Why now?  She read into everything.  It’s how she was built.  But she didn’t want to spend time in analysis.  His input was needed yet absent and without that, clarity was absent too.

She was comfortable in the concrete and clear life.  But life is often fuzzy and people’s actions more so.  Coping was a repetitive obstacle in her life, but she met each challenge with eventual success and understood her own big-picture resiliency.  In this she sank, deep into her seat, awash with calmness.  His callousness, whether intentional or not, was toxic and so repetitive she had to let him go.  So she let him go.

Figuring out oneself is tough; figuring out others is farcical.  We are mutable creatures.  But one thing that wasn’t mutable for her was the motivation to care.  She chose a life path of caring.  For patients, for loved ones, for strangers, and even for past lovers.  She was driven to aid even when she lacked the tools to do so competently and chose to spend her life amassing those tools so that she may alleviate distress and set an achievable standard of wellness for all.

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Ignite

by jenkapotente

Searching for love is exhausting. All my friends who continuously put themselves out there and go on disappointing date after disappointing one-night/week/month-stand I commend you. For still maintaining a glimmer of faith. Because the odds are increasingly not in your favor. Cynicism can creep in with ease in times like these when all you see is failure, but it doesn’t take much to shift your gaze toward the light of love. It is the only Alpha and Omega I truly know. At times it burns bright and others just barely, so slightly its warmth may be forgotten in contrast to inferno. But even the smallest ember can spark a fire if you foster its ignition.