Dear Inadequacy,

Gosh, whenever I meet you, I squirm! 
It's so awkward between us. It's uncomfortable. It's tense. 
Here I was, going on my day thinking we parted ways long ago. I mean, we go way back. Waaaaay back in the playground, in kindergarten, and boy were you there in school.
But suddenly you show up! Out of the blue, reminding me of your existence.
Yelling: 'Yo! I'm here also! You better not forget me!'

You make me humble, dear Inadequacy. 
You make me human, old friend. 
You make me come up against demons that have been there long ago.
And I freeze when I see them.
And I run.
And I fight. 
​
You make me grow, old friend, because when I meet you I can only release you.
Until the next time we meet.
Until the next time...

Bitterly-sweetly Yours.

Dear Body,

We are inseparable, you and I. 
I wake up with you, and I go to to bed with you.
I check in with you every day on the mat.
We move together, sweat together, shake together. 
We dance together in the kitchen.
We are strange dancers you and I, but we have fun.
We walk on sandy beaches together. 
We hike miles and miles and miles.
And yes, your arms are too long to your torso, and your shoulders are round, and you are not the tallest of the bunch, but you are beautiful, dear Body, and you're MINE.

Sometimes I neglect you.
I find myself forgetting how lucky I am to have you by my side - strong when you need to be, soft when I allow, and healthy with the floods of disease and sickness gushing through our world. 
Sometimes I forget about you when I sit on the couch and watch a movie.
I drift to a world outside of you, Body.
I sometimes enjoy that, actually.
But when I am back to you, and I remember to honor your existence... I want to delve deeper and to get to know you better. Can you do the splits, Body? Can you dance in a way you've never danced before? How do you know to reach a hand over to a sad friend? How do you know to hold a newborn baby's head up high?
I never told you those things. You just KNEW them. Like you know to go to sleep at night, and you know to wake up in the morning, and you know how to make love, and you know how to breathe those sweet anchoring breaths of life into every step we make in this world. 

You are my Shepard, Body. And you gently lead me through fields of sensations. 
Sometimes I call the tingling of sensations 'PAIN', sometimes I call it 'PLEASURE.' 
But either way I feel your sensations with every move, with every touch. 
You are priceless, MY body. I wouldn't change you for the world. 

Thank you for the feels, the joy, the tickles, the tightness, the pain, the ALIVENESS.
​Thank you for being there since the start of my life, and thank you in advance for being there 'till its end.

With love, and more love, and more love...

Your mind and soul.

Darling goals of mine,

Woah. There's a whooooole bunch of you this year.
But as a good parent I must say: 'Fear not, little ones! I love you all the same.'

Some of you have been around for a long while now, since as long as I remember anything, really.
Some of you have been in my life from day 1. And you may never come to fruition, or at least - you may not come to fruition in the way I envisioned you as a three year old. (I like to think I evolved since. And in some ways I have... but in other ways oh how I long to be a three year old once again!)

Some of you are new to the game, fresh off the boat, green as cucumbers.
You are excited and eager to please, and boy do I have plans for you! I wrote you down, put you in my calendar and soon you will be posted on the wall for a giant reminder to keep you in my heart throughout the coming year. 

But old or new - the way to you will not be easy.
It never is. It involves shifts and turns, and disappointments and surprises... And you may look very different when I meet you face to face. But I like to think that it'll be worth it. That the sense of accomplishment and fulfillment of paving my way to you will be worth whatever hurdle awaits us. 

I hope SO VERY MUCH that you'd be there.
You'd welcome me with open arms when I'll show up to your door. 
And until then... maybe send me words of encouragement every once in a while?
Maybe whisper in my ear 'you are ready' and 'fear not' and 'What do you have to lose?' 
Or show up in my dreams with a welcome greeting and piece of the puzzle of your great reveal? 
Or knock on my head every once in a while, remind me of your desired existence.

Or just stay patient dear goals, we shall have our glorious rendezvouz soon...

Love,

Moi.

Dear city of angels of mine,

​Driving through you today, I noticed the roads were nearly as crowded as they were pre-pandemic. 
I don't know where everyone was going, but they definitely were headed somewhere.
A holiday escape, perhaps? Rushing to buy gifts with their, ahem, unemployment money? Headed to the airport to a stressful flight to see family for the holiday? Running errands across town like me?
I started thinking - is it possible that I was the city's last recluse!?
It sure seemed like it today.

Take care of yourself Los Angeles - you are the epicenter of the pandemic in THE WORLD.
Get your shit together and stay home people. I got newsflash for ya: Christmas is MADE UP.
You can make it up to be in another day this year or next year. That's okay - Jesus, or Santa wouldn't know. I sure won't tell them!

And as for you dear Los Angeles... stay safe. Take care of yourself. The year is almost over. This storm is soon to pass. Hang on tight a tiny bit longer. You've been through earthquakes and fires and you have toughened up to bear this disaster as well. So c'mon, be an angel, will you?

Sincerely, 
​
Your inhabitant.

Hey 45th President of the United States of America,

Nope. Not gonna write "Dear" before your title. Nor will I mention you by name. Just the thought of approaching you directly, even only in a symbolic written blog post on my personal blog makes me want to throw up. Congratulations! You have done pretty much what only the touch of velvet does to me - made me want to vomit. 

Here's the thing... You lost. 
Did you hear that? You got what I'm saying?
Let me repeat that: You LOST.
You L-O-S-T the US elections and will not be continuing disgracing the presidency another four year term. 
Nope. Don't want to hear any conspiracy theories about voter fraud without ANY EVIDENCE to back up your ridiculous claims that let's face it - are just a loud tantrum by someone with an inflated ego and emotional intelligence of a toddler. You LOST.
Hey, take off that shocked expression off your orange face... it shouldn't be that much of a surprise. After all, there were only two outcome for you in this election - win or lose - so the concept of losing must have crossed your mind once or thrice. 

Now, since we cleared that up.... here's what's coming next: You are gonna wear your BIG BOY PANTS. And step up and... GET THE FUCK OUT. I'm not gonna beautify it. Not gonna sugar coat what seventy four (and counting) millions of people want you to do. And sure, you had an large turn-out as well, and seventy million voters yourself... which is impressive, but you know what? You. Still. Lost. 

So listen, let's not drag this out, 'kay? Your successor has to go into work quickly and put all his focus into repairing the damage you have infringed or took advantage of. He doesn't need any distractions from a moronic sociopathic con artist that plays with the USA like it's a game of monopoly. Give him peace and quiet so he can do THE JOB OF THE PRESIDENCY which is actually to look after the people. Know what that is? 'People'. Look it up if you are struggling. (And I know you're struggling, I am relishing in the thought of it actually.)

So one last word of advice for you 45: Get. The. Fuck. Out. You're fired! 

Dear blog, 

Hello darling.

I know. I know. I KNOW. 
I neglected you yesterday.
Didn't look at you once.
Didn't fill you in with my treats.
Didn't embellish you with my 'jewels.'
Left you abandoned, alone, and wondering 'Will she ever come back....?'

Well, darling one, sometimes even a daily-blog writer has to take a break, a pause, an intermission,
and be a reader, and a student, and delve into beginner's mind like there is nothing else.

And that was me yesterday. 

So now I'm gonna say 'it wasn't personal.'
And you will roll your eyes and stomp your feet. 
But it's simply the truth.

And TRUTH, my darling?
Truth is the only thing I ever promised you. 

And the only thing I ever intend to give. 

Consider this a promise, dear Blog.
A promise I whole heartedly intend -  to keep.

Love,

Your maker.

Dear Disappointment, 

We don't often get together, you and I.
But when we do?  It's fireworks. Steamy, fiery and swift... right down to the abyss.
Our encounter is like a portal entry into a chaos of emotions that make me well aware of how much Expectation plays a role in my life. 

You, and little miss expectation, are intertwined.
Sometimes you let her go off and fulfill her destiny the way I envision it. Other times? You lead her just enough to completely overtake me with her fantasy and illusion, and then you show up with your 'Told ya so' attitude and punch me in the face.

And you hurt, Disappointment. Like, you really hurt.
Can't you please show up a little kinder and earlier...? Like, 'um sorry, please, you may want to think this through girl, it may not go as you planned....' Or like 'Hey, don't keep your hopes up, hint hint!' 
But no, you show up like 'GOTCHA! Now fall with me to the darkness you pathetic little dreamer!'

Can't you be a little KINDER Disappointment? A tiny bit? A teeny weeny little kindness when you rob my grandiose world of fantasy?!?!? 

No answer.
You have won again and crawled back to your hiding spot, gloating that you 'got me' once again. 
Owned me like I was a fly on your big wild web.

Sigh...

I must learn to let you go. 
But if it means I have to let my favorite little Miss Expectation go.... then no wonder it's a tough task for me. 

Genuinely hoping never to meet you again,

Your bitch. 

P.S. FUCK YOU! (yes, I said it...  I should probably write a letter to Anger now...oops.)

Dear Money,

You and I have quite a relationship, don't we? 
It's healthy, most of the time. You have your place, I have mine. I accept you, invite you, and you show up most of the time consistently, and sometimes -- at the very last minute of the party of my life. 

You know, I don't say this often - but I truly love you Money. 
Not for who you are. I am well aware you are only an idea, a figment of our species' imagination, an agreed upon concept that is deeply ingrained to us all. Us humans see you as the force that 'makes the world go round.' And in some societal ways, you do.
But you see Money, I love you - for what you bring along with you.
And by that, I DON'T mean the material, security, or freedom that you grace us all with your presence. Sure, they're all incredibly nice, and worthy of attention as well, but I am referring to the possibility of personal growth you bring along both in your absence and in your presence. I guess I am a junkie of 'getting to know myself', and you Money, help quite a bit in that department.

I always thought of you as a bi-product of my success. And if so, then what is success? Is it measured with material? With luxuries? With generational wealth? Perhaps to some. But not to me.
To me, it is measured with the willingness to go on a journey and trust that there would be no lack where I go. That there will be an abundance.
An abundance of creativity, of joy, of happiness, of richness, of thought, of love. Yup, as cheesy as that may sound. And it seems to me, that that type of abundance doesn't always depend on you.  It can show up with you, or completely without - for the enlightened ones among us.

You, dear Money, bring up to us small minded humans - the notions of greed and survival. As if to tease us, to say 'Where are YOU at with money? Do you have plenty? Do you want more? Do you need more? Are you content with what you have? How are you at releasing money? Does it bring up fear? Are you ashamed to ask for more? Is it never enough? 

Thank you Money, for showing up, with all these questions at once.
Our encounter with each other is sometimes frightening - when I feel like I'm going to lose you and never see you again. But other times, it is invigorating - when you show up gloriously, and with you - so does my sense of inner trust, gratitude and moments of abundance.

To the phrase 'Money doesn't grow on trees', I say:
'True, it doesn't. But rather, it IS trees.
So plant them well, water them, untangle their roots, and enjoy their fruits.'

Love,

Me.

P.S. Don't wait for another invitation to show up. You are invited, welcomed, and wanted. COME. :)

Dear Innocence,

Where have you been?
It's been like, forever, since the last time we've seen each other.
We used to hang out a lot, you and I, remember?

I know I promised that I will never leave you behind.
But I grew older, dear Innocence, and I'm sad to say.... I forgot about you.
Us adults do that. We forget the things that mattered to us when we were children.
To survive a less-than-innocent world, we learn to be 'thick-skinned', 'street-smart', 'aware.' And with those new findings, some older ones get lost. Like our innocence. 

Dear Innocence, I catch snippets of you in moments. They're brief, but precious moments:
Like when I lick my favorite flavor of ice cream; When I play with my nephew and niece; When I stare at a newborn's eyes staring back at me with their innocence in full bloom; When l hear certain music. Folky music that seem to belong to a more innocent time, Like The Beatles. Or Simon & Garfunkel. Or Don McLean; I feel you with me when I rollerblade; And when I eat french toast, or blintzes, or a bar of Toblerone; I meet you in my dreams, my favorite dreams actually. The ones when I fly and soar so high, I wake up invigorated; I notice you when I cuddle with my love, and press my head against his chest, to feel his beating heart; I remember you in the mornings when I catch a ray of light shining through the window, and when I feel the warm sun on my skin; I feel you when the rain drops. Especially with the first rain of winter. A sight that makes me smile so big, like how I did when I was little. Back when you were with me all the time. Back when I had no worries in the world, because I had YOU.

I miss you, Innocence. 
I've grown up, and left you behind. I've grown sharper, darker, smarter, grittier.... like the rest of us 'functioning adults' (Yuck! Even writing that makes me nauseous), and left my dear ole' little innocence, behind. And now here we are: I am longing for your return, while you punish me with your absence. 

How long, until you grace us with your presence?
Wondering for me, and also for the entire world.
You see, we could all use more innocence these days.

Patiently yours,

Moi.

Dear Control,

Boy, you are heavy to write to.
Heavy to think about. Heavy to want. And heavy to lose.

You almost always stand by my side, as my watch dog, my bodyguard, my anchor, and sometimes - my prison guard. Our sort of S&M relationship started years ago. When I was a child, possibly even a toddler, I don't recall our first meet up, but I suspect it had something to do with me wanting to dig in my food with my own hands, instead of being fed by a spoon flying at me like an airplane with my smiling mother's face guiding its way. For years, right up until a week or so ago, I thought it was Independence that sparked that and other examples of defiance. I glorified my so-called 'rebellious streak.' But lately I realize, independence, may have just been your cover up. A kind of mask you wear, for people like me to deny your existence, and thus, let you 'run the show' more often.
SMART. And a tad....manipulative. 

Yes, I am calling you out on that, my dear Control.
You may have gotten to me then, and many times since, but I'm on to you now! Self awareness has finally kicked in and it won't be the same again. Sure, you must be laughing reading this. To you, I am a pathetic little prey to your manipulative spider legs wrapping me up and squeezing me tight with your little fingers.

Congratulations Control, you have done your part very WELL. So well, that I wasn't even aware of how much you have lead my life. My sense of safety is linked to you, my independent lifestyle is your making, my strange O.C.D's are your artwork for sure, and both my fears and my drive, are often all encompassing by you.
You are a drug I can't resist. Always there tempting me to take you on, giving me satisfaction like nothing else.

But when I lose you.... oh, when I lose you, dear Control, something else pops in. Joy, calmness, surrender. Those are not your alleys - y'all don't understand each other much, and yet I am the bridge between you all. 

So, why am I writing to you now Control? Do you have your claws in this seemingly innocent action as well? Am I ruled by you at this very moment? If I peel the onion of this letter, what's underneath it? I think it's surrender. When I surrender to you Control, with awareness, and with Joy and Calmness by my side, you lose the grip on me. Not entirely, of course. Parts of me, the control-freak parts, would rather be your soldiers at every and any occasion. But other parts.... other parts are finished with you, and would rather bid you farewell than keep taking you on. Other parts of me simply feel better when you are not around. My shoulders are lighter, my smile is larger, my joy kicks in.

This isn't goodbye, Control, don't freak out on me now, I know your freak-outs all too well....
It's 'Salut.' It's 'Au-Revoir.' It's 'See ya later alligator.' 

We'll meet again you and I, I'm sure. Probably tomorrow at some point. Maybe even tonight. Maybe in the moment I 'send off' this letter to you.

But for now, adios. Don't freak out, just go gently into the night, and give me some rest of you.
After all, I have been a loyal disciple, it's time for me to take a break. A break from control.

Sincerely,

Yours truly.