No, Facebook. I'll review my own year, thanks.

Well, readers. Here we are. New Year's Eve, 2014. Time for reflections, memories, and to figure out what we have learned. As I applied my makeup this morning to get ready for work, I looked back at myself in the mirror and thought: "Man, nowhere near where we were a year ago. And thank God." 

This time last year, I was walking on eggshells, desperately trying to keep the facade of a life I had created going. I wanted to crawl under the covers and never come back out. I ended up at some industry party, and was in bed before ten pm, thinking of all of the stuff I was going to have to overcome this year. 

And then January rolled around. An act of what can only be fate snapped me out of my haze of mediocrity. I had to do something about my life. And I had to do it fast. January 23,2014 was the day I took my freedom back. I walked away from my job that was slowly killing me, I ran away from a relationship that had taken two of my what would have been vivacious years away, one that was more fake than the ring I later found out was phony on my ring finger. January 28...the day I threw it out of the window of my car, and never looked back. My precious friend, Bud sent me down the street to get a cup of coffee while "he" collects his things from my home. After one latte, and the first side of Exile On Main Street, my home is safe again.

Celebrating the day I got my freedom back.

February rolled around and found me in Louisville with my Beatle family. I drank, I danced, I remembered that girl that was inside of me...the one whose sparkle I had dulled because it was blinding people who wanted me to burn out. I remember a moment where I sat back with one of my adopted mother figures, Carla, and recounted my last few months. She told me she was proud of me, and that this would be my year. A week later, my friend Heather and I took a road trip to Chicago...because we could. Having newfound freedom after being under a thumb for two long years was a breath of fresh (yet icy) air. We met up with old friends and spent a much needed weekend just being us. The weight lifted off of me on the way home with each wedding vendor I called to cancel. 

My first photo shoot as a free woman. My photographer friend who shot this was trying to get the right shot..."You belong to no one." He said...right before he snapped this. I've never felt so powerful in my life.

On stage with my band family.

March...three weeks from the date that I had sat with Carla to discuss how this would be "my year" and I get the message. Carla is sick. Very sick. I spend the next two in various states of being drunk. Late March rolls around and finds me backstage at the Ryman to see Crosby, Stills, and Nash...due to having to miss them the previous year because of a jealous partner who didn't like me getting any attention. What did I wear? I wear what was supposed to be my wedding dress. Seriously. I catch the eye of a few people backstage for wearing such an unusual dress, start talking about music, get to meet everyone, and the next thing you know, I'm being invited to come to LA with them. 

The dress that got me halfway across the country.

April found me on a rooftop in Los Angeles, sipping vodka and listening to legends play. I clutch the backstage pass around my neck and wonder how this happened. My feet touched the sand on Venice Beach and I wanted to cry. People whose music I've admired for years are buying me dinner and drinks...people who made me feel like I was never alone. I fly home and spend what was supposed to be my wedding day in a Honky Tonk listening to my friends play "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better" and how right they were. 

A week after, I was at a show, singing along to Humble Pie songs when a guy with crazy hair and a terrible mustache catches my eye. He knows all of the words...just like me. Stop looking. Ignore it. I went home to log into Facebook, and mustache boy is in the corner on my "People You May Know" with his photo and his name---Nathan Cox... and the next thing you know, "I'm sitting across from him at a coffee shop, laughing and chattering on about nothing, and everything. We spoke of books, and records, and films, our friends, and how I was going to see my friend, Carla the next day to go take care of her after her surgery. Nathan and I spoke for six hours that night. And we haven't shut up since. 

I go back to Louisville to see Carla and her partner, Jim...my adopted parents. Carla has just had surgery, and is attached to machines. She still wants me to notice her new sparkly nails, and is more interested in my life, and about the date I just went on. We binge watched "Orange Is The New Black", I vacuumed the house, and slept on a pallet of pillows and blankets at the foot of their bed...just like a true kid coming to visit Mom and Dad would.

May was spent trying to find out what was wrong with my newfound knight in shining Levi's...and with him telling me that I was indeed loveable, worthy, and that he wasn't going to go anywhere. I will never be able to repay him for his patience. Once again, I ended up in Louisville for Abbey Road on the River, where my entire family that had adopted me celebrated my freedom. New and old friends welcomed me with open arms, and took care of me when I couldn't take care of myself. I went to visit Carla in the hospital. She was the color of a carrot, and stuck in bed, but she still wanted me to notice her sparkly slippers, and how she had blinged her own IV bag. That was the last time I saw her alive.

June. 

I come back from my music festival to move someone in to the other bedroom of my home. 

 Things are beginning to look up, when my car gets broken into, and I have to stop the robbery...and then someone I thought was a friend, took every single piece of furniture I had, appliances, and clothes, and left me with a house that looked like a tornado went through it. This leads me to Craigslist in search of a free couch...I found my Arrow instead. 

Our first day together. Me and my Arrow.

The friend who takes my furniture away just so happens to be the person who has the lease on my house. The house is tainted, and I am forced to cut my losses and run. I spend the next few nights on my friend Gary's couch...and then with Nathan who held me when I cried so hard I shook. I felt like I was drowning. He held me in his arms and said "Let me take care of you..." a statement no one has ever said to me before. It was always me taking care of others...And right after that, I get the news...

I met adopted family member Grace in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky for Carla's funeral. The night before I went to say goodbye, I watched the last episode of "Orange Is The New Black" since she would never be able to finish it...and painted a layer of glitter on my nails, because that's what she would have wanted. I said my final goodbye to the woman who took me on as a daughter in her heart, and bragged about me like I was hers...her "munchkin" she called me. And two weeks later, I was back in Louisville, behind a drum kit after a huge break from playing, jamming with our friends...for Carla. Giving her the goodbye that she would have wanted. 

Carla's shoes were representing that night. 

July, another rock n roll family member had to have surgery, and needed help, and company. So, I headed to New Jersey to see Joe through a knee replacement. We spend a lot of time discussing our purpose in life, and he tells me to answer my calling when it comes. I ended up seeing both coasts of the country within three months because of my friend needing a new knee. 

I come home, and am scattered. What am I doing? Why aren't I as fulfilled as I want to be? I took my leap of faith, and no net had appeared. I had written out what I desired out of a job. Why hadn't I been and to manifest it yet?? Something inside of me tells me to go once again on Craigslist and look in the job section...

Doing wardrobe for Beck and hanging with Jason Falkner and Roger Manning Jr from Jellyfish.

August 1 was my first day at my dream job. It met all of the requirements on my checklist. Things begin to turn around. I am excited to wake up. I begin to get on a regular sleep, exercise, and diet routine. I am surrounded by creative and driven women that are beautiful inside and out. I finally feel like I know why everything else I ever tried for didn't work. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Laura, Owner of Tiffany's Boutique herself...Miss Tiffany, and Missus Manager (moi!) 

September, I turned 23 and breathed a sigh of relief that I managed to survive. I am reminded of my purpose, and am surrounded by people who love me. It was the first birthday since nine years old that didn't end in tears. It also is the month that I filmed with my boss, and my perfect little shop, an episode of Oprah. Seriously. Nine months prior, I was considering sleeping until I turned fifty, and now, Oprah's crew was clipping a microphone on me. Talk about a 180!

October, I managed to end up in a hotel with some of my closest friends/chosen family with Denny Laine from The Moody Blues and Wings. We spend a weekend listening to ridiculously talented people play the greatest music ever, and stay up to watch the sunrise. I see Paul Mccartney in concert, and end up backstage. I sit back and say "Thank You" under my breath at least a dozen times. Thank you for my crazy little life.

With Denny, and then Brian backstage.

November brings the first Thanksgiving that didn't bring on an anxiety attack since I was ten. Nathan's mom made a vegan thanksgiving feast, and I felt truly loved, and wanted by a family that wasn't one I had made for the first time. It was beautiful. I cried, but only out of gratitude and happiness.

Our first family Thanksgiving

And here we are, December. I'm in nowhere near the same place I was in this time last year. I wake up in a home that's filled with love, instead of one where I sleep on the couch, and mutter under my breath. I wake up with the sweetest little dog under my legs, and the formerly mustached Mr. Cox next to me, who manages to still look cute that early, and who every morning,without fail, rolls over, puts his arm around me, kisses me on the cheek, and says "Good morning, gorgeous. I love you." The man who saved me, and the dog who rescued me snuggle me into a love sandwich. Every. Single. Day. I get up at an hour in which I used to just now be getting to bed. I actually eat breakfast instead of drinking two pots of coffee alone. I do my makeup in a bathroom that is always crowded with two people attempting to get ready to start their day, but I will take that over the cold and damp bathroom that I used to hide in to avoid the happenings in my old house. I get to go to the most fun, rewarding, and creatively inspiring environment for me in which I get to help women who felt like I did in January feel like they are good enough, pretty enough...I get to go to my glorious yoga house and let my body know how much I appreciate it in rooms full of like minded individuals. I now have fantastic friends at the push of a button that could not be more perfect. (New friends, Daisy and Amanda!! How did I ever live without you??) I get to go home, and live my life.  How incredibly lucky I am! 

Wardrobe for Brian Setzer. After three weeks of Vince Gill! 

Our first Christmas 

My life is not at all like I had imagined it would be in 2014. It's so so much more better than I ever could have dreamed. I am constantly reminded of how everything happens for a reason, and that I am never wrong in following my gut. I know now, more than ever, that a life filled with gratitude will do more for you than one filled with resentment. Oprah has this thing she writes in every issue of her magazine..."What I Know For Sure" and what I know for sure is that 2014 was easily the most difficult year so far that I have experienced. I also know that these experiences were lessons, and I can't be thankful enough for all of those lessons. And if I had to do it all over again? I would. Just to end up here. I would gladly go through hell and high water to get to where I am now. 2014, thank you for your challenges, your obstacles, your struggle you threw at me.

Because in return, I also got your blessings, your memories I will cherish for life, and the knowledge that I was stronger than I ever thought imaginable.

That is truly what I thank you for.

I would like to dedicate my 2015 to Mama Carla, who lived her life unapologetically as herself. She never worried what anyone else thought, and never met a stranger. This year, my resolution is to live my life more like her, and to always try and make her proud of the woman I have become. Because I know she still watches.

Bring it on, 2015. I'm ready.

Stop Being Poor

I'm rich, readers.  No, really. And I'm here to give you one piece of advice on how you can find your riches. Are you ready? Here it is:

Stop. Being. Poor.

You read correctly. Stop being poor. Guess what? If you're reading this, you're rich! If you're sitting under a roof with heat, wifi, and some sort of electronic device at your fingertips, you are already there. Did you eat today? You're loaded!

I think where we really get it wrong is we use the term "poor" incorrectly. Technically, according to America's standards, I live below poverty level. However, by America's standard BMI scale, I am underweight, yet a "plus size" in their modeling industry...so where has technicality gotten me? Nowhere.

I woke up in a warm bed in a home with heat, with food in the fridge, and between four walls where love lives. I was able to get dressed in nice clothes, eat a healthy breakfast, and even have the luxury of watching Netflix with the world's greatest dog curled up next to me. I drove to a job that I love in a car that runs.  I had ears to hear my favorite songs on the radio. I had my health! If anything, I am rich.


As the Fab Four once said "money can't buy me love." and gosh darn it, those boys were right. There are a lot of other things it can't buy--health being one of them. I know several people suffering with life altering diagnosises right now. If they could buy their way out of them, they would. The fact that I woke up at all...was able to go do this in my yoga class the other day, and have a fully healthy and functioning body? That makes me royalty, practically!

I hear a lot of people around me say they can't do things because they are "poor" Most are employed, have some source of income, have never been hungry a day in their lives, drive cars (even a subpar one is a luxury to most places in the world) and yet they still complain. They don't know what poor is.

Am I perfect? No. Do I get fed up with not wanting to be in the exact financial position I want to be in? Of course. However, I do know where a wealthy attitude gets you. You know those Facebook challenges for the month of November? The Gratitude list is a challenge in which that person posts three things they are grateful for each day, and why they are thankful for them. I know the laws of the universe, I know that you get back what you put out. However, when you aren't forced to focus on all of the beautiful things in your life, it's really east to get caught up in what you don't have. We live in a society that thrives on comparison and dying to fit in...I don't have the designer bag I want, my house isn't as big as my neighbor's, she's thinner than I am, they make more money. These things are what prevent us from moving forward and growing. Comparison is the thief of joy. Poverty mindset only furthers poverty lifestyle. So, I decided to be rich.

The second I started to focus on my abundance I already had instead of lack, my phone started to blow up. I have been booking jobs more now than I have ever in the last six months. I've had experiences that people who live in poverty certianly don't get to have. When I decided I was rich, and going to live my life as a wealthy individual, the universe has lined up in accordance and shown me just that.

I wish that people realized more that you choose your thoughts. Even in my deepest, darkest, don't want to get out of bed depression, I knew it. I knew that I was only going to perpetuate my life of average.  I was only going to stay on subpar health, in mediocre relationships with others and myself, and would always be struggling. And then one day, I found my journal from when I was eighteen. In my scribbled handwriting, I had written every detail of my life...what sort of house I wanted to be in, what sort of relationship I wanted, what kind of job I required in order to feel fulfilled, what I wanted to look like...down to my jean size, and as I got to the part about wanting a little white dog, I looked over at my precious Arrow, and realized that I had it all. So what was I complaining about? I started a new page in my latest journal and wrote a continuation of that entry.

I plan on continuing my life remembering every day that there is always something to be grateful for...that even if the bank account is in the negative, there is always more on it's way. Even if I'm eating at home every night, at least I'm eating. Even though I would like new clothes, the ones I have now are beautiful. Even if I don't have everything I want right now, I am still richer than most people in the world.

So, readers. I'm telling you now.

Stop being poor.

False Humility, War Paint, Bellies, Nude Selfies, and More: My Self Acceptance Journey (So Far)

Hey, readers.

I had another blog in mind...one that was written almost in its entirety when I decided to scrap it completely and share what was on my mind. After all, my bedtime tea told me to...

As a few of you may know, I have joined a Body-Positive yoga studio here in Nashville called Curvy Yoga.  Being relatively new to my practice, I was relieved to be in an environment with women who all wanted to get in touch with, and appreciate our bodies.  This is a completely foreign concept to me.

Our mission statement over the fireplace.  I am forced (not in a bad way) to look at this through my entire practice. 

I have talked about the journey I have been on to accept "what is" my entire life.  As long as I can remember, my world has been surrounded by women who hate themselves.  I say this including myself.   Maybe it's being conditioned by the world around me, and listening to the women in my life that were supposed to show me what being a woman means, complain about their bodies that did it.  Who knows? A combination of the two perhaps...This lead me down the path of eating disorders, and a case of Body Dysmorphic Disorder at the tender age of thirteen.

Around thirteen is when the era of MySpace was really starting to take off.  Long before the word "selfie" was ever a thing, people took self portraits to use for their profile photos.  Remember those days? Where a bathroom photo usually involved an actual camera? I created a profile to keep up with my friends, and had the horrible realization that I actually had to take a photo of myself. The horror! I faced my fears and set up the self timer in front of my wall full of Beatles posters and posed. The cheap Kodak camera flashed three times and I rushed back over, prepared to see the monster that I saw in my mirror every morning.  To my absolute shock, the girl staring back at me in the camera screen  wasn't a mutant! Sure, her hair was big, and she had braces, but she wasn't half bad! Thus began my self portrait  journey.  I lived for getting dolled up and staging photos for my online friends all over the world.  I received praise, compliments, and felt my heart skip a beat every time I had a new Photo Comment. Remember those feelings? For the first time in my life, I felt like it was okay to celebrate and not be ashamed of myself.  A family member walked in on me taking photos of myself.  "You're so vain, Payton.  You're obsessed with yourself." This is the same family member that told me I was a "Child of God" and "Should be proud of his creation."

So, let me get this straight. I'm supposed to value, treasure, and love myself as a "divine creation" but when I celebrate it, I am "vain" You can see the dilemma that lies within being thirteen and terribly impressionable. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

That's why my hair's so big...it's full of contradictory statements other people have told me. 

This way of thinking attracted a lot of real winners.  My last serious relationship's number one argument involved the rest of the world getting to see "The Payton that everybody wants to believe is real" vs. what he "had" to see. "The real Payton." Apparently, it was somewhat insulting that he had to see me not in six inch heels, full makeup, the whole nine yards. This created intense amounts of insecurity within myself (how could it not?)  to the point where whenever I would have to take my make-up off in front of someone else, I felt the need to give them a warning...as if it were the Elephant Man about to enter the room where I once stood...where most people either couldn't tell a difference, or thought I was being neurotic. I am only just now at the point where I know that I am wearing make-up because I like to feel more put together when I leave the house, not because I am hiding.  I usually won't wear it to yoga, or around the house, whereas I used to put on a full face at the beginning of each day, even if I had only planned to be alone...just so I could look at myself in the mirror and not feel ashamed.

Without, and with the war paint. 

With this insecurity came copious amounts of anger.  Anger at myself ended up being directed towards other people. If I hated somebody's band? I really hated them.  If someone smiled at me the wrong way, I was in a bad mood for days.  I am only now realizing this.  My hatred of myself was turned outward to hatred of others. This was terribly confusing for me.  So, I'm supposed to love myself, but not love myself too much because that made me vain, but only love myself with make-up on, love me in the mirror, but not in photos...all the factors that played into my already unhealthy internal monologue: "I will  be happy when I weigh this much.  I will be happy when I am in this size jeans..." NO WONDER I was so screwed up. No wonder I still have a conversation with myself that requires time to re-focus nearly every thought I have about myself.  Deprogramming is hard.

My current partner has honestly been a great help when it comes to my self confidence.  When he tells me I don't need make-up for him to find me beautiful, I believe him.  He likes that silly little birthmark under my eye I have been trying to hide for the last ten years.  He likes my bed head.  And he likes what's inside. And when you see someone else that can love you in spite of all of your flaws, it's much easier to accept them for yourself.  My partner is very intelligent, and I don't want to insult his intelligence by telling him he is wrong anymore.

Yesterday in yoga class, I had on a pair of leggings with an oversized t-shirt cut "Flashdance" style and a really tight tank top underneath.  As we went into forward fold, I could see down my shirt, all the way to my scrunched up belly. And for the the first time in my entire life, I thought my belly was sexy. It wasn't flat. (No one's is in that position), but it looked like the beautiful women of the 40's and 50's in bathing suits, it looked like classical paintings, it looked like a grown woman's belly.  Maybe it was the hip openers, maybe it was the fact I was surrounded by women much larger and yet still better at yoga than I that I still found to be gorgeous, maybe it was the positive atmosphere, or the fact I was having a great hair day, but I looked down at my belly and thought "Now that's sexy."

This is my belly.  I am usually too chicken to show it off. Sometimes it's flat.  Sometimes it rolls when I am in forward fold. Sometimes, it sticks out a little over the waistband of my jeans..But that's OK. I;m in good company.

I'm about to recommend something that sounds crazy here.  A friend of mine wrote a blog a while back about her weight loss journey (she makes my 50 lbs look like a sneeze compared to how amazing of a feat she overcame) and spoke about those "Damn, girl" photos.  You know the ones...you see them on your feeds...they make you say "Damn, girl!" or maybe you send them to your boyfriend, or husband while he is at work...I took the ultimate self portrait...a full on, standing nude.  I wasn't posed provocatively, I wasn't trying to be sexual.  I was doing the same thing that I did when I was thirteen and thought I had a mutated face.  I was trying to see what I really was.  I locked the door, set the self timer, and stood straight on. No angles, no fancy lighting, no filters...raw.  I held my breath and waited for the 5...4...3...2...1 Snap. Unlike I used to rush over to see my handiwork, I walked slow and heavy footed....almost afraid to see the result.  As I looked in the view finder, I started to cry.  My mirror had been lying to me yet again.  As I brushed a tear away from my eye, I said out loud, "Damn, girl." The girl in the photo had no make-up, she had a few stretch marks, a few odd freckles, and some scars from being terribly clumsy...but she was beautiful.  There was the masterpiece that has taken years to create.  There was the woman I had worked so hard to become.  I took a mental snapshot and deleted the image.

I eat insecurities (and glitter) for breakfast. Most days...

Is accepting my body as it is an overnight process? Not in the slightest.  I am still reprogramming my brain every day. I am having to remind myself that "Comparison is the thief of joy." and I am supposed to be in my body, not someone else's.  If I were supposed to be smaller, I would be.  If I were supposed to be taller, I would be.  The fact of the matter is that I'm healthy, I'm alive, and I've got just a little bit of extra love in my belly sometimes.  But the camera doesn't lie.  If being able to look back at myself in the reflection of a view finder and not beat myself up, not cut down every inch of my body, not belittle myself, and not absolutely despise myself makes me vain, then start singing the Carly Simon song to me...because being able to feel like I am not a failure, like I haven't let myself down, and that not only am I adequate, but I am beautiful? I'll take that over false humility any day of the week.

And let's get real, I probably do think that song was about me. :)

Because sometimes, you just gotta ask the mirror if your outfit works for you that day or not. 

(Damn, girl.) 

Unintentionally Intimidating: The Payton Kemp Story

Two posts in a week, readers! Aren't you the lucky ones? No, but really...

Yesterday was my birthday, and I spent the afternoon with my mother and Arrow having lunch at my favorite vegan eatery in town.  As we chowed down, I leaned in and asked her the question that would spark a nearly two hour conversation.

"Mom, has anyone ever told you you were intimidating?"

"Oh, always."

"Yeah...me too. I've had two people tell me this week I was. Weird."

My partner told me a few days ago that I was intimidating.  I laughed. I laughed hard. I was standing in the kitchen with no makeup, my hair all over my head, washing dishes in tree pose and wearing sweat pants. So scary. When I prodded him for further, he said it was because I was pretty, because I was pretty sure of myself, and I am terribly opinionated, and tend to voice these opinions probably more often than I should.

My friend Andy said the same thing.  I met Andy at a record collector's show nearly three years ago. I was waiting on a friend of mine who was late, and I went ahead and started looking without him. I was the token girl in the bunch (as usual) and someone mentioned Henry Mancini. I looked over and saw Andy holding the "Charade" soundtrack and I said "Oh, I love his 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' soundtrack. I get ready to it all the time." and I saw him tense up a bit, look at me like I had three heads, and then proceed to proceed with caution. By the time we started making jokes about The Seekers and I broke the ice by singing "Georgy Girl" at him, we were fine. When I asked Andy later why anyone would tell me I was intimidating, he said "Pretty girls don't talk to me. Also someone who is so super sure of themselves can come off as intimidating, but that's not a bad thing per se."

When I asked one of my best friends in the world about this same subject, he responded with "Of course you're intimidating. When I met you, I was scared to death! You're 6 foot 100 and are smart, and witty, and have the best taste in music of any woman I have ever met. Now, of course, knowing you, I realize you're a big geek like the rest of us, and you're not so bad."But, he finished it off with "This is why all of your friends' girlfriends hate you." So there's that. 

I've seen what intimidation does to the other side of the coin first hand. My mom is stunningly beautiful.  She looks like she could be my older sister, not my mother.  She is always dressed really well, make up done, and looks her best whenever possible.  I get this from her.  When I would go to school functions, I saw her isolated by other parents, and even at my sister's soccer games, the "soccer moms" would say "Oh, look, the Kardashians are here." (My mom does kind of resemble Kris Jenner) instead of saying "Wow, Kelly is such a beautiful woman. I admire the fact that she's had two kids and still takes time to make herself feel good." it made them feel bad about themselves. So, they lashed out.  From about 20 on, this has been my life story too. 

I spent my morning singing Monkees songs at the top of my lungs, I spent my afternoon talking with a fellow stylist about the importance of lycra, I genuinely can not wait to get home and start a new book that I got for my birthday. I was more excited over owning pants with Mick Jagger's face on them than I was about mostly anything yesterday. I had a conversation this morning that was nothing but puns.  I tripped on my own feet this morning. Twice.  These don't scream someone who is intimidating to me.  It screams "Giant nerd with coordination problem!"

I mean, it's kind of hard to not get excited over pants with Mick Jagger's face on them when you're as big of a geek as I am.

I had to stop and think.  When was the last time I was truly intimidated by someone? I saw a beautiful woman come into the store I manage the other day.  She was a few inches taller than I, and terribly thin with beautiful bone structure, great hair, and a bag I had been lusting after for years now.  She went and tried on an outfit, and came out, saying "I would kill for your body. I can never fill out clothes like you could." And that's when I realized that there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be threatened by. Or there was the period where I was dating terribly broke musicians.  One in particular had a group of five or six different guys that were all in his same boat...struggling to make it on their own, so they had very wealthy significant others to take care of them.  To a young woman like me (one in which that concept was more foreign than patchouli in a room full of Chanel) I suddenly felt like I wasn't good enough to date, because I wasn't able to support not only myself, but any future partner who may come around.  After that, all women who made more money than I intimidated me. 

I think women are programmed to be in competition with each other.  The Feminine is not meant to be in this state of mind.  As women, we are supposed to be nurturing, caring, open, and appreciate the differences in each other.  Instead, we are constantly trying to out-do the other. If someone more attractive (or in my case, who made more money than I) came along and starts talking to your boyfriend? Oh, forget it.  No matter what the person is really like, that woman is a bitch. At least that's what our insecurities tell us.

I wonder how much of the world we are missing out on because we are intimidated.  I wonder how many friends I would have had if either one of us weren't too scared to say something.  I wonder how many trips people would have taken, how many terrible day jobs would have been left behind to peruse a passion if being scared of the unknown hadn't sunk in.  And what I really wonder, is how many people have settled in any area of their life because of it.

When I think about this, I think about that scene from an episode of "Sex and the City" in which all of the girls go through the line to say congratulations to their newly married friends.  The bride bids them farewell with the standard "Thank you so much for coming. You're next." etc. etc. and when she gets to Carrie, she hugs her, and says:

"It's always better to marry someone who loves you more than you love them."

Have I been guilty of letting something scare the living daylights out of me? Yep. Have I not gone after what I wanted because of it? Yep. One of my friends told me that FEAR was "False Expectations Appearing Real" How many times had I played it safe? How many times had I talked myself out of speaking to an attractive person because I "wasn't good enough" or "smart enough" or "rich enough".  How many times had I dated beneath me in looks, brains, or goals because I was worried I wasn't worthy, and that if I went after someone like that, surely they would leave me because that's terrifying? More times than I could count on my toes, your toes, and Mr. Arrow's (and he has four paws, so that's a lot.) 

The world tells you to be confident, but don't accept compliments, it scares people, and means you aren't humble. The world tells you to be beautiful, but not too beautiful, because that scares people.  The world tells you to put effort in to your appearance, but if you do too much, you must be a snob.  (If it is, then call me a snob. I've been called worse) So, for me to be a bit larger than life (in all areas...height, hair...hair height...personality) probably is super intimidating.  I finally understand where they are coming from. 

I am actually an introvert with extroverted tendencies in spite of what most of the world sees. If I am comfortable in a situation and feel like I have some sort of control, I am personable, charming, and relaxed.  If not, I clam up, shut up, and shut down.  I go into my head where it is safe...it is full of glitter and rainbows and rockstars up there.  Nothing can hurt me there. I was also raised in an environment where I was around a lot of "somebodies" who were older than I am that lived very exciting lives that weren't foreign to other people. For me to speak to one of them about Oprah being filmed in my store the other day, they have been there done that.  For someone who didn't come from the same background? They accused me of bragging, and being "too good for them." (intimidation?)  I developed a way of speaking to adults, and important people in "the business", and to this day, can speak to an artist, photographer, engineer, stylist, etc. with no problem at all.  Put me in a room with a bunch of people my own age who do "normal" things? I have nothing to contribute to this conversation.  A lot of people often mistake this for me being insincere or rude, when really, I am just examine the situation to see if there's any place for me in it. I also tend to look people up and down when I speak to them.  I am looking at their hair, their nails, their shoes, clothes, eye makeup, jewelry, whatever...this isn't because I am judging them, this is because I am taking it all in.  I have always been naturally curious (ever since I was a kid...I used to look at everything all of the time, and didn't speak until I was four...not because I couldn't, but because I simply didn't have anything of interest to say) I can see how this being mysterious and bitchy thing comes into play. Although, as my dear friend did say:

I thought about the friends I had who were truly intimidated upon meeting me...the ones who are a crucial part of my life today...The ones who accept all of my glitter trails, music geekdom, and the fact that in order to change batteries in a smoke detector, all I need to do is put on a pair of heels to reach.  These are good quality people...and the fact that in spite of being "intimidated" by me, they still tried to get to know the real me shows me that I need to be more brave when it comes to situations that I am not necessarily over the moon about.  Like everything, it's a work in progress.

I'm glad I didn't scare them all too badly. My life would sure be boring without them.

Life Lessons From 22

Well, readers, I am on the last day of one of the most insane years of my life thus far.  A lot of you will say, "Oh, pshhht. 22? You're just a baby. What have you possibly gone through that warrants this post?"

22 has been the most challenging year of my life.  I have had to question every belief I have ever had, fallen in love with myself, fallen out of love with myself, and much more.  I have lost everything, gained it back, lost it again, been robbed of money, friendship, and most importantly, trust.  I have had thousands of dollars, and I have dug for quarters to pay for gas.  I have been to both coasts in a matter of three months.  I have stayed in five star hotel suites with unlimited room service in some of the most beautiful parts of the country.  I have sat in the floor of my house with nothing but beans and rice with just me and the cockroaches.  I was engaged, and then I was single, and then I was in a relationship again.  I had nothing, and then a dog found me.  I had promises of being a millionaire's trophy wife, and then I had an overdrawn bank account.  I hated my body, then loved it, then hated it again. I went up and down.  I hung out with rock stars,  and then I couldn't get any one of my so called friends to return my calls.  I quit my job, was a bonafide freelancer, and then managed to manifest my dream job. I gained some of my best friends, and then lost some.

Nothing is more exhausting to me than extreme highs and lows.  So, needless to say, when anyone saw me this year, I was either on the verge of passing out from sheer exhaustion, or drinking a coffee the size of my head.

In the middle of this process, I went through the cliched "spiritual awakening" This included studying for hours about psychology, spirituality, yoga practice, and much more.  It is impossible to go through an awakening of this nature without gaining some sort of knowledge.  As I flipped through the journal I started on January 29th, I realized something.  I had learned more this year than any other year.  Here is what I learned:

Then again, doing yoga and aligning chakras is incredibly difficult when you have a bundle of cuteness next to you. 

Love is a choice...Love is a verb. 
Of course, there's the old expression "You can't help who you fall in love with."  and that is true.  However, falling and actively loving are two completely different things. To love is to be in the act of appreciation.  Love is first, energy, then what it manifests vibrates in positive focus and appreciation.  It's really easy in the modern society we live in to be in a mindset of "Grass is greener." With the internet at our fingertips, it's terribly easy to compare your relationships to others.  "Oh, so and so just posted that they are with their mother on a vacation, their relationship must be perfect." Or, "Oh, the girl from high school just got engaged to her gorgeous boyfriend with a ring the size of her head.  Her life must be so great." And if we don't water our own grass, one day, our lawn is going to be dried up and dead.  Instead of peeking over other fences, we should instead, turn on our own sprinklers. When we focus on appreciating our partners with positive focus, love for them will come much easier.  As will love for ourselves.  And we can choose where we focus our energy on. At first, love chooses you, and then you must choose to keep it alive. Words are wonderful, and the right loving words can move the darkest of clouds on the bleakest day, but unless someone puts their actions behind what they are saying, the words have no weight.  Love is an action. Love is a verb.

The time I flew to Jersey on a day's notice with no money, because I needed to be with my family, we walked along the Jersey Shore at midnight. 

 It is not wrong to desire.  Desire is good.
The world makes us ashamed of our desires.  Spiritual teachers and gurus say that desire is bad, because it never ends.  The fact that desire never ends isn't a problem! The desire for progression and growth is healthy.  No desire ever killed anybody, unless they thought they couldn't have it.  A lot of people thought I was clinically insane for choosing to quit my job in February.  I DESIRED a job that would make me fulfilled, encourage creativity, let me be myself, and in return, share my passion with other like minded individuals.  I wrote down exactly what I wanted.  I wrote down how many days I wanted to work, the neighborhood I wanted to work in, how much I wanted to start off with, and the requirements I desired out of my job.  I had several people start to prod at me for "laziness" or "having a huge ego" in waiting for what I desired.  I knew it was coming.  I acted like it was on its way.  I'm not going to lie to you, readers.  The waiting was terrible.  I was thrown into a deep depression when I started to feel financial pressures, and something like a check not arriving when it was supposed to for work I had already completed? That was enough to send me to bed all day.  I still kept the faith.  I was not destined to sit at a desk in a cubicle.  Let others lead that life.  But not me.  I know that if you don't achieve what you desire, the universe doesn't get to expand! If you don't line up with what you want, you can't give birth to new desires.  It is in the universe's best interest to line up with what you project, so the universe can grow and move forward! If we as a human race never desired for anything--be it knowledge, or the quest for cures for medical ailments, or the songs that never would have been written if it weren't for desire. (And let's face it, what's more important than a damn good song? Not much.) I have also learned that I can not surround myself with people who are complacent and have no desire to better themselves. I think that as a race, we are constantly evolving, and need to constantly strive to better ourselves...spiritually more than anything, yes.  But when we stop chasing after our
dreams, we die.

I used to desire a closet full of Betsey Johnson dresses. A work in progress, but here's my favorite. 

I desired a small fluffy shih-tzu like my sweet baby I lost. Here he is at my dream job. 

The day I filmed Oprah at work. 

It is not a disadvantage to be a woman, it is a privilege. 
As an American Woman (I bet you started singing, didn't you?) I am bombarded every damn day of my life with articles about how women are at a disadvantage, be it financially or otherwise.  Now, given, I don't live in a country where they mutilate my gender's genitalia, I am a woman in America.  And being a woman is the greatest thing ever! Instead of fighting the feminine traits that the world tends to frown upon, I have embraced them.  I could go on and on about the breakdown of the family unit, and my views on modern day "feminism", but this is deeper than that.  This is about the Divine Feminine.  Woman's purpose is to nurture, inspire, to literally bring forth life.  We are not meant to perform the same roles our counterparts do, and we certainly aren't meant to do them as a man would.  Femininity is not weakness. Our culture puts so much shame on being a woman.  My body doesn't betray me, nor is it anything I should be ashamed of. My cycle doesn't make me weak, or "crabby".  It makes me more intuitive, more aware of everything.  Instead of making an enemy of what most consider weak: vulnerability, irrationality, and being emotional, I embrace it.  Being upset with a woman for having emotions is like really wanting a car, and getting upset that it came with an engine.  Being a woman is incredible.  On a spiritual level, being born female is a blessing.  How wonderful it is that I get to be so in touch with my body, my mind! How beautiful it is to be vulnerable, intuitive, sensitive, nurturing, and inspiring! And how wonderful to be able to appreciate men for the qualities they have that I don't, only to have them value my differences back! To be put on a pedestal and worshipped as a goddess instead of fighting about what is different...That is where I have found peace. I'm not speaking literally me standing on a pillar and having men fan me with tree branches while they feed me grapes.  (Although, I do love grapes) Instead of focusing on how "It's a Man's World" and embracing my true womanhood, I have gained more respect, instead of feeling like I am fighting it. In this, I have attracted a few more like minded female friends (something I have never had before) and for that, I am grateful. It is good for the soul.

LA with CSN and company. Dream dress, All access pass. Who would have thunk?

Six year old Payton could only dream of having cocktails with the Monkees. 

Roger Manning Jr and Jason Falkner of Jellyfish in MY Mother Church for the Beck show. I got paid to do this?? 

I am a judgmental bitch. 
I am fully aware of this.  I am a huge judgmental bitch.  I judge people on their looks, their taste in music, how much they drink, how bad their tattoos are, if they are a dog or cat person, their diet, their shoes...This comes from me mostly being the hardest critic on myself.  It's true.  From someone who has dealt with most of the "self esteem" related diseases...BDD, eating disorders, social anxiety, depression...You name it.  I think that most people (at least the ones I have discussed this with) do suffer from Judgy-Bitch syndrome, but they rarely vocalize it.  My lack of filter is great in a lot of ways, and my true friends appreciate and love this about me. When I started really embracing my feminine energy, a lot of this went away. Most of my judgement is on myself. I could be taller, I could be thinner, I could be prettier...stuff most women go through. The other night, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and wore a crop top that I didn't feel stellar in, and I was picking myself apart all night. I demand so much of myself...I have always strived for perfection.  Perhaps it was an exposure to Hollywood starlets, or the fact that I have seen perfection personified in my job. I don't like imperfections or flaws. I have a legitimate fat phobia, and I refuse to buy jeans that are a double digit ever again. I understand that these are all things I need to work on, but this is what contributes to Judgy-Bitch syndrome.  There's usually a reason behind every comment I make that makes someone uncomfortable....usually.  Like I judge people who drink a lot because I had an alcoholic stepmother for a good portion of my childhood, when people don't put effort into their appearance, it irritates me because this means this will become acceptable, and my job is threatened. Stuff like that.

However, bad taste in music and shoes, there are just no excuses for these. :) I am slowly trying to learn to keep my mouth shut in mixed company, and bitch about what's bugging me to a fellow "bitch" if you will. I said I would get better, I never promised a 180! Ha!

January 28th 2014--The day I took my freedom back. Celebrating with bitch face and booze. 

22 wasn't all bad as a matter of fact, readers.  It was exhausting for the most part. It was also nothing like I had dreamed it would be.  It has been better for the most part.  And, sure, my inner Virgo doesn't like this place of transition, but I have travelled places I have never seen, lived some incredible experiences that no one else has had the privilege of. I filmed a segment for Oprah. I have the most perfect little fur child in the world for me.  And I have a pretty fantastic, emotionally mature partner who shows me he loves me every day.  I'm fitting back into my "skinny" clothes more often than not, and in spite of losing so much this year, I have gained more friends, more love, and life lessons that I wouldn't trade for the world. 23 looks like a lot of good concerts, working on my career, my yoga practice, and writing the life that I want. But, there's another thing I have learned from 22...sometimes life gives you not what you want, but something much greater.

And sometimes, life gives you someone who will hug you so tight, all of your pieces come back together. Someone who will accept all of your imperfections, glitter, and even embrace the dog that makes him a look little bit less masculine than a German Shepherd when he walks him, and one that will order you Mick Jagger yoga pants, because he understands.

Cheers, readers!