So here’s the thing. I’ve been putting a lot of thought into how I wanted to write this. How to start writing this. And I kept getting stuck.
Everything felt wrong and forced and fake. And tonight, I figured it out. I was trying to figure out a way to ease into it, smooth the road, and all that.
Here’s the thing though, that’s bullshit, on evvvvvery level. I’ve spent far too much of my life trying to be less of myself so that others would be happy, and I’m real done with that.
Imma be real open (read=vulnerable) and realllllllllly real with all this. I grew up in Oregon, and traveled all throughout the West (which means anything rest of the Rockies, and the state of Montana, should there be any inquiring minds.), and while I have friends scattered across the country, and globe, my family pretty firmly planted between California, Oregon, and Washington state.
Jeff and I made the decision to move away from Portland together, and I was ecstatic to be moving closer to my nieces and nephews, to actually get to be involved in all of life, not just an aunt that shows up at holidays bearing gifts. Scared (because duh, I moved to a state in which I only knew a handful of people) but excited to see what the world had in store for us across the country. Know the saying “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans?” Real true.
I did everything that I was supposed to do, and not only did it not work, I lost myself in the process.
We did move across the country, and yup, closer to family. I was excruciatingly careful to not post anything on Facebook, here through k .H.a. Lifestyle Photography, or on Cook.Eat.Explore, that could be seen as “too much”, “too out there”, “too polarizing.” Didn’t matter if it was something that I’m passionate about (for the record, I’m 100% pro-choice. What a woman chooses to do with her body, that’s her business. Not yours. I think that states who have legalized the use of recreational thc are genius (don’t believe me, or think otherwise? Check out the tax revenue that those states have been pulling in, hand over fist, which fixes roads. And fund schools. I think that Trump is Hitler reincarnate. (We are on a dangerously similar path to that of Hitlers Germany), but see, I had to tamp all of that down. Because it might be too much. I might offend someone. A potential client may not hire me, because I’m outspoken about what I believe in, but worst of all, what if family saw it, what would they think? (It’s amazing what you can make yourself ok with. Until you can’t.)
I did everything that I was supposed to do, and not only did it not work (that’s a conversation that will only ever be had in the inky darkness of the other side of midnight, soaked in bourbon) I lost myself. I stopped being me to try and make everyone else happy. Well, guess what. The family that we moved out here to be closer to? The mask finally slipped free, and it always does, the truth came out.
My “sins” had been roundly counted, listed, and apparently broadly discussed amongst everyone in the family, save my husband or myself, anyways. It didn’t matter that I’d been doing EVERYTHING I could to try and fit in. It happened anyhow. I stood up for myself. (You can guess how well that went over).
After WPPI this year, I drove through the Sonoran Desert to Phoenix to spend time with friends, and we ended up driving over the Superstition Mountains, on a historic stretch of road that is real high up the list of the most dangerous roads in the world (totally by accident), which also traverses land that is considered to be cursed by both the Apache and Navajo tribes (the blood that had been spilled there so long ago stained the earth in the truest of senses), under a full moon. Whoops.
Randall, I know I’ve said it before, and I’ll be saying it until I draw my last breath. I have such HUGE respect for how cool and composed you were behind the wheel that night. Driving over those mountains that night, my life (and his own, and that of his husband) were absolutely in Randall’s hands. The right side of the car, sheer rock face, straight up. The left side of the car, straight down.
Had his grip on the wheel slipped once, had his attention faltered, at all, that would have been it for the three of us. Curtains. Swan song time.
It was only after we’d (finally) got into our room that night out at Apache Lake, that the adrenaline coursing through our bodies finally began to abate that we were able to process the prior four hours, stretch out and get some VERY needed rack time.
Gut check time.
The next night, watching we had the Oscars on when we got back from dinner, and Keala Settle performed This Is Me on the Oscars, (I still haven’t seen The Greatest Showman) and it was like a dam burst open inside of me.
I am never tamping myself down in that way to try to be accepted again. This is it. This is me. Flaws, faults, and all.
What makes me, me.
Aside from 33 trips around the sun? My passionate love affair with a really good manicure, massage, or night out laughing with friends. I’m killlller in the kitchen, and when I offer to cook for you, I really mean it. Bear in mind that dinner in our home is rarely served before 9:30. HOWEVER, there will not only be good wine flowing, there will be multiple appetizer platters put in front of you, bites of whatever I’m cooking offered for tasting along the way, and more likely than not, a big ass box of Goldfish crackers in the pantry. Because I apparently have the same taste in snacks as most two-year-olds.
I am blunt. Friendly. Funny. Loyal to a fault (again, of which there are many). I play the piano. I am a shoulder to lean on when the world gets too heavy. I’m a sanctuary for my loved ones. My blue eyes will pin you to the wall, and I will know without question if you’re lying to me. I make a hell of a cocktail. If you tell me you can hang, I’ll believe you. I’m not your mother or your priest. Music pumps out of the speakers in my car and in my home. All of the time. I’m a night owl. I’m an old soul. I’m passionate, I’m caring, I’m compassionate. I swear like a sailor on a five-day bender. I can be too impulsive and I don’t have a huge amount of patience. I very firmly believe that sexuality is powerful and that confidence is sexy. I know what it means to have your heart broken and your hopes dashed. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve held back other women’s hair, and I’ve had my own held back. I believe in destiny and karma and I own more than one tarot deck. I’m loud, and I have zero tolerance for bullshit.
I may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I am a damn fine shot of whiskey.
