The Old Payton (And Why She's Never Coming Back) and Unanswered Prayers

Hey, readers!

Wow! I am so blown away by the responses to my last blog. I feel that being open with you guys is a step forward in my recovery, and discovering my authentic self.  Thank you for every kind message, email, and more. I really appreciate it.

Like I said before, I have a birthday coming up the first week of September.  (The 5th for anyone who cares. Also, I like glitter, money, and things with dead rockstars and arrows on them) Birthdays are a time of reflection, reexamination, and rebirth for me.  I took my sweet little fur baby for a walk today and as I watched him scamper along, I thought of all the joy he has brought me these past few months, and how he has been a huge step in my healing process.

Two of the biggest joys in my life the last six months: Yoga, and Arrow!

I had a thought as I watched little Arrow take ME for a walk.  I remember crying into the shoulders of my loved ones over the last few months about "This is not the way my life was supposed to go...This isn't what I had planned..." I even managed to make a few new friends during this process, and I remember telling them "The Old Payton is much cooler. You would have loved her." Meaning, that the person I was before going through times of trouble was much more carefree, and didn't break down in tears at the drop of a hat, didn't want to spend days on end watching Oprah in bed, and certainly was more attractive because her waist was smaller than New Payton.  As I watched Arrow sniff his millionth bush, I had a realization.  Old Payton is never coming back.  And thank God for that!

This is my walking the dog outfit.  What? The shoes are only four inches tall. My friend Yamel even sketched this snap of us! 

The Old Payton didn't have a network of friends who unconditionally loved her. She had a group of people who sucked the life out of her.  Sure, there were gems sprinkled in there that still sparkle to this day, but the dull, mean ones have fallen by the wayside.  Old Payton didn't have the love of her life, Mr. Arrow to be her companion everywhere she went. Thank God for Arrow. Old Payton didn't take time to do things that made HER happy, instead she did what made everyone around her happy...and sacrificed her happiness, and her health for them. Old Payton didn't listen to her heart.  New Payton knew that she needed a break, and gave herself one.  Old Payton beat herself up for her appearances.  New Payton is learning to be better at accepting her body, and being grateful for it.  And so on and so forth.

Old Payton would never let anyone else photograph her in a bathing suit (and even New Payton makes it like pulling teeth, but obliges anyway.)

There is an old expression "Thank God for unanswered prayers." and I never really understood the concept of that until now.  If my life had gone the way I planned it a year ago, I would be pretty stagnant, pretty miserable, and bored out of my mind...not to mention still depressed, angry, and lacking in faith.  I wouldn't have Arrow, I wouldn't have started my yoga journey,I wouldn't have people in my life who are so crucial to my well being. Over the past six months, I have collected some of the most loving, non judgmental, nurturing, and most vital people in my life.  I don't know how I survived without them, and don't care to know how my life would be otherwise.  These people came into my life for a reason, at the right time, held my hand, let me cry on their shoulders, fed me, and took care of me when I couldn't do it for myself.  They saw the spark of light that was hidden under all the darkness and sadness that had tried to snuff my glow out.

If things had gone my way, I wouldn't have spent this spring/summer on both coasts of this country.  In a matter of three months, I've strolled Venice Beach, and the Jersey Shore.  I wouldn't have had the opportunities in my career that have blessed me so much, the new perfect job that has manifested itself with my hard work and faith, and the biggest of all? I wouldn't have felt happy.

Jersey Shore last month, visiting members of the Rock N Roll clan who make my life better by just existing.

For me to say the words: "I am happy." is a huge step.  After spending nearly two years of settling, of waiting on other people to reach their full potential, I realized that I was dulling my shine to make others more comfortable.  The other day, I was driving back home from the job interview I had just nailed.  The most perfect job.  The one that I had dreamt of something like it existing for years.  The windows were down, and the Stones were on the radio...and that's when I felt it.  It started in my toes, moved up through my legs, my belly, and finally to my heart.  Butterflies.  I felt bliss.  For the first time in nearly two years, I felt bliss.  I wasn't worried, or fearful, or trying to convince myself of anything. I felt at peace.

I felt like my sweet boy on the hottest day of the year in a kiddie pool full of ice water. 

I pray a lot more than most people would think a girl who doesn't believe in church would do.  I pray every morning when I open my eyes.  It usually goes something along the lines of "Thank you for allowing me to wake up.  Thank you for the love that surrounds me.  Thank you for the dog that woke me up in the first place.  Thank you for the food I am about to eat.  Thank you for the clean water, the electricity, and the healthy body you have provided me with..." and then followed by the list of people I want to have a great day.  I've done that every day for nearly the past six months.  I've learned to stop being specific for what I think I need.  "God, if you could only make him..." or "If you could make this happen for me..." is bargaining.  I realized, you can't bargain with the Creator.  I even had a terrible night...the first night in which I had so much to drink that I threw up, and I remember bargaining with God that if he would spare me any more pain, I would never drink that much again.  (So far, I've held up my share of that bargain) But instead, have unwavering faith.  Even with my bank account in the negative at one point, I knew deep down that I was going to be provided for.  Even when I was on E in my gas tank, and the fridge was bare, I knew I would be fed, and taken care of.  And I knew that when I felt the time was right, I would have the perfect job laid out in front of me.  It was once I stopped bargaining, and trusting the Creator was always going to know what was better for me than I did, that I started receiving the knowledge and wisdom I needed.

It's hard to not feel grateful when you wake up to this hugging your arm. 

Thank God for unanswered prayers.  Thank God that Old Payton isn't coming back.  Thank God for rebirths, and new beginnings.

And Thank God for Arrow. :)

An Open Letter To My Body:

Hey, readers.

As you read in my last blog, I am going through a transformation this year.  I am coming to grips with things that need to be...well...gripped. This year has been one of nothing but change, and it has taken its toll on my body.  This time last week, I spent half an hour poking and prodding at myself while looking at my reflection and cursing.  "I hate this. That is too big.  This is too small. Why don't I have a torso?" and so on and so forth.  And that's when I realized, I was a bully.  I was a body shaming, fat phobic bully.  I was no better than those trolls on the internet who hide behind computer screens and make fun of people.  As a handful of you know, I have my fair share of issues with my body.  One being an ever so slight case of BDD.  Meaning, I look in the mirror and don't see what other people see.  This, oddly enough, is why I got into modeling.  I trust a photo, but not a mirror.  (This is why most of my friends who see me get ready know that I always take a photo.  The camera doesn't lie.) The ritual of beating myself up has become as commonplace as brushing my hair, or putting on makeup...And that's when I realized I owed someone an apology.  That person was me.

Dear body.

Hello.  It's me.  Before you start thinking this is just going to be me singing a Todd Rundgren song at you, it's not.  I believe we need to have a word.  And by a word, I mean two words.  I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a complete and utter asshole towards you.  I'm sorry for hour after hour spent in front of the mirror poking and prodding at every inch of you.  I'm sorry for not trusting that you were enough.  I'm sorry for the hateful words I spat out at you.  I'm sorry for calling you fat.  I'm sorry for wanting to change you.  I'm sorry for every meal I followed up with a scoop of ice cream because it made it easier on me to throw up entire contents of my already terrible meals.  I'm sorry I harmed you...I really am grateful for how well you healed.  I'm sorry for sleeping in my makeup.  I'm sorry for the days of starvation.  I'm sorry for the nights of binge eating.  I'm sorry for the years of Diet Coke abuse.  I'm sorry for not treating you like the sacred vessel you are.  I'm sorry for letting people who didn't worship and adore you touch you.  I'm sorry for letting society's idea of beauty creep in my mind and make me think less of you because you weren't photoshopped and perfect. I'm sorry I didn't value the strong, long legs you have, which has made my spiritually uplifting practice of yoga much easier.  I'm sorry I took for granted the ears you have that helps me listen to my music which brings me so much joy.  I'm sorry I make fun of your eyes for not working properly.  I really am grateful that you cooperate with my glasses and contact lenses so well so I can see the world crystal clear.  I'm sorry I criticized your stomach that protects all of my vital organs.  I'm sorry I criticized my wide hips...I do hope that one day they will make childbearing easier on me if you'll allow it.  I'm sorry I begged for thinner arms.  The ones I have now hold me up in some of my yoga poses, and allow me to cuddle my sweet fur baby, Arrow, and hug my wonderful friends.  I'm sorry I have criticized my nose.  It really isn't that bad.  I'm sorry I've spent years trying to hide that beauty mark under my right eye, calling it an eyesore.  I'm sorry I haven't owned the fact that I have stretch marks...when really they are only from growing so tall so quickly, and that's nothing to be upset about. I'm sorry I spent years hiding under sweatshirts and baggy pants because I was so embarrassed about you.  I'm sorry I complain every time I get a cramp during those times of the month, when really, I should be celebrating that I am finally healthy.  I'm sorry I have taken all of the beautiful gifts of health that you are for granted.  I'm sorry for the last year that I have put you through...I'm sorry for all of the stress, anxiety, toxins, and negativity I poured into you, and the trauma I invited in with open arms.  And I'm sorry for not thinking that you are as beautiful as you really are.  

Can we make up? Do you forgive me?

Signed,
Your spirit trapped in you, Payton.

P.S. This was you two years ago, and then you last week. Don't forget how far you've come. 

Readers, I recently joined a Body Positive page on Facebook...Create Your New Self...full of women who were on the verge of drastic weight loss changes.  Two years ago, after going vegan, I dropped a significant amount of weight, and went from a size 14 to a size 6.  After the year I just went through, and all of the stress I had experienced, I found out I had adrenal fatigue...basically, my body has had enough of the stress hormone pumping through my body, I eventually wore it out.  This causes mood swings, depression, anxiety, and weight gain.  So much of my weight loss journey was in hopes of finally feeling worthy....finally being able to look at myself in the mirror and seeing what I have always wanted to see.  After going through this strenuous year, I gained some of that back.  I felt lost, hopeless, and like my identity was being stolen from me.  I was Vegan-Payton-Who-Lost-50-Pounds now...not just Payton.  It's still a struggle every day to wake up and like myself. I think a lot of it is programming from society...we are taught if we love ourselves, it is narcissistic...when in reality, obsessing over everything wrong about you is narcissistic.  It becomes all consuming, and that's when things start to turn for the worst.  Did you know that the average woman is bombarded with 400 ads a day for products that will make her more attractive? Now, don't get me wrong, I am all about some glam as much as the next girly girl, but I think that's a little extreme.  We can't help but turn the pages in our glossy magazines and see a perfectly photoshopped model or celebrity and sigh.  I'm guilty.  It's what women do.

I had a moment today in shoulder stand during my yoga practice where I had an "a-ha!"Now, in shoulder stand, you're on your shoulders, balancing everything else up in the air.  I saw everything.  I saw my sparkly toenails, my calves, thighs, my stomach all bunched up on itself...and I guarantee anyone that walked in the room would probably have found it unattractive. I most certainly did not look like the gorgeous instructor on my DVD, but I had a moment of clarity.  My body is literally supporting itself.  No one is doing this but me.  My body is standing on its own without help from any beauty product, makeup, or another human being.  And that's when I realized that it was beautiful.

What would you like to say to your body, readers?  Would it be about your stretch marks that are your battle wounds from bringing your children into this world? Or your laugh lines? Tell me in the comments below. I urge you all to do the same.

And just a reminder:

And I wish I could send Babs to tell you every single day when you look into your mirror:

Love you guys,

P

Dear Inner child,

Hi, readers!

As some of you know, I have a birthday coming up the first week of September.  Most use the beginning of a new year to reboot and start fresh.  I, however, like to use birthdays as a time of reflection, growth, and to check in with how far I have grown in the last year.  I have alluded on here before to some of the difficulties I have faced this year.  When you research the number one stressors: moving, job change, loss of loved one, breakup, financial struggle...you name it? I've had it. And so, this was the time where I thought "Right, time to fix this.  Time to take some time to restart my system." And so, I've gone through what I call "Granola Therapy"

Now, Granola Therapy is basically what I use to describe everything I am doing in my healing journey.  Yoga practice, journalling every day, speaking with an actual therapist and healer, studying psychology , diet, and finally attempting to get meditation under my belt.  I can now successfully touch my toes, avoid gluten at all costs, and have journal entries that are notes upon notes of my readings that have titles like "Psychosomatic Illness caused by Porous Ego Boundaries due to Narcisstic Parent" and many more. I'm treating my healing like it's a full time job.  Mind. Body. Spirit. 

In this process of my Granola Therapy, my therapist figure told me that all of us still have an inner child.  Our inner child is the reason we feel useless emotions such as fear and guilt.  The illnesses that can stem from guilt are endless, and include things such as depression, eating disorders, self harm, and on and on.  Here I was, thinking that my problem was one thing, when really, it was something that stemmed back to my childhood! Imagine that! She encouraged me to write a letter to little Payton.  The little girl that still lives inside of me, much like your little self is still in you. When revealing several problems I have struggled with over the years to her, she said it was my inner child, mourning over the loss of a childhood I never had.  The thought struck me as odd.  Didn't I go through puberty? Wasn't I an adult now? How does one go from infant to adult with no childhood in between?  She asked me to pick a time there was a great change and shift into my life.  Write a letter as an adult on the outside, giving advice to her.  It was after I did this, I felt a great cathartic release.  I think that if more people did this, it would help them.  So, here I am, laying it all out for you, readers.  Here is my letter to my inner child:

Dear Payton,

Greetings from your adult self.  I know this is a bit odd to receive a letter from you in the future, but work with me.  And for the record, you'll always be the tallest girl in school, but that's OK, because people pay you for it now.  Also, you have a super cute dog now too, so there's that. I suppose you're wondering why I am writing you, don't you? I know how inquisitive you can be.  I am writing to you to give you some advice on how to deal with some of the things that will be coming your way.  It may get lengthy, but here it goes:

You are not an accessory.
There are going to be times when you feel like your sole purpose in life is to be a supporting cast member around someone else's movie where they are the lead.  This is bullshit. (By the way, you swear now.) You are your own human being who is entitled to your own feelings, thoughts, and actions.  You can dress the way you want to, speak your mind, and don't you dare let anyone try and shame you into believing otherwise.  You are not a prop in a play that stars anyone else.  You are not meant to enrich someone else's life.  You are meant to live your own.

People who love you won't manipulate you.
You're young right now.  You need clear, direct communication.  Anyone who twists words, sulks, or tries to make you feel guilty for not doing things the way that they want you to do them is abusing you.  You may not feel hurt now, but years later, it will devastate you. You know deep down that you're a good girl.  So, stop trying to make everyone else happy, because it will never happen. Ever. Reminder: Guilt and fear are useless emotions.

Your body is not broken. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Also, sex isn't dirty.
You're about to become a woman, P. You're going to be in the guest bathroom of your Dad and Stepmom (or as I refer to her, Stepmonster's) bathroom, and you're going to get your period.  It's going to be painful, and scary, because no one prepared you for what was supposed to happen.  You'll call your grandmother, covering the mouthpiece with your hand while you whisper it, because you will feel that anything that comes out of your vagina is dirty, and shameful.  Not true.  You'll read up on the subject for hours and hours, and be the only eleven year old who knows all about ovulation.  This is where you become obsessed with research.  It pays off in the end.  I promise.  Your body is doing what it was intended to do, and it's a beautiful thing.  Also, everyone who tells you that sex is dirty is wrong.  They've just had terrible experiences.  Just make sure you do it with people that you love and who love you back.  Everybody does it.  Nothing shameful about it. Girls have urges too.  Not just boys. Own your sexuality instead of letting it own you. You aren't a "bad girl" for feeling like a human being. 

People who love you will protect you.
There are going to be a few instances that no child has any business in seeing.  This is where our childhood ends, I'm afraid.  You have to step up and protect yourself, because no one else will.  You may think that people are on your side, but really, they are just using you.  You are working on how to deal with stress and anger right now, little P, because no one was a role model in teaching you how to do so.  But, you're getting better. I wish that I could pop in and take you out of the years you are about to face, because it's ugly.  This is where you establish your worth as a woman, and as a human in general.   This is where you grow up because somebody has to be an adult.  And you do it way too soon.  And I'm sorry you have to see it. 

You are allowed to do what is right for you and feel no guilt about it.
You march to your own drum, P. Always have, always will.  You do things that aren't typical of the suburbia you were raised in.  And thank God for that.  You know what is best for you.  You know what is best for your body, your brain, and your soul.  There are people in your life that are going to try and break down your walls, and try and make you question your beliefs because they make them uncomfortable.  Stay strong. Feel sorry for their ignorance. And know that it is absolutely okay to remove yourself from situations that are painful for your own sanity.  It really is.  No guilt.  

You're so stinking beautiful.
Seriously. When I look back at photos of you from this time, I think of how beautiful you are.  I know that it sucks growing new body parts, and hair in funny places, but you really are.  The boys make fun of your eyebrows, but that's because they live in the suburbs and have no idea what high fashion is.  I hate that when I look at those photos I see a beautiful girl with pain in her eyes.  I think that the pain is only obvious to us, but it's there.  This feeling of not feeling worthy, or good enough because you're not as thin as the other girls, or as pretty in your mind as they are will not go away.  But, I promise you that one night, there is going to be someone who loves you very much who is going to hold you while you cry about how fat you think you are, and brush away your tears as they tell you you're wrong.  For the first time ever, you will feel it.  I promise. So stop making yourself sick, stop counting calories, and for God's sake, stop comparing yourself to that girl from your theatre class, because she looks horrendous now.  (You're welcome :) ) 

Don't lose track of your dreams, and don't lose your faith.
You were whispered to on the playground one day, remember?  You were told what your calling in life was.  Don't you dare ever lose that.  Don't let anyone tell you that you are not destined for greatness, or aren't good enough, or talented enough, or pretty enough.  These people are scared of you, and what you know.  They are intimidated by your ways of doing things, because they make them question their own.  Don't ever, ever let anyone make you feel that you aren't worthy of what you know you were supposed to do.  As far as faith goes? We know that God isn't some bearded old guy who lives in a church building.  We know better. You know there's something out there bigger than you.  You feel it.  Don't ever lose that.  Don't ever stop believing that you will always be taken care of, and always keep a pen with you, because you know when you're deep in ink and paper that that's when it talks to you. 

I vow to do the best of my ability to protect you, inner Payton.  I know that you've been hurt, afraid, and felt like no one is on your side.  I'm here to step up and defend you, nurture you, and make you feel like everything is OK, because now? You live inside of me.  So, chin up, because it does get better.  Also, start eating your vegetables sooner. The stuff you're eating now is why you're so miserable.  

Love,
Payton

I challenge you guys to do the same.  This has been a terribly therapeutic process for me, and has really helped to deal with some issues that have creeped up here lately.  What would you tell yourself as a child?

Love you guys!
-P

Embracing my Divine Feminine: The Role She Was Born To Play

I laughed as I heard the voice at the other end of the phone said:

"Your problem, Pay, is that you're been neglecting your divine feminine."

HA! I was sitting around waiting on my Tiffany blue toenails to dry, with half a pound of green crap on my face, drinking out of quite possibly the world's girliest mug, stroking my cute little fluffy dog.  I had just had a shower in which I sang Nancy Sinatra songs at the top of my lungs.  I had watched an Audrey Hepburn movie in the last 24 hours. My body was currently having the "Yay! We're not pregnant!" party.  If there's anything I didn't think I was doing, it was doubting my womanhood.  I mean, I have sneezed glitter in the last two days.  How on earth was I not feminine?

The voice of my caring and very patient friend then explained to me that judging from the circumstances I have been dealt in recent past, and how I was dealing with them currently, I have been putting Her on the back burner.

My friend then rattled off a list of things that the Divine Feminine represent: restoration, life, renewal, creation, nurturing, receptivity, compassion, understanding, intuition, harmony...and many more.  She then listed a few things that had to do with modern society's view of what womanhood was all about (high heels, makeup, dresses, being a wife/mother, cooking, cleaning) I then responded with "Oh, being a housewife?" to which she replied "No.  That's where society gets it all wrong.  Neither the expectation of a housewife, nor a radical feminist are correct in how women are.  It's impossible.  Being a woman is all about duality."

Here's where I come out and say it:  I love being a woman, but I can't stand being around them.  My group of friends are predominately older males (to which I will see the eyebrow raises and the utterances of "Daddy Issues" under people's breaths.) mainly because my interests are generally male driven: old music, record collecting, and strange British comedy to name a few.  And to be honest?  Most women make my skin crawl.  When choosing female comrades, I tend to gravitate towards "mother" or "big sister" like people.  This has been my whole life.  When I was fifteen, one of my best female friends was in her forties.  We still remain friends to this day. Young women, (and let's face it, some middle aged women too) to me, scream: needly, slightly, jealous, insecure, helpless, weak, and much more.  When I expressed this to my friend, she laughed:

"You do realize that you have been conditioned to believe this way for years, don't you?"

I thought long and hard about it.  My friend then asked me what my mother was like growing up. (Always stems back to childhood, doesn't it?) My mother was and still is a stunningly beautiful woman.  She is multi talented, funny, and gorgeous.  When I was a child, I saw the way the other mothers looked at her.  They thought of her as stuck up, or pretentious, or selfish, all because of the way she looked. My mom always made a point to take care of herself, to doll up, and to dress in a very "her" manner.  Because she was prettier and let's face it, more talented in other aspects of life than most mothers, she was isolated from the den of "room mothers" in my classroom.  I resented not having a homely mother at the time.  Strange men told her she was pretty, and god, why couldn't she just work at a desk or bake cookies like a normal mom?  Why did she have to go on stage in front of all of those people and sing?

This was my first example to how women are:  Jealous, and insecure.

Someone once said that when we are young, we get "whispered to".  Meaning, we are told from an early age what we are supposed to do.  It's when we get older that we learn to tune out the whispers.  It gets easy with the hustle and bustle of everyday life to block out the whisper.  And when we can no longer hear it, that...that is when we lose ourselves.  I had the whisper early on.  From five years old, I knew what I wanted to do.  One of my friends likes to remind me that we are all given "roles" in life...like a movie...and when we neglect those roles, our life goes into chaos.  Well, a few years back, I tuned out the whisper, and I stepped down to understudy in the role I was born to play.  (Remember those glorious old Hollywood trailers..."So and so in the role she was born to play!!")

One of my favorite quotes from Diane Von Furstnberg. I keep this taped in my notebook. 

When I made this decision, I didn't listen to my gut...about anything.  That was step one in losing my Divine Feminine:  I stopped listening to my intuition....I felt myself harden.  I stopped doing what made my heart sing.  I put everything on the back burner.  I was neglecting the roles I was born to play.  The last two years feel like an out of body experience for me, really.  I did more compromising, settling, and fighting within myself and with others (another sign of repression) I was doing things I wasn't comfortable doing, I made huge mistakes that I can't undo, and most importantly?  I neglected myself.

I was raised in an environment that was a little different than most.  I was fortunate enough to have a steady father-figure that went out and was the predominant breadwinner, which allowed my mother to stay at home with us, but also encouraged her to do the things that made her happy and fulfilled (singing, painting, writing, creating...) and worshipped her in all her feminine glory, and in turn, she balanced him out, being supportive, the caretaker, the one who kept the house in order.  They completed the other one.  They didn't compete, they let the other play the role they were supposed to---and happy to play.  This is the dynamic I always craved.

So I found myself in a situation where I was not one of these, but both of these partners.  I was the main source of income, the breadwinner, the one who worked behind a desk for hours on end every week, and although I tried to make the most of it, all I kept thinking was how much time I was wasting when I could be doing things I was supposed to be doing.  I wasn't appreciated there, and dealing with everyone's energy when I'm really an introvert who just so happens to have a somewhat outgoing personality, was exhausting.  And then I would have to go home, and fill the shoes of the perfect housewife.  I found the things I once loved were daunting.  I didn't want to leave the house, didn't want to put on my shoes (which if anyone knows me, knows that's what I love), didn't want to put makeup on (another thing I love) I wanted to sit around my house in my pajamas, scratching my nonexistent balls.  I had unwillingly, and unknowingly made myself the man.  When my partner at the time made the comment that everyone else in the world got to see the "best" me---one in which I was made up, hair done, fully dressed and "on" and he got to see the rest of it--the human incarnation of me where my skin isn't perfect, my hair sticks up all over my head, and I am cranky...I knew it was over. When I mentioned after taking a second job that I needed to concentrate on my passions so I could feel like I was doing something worthwhile, he said to me "There's only room for one star in this family, and it's me." I knew that I had to "man up" (no pun intended) and move on.

My friend explained to me that every one who identifies as a woman's version of their Divine Feminine is different.  She named off a list of things associated with being Her....Heels, dresses, makeup, bras, being a wife, being a mother, cooking, cleaning, periods, being vulnerable, being open...Which gender roles resonate with me? Which ones turn me off?

I said "OK, I love heels, dresses, makeup, hate wearing a bra and never do, would love kids and a husband, love to cook, could take or leave cleaning, disgusted and totally loathe my periods, and being vulnerable makes you weak." to which she laughed.

"I can handle the no bra thing. Cleaning is fine if you don't love that too.  But the thing about your body doing it's thing, you need to respect.  It's part of what makes you a woman.  And a lot of women would kill to be able to have one, because it means one day you will be able to have children, hopefully.  Embrace it. Examine your resistance to these things.  Now tell me why you love the other things?"

"OK, well, heels are works of art that I get to wear on my feet.  Dresses are more fun and easier to wear than pants, makeup is like painting your face every day.  The bra thing is because I don't think women need them, and I've read more on children and their development, and birth than someone who has ever had children.  Always knew I wanted them. I just feel more comfortable in a caretaker or nurturing position.  Love kids."

"Now, here's the part that's difficult.  Why does being vulnerable make you weak in your opinion?"

I thought long and hard.  I thought about being a kid and bursting out into tears, and my biological father telling me to "Suck it up.  Stop being a wuss."  I thought about how being open let bad people in to my life, and how being vulnerable left me a target for others to come in and hurt me.  I thought about the wall that I worked so hard to build, to keep everyone out.  I thought about how I couldn't cry for two months because I had trained myself to not do so.  I thought about having to deal with men in the workforce and how you weren't allowed to have an emotional moment, or a time when you worked purely on a gut instinct (even though you were right in the end) because they would just say you were being irrational, stupid, or must be on your dreaded period.

I thought about how I had to adapt to function in the world of the Male.  I changed my clothes, hair, makeup, shoes, even lowered the tone of my voice so men would take me seriously as a peer, instead of as a "woman" How could I expect anyone else to accept me and respect me, if I couldn't respect myself?  If I was being untrue to who I was?  To who She was?

And that's when I had the a-ha moment.  The modern world we live in doesn't value the Feminine.  Women have to be bi-lingual.  We have to speak Feminine and we have to speak Masculine.  It is not the other way around.  We are trained from an early age that other women are competition.  We are bred to be jealous...to envy...which goes against our nature to be compassionate, loving, accepting beings. We are taught that women have certain crosses to bear, instead of considering them privileges.  We are instructed to go against our nature, and go on rationale, not emotions, which then in turn, shuts down our intuition.  We are expected to neglect our delicate biochemistry, because we have to "man up" Instead of celebrating the fact that I was a healthy, blossoming woman stepping into adulthood when I started my first period, I was taught to be ashamed, to hide, to be grossed out...for doing what my body does.  I was told that I was a slut for not wanting to wear a bra...and then in turn when I posted the blog on my last website about my anti bra decision, I was told by feminists that I was truly not on their side because I still wore make-up and high heels, and was "secretly being repressed." by the patriarchy.  (When actuality, I just like glitter.) Because I have been told that I am not good enough because I don't make as much money as a man, or the fact that I don't have the desire to sit behind a desk for the rest of my life, because I was told that being a sexual human being was "dirty", because, dammit, I actually do want to go back in the kitchen and make my significant other a sandwich....I am not good enough..

Guess what?

Not true.  I love the fact that I am 6'3" in high heels.  I love the fact that my body is fully functioning and healthy after a few scares in the past, I am not grossed out by any of its functions any longer.  I love the fact that not wearing a bra makes me feel like more of a woman, because I'm not trying to turn my breasts into something they're not...they're just fine on their own.  I love the fact that I get to paint my face each day to highlight the features I like the best, I love the fact that I don't want to go into corporate America in spite of what the world tells me to do, I love the fact that my body can sense pleasure and I can not be ashamed of it, and I love the fact that I can find my way around a kitchen, and usually make something pretty decent out of it that will make other people happy. And I love the fact that I am an emotional creature who feels.  Because after shutting that part of your life off for years?  It feels damn good to cry.


This is what makes me MY woman.  What makes me tick doesn't make other women tick.  That's what's so great about being one.  If you want to have children, you can.  If you want to work 50 hour s a week, you can.  If you want to not wear makeup, wear pants, buy astronomically expensive shoes or not...you can. We need to focus more on what being women represents: openness, love, understanding, compassion, insight, intuition, forgiveness, wisdom, connection, sensuality...whatever those things mean to you...because when we neglect these things, our health falls apart.  Trust me.  I'm dealing with the repercussions right now.  When I was told that I have overwhelming amounts of the stress hormone in my system, and that I had overworked my body to the point of it not functioning properly?  I knew it was from trying to be something I was not meant to be.  That was from trying to shut Her up.

This is a new journey for me, readers.  I know that I will never be back to the person I was before two years ago.  I know that I am on a spiritual journey. and my awakening means that I will never be able to go back old Payton.  What I am doing is evolving into who I am supposed to be.  I am trying every day to be more open, more loving, compassionate, understanding, less judgmental...I am trying not to neglect what makes my heart happy, and I am having to learn how to listen for that whisper.  I know the whisper is still in there, but I have turned the volume down so much that I am having to strain to hear.  I am working every day on loving the person I am now, instead of beating myself up for the mistakes I made along the way.

Remember, just because you embrace your inner DF doesn't mean you're not smart, tough, or strong.  And it's OK to hate pantsuits. 

Love you, readers.  Shine on. 

No Matter Where You Roam, Know Our Love Is True.

What a month this has been, readers.  What a year, really.

Yesterday, I returned from yet another trip to Louisville to spend time with some members of my adopted family.  For those of you out of the loop, let me fill you in on "the family".

Being a chubby, prepubescent girl in the middle of the suburbs with affinity for all things old, it was quite clear that I wasn't going to be making friends my own age.  This is where the internet comes into play.  Before MySpace, even, I was on message boards, seeking out friends with similar interests.  My particular obsession was The Beatles. This lead me down the roads of MySpace, then later Facebook, which lead me to meeting "the family" in person at a Beatles themed festival in Louisville, Kentucky called Abbey Road on the River.

All of a sudden, I had a network of support scattered all over the world.  If I were ever feeling blue, or lonely, or down on myself, I would just open up the window for the internet, and be surrounded by all of my friends.  Once a year we would gather for a week and have Beatle summer camp, basically.  No one judged you here.  Everyone loved.  It's what I imagined a real life family reunion would be like.  At the time of my discovery of these beautiful people, my life at home was not ideal.  My parents had split up a few years prior, and my dad had married a particularly nasty breed of woman.  It was only natural to seek out surrogate parents, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles to supplement the void I felt.  This is where they came in.

In 2010, I kept seeing a name pop up in my "People You May Know" section on Facebook.  We had hundreds of mutual friends, so I sent her a friend request.  Her name was Carla, and I had vaguely remembered seeing her face around the year before.  I later came to find out that Carla mentioned to her long time love and soulmate, Jim: "This really young girl added me on Facebook.  But she's got some really nice shoes!" And thus, a new Beatle mom was born.

Over the course of the next four years, I spent several nights with Momma Carla and Poppa Jim as I dubbed them.  We went and saw shows together, met up for dinner whenever they were in Nashville, and kept in touch.  I even had a key to their house at one point.  In February of this year, I had just made a huge life change, and was celebrating that along with the Beatles' 50th Anniversary with a small section of the family in Kentucky.  There was a moment where Carla saw our reflections in the glass window of the ballroom we were in, and I remember her trying to get the lighting just right to capture the moment on her phone.  We drank, we danced, and we talked about how happy she was to be healed from her previous injury that left her arm in a cast.

Three weeks later, I found myself in Carla and Jim's house.  Carla had been diagnosed with a rather nasty case of cancer.  I felt absolutely thrown for a loop.  My Beatle family doesn't go away.  They're the only stability I am guaranteed in this life.  Why was this happening to her?  Like a dutiful daughter, I drove the three hours to come see her, and I will treasure the few days I was there.  She had a wound vac that she had to carried around (she christened it "Mona") and we joked about bedazzling it so it would be more Carla-appropriate.  I found it so funny, and so like her that even laid up in bed, she still wanted to make sure I noticed her new pedicure, and she wanted to hear about the date I went on the night before, asking me if he was too old like the rest of them, and did he have a job?  With her stitches, blood, guts, and packed wounds, she was still more concerned about me.  We binge watched "Orange is the New Black" for two days, and I came back home.

Fast forward to another three weeks.  I am in the hospital of the University of Louisville the week of Abbey Road on the River.  It didn't seem right.  How on earth could the festival go on with one of my moms in a hospital bed?  Our friend, and absolute saint, Jill was sitting with her, and we joked about busting her out of there so she could at least see The Beach Boys on Sunday night.  Even in the state she was in, she was still concerned that I saw her sparkly sandals, kept her up on the latest gossip in my life, and told me she loved me.  That was the last time I saw her alive.

Another three weeks go by, and I found myself in a remote part of Kentucky. I sat with some of the family in a pew at her funeral.  And just yesterday, I returned from the most beautiful celebration of her life.  Jill graciously opened her home to everyone, and we ate, drank, danced, and cried.  Oh, how we cried.  I have never felt more gracious to know a human being than I did in that moment. Here we were, a house full of people from all walks of life, all crying, holding each other, and laughing over the life of one person.

The next day, I was one of the first ones awake.  I looked at Jill's wall in her entryway.  She has everyone that walks through the door sign her wall.  Consider it a yearbook of sorts.  As I finished scribbling my note, I looked over and saw where Carla had signed:

And it brought me a tremendous amount of comfort.  ALWAYS together.  Nothing could ever separate  us.  We were still a family in spite of distance, time zones, and money.  Why would one of us on the other side change that?

On the way home, I was playing back the conversations in my head I had with everybody.  This has not been an easy year for anybody I know by any means.  There have been deaths, divorces, huge financial loss, and much more.  As I started to tear up a bit, I popped in Revolver into the CD player.  Carla's favorite Beatles was George, and as most of you know, the opening track is "Taxman"--a bonafide George track.  As I skipped over to the song I wanted to hear, the heavens opened up, and it started to pour.  I'm talking, violently pour.  Without thinking, I looked up and said "Gee, Carla, I know that George is your favorite.  If I go back to 'Taxman', will you knock it off?" and as I went back to Track 1, the rain immediately ceased, the clouds parted, and the sun shone brighter than it had all day.

That's our girl.  Always.  

A special thank you to Jill for letting me and the rest of the motley crew crash at your pad.  Thanks to Bea for the glorious vegan food, to Misty and Jeff for the beautiful tunes that I hopefully didn't destroy too badly with my drumming, and to the rest of my family for giving me what no one else has ever been able to.  Remember: No matter where you roam, know our love is true. 

Me And My Arrow and Finding My Life's Path

Hey, readers.

Do you ever have those moments where you just throw your hands up as you look to the sky and say "Alright, Big Guy! Give me a sign! Let me know I am on the right track!!"  I did about a week ago.  Let me rewind for those of you who aren't caught up with me.

At the beginning of February, I quit life as most of the world knows it.  Now, when I say "I quit life." I don't mean I checked out.  It was quite the opposite.  I checked in to my body.  I slowly but surely started to purge all that was toxic from my environment in every sense of the word.  This involved one big step:  Quitting my day job.

Now, I wrote about the process of quitting my job.  I was miserable there.  I had a few bright glimmers of hope for the human race every now and again, but it was an environment that one couldn't thrive, and if you were hoping on accomplishing your own dream?  Forget about it.  I could sell sand to the Egyptians, but no matter how hard I tried, no one seemed to notice or care.  Add that on top of a mounting list of problems in the company I was working for (legal and ethical) plus problems building up in my relationships (romantic and otherwise) I would come home every day and be exhausted.  I used to cry before going to work...just because I felt like I was dying every hour I spent in that building.  How do you even begin to explain that to someone?  I put on a cheerful demeanor along with my eyeliner, and walked out the door with my head held high. No one was going to know what was effecting me.  No one.  After nine months of feeling stifled, unappreciated, and flat out exhausted, I left.  No amount of money was worth my sanity.

When I started telling people that I wanted to leave and focus on myself, people thought I was bat shit crazy.  They still do, actually.  How could someone so young be so mentally wiped out?  Are you sure you're not just lazy?  You must have a huge ego if you think normal work is beneath you!  These are all things that have been said to my face.  Usually met with an eyebrow raise, a slight laugh, and a head shake.  How could you understand?  No one ever has.


This stems back to five year old Payton.  I remember sitting beneath this giant tree in my elementary school during recess.  This tree was hundreds of years old, and the way the roots grew down to the soil, it created a perfect little seat for me.  I would smooth down my dress and plop in between its natural arm rests it had created for me.  It was here that I would dive into my world.  I had a book with me then always (still do now, actually) for such cases when I want to check out and "quit the world".  I would peer from behind the pages and my hair at the children as they ran around and played arbitrary games like Power Rangers or whatever else.  At five years old, I would mumble to myself "I am not like you."  This became my mantra.

As a young adult, I find myself doing pretty much the same thing.  I was recently put into a situation that I was terribly uncomfortable in...a normal twenty-something venue surrounded by people my own age.  As I watched them nurse their cheap beers and go on and on about stuff I neither knew about nor cared to know about, I had that same feeling, and wish I hadn't left my book in the car.  "I am not like you."

You know those parents that tell their kids they are beautiful and special all the time?  I didn't really have parents like that.  They told me once in a while, but seldom did I ever think the sun shone out my own ass.  However, I always had an instinct inside of me that I was not destined to sit behind a desk.  I was not meant to take orders.  Upon making my big decision, I did something very normal for me...research.  I looked at the lives of all of the women I admired.  Big, small, artists, regular women...all sorts.  What was their common thread?  They all had the same voice inside of them.  The first page of Barbra Streisand's biography said it best:

And I always knew I wasn't going to be behind a desk.  So, I did what any normal twenty something woman would do.  I signed up for life classes online.  OK, so not normal when most of my peers are out swigging cheap beer talking about how Kurt Cobain is my generation's Lennon. (yeah, right.) Anyway, I signed up for these life classes.  Other women would sign on at the same time, and we would listen to a lecture.  Cindy Crawford of all people was the one person who woke me up.  She did a class on finding your life's passion.  Seeing as most of my heroes have died in a five year span of my age I am currently in, there has always been a sense of hurry up for me in finding mine.  I had my pen and paper out, and was ready to learn.  She asked a set of questions along the lines of this:  What is your passion if you have found it? Mine is communication and creativity.  Easy enough.  I love to communicate WITH creativity.  The second one was "Where do you want to place your energy?" I wanted to place my energy in healing.  Healing takes time.  When someone comes down with the flu, we don't expect them to wake up the next day and be ready to run a marathon.  When someone undergoes an operation, we don't anticipate them to be ready to swim the English channel.  Why is it that when it comes to mental and emotional healing, it's looked upon as being lazy?  I needed time and space to devote my energy to healing my heart, my mind, and my body after the trauma and the dis-ease I had put it through.  I wanted to devote my energy to taking care of myself, to doing yoga, to writing, to working on things that made my heart and soul well.  

The next was "Why not?" Why not devote my time to healing myself so I could focus on my passions?  Uh, duh? The fourth question, however, hit me like a load of bricks.  "Are you comfortable on your own journey?  Not everyone will accept it."  If I had a dollar for every time someone accused me of being an egomaniac, arrogant, snobby, and a complete and utter idiot for trying this path out, I would have been able to buy a giant building in the middle of downtown Nashville (in which I would then paint a giant mural that spells out TOLD YOU SO in psychedelic lettering) I have had to go through more borderline traumatic experiences with people who claim to love me screaming at me for trusting in my choice.  But had I accepted it?  No.  The greatest people in the history of the world have all had naysayers.  Was I comfortable with being amongst them?  Absolutely.

So how am I getting by?  Photo shoots (in every aspect...modeling, styling--something I really love because it makes people feel good about themselves), hosting live rock n roll trivia (another passion), and popping in and out where someone needs something that I am capable of doing.  I've added up my months, and what's hysterical is that I usually end up making more than if I ever did sitting behind that stupid desk...consistent?  No.  But it usually evens out.  It's not all fun and games. There have been days where I've skipped a few meals, and I have acquired a love for eating chickpeas for dinner...but to be fair, they are delicious.  But the true wealth is in knowing that I have been given so many opportunities that most people would never get.  I have ample amounts of time to dedicate to my spiritual practices, I have some of the most wonderful and talented friends from all walks of life, all over the world....friends who are incredible rockstars at life that I can drop everything I'm doing to be with.  And most importantly, I don't have the "I hate my job." syndrome.  

What "a day at the office frequently looks like"

And this too. 

How do I do it all?  Faith.  Honestly.  Like I said in my previous post when I was speaking about the bird that doesn't fear where its next meal comes from, or where it will fly next, or how will it get there.  I know that I will always be taken care of.  In my heart of hearts, I know that I have a purpose, a reason that passion was put in my life, and a reason for being here.  I know in my gut that as long as I am trying, I will be fine.  There are some days where I don't know if I can go on the way I am.  There are days where I wish I had the ability to go out and find a rich partner to take care of my financial needs like some of my friends have done.  There are days where you just need a sign...that's where I was.

One of my favorite "signs"--a card from one of my very best friends.  It says "Life has two rules: 1. Never give up. 2. Always remember rule number 1." 

So, here I am, bitching and moaning about needing a sign.  I was sitting at the coffee shop (the same one I cried over cheese on my sandwich because I was untrue to myself, and kept all my feeling welled up and they came out at the worst time possible) pre cheese incident, I was surfing around on the Craigslist free section (because, surely if I am feeling so blue, a new-to-me piece of furniture would help, or at least be an art project) and I see a post for a dog.  "1 year old Malt-zu will be taken to shelter tomorrow if no one gets him." the ad read.  Surely, not.  And then, I opened up the ad, and saw the most beautiful face I had ever seen.  My boy. Here I had given up the search on finding a dog to replace the hole my family pet had left two years prior...here he was tapping me on the shoulder, so to speak.  I rang the people up, and they said their children were sick of taking him out, and that if no one got him, they were taking him to a shelter which was notorious for being a kill shelter.  The next day, he was sleeping next to me.  I named him Arrow. One, for the Harry Nilsson reference, and two, because an arrow has to be pulled back in order to spring forward.  I feel like it was appropriate for the year I have gone through so far.  Here was my sign.  Everything was working out just as it is supposed to.  

You know you're on the right path when you end up in the same place as your childhood hero slash crush.  And they want you there. 

They say you know that you know when you are on the verge of a spiritual healing when you can feel bliss.  I've had glimpses in the past few days. I've been cooking more, focusing on my yoga practice, reading like I used to, and finally the songs that used to make me cry, I can sing along to now.  Today, Arrow was in the passenger seat after a busy day.  I looked over at his little face, all happy to be out and about.  We had the windows down, and I was sipping on an iced coffee that a handsome and thoughtful man had bought me...and I just laughed.  I laughed, and I smiled, and I felt so happy that I could burst.  Sure, I would have probably enjoyed the ride better if the air conditioning in my car were working properly on this hot summer's day.  I would like to eventually be making that drive in a nicer car one day.  But for now?  This was as close t heaven on earth as I could get.  Me and My Arrow, taking the high road...

As far as most people feel, I haven't been successful.  I rent a house with a roommate, my car (all be it paid off) is older, and now the AC has quit working, and my bank account has been in the negative more than once this year.  Would I like to change all of these things?  Of course.  Am I happy with complacency? Not in the slightest.  Am I working towards a bigger goal here?  Absolutely.  

The only thing I am constantly reminded of is to be present.  Be here now.  And keep moving on your path. 

Because I'm going to faith it til I make it.   

And remember, readers:

"You know you are on the right path when you feel like 'This isn't costing me my power. This isn't costing me my psyche. This isn't costing me my soul. I am not confused on a deep level. I'm not drained.' I can be tired after a day's work, but not psychically drained. I'm not losing myself. I'm not negotiating my sense of integrity. I'm not losing life. Why? Because you/re not betraying yourself in anyway. And you don't have to compromise who you are. When you do, you put poison in your own mouth. Every choice is either going to enhance your spirit, or drain your spirit. If you compromise yourself to the point in which you feel drained or depleted, then you've betrayed yourself." 

---Caroline Myss

Free As A Bird And Sobbing Over Swiss: How I Learned I'm Not In Control Of Everything

Hey, readers.

What a crazy few weeks I have been through! I got back from my Beatles festival I go to every year, Abbey Road on the River (www.AbbeyRoadontheRiver.com) and have had a terribly difficult time adjusting to the real world back home ever since.

Do you ever have a moment where you question something you believe?  Do you ever have an extended period of time like that?  How about a whole year?  That's where I'm at right now.

I started the year with a clear plan for where my life was going.  I was settled into a routine that was based on mediocrity and lying to myself. I saw where it was headed.  I didn't like it.  So, I changed it.  Perhaps it's my inner Virgo coming out, or the fact that I need to feel in control over situations to feel comfortable with any given situation.  Perhaps it's the fact that humans need some sort of consistency to feel at ease.  Although I knew in the back of my mind that I was making the right choices (or so I thought), I felt like I was anything but grounded.

If anything this year has taught me thus far, it's this: YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL, PAYTON!  There are things that have come my way that I am convinced is the universe or God or whatever you want to call it metaphorically slapping me across the face to remind me of this fact.  I have had money stolen right out of my wallet (money that was factored into the most tightly controlled budget...because there I go, trying to control things again!)   I have literally had to stop people from stealing everything out of my car as well.  Talk about unnerving! Aside from material possessions, I have lost my sense of security, walking the streets with my bag clutched to my chest, and if I had something in my wallet to steal, I would protect that too.  I have lost some of my faith in the human race, robbed of my belief that mostly everybody is good and we should trust them all.  That is what hurts the worst.  I can't pay bills with trust, but it helps me to sleep better at night...when I do sleep at all.

In learning that I am not in control over most things, I am learning more and more with every step of the way.  Coming from the mentality that I am an independent woman, and taking pride in that fact, I have figured out how to navigate this world to the best of my ability with nothing but the skill of using my talents to get ahead, I somehow translated this to "I must not be vulnerable. I must not cry."  This resulted in me masking my feelings by throwing myself into new endeavors and eventually being so overwhelmed with emotion that my coffee pot breaking down sent me into a near panic attack, and getting a sandwich down the street at my favorite lunch spot that was served to me with cheese on it made me burst out into tears...here's a lesson.  Deal with your emotions, or you look like the girl who cries over cheese.

"I DIDN'T WANT CHEESE! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME WITH YOUR MOLD?! WHYYYYYY? WHY CHEEEEESE???!"

There's that expression that John Lennon penned: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." And I can't help but repeat that to myself over and over again, almost as some sort of mantra.  I've had to accept the fact that my life is probably not going to go according to the way I planned it.  I may or may not end up settled into my career and married by the age of 25 like I had hoped, so I could start my family at age 30, just as I have always written in journals since I was a child. (I used to think I was going to marry Davy Jones too, and we saw how that plan worked out) I have never ever been able to accept the "Be here now" way of life, instead always straining my neck, trying to look over the fence at tomorrow, I have stopped appreciating where I am at in this moment.  I was speaking to someone who has been a crucial part of this journey with me, when they said "You need to give yourself some credit.  Look at what you've done. Look at what you've been through." and I thought about it.  And damn, the woman I was two years ago couldn't handle it.  And who knows, the woman I may be two years from now may not be able to either.  Between the finances, the burning bridges (bridges I thought were indestructible) loved ones sicker than I could ever imagine, feeling helpless in that aspect...no wonder I was sobbing over swiss!

When I was at my festival, I was in heaven.  Even though I felt like my "safe place" had been violated by an intruder, I was surrounded by the unconditional love of my chosen family, and some of my oldest friends---the music that kept me company through good and bad.  There is a porch that wraps around one of the floors of the hotel, and over the last seven years of my life, I have had some of the most memorable, profound, utterly stupid, and incredible times of my life in that one spot.  I have watched sunrises, sunsets, and shooting stars with people from all over the world on this one balcony.  It's usually good for realizations and "aha!" moments.  I won't drop names as to who was with me, but I was amongst friends...new and old...very talented ones at that.  I was going into the story of the journey I had been on.  As I was gabbing on and on, a small bird hopped across the ground at our feet, and he twittered about, hopping from one crumb to another, eating up all of our crumbs we had dropped.  Freakishly talented friend leaned over to me as he pointed at the bird.

"Do ya see that bird, Pay?"
"Yeah."
"See how it hops from crumb to crumb?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think the bird worries about where its next meal is coming from?  Or forgetting how to fly?"
"Well...no..."
"Exactly.  You are the same as that bird.  You don't need to worry.  Just as the bird is taken care of, so will you."

Spreading my "Wings" with Steve Holly 

And just like that, I exhaled.  A real exhale.  Like a yoga exhale.  One where you can feel everything leave your body, and you feel empty in the best way possible.  In the moments that I will have to face in these upcoming months, I will have to keep reminding myself of that slice of time over and over until I can get it through my brain.

"Free as a bird, it's the next best thing to be....free as a bird..."

Tweet tweet!