365Beautiful, Day 5 ... Home

This is my parent's back yard. A quiet and tranquil place, when it needs to be. A boisterous center of activity, when it wants to be.

Today's entry will be a quick one, as I hear the sizzling of meat being grilled outside and the music has started playing.

I chose to post this photo today because no matter where I am, what I'm feeling or who has shaken the foundation of my being, I always know there's home. This warm and beautiful place filled with beautiful people.

The furniture may be mis-matched and dishes may be chipped. There's always trash to take out and floors to sweep, but this is home. Here everything can disappear between the slats of the grill or fizzle away with the swaying of the lemon tree.

Here is where I can walk in and put my head on my mother's lap and let her stroke my hair, despite my 32 years and millions of tantrums and lost tempers.

I just heard the popping sound of an opened beer bottle, that's a beautiful sound. I'll end this entry here...

365Beautiful, Day 4.... Vision

Today I went to the Getty with Paco to take in the Cuba photography exhibit. I really enjoy going with him to these types of things because he, himself, is a photographer and we share similar tastes in art and photography. The exhibit itself was amazing. I was moved by the compositions, the stories and the faces of the people captured in time. There was a series of particular photos of coal workers dated 1933. Their faces blacked by the soot, masking their ethnicities and most of their facial features. Their eyes glowed behind the black canvas of soot, and in them you could almost hear their stories from 1933. 

Paco walked over to me and pointed out that the photographer had cropped the photo in a certain way so that some of the coal miners head's were not visible. "Why do you think he did that?" Paco asked me. I started at the photo some more ....

Why did he do that?

Had he not pointed it out, I suppose I would have been lost in the coal worker's eyes. But there was a lot more to the photo than what had captured me. There was a lot more to the question Paco asked me. There was also a lot more to the photographer's intent than what we, or I, was capturing. 

How beautiful, the mind of a visionary. To be able to capture these images, freeze emotions and stories and souls that fill up the pupils of the subject's eyes in time. To be able to take in the image, inch by inch, break it apart and ask simple questions that create complex answers. 

Why did he do that?

For the remainder of the trip I looked at each image and asked myself "Why did he do that?" I saw the images in a completely different light. 

Once outside, Paco and I began taking photos of the garden and the scenery with our cell phones. We weren't looking to capture anything as great as what we had seen inside the museum, but the shapes and colors of the environment were great to capture as a memento. At one point, Paco showed me a photo he took of the stairway above us, a curved structure tiled in white stone. It was a great shot. I was a bit amazed that he was able to capture that on a cell phone. On our way to our car, he stopped and snapped another photo of an space between the parking lot and a hill. It was an empty space, what could he be taking a picture of? He showed me and again, it was a great shot. Before what were just bland concrete slabs were lines of a majestic structure in a beautiful balance with light and shadows. 

How beautiful, I thought, to have visions. To be able to look at something like an empty space and immediately see the composition of a great photograph. To be able to take walk through a common street in Cuba and see art in the street vendors and coal worker. 

To be able to take something that anyone can pass by day in and day out, take no real importance to, and turn it into an image that embodies art, light, history, emotion and everything that is beautiful about life. 

How beautiful it is to see something for what it could be.

365Beautiful, Day 3 ... Growth

I'll confess that I didn't actually take this photo on day 3, but I thought it was appropriate for today's entry. 

Today we had a grand opening for a new computer lab at the program site. Our kids were excited, as were their parents. In the many years the program had been at the current site, they never saw such a hooked up lab as the one we were able to open for them today. One of our older youth stopped by, as he had heard there was an event happening at the site. He had slowly started pulling away from the program once he entered high school. 

When I spotted him, I gave him an enthusiastic hello and asked what he thought of the lab. In what I sensed to be a bit of shock and remorse, he quietly said that it looked great and asked me a few questions about what, exactly, was in the lab. 

After I listed what new computers and programs we had available, I pointed over to the garden and asked if he had taken a look at what we were growing. Again, with a quiet  response, he said "Yeah, I saw that. It looks good." 

I shook my head in agreement; he looked down at the pavement and added "I never thought this place could look this good."

Then he quietly walked away. 

There was such a sense of humbleness and remorse in his statement. As if he had felt proud, yet remorseful that he had abandoned the program and it continued to grow. His realization of what great transformations could come out of a seemingly run-down little place is what struck me today. 

The photo above is that of one of our basil plants from the garden, now fully flourished and ready to feed some hungry belly. 

That beautiful bouquet of fragrant leaves began as a small little seedling, and I remember well that I noticed it starting to die, yet there is sits, glowing and blooming.  

That a person, despite past challenges, break-downs, failures or mistakes, have the ability to grow and transform is beautiful. That there is a will after trials and tribulations, to continue to grow and transform is beautiful. That there is a simple individual dedication to the betterment of something is, in fact, beautiful.

365 Beautiful, Day 2 ... Rebel Red.

When I was 13, my family went on a week long camping trip to Yosemite. I was eager to get out of my suburban confines, away from the ruthless war zone that was our Junior High campus. I remember being mesmerized by the towering trees and smell of pure, clean earth. I walked through our campground later that afternoon and heard the sound of cackling laughter and what sounded to be a name being called in sing-song. 

I soon realized it was the group of neighboring kids, around my same age, laughing and calling out "thunderrrr thigggghhhhs! oh, thuuunnnddeerrr thiggghhhs!!!" 

The subject of their amusement.... me. 

I was thunder thighs. Storming through the campground apparently causing small earthquakes and shaking the enormous trees as I walked. 

This continued for the duration of my trip and I began to make it a point to walk to the showers under the cover of night, to look around for my tormentors whenever I came out of my tent, to make myself as minuscule as possible. 

After the camping trip, these practices manifested themselves into my day to day. I avoided eye contact, sat it the back, kept my limbs as close to my body as possible to reduce the amount of physical space I thought I took up. I threw bath towels over mirrors, I wore black...

All.The.Time.

Anything to reduce my own visibility in the world, and thus, eliminate any more future ridicule. 

In the months leading up to my 32nd birthday, I became obsessed with buying a tube of red lipstick. It had to be the perfect shade, I couldn't afford to experiment. Every opportunity I got, I would stroll through the make-up section of stores, browse the shades, pick one up, put it down. 

I had always loved red lipstick; the intensity of it, the sultry images it induces, the boldness, the confidence. I never wore red lipstick because of everything that I believed it embodied; everything I didn't believe I was. It would call too much attention to me, and attention is what I had worked so hard to avoid. 

A couple of weeks leading up to my birthday, as I picked up toothpaste and toilet paper, I walked into the makeup aisle once again. This time, after inspecting a few tubes of lipstick, I threw one into my basket. 

Rebel Red. 

Tonight I went out with a group of friends and coworkers to continue celebrating my birthday, wearing Rebel Red and a sequined sweater. A couple of sangria's into the night, I found myself on stage singing The Cure's "Love Cats." 

Front and center. 

There was no hiding. Nor did I feel the need to. 

I was armed with Rebel Red. 

Can a tube of red lipstick give you confidence?

No, but embracing your confidence gives your lips a nice smiling canvas to paint. 

365 Beautiful ... Day 1...

A few weeks ago, a very special friend of mine shared a link to this 365 Grateful project which has now turned into an extremely intimate documentary on one person's gratefulness. The video on the site moved me and had me thinking of all of the things I was grateful for. I felt inspired to take on a similar project and share with the world what I, myself, am grateful for.

As I began to think about these things, I realized that I have much to be grateful for, and I have, in fact, made it a habit to share this with the world. In between the time I viewed the 365 Grateful video and today, I found myself in - and out - of some very dark and frightening tunnels of my own mind and heart. Frightened and confused, I searched within to find just what drew me into these ugly tunnels.

I realized it was just that... ugliness.

Those of you who know me personally, know I have a very difficult time accepting myself as a wholly beautiful person. Some reasons for which I know and are too personal to share, and others which I do not fully understand. As a result I've often doubted myself, my abilities, my desires and life, in general. Emerging from these dark tunnels I told myself that I would attempt to see myself for what I truly am... beautiful. In doing so, I would be able to fully embrace the world for what it truly is... beautiful.

This realization was not an epiphany, I should add. This was more of a prolonged construction of multiple ideas, emotions and views I have of the world. It was the creation of a metaphorical pick-ax that I have equipped myself to use in order to break down my own previous construction of what I thought should be beautiful...

Hips, thighs, hair, nails, eyes...

And into a reconstruction of what really is beautiful.

I am going to say this now; I have not yet defined what is beautiful to me, nor have I fully embraced myself as beautiful. As I said, this is not an epiphany, but a construction.

This blog then, is going to be converted into my own 365 Beautiful project. Every day, beginning today (my 32nd birthday), I will post a photo of something I see as beautiful. More-so than beautiful, something that I feel is a part of me, my days and in essence, my existence. In doing so, my hope is that by the end of this 365 project, I will be able to fully connect to the word "beautiful" and more than anything, create a new definition for myself of what beauty truly is.

Now, I am by no means a photographer, nor do I pretend to be an "amature" one at that, but I am a writer and as a writer, I often find that my thoughts conjure up colorful images and memories and so my words will be my art, my photos an illustration.

The photo that begins this project is what I found strewn about my desk in my office and what the children I work with gave me as gifts after I arrived from a less than ideal morning. The misspelled and misshapen words scrawled on the folded up pieces of paper turned my entire day right-side up. This, I thought, is a great way to begin my journey...

"Dear Lucia, Thank you for all the good things you have done..."
"Dear Lucia, Thank you for all your hard work..."
"Dear Lucia, Today is a great day for you..."

A myth...

The sun is shining and the tin soldier marches on. Its body filled with reminant emotions.

In its belly sits fear, with her swollen belly and sunken eyes. Waiting for her inevitable and poetic demise.

But alongside fear sits empathy, unmoved. Dressed in his neutral uniform, blending in well with his walls.

Somewhere in the back hope is waiting, singing, bouncing and alive. The others turn to look and feel its too early for hope to begin beaming. The day has just started, this tin soldier has just started moving, the sun is shining just enough hope down for them. It's pretencious for hope to begin dancing.

Always best to stay quiet before the attack. 

In the front sits wisdom; stoic, cracking under the bright sunlight. She's seen many battles and has no use for hope or fear. Her battles are fought with a silent knowledge of the future, a mutual agreement with death.

And in the heel sits heartbreak. Planting her feet firmly to the ground, she understands she is weak, but knows te outcome of these wordless companions. She knows that once the clash has begun, they'll all seek her and ask the infinite question, "why?"

So she must remain unseen, hidden and protected until she is needed to fill this tin soldier's cavity.

Why?!

They'll ask.

Because, she'll say, when the soldier went to battle, you kept to your stations.

Hope let fear's belly burst open and was drown out by the cries.

Wisdom did not lend a hand to empathy and he faded so far into his wall, he engulfed the soldier.

And here you all are now.

But the sun is still shining, and maybe tomorrow the tin soldier shall prevail.

Blessed heart...

I was sitting there thinking,
Who was it,
Who said it? Camus? Wilde?
"blessed are the hearts that bend, for they do not break."
And there I was
Sitting there, melting
Like one of Dahli's clocks
Falling over the sides of that seat
Repressing memories into a box too full
Yanking them out of a heart too fool
Shuddering, melting, wanting to bend so far I could slither away
So one day they'd tell the story of a girl
Who could bend so much,
Whose heart could burn so much
That she melted down into puddles of rain
Where the ducks and dragonflies swam
And she never had to feel pain
She had such a blessed heart
Such a cursed heart
Because it never broke
Sitting there, clutching my dammed heart
Melting over the sides
Turning my body into rain
I cursed, I cursed and cursed some more
Because I thought it would never break
I filled it with your words, and your stories of time and space
and the idea that
there was such a thing as desitny...
And that time and space existed infinitely in such a small, dense organ
And that destiny
Was real.
My head was finally on the floor
And my eyes were staring at the sky
I laughed, because I thought about one of your stories
Nebulas and infinite planets, all waiting
So I let go of my foolish heart
And let it burst
I know you'll whisper your stories of nebulas and stars to ears
who will stare at you in awe
Because how could it be that you
Could fill her heart.
I'l whisper my story to the passing ducks and dragonflies:
Blessed are the hearts that burn
Ignite the memories seared into our souls.
Foolish stories of foolish hearts of foolish girls.
Shuddering. Broken.