606 Days

It has been 606 days since my last blog entry.

That is...

606 days
87 weeks
19 months
14,544 hours
872,640 minutes
52,358,400 seconds

Life has not stopped during all that time. So many situations have materialized and experiences have been shared on the journey to today. Here I am sitting down and writing again. What led me back to writing? This time it wasn't a hardship. So many of my previous blogs were dark and the culmination of some really difficult times. It wasn't something major or life changing. A lot has in fact happened in those 606 days since my last entry, but it was not any one of those things that brought me back to the desire to share my thoughts in writing.

I read a book. A simple book that with each paragraph got me thinking deeply about my own mortality and the life I have lived. A 200 page book led me to think about my own journey and the people I have met along the way, and even the people I never got a chance to meet. I began to think about the people that I may have had a connection with that I never even knew existed. This one simple book, a quick read, got in my head so much so that I am here today writing to you from the deepest part of my heart.

What do we experience when we die? This book. My God, this one simple book. The exploration of these concepts so simply expressed in one person's story, has so many answers, none of which may be truth. We will only know the answers to these questions when we are no longer living and able to talk about it. That seems unfair and at the same time perfect. We get to experience the end of days on our own and get to keep our truth to ourselves until the next person dies and joins us. Perhaps once we are in heave we can talk with our other deceased companions and share what really happens after our life in the physical world ceases.

Many times my best writing has been during the darkest, most painful points in my life. When my father died, when my biological mother turned out to be hurtful and someone I couldn't trust, and when I went through a divorce. My life has had some major potholes that have swallowed me whole, beat me up, left me bruised, and I used writing to cope. Those times seemed endless and so lonely, and I wish this book was recommended to me sooner.

Lesson One: We are never alone. We are never without purpose. We are always impacting someone else's life, even when we cannot see it or are aware of what we are doing. Every decision I make has an impact on someone else. Good or bad, every action affects someone else. And if you are feeling alone, remember that "Strangers are just family you have yet to come to know...The end of loneliness is when someone needs you, and the world is so full of need."

Lesson Two: Mistakes. The book also made me think about choices and mistakes. I used to beat myself up for not finishing college until I was an adult. I would silently think of myself as a loser; a person who was so smart but made such stupid choices. Mistakes. But perhaps it was not a mistake. If I had not left school when I did I would not have worked and had one more year with my dad. I had no way of knowing he would get diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and die three months later. If I had not worked I would not have met my ex-husband and if I had not met my ex-husband I would not have moved to Santa Monica. And if I had not moved to Santa Monica I would not have worked at the cemetery. You see where I am going with this? Working at the cemetery led me to the cemetery conference where I met Andy, which led me to moving to Baltimore, getting married and to the beautiful baby girl we have today. Every choice, even the ones that seem like mistakes, are right. They may be right for the day or the period of time in your life at that exact moment, or they may be right for the future and you just don't know it yet.

This book touched a part of me, deep in my heart and my mind, that I haven't accessed in a long time. It got me thinking about mortality and afterlife and heaven, which has led me back to thinking about my family. My friends. My husband. My kid. My coworkers. My Rabbi. My mom. I am thinking about the people left to meet in my future and all the possibilities that are waiting for me.

Thank you for the book that has opened me up to things I haven't thought about in so long. I feel a sense of clarity and calm that I have been missing for a while. You are right, I am a spiritual person, and this is exactly what I needed to get reacquainted with that side of myself.

Week 4 - Writing Short Shorts

This week we are focusing on the Short Short, a 300 word or less, short story that is more of a snapshot into a scene or moment in time. It is brief, vivid and descriptive. It is actually challenging to have only a small amount of words to work with and create a captivating snapshot of a bigger scene successfully. I had major writers block with this week's story. One thing is consistent with my work. It's all dark or deals with a scary situation. I should definitely analyze that at some point!

Hope you enjoy!

Goat Man - Short Short by Erin Felsen
She was told the story of Goat Man because they wanted her to be afraid, and it worked. It was dark and all she could hear were she sounds of gentle breaths from the other girls sound asleep in her bunk. The only other sound that filled the room was the thumping beats of hear heart that seemed to get so loud each note wrapped itself around her neck and suffocated her. Goat Man, half man,half goat, vicious, was out there stalking the woods in the hills surrounding the cabin. She tried to hold on to as many thoughts of laughter, s'mores and crackling wood from the time earlier that evening around the campfire with her friends, but it was not enough. She pulled her sleeping bag up over her head, but couldn’t drown out the fear of him. Even though she knew he was not real. She was more afraid of the possibility of his existence anyhow.

The Calm - Short Short by Erin Felsen
The sirens started to sound and the radio reported the storm closing in. Mother grabbed as many blankets, candles and all the snacks she had been preparing for weeks knowing the storm was heading our way. Joan was franticly trying to decide which of her dolls was worth saving and which could be sacrificed to the storm. Father was still not home from a week on the road. He was hopefully outside of the city away from the storm, in the cab of his truck, not worrying about us. I know mother was worried about him. How could she not wish he was here with his family during all this? The howling of the wind and the smell of wet pavement filled the air, closing in on us, and it was time. Mother grabbed mine and Joan’s hands and rushed us down stairs to the basement. The lights flickered off and on until the room was completely dark. The fear began to set in as I felt suffocated by the silence. Mother held us close, Joan held her dolls, and we prayed that our house would be spared and that Father would make it home to find us safe. This storm was worse than the last and I knew I had to be brave for Joan, but inside I knew it was the end.

An Attempt at Slam Poetry

I have not written a blog in several years. YEARS! I can't believe it. I used to write daily or at least once a week. Then I moved. And my life was turned upside down, mostly in great ways. So here I am, done will college, and taking a creative writing class to get back into writing. This week's unit topic was Slam Poetry, Procedural Poetry, and Found Poetry. While I do not care much for Found Poems, I had never heard of them and I am sure many of you haven't either. They are basically poems that are works of writings from other sources (i.e. a newspaper, advertisement, the Bible, etc.) and are retyped into poem form, novel form, etc. The poetry is actually the process it takes to put it together into a new form, not necessarily the words itself. It all seems to artsy and obscure to me.

What I loved most this week was Slam Poetry. Think of the spoken word poem "Woman, Whoaaaa Man" in the movie So I Married an Ax Murder. Or perhaps you're familiar with the Beat Generation. All of it used to seem so cheesy and out there to me, until this class. It is beautiful and so powerful. if done right, the words flow like lyrics to a song. The sounds roll off the tongue, fly at you and hit you in the heart. There is crescendo and finality at the end that is as soothing as actual closure to something in life. It is pure art and I only wish I had the courage inside to fight the paralyzing fear I have of public speaking to be able to read my poem out loud.

So this will have to do. I will share with you my Slam Poem. It is called Your Eyes and it is pretty straight forward so I am sure you'll understand the subject. I've also included some of the other poems I wrote this week. One is a haiku and the other is a procedural poem in form of a recipe. I hope you enjoy! And I promise to begin to blog more.

Your Eyes (Slam poem by Erin Felsen)

Your eyes.

They were closed for three months but your ears,

They never stopped hearing.

Cheering for you to get better, but you disappeared.

Fear inside of me knowing that my dad would expire.

Desire.

I wanted to see you sit up in that bed.

Head to toe yourself again,

But I knew.

You.

My dad. Glad you were not going to suffer, but sad,

So sad that you were going to die.

Inside I was afraid of taking steps alone.

Home would never be just that.

What was mom going to do without you by her side.

Hiding away from the family and friends standing there, holding you.

Glued to your bedside and trying to hold back feeling the pain.

Gaining nothing by being so shut down.

Frowns on the faces of those who watched you.

You.

You took your last breath and so did I.

Died.

Fire Mouth (Haiku by Erin Felsen)

A pizza slice

It burned the roof of my tongue

Water saved me

Recipe for Bullying (Procedural poem by Erin Felsen)

Ingredients:

Judgmental mindset and an audience

A busy hallway in a high school building

Societal pressures

Cell phone

Social media account

Snappy hashtag

Bad judgement

Instructions:

1.       Show up at school and hang out in the hallway before class

2.       Notice the differences in everyone

3.       Use a dash of bad judgement to single out the lonely kid or the nerd with no friends

4.       Take out your cell phone and take a picture of said nerd and post it to your Instagram

5.       Use snappy hashtag and share your post virally with the rest of the school

Chasing a New Dream

I should be happy where I am in my life.  In my early twenties I set the goal of making six figures by the time I turned 35. I put so much hard work and time into my life and professionally deduced myself to my career, working tirelessly to prove my abilities and value. And now I am in a great place with my own assistant and I'm starting to reevaluate my goal. I'm not happy.

There must be something wrong with me. I have it all. Great job. Good friends. Small but decent apartment. But is that really having it all? At the end of the day after working 10 hours I come home and feel like I have nothing. Los Angeles living is a thankless uphill battle. My rent for 380 square feet is more than most mortgages for three bedroom homes in other places. I work so much I never see my friends and when I do I'm too exhausted to do much more than dinner or coffee or the occasional hike if I'm lucky.

It's like I woke up this year and realized that true happiness is far more important than money or status or even job responsibility. I don't need the high paying career. I missed out on having a family because of it. I don't need the staff and don't need to own a business. I need a life full of love and value that ultimately when I face my final days I can say with complete honesty I am proud of.

I want a life with time to enjoy the beautiful simplicities around me, with moments where I can stop and appreciate things with the appropriate amount of time they deserve. I want a family and friends I see with regularity. I want a modest home filled with more love than things. I want a life that isn't based on a job that consumes me with debilitating anxiety and unrelenting pressures and little support.

I choose a life with love. My new goal is to live more in the present. To find a balanced life that isn't just about job or money. To build a family and uphold better values. To be truly happy.

The something that was wrong with me was my goal. It's time to chase a new dream.

A Part of Me

My heart...

Dark and misshapen from the years. 

Fears and scars riddle your shape. 

Afraid to follow your rhythm and sound. 

Found that opening you up created a flood.

Above all else I am afraid you’ll sting. 

Bring me to my knees with pain. 

Again, I really don’t think I can take that. 

Matted down from being dragged through hell. 

A shell of what was once robust. 

Must I see all of your wounds? 

Soon you will repair; I swear, it cannot be any other way.

Today I have to choose to let you heal. 

Feel and embrace the possible future.
My heart...

F Day is an F You

Me and Dad at USC in front of the Tommy Trojan statue

F Day feels like a big F you. From the second to last week of May until the morning of F Day, my inbox if full of junk solicitations from Amazon.com, 1-800-Flowers, Create and Barrel, Target, Khols, the list goes on and on, all reminding me that I’m running out of time to get my dad something special this father’s day. I find it so hard not to be bitter that he isn’t here any longer to give him a gift. I find it hard to look past the painful reminder that my father was taken prematurely from our family and that with him went all connectivity and sense of family that we once had. Now it is just me. Me and my mom, although she hardly calls me and expects me to check up on her, and really doesn’t do much to understand what is at the core of my heart. She just isn’t that type of woman.

Typically I could avoid feeling this bad on F Day because I was able to spend the day doing something my dad used to love to do; something in honor of him. Or I could sleep the day away eating pizza and watching crappy television shows to block out the emptiness. But this year, things are different. I am literally forced to celebrate F Day by having to work, running a remembrance service for all those who have lost their fathers, grandfathers, and any important man in their life. So here I am, really sad and still devastated that my own dad, my best friend and mentor, is no longer living, and yet I have to work at the cemetery where he is not buried, hosting a remembrance service to celebrate F Day.

In an effort to find some balance and peace with the entire situation, and to properly grieve in a healthier fashion, I will list out 12 things I loved about my dad, one for each year he has been gone.

1. His spirit
2. His calming presence
3. His love and loyalty to family
4. His understanding of giving and receiving respect
5. His sense of humor and quick wit
6. His passion for his job
7. His courage, even in the final stage of his life
8. His intelligence
9. His ability to make me feel like a princess
10. His love of sports
11. The way he made little glasses on the “D” in Danny Felsen when he signed his name, so it would look just like him
12. His knack for pulling off the best pranks

My dad was and always will be the light in my heart that guides me, drives me, steers me in the right direction, and keeps me going when I want to give up. It is impossible for anyone who has not lost their parent at a young age to fully understand what it feels like to have to go on with life following their passing, and how challenging it is to literally have to grow up overnight and have no rule book to follow with guidelines and explanations making it easier to navigate life with the burden of pain and grief that you carry in your heart. The longing and deep void from his absence doesn’t go away and I feel like it in a way defines me now. When my dad died I changed and my life changed and my heart changed. I have been forever imprinted by the spirit of goodness, compassion, friendship, love and loyalty that my father had in his soul, and do whatever I can to be a good person and live up to his legacy every day.

Dad, my Tommy Trojan, my superhero, my best bud – I love you unconditionally, whether you are physically here with me or are a spirit of energy surrounding me and I navigate my way through the course of my life. I sincerely hope that I make you proud and that you know how deeply sorry I am that you got sick and that you are not here with your family. I wish there was a way to connect with you and tell you that I love you, and that I am sorry for all the shit I put you through as a crazy, chaotic and self-righteous teenager. I wish I could tell you that you were right; the tattoos were a really bad idea that I really do regret, and that I should have blindly listened to you all those times you gave me advice on my future. I wish I could laugh with you now looking back on all those times you said that I had to do things the hard way, because it was so true. Most of all, I wish I could run to you and give you a hug like I was a little girl seeing her dad pick her up from school after the first day; and never let go.

I love you today, on F Day, and every day to follow. Thank you for being the best father a girl could ask for, and even though our time was cut short, I cherish every moment and every lesson. Rest assured that you were a great father; the best in fact. And you were truly loved.

Invisible Heart

Sometimes I feel invisible. Not in the sense of a superhero or supernatural powers. I walk through the crowded lobby of my gym and people coming right towards me head on bump into me, as if they expect me to move out of the way. Or perhaps they don't even see me. It's as if I do not exist. Like I'm complete invisible.

I know I am guilty of carrying around "bitch face" and often times people think I'm giving them the stink eye, but for the past year I've been making a conscious effort to be aware of my facial expressions and body language. So what is it that makes people ignore me or expect me to move for them.

This type of thing is not something that happens to everyone. And it's not just isolated instances.  It is of course always frustrating. Perhaps it's the mood I'm presenting at the time that transfers like waves of negative energy. Maybe I'm just not worth noticing.

I know these days I'm at a serious crossroads in my life, where I'm not feeling much connection to my surroundings or where I spend my time. I feel so forgotten and unappreciated by family and I'm so overworked that I never have time or energy when I do have the time to see my friends. My own mother hardly calls me.

To be honest my heart is somewhere else; somewhere I can't be. Every day here comes and goes with regularity and absolutely no meaning for me. It's not where I want to be, and that alone kills me.

I am invisible. I'm a shell of a woman; of a friend; of a daughter; of a manager. All because my heart is not here. I give out the "follow your heart" advice and now it's time I take it myself. I have a soon to be ex-husband who is living how he wants, following his desires. I watch friends make choices from the heart all the time. It's my time to follow my love and take a chance; to start over.

It's not fair for me to just sit and complain and make the one I care about feel bad for me being here. It's my choice to be here and I need to remedy that. I need to weather the storm temporarily, get my shit together and follow my heart.

I may be invisible today, but I won't be forever.