Raindrops and more

Rain keeps falling. It's pitter pattering on the roof. I hear the drops hitting the windows. I find the sounds peaceful, almost like a song. 

The rain lulls my mind. I've been up for the last half hour reading Oxford scholarly articles on Hamlet and madness for a research project for class. I find it fun. I keep changing my mind regarding which one to use and summarize for my class.  I eventually decide on one that maps the intricacy of Hamlet's thought patterns.

My mom is here. She's sleeping on the futon snoring as I write this blog on my couch. Chewbacca came downstairs with me and now he's sleeping too.

Life is a funny thing. Life's changed so much for me. I have slowed down a lot. There's many less concerts. Less travel. Less chaos. I have a lot more "at home" time, but I like it. I adore taking a master class in Shakespeare (it's rated as an elective for my creative writing MFA program), although I find it challenging. I do my homework on the weekends and early morning during the week. 

I've learned that I am a natural student, and love school. It's my happy place, and it feels natural. Before I went to law school, I'd considered getting a doctorate in English Literature and I think I would have loved it. Yet, I also think I chose the right path. Is there a wrong path? Or are they just different paths?

The rain is still falling and the rhythm has changed. It's louder. Almost like a drum. Beckoning the listener to tap along. 

 

Melancholy, Madness, Hamlet and My Dog

Dear readers, I've been neglecting you. If you only knew. My dog Chewbacca has been very ill, I've been slammed at work, and I'm taking a Shakespeare class that I am a tad obsessed with.

Hamlet is an interesting character. He's soulful, philosophical and revengeful. He can be callous, manipulative and yet, I feel for him. Life has driven him a bit mad and he's had to suck on a lot of lemons.

You wonder what would have happened had the ghost, or whatever it is, had just left him alone. Prince Hamlet may have had suspicions, but perhaps he would have let them go. His father was dead, but if he'd never received confirmation of his uncle poisoning his father, perhaps he could have just lived his life with his mom and newly anointed stepfather. Would Hamlet and Ophelia be married? Maybe Hamlet would have written a book about philosophy. Would Polonius still be alive, no doubt waxing on and on and on? 

But maybe what Shakespeare was trying to show was that everyone eventually gets their due. All acts have consequences. And all of us must live with our choices. 

I felt a bit like Hamlet this week. Melancholiness is also something I've been dealing with. I'm far from mad but very sad about Chewbacca's health and having to reconcile what's to come eventually. I know, you non dog obsessed people might think, he's just a dog. But he's not. I've spent more than 15 years caring for this fur covered, neurotic, lovable and soulful Shih Tzu.

But life goes on. The sun rises and sets. The world turns. And as Hamlet would say, "The rest is silence."

To be

Today I had jury duty in San Bernardino. It was a rough night with Chewbacca. He's struggling with his health and it's hard. It's been two nights in a row, with only a few hours of good sleep.

Groggy, I drank two double expressos and got on the road by 7:30 am. When I got inside at 8 am, there was already a line. I tried to multi task by calling the vet, and checking my work's voicemail system. 

I started my master class' Shakespeare homework once I was checked in. Stubbornly, I refused to cart the five pound textbook with me so instead, I squinted at a screenshot of act one of Hamlet. And squinted some more. I thought about ghosts and delusions. What they mean or don't mean.

Then I started promoting my podcast. I felt as if I was really using the waiting time in a productive way. Then boom, I was in a courtroom. It felt familiar but not. I knew as a deputy public defender that I was very unlikely to be sat as a juror on a multi-week murder case. 

I was right. Later that afternoon, I was released, free to handle my calendar tomorrow which I still needed to work on prepping. You see, my work as a deputy public defender never really ends. What I can't get to today, must be done eventually, jury duty or no jury duty. To be or not to be is not an option. I must do. And do again. And again.

The Writer

I've always said that as a memoir writer, my character, the narrator, the protagonist, or whatever you call her, is not me. It's merely a version of me that I choose to let you the reader see. Especially when I'm recreating my younger self, I am definitely not that person any longer. So in some ways, the use of first person is an illusion. 

That said, this blog is probably the closest you as a reader will get to knowing who I really am. That's why I do love the use of first person. It's intimate. You're often in my head. Hearing my innermost thoughts. But still, this person on the page is not me because I'm more than that. I contain mountains, rivers and streams. I'm the daughter of a Caucasian truck driving Montana born cowboy, and a Chicana waitress. They both loved music and dancing, as I do. There it is again. The I. The eye. It is all seeing at times. I've been working on a YA fiction novel and the use of different persons and perspectives in fiction is perplexing to me. I'll figure it out or I might just write it in first person. 

Back to the separation between the writer and the narrator. It's an important one. One that takes years to understand. I think I finally get it after all this time. Then it slides away from me and I have to remind myself. You are the writer. You are a writer, in your very soul.

The days after

The days after New Years are what counts. As I've said, every day is a possibility yes, but you need to be able to see them. You need to be able to focus. 

I feel like I've been overextended for far too long. I am having to make some hard decisions and pull back from some things. It's just too too much at times. I hope everyone understands. But it's my life and if they don't, that's okay.

Recently, I've realized that most of all, I need space, time and some open range, metaphorically speaking. I need to be able to breathe and rest and open my creative heart so I can write. 

Yes, it may be selfish. But it's necessary. It's time to really sit down and write my next book. It's time to take care of me and what I need and want most. It's time for me to truly be present in everything I do. 

Now is the time. It's time. Yes it is.

New Year's Day

 It is almost a new year. I'm hopeful that 2024 will be the best year yet. I've pledged to work on my health, wellness and of course, finish another book.

My memoir took over a decade to write and more than fifteen years to publication. Once you've written one book, you realize how it becomes a routine and a second one is possible. It's never easy. Writing a book is a hard, arduous task that is about focus, determination and most of all, visualization. It's about belief and faith. 

Some people use belief and faith as synonyms. But I see them differently. Belief is, in my opinion, about knowing I can do it because I've done it before. I've proven I can do it. On the other hand, faith is a knowing that it's possible without any proof. See https://ethicsdefined.org/opinion/faith-vs-belief/. Faith is what kept me going the first time around and it keeps me going now because there are no certainties in life.

I spent the last few days in Vegas with my husband and the moms. It was pretty low key. We saw a movie, went to a show, had a nice dinner or two, and gambled and drank a little. It was a lot of fun. 

But I also had some time to think. To ruminate. To chill out and relax. And I realized something. Every day is a new day, and this new year offers 365 days of hope filled possibilities. You just have to reach out and grab them. Cheers!

Reconciliation

I'm on vacation and it's 530 am. I'm looking at my life. Is it because of the new year beginning? Is it me slipping into middle age? Is it a mid life crisis? I'm not sure.

It's been such a weird last few years. After the "pandemic", we were supposed to step back into our pre-pandemic life and I found that I couldn't. My health was shot, and I had to change things. So I basically created a lot of havoc in my work life. Now I know I had my reasons for trying to leave my practice. I had a lot of resentments, which were valid, but in the end, all I really did was cause a lot of chaos. 

What I learned from it all is that home is home. You can't run away from it. It's ironic that I first learned this with my real life family. I left the IE for years, but ended up back home. Similarly, I tried to leave my mental health law practice a couple of years back in order to try and transition to appellate work (but never left public defense to be clear, it was just a shift within our office for a short time) and then, of course, ended up right back where I began. It was such an uneven time for me. Things have evened out thankfully. 

Yet, through all of this, I learned that I can try to heal myself and my relationships. I can sit in the peace. I can be happy. And everything can be okay.