if only

I was late to the game. Missed it in the moment and only became aware long after the fact. It’s possible if I would have seen Sofia Coppola’s movies early I could have diverted the stints of therapy I experienced in my teens and early adulthood.

The connection to the characters exposed me to our collective flaws, insecurities and feelings of loneliness in an otherwise crowded room. The topics raised, taboo to some, to me normalized the idea of conversation that led to discernment of how to approach the fragility of self.

If only.

It’s never too late though just arrive before you leave.

da rosa

It was a lazy Saturday. The news cycle was slower than usual and I found myself enjoying the morning as it inched towards the afternoon only to fade into the early evening.

As I started to make dinner, Nunca Mais filled the room as my head started to nod in sync with the bass. Measure after measure, I was transported or was it teleported to the land of Verocai though I could make a credible case that it is now the land of da Rosa.

His recording gave a performance like rent was due. The instrumentation, the timbre, and arrangement gave the music substance as if he was reliving an old memory that he allowed you exclusive access to. And though I don’t speak Portuguese, I felt EVERY single word.

As it ended, I picked up the needle to play it once more and then again for good measure.

That’s how you know…

That’s how you know.

I

I am often drawn toward my inner thoughts. I find them in the crawl space of my mind, hidden away yet visible enough for me to see them, to feel them, to meditate on them. 

In the best of times, expressing my internal feelings has been an outlet for me and helped me grow. In the worst of times, it replays the moments I’ve missed the mark, where regret and pain live side by side. My only hope is redemption lies in the middle of right where I fell.  

Steve Jobs once said, “You can’t connect the dots looking forward, you can only connect them looking backwards.” And as I collect the images and words that will comprise my first book, which has eluded me for so long, I can start to see the path I’ve taken. I sought refuge on the streets of a city that I feel a symbiotic relationship with, one that many see as broken and misunderstood. And yet I’m reminded of a time I was in Australia listening to a man proclaiming, “You are not your circumstances.” 

There is beauty in the ashes. There is hope.

And, as I was walking the streets of LA, I was searching for the beauty all around: in every nook and cranny, in every corner, in every interaction. In reality, I was searching for the me that was lost. I was trying to find the grace and mercy I couldn’t give myself. 

I was trying to find the beauty in me among my ashes. The hope I had lost long ago. A self-induced unraveling. 

The city, its streets, and its inhabitants have been my therapy, my safe place. And with each step taken, it has allowed me to forgive myself.

*excerpt from LA Diaries.