Advice, or something like that

Last spring, a friend of mine asked her friends what advice they would have for their 13 year old self. She was gathering the answers to make a gift for her daughter's 13th birthday. I thought it was a great idea, and offered my advice. Today I was talking to my neighbor,  and she asked what advice I would give to my 18 year old self. Seemed random, but when I thought more about it, I realized that advice wouldn't be too much different than what I would have given my 13 year old self. Not that I claim to have everything figured out (I don't,  which is part of the fun), and I don't think my advice is going to be life changing, but I thought I would write this as a reminder to my present-day self, as well. Because sometimes I just need a reminder. So here it goes:
Dear Younger Self-
Never put your sense of self-worth into someone else's hands. Others might use the words "weird" and "different" to describe you now, but that is only because they don't realize what they really mean is "unique" and "awesome". Never stop learning. You don't know everything, and you never will know everything, but the process of learning as much as you can about the world around you is where all of your adventures will happen. You don't want to miss that. It is probably difficult to grasp right now, but the things that may seem remarkably embarrassing today will make amazing stories in the future, so don't beat yourself up too much about things. Finally, always hug people with both arms, like you mean it. None of that half-assed side hugging crap.
Love,
Kirsten

Odd Ducks, Kindness, and Home

I first started spending time in Austin during my last few years of college. I had been here a handful of times to compete in the Texas Relays, and always wanted to spend more time here, so one Christmas my sister Kris and I decided to visit for a few days. We ended up staying a week, in order to hear a re-broadcast of a radio show, which happened to have several of our favorite musicians playing live. The thing that struck me during that week was how unbelievably kind people were to us. When I say "unbelievably kind" I truly mean just that. I didn't really understand their kindness at first. "What do they want? Why are they talking to me? Why would they just give us that extra taco?" I was an odd duck, back then. Probably still am. But back then I never quite felt like I belonged anywhere. I was on the track team. I majored in art. I was obsessed with the X Files and music (especially live music) was in a phase where I loved reading old medical journals,  and spent all of my free time at Streetside Records, listening to music at their listening stations. None of those worlds quite matched up, and if you asked people from each part of my life to describe me I doubt their stories would match up, either. But as soon as I set foot in Austin, I felt at home. It was the weirdest feeling, and I probably didn't even recognize it as that at the time. But the kindness thing really did throw me at first. The next summer I had the opportunity to live in Austin. I remember really observing people that summer, and noticed how fully people connected to each other, how they reached out and really seemed to care about each other. I wanted to have that. But I didn't really know where to begin. I had always felt some kind of weird separation from people. Like I had to actually reach through something in order to reach others, and something always held me back. Then, one night I was sitting in the Cactus Cafe, listening to Patty Griffin. Right in the middle of her song "Forgiveness" I looked around at everyone in the room. Everyone looked so familiar to me, like I had known them my entire life. That's when it hit me, that the separation that I had always felt was my own doing. Somewhere along the way, I had started to hold people at arm's length. I decided two things right then. 1) That I had to move to Austin and 2) That I was going to start reaching out to people, so that I could finally close that gap.
The first thing was relatively easy, and I ended up in Austin the next summer, after graduating from Kansas State. The second was extremely difficult because I really didn't know where to begin. But slowly, as I settled in and met amazing people who led by example, I began to open up to people. It wasn't overnight. In fact, it took many years and a difficult time spent in College Station, TX, then Los Angeles, before I ended up back in Austin and all the stars aligned to let me finally start figuring out how to be the person that I wanted to be.
Austin has nearly doubled in size since I first moved here. The skyline is completely different.People complain that it has changed too much. But sometimes, I still have those moments like I did at the Cactus Cafe all those years ago. Time slows down, things play out like a movie, and it hits me so hard that I am overcome with gratitude and compassion and love for everyone that I encounter, that it kind of knocks me on my ass.
Today I struggled with a headache all day, a throbbing headache that made it hard for me to concentrate on anything else. I even canceled some walks, which I never like to do. But I went home and fell asleep on the couch. I awoke a few hours later, with my dog Danko staring at me from just a few inches away. That kind of intense stare from him only means one thing: it is past dinner time. That is when I remembered that I was supposed to buy dog food .It was too late to go to the pet store, so I went to the grocery store. I was more than a little grumpy. The headache hadn't really gone away. But then the most amazing thing happened. Austin showed itself to me once more. I was in line behind pretty much the entire population of South Austin, and a series of events unfolded where the only thing that mattered to anyone involved was taking care of each other. It probably all happened within a two or three minute time span, but to me it was nearly cinematic. I stood there in line with my dog food, all choked up because of the kindness surrounding me. I may have been extra vulnerable and emotional due to the headache, but I am telling you it was beautiful. I turned around to the couple in line behind me, and they both kind of nodded at me, as if to say, "Yeah, we get it".
A few days ago, I read the quote "Surround yourself with people who make you better." I am so lucky that I live in a place where I don't have to look very far.

Facebook, Twitter, and Nudist Neighbors

I tend to  have a love/strong dislike relationship with social media. On one hand, it has been a great tool in allowing me to connect with people that I wouldn't normally connect with. On the other hand, social media can be weird and mean and ugly and confusing. But going back to how it has helped  me connect with people..... 

I have this weird thing that I have dealt with for most of my life:  an inconsistent introversion, where I spend a lot of time in my head, combined with moments of being somewhat outgoing. I want to connect with people, but sometimes taking that first step to make that happen doesn't even occur to me, and if it does occur to me, I sometimes don't know how I should go about it. Therein lies the problem. I try to always be friendly, and I never knowingly or intentionally shun people or anything. I just don't say things sometimes. I think a lot of things that never make it from my brain to my mouth, simply because it never occurred to me to say those things out loud. Then Facebook came along. Suddenly, Facebook was asking me what I thought. "Well, Facebook, right now I am thinking that giving myself a bloody nose with the visor in my car was kind of annoying....". For some reason, typing that was more natural than saying the same thing out loud. Suddenly, things that would normally just stay in my head  had another option. I would see my Nudist Neighbor on his balcony playing solitaire, and mention it on Facebook.  My Facebook friends loved my Nudist Neighbor. Eventually I would run into my Facebook friends in public, and we would have something to talk about. It was the automatic icebreaker that I needed to connect with people. Through Facebook I am in touch with former classmates, former teammates, former teachers, the first boy I ever kissed (and the rest of his family), the people who worked at my favorite record store in college, the people I met on the night President Obama was first elected, and people who thought they were "friending" my sister Kris, but who stuck around because they either like me, or they would feel bad "unfriending" me. It has been great, for the most part.

But then the election happened. Facebook got pretty ugly for a while. So I started spending more time on Twitter. It was my social media happy place. I didn't tweet a lot. I mostly followed writers and musicians and science blogs and travel blogs and animal rescues and TV shows and Nathan Fillion. I guess I was a lurker. I would go to twitter to laugh about absurd things, to read about genetic mutations, to see which cities in the world had the best record stores, and to try to win tickets to concerts. It was pleasant. But then I started following people who had similar interests or people who followed me. The thing about twitter, is that if you follow the wrong people, your feed becomes full of craziness.

One day, I was having a particularly rough day. I don't remember the circumstances, exactly, but I remember I looked at my Facebook page and saw  a lot of ranting. So I went to Twitter. I don't remember what had Twitter all a-twitter, but my feed looked something like this:

"This sucks."

“You suck!”

"You are a jerky faced poopy head butt nose!" (except it didn't say jerky or poopy or butt )

I looked a little further, hoping for something positive, but stumbled instead on a group of mean tweeters picking on someone else. It was too much. The things that people were saying to each other honestly hurt me. Sometimes, when people are so angry with each other, and throwing hurtful words around so carelessly, it feels like my veins are on the outside of my skin, or like my spine is exposed. When other people are hurting each other, I hurt.  On some days, Twitter can be full of hurt, because it offers people a sense of anonymity, and people forget that there are real human beings on the receiving end of the hate filled tweets. I couldn't handle it. I needed something good, something positive. Then I remembered a friend had told me about a link to a live performance by Mavis Staples and Jeff Tweedy, so I thought that might help turn my day around. I asked her where to find it. She told me that I could look in her "favorites" on her twitter page, that I would probably have to search quite a bit, but that the performance was worth it. I was making my way through her list of favorites, and that is  when I saw it. Not the video, but something I needed even more than that. The only positive tweet in a sea of negativity. I wish I was savvy enough to put a link to that tweet, but I am not. I did, however, write down part of said tweet , by someone named Emma. It said : ".......be grateful for even your mistakes, they make you who you are & somehow who you want to be." Well, geesh. That was exactly what I needed right then. Gratitude has a way of overshadowing even the most negative and hurtful things. Suddenly, it didn't matter that all those other people were so negative. This was what I needed to hear. So I started following her, and stopped following all of the Negative Nellies. It changed the way I dealt with Twitter, and as it turned out, that person had an almost magical ability to post  amazing little messages that were exactly what I needed to hear.  It gave me back my happy place.

Just a few days ago, that same person tweeted this:

"You never know- a small seemingly insignificant interaction you have with another might mean the world to them. Make every moment count."

Truer words were never tweeted.

Non-existent Porches, First Communions, and Gingersnaps

      When I was six, my parents, my sisters and I came home one night and Mom decided that she wanted to tear down the front porch. Anyone who knows my Mom would not be surprised by this. Likewise, anyone who knows the rest of my family would not be surprised to know that we didn't even question her. We just grabbed hammers and baseball bats, and started tearing down the front porch. The idea, of course, was to eventually build a better porch. Two years later, however, there was still an empty spot where the porch once stood. It could have been because my Dad  had several jobs, and just didn't have the time to build a porch. It could have been lack of funds. It could have been indecisiveness on the part of the designer. At any rate, the non-existent porch provided for an odd image.The steps to the the porch still stood as if they were leading to the porch, but  instead there was a sand/dirt pit, which led to the front door, which was about three feet in the air.
       I daydreamed of building a catapult to launch me into the house. But more often, I thought of ways that I could jump from the front door to the steps, which were about six feet away. I am not sure why this was so important to me, other than the fact that I have always liked challenges.But figuring out a way to make that jump consumed much of my time. I knew that if I could get a running start, I could make that leap. The problem was that getting a running start would require someone to hold the door for me, and neither of my sisters would agree to that.
       Then, on the day of my First Communion, something miraculous happened. I was a little confused about miracles, and was even more surprised that one was happening for me,  since I had already accidentally ate a ginger snap while my sister Denise was fixing my hair for the occasion. I was fairly certain that I was going to hell for the gingersnap debacle, which broke the "no eating before communion" rule. But back to the miracle. When I walked through the living room and started to step into the hallway that led to the front door, I saw my Dad standing in the dirt/sand pit, lifting Kris down from the doorway. His back was to me, essentially holding the door open. This was my chance. I immediately backed up into the living room to give myself proper distance to build up speed, and because I was wearing a veil, I was sure that it would give me enough lift to launch me over to the steps. When Dad tells this story, he says that he turned around to reach for my hand, thinking that he would help me just as he had helped Kris. But I was just a white blur flying past him.Yes, the speed may have given me a little more distance. Yes, the veil may have given me a little more lift. But the steps were just a little too far, and I landed with both knees on the concrete stairs, and slid down into the sandy dirt below. "Well, that was dainty." Dad said, as he helped me up.
       As it turns out, I didn't immediately go to hell for eating the gingersnap. I did, however pose for several First Communion pictures. I wish I still had one to post here. Of all the pictures that once existed of my childhood, I think that one probably represented me the best. I looked so angelic, in my white dress with my hands in that prayer position......until you looked  my bloody, scraped and skinned knees and shins. Then you could see the real me. The kid who tried things just to see if they could be done. The kid who could smile like it wasn't a big deal that she was missing half the skin on her shins, because she had come closer to accomplishing her goal than she ever had before. I kind of liked that kid. While there are lessons to be learned in incidents like that, I also kind of try to be a little more like that kid every day. Because she was fearless and optimistic, and truly believed that a little bit of a running start, and a veil acting as a cape could make all the difference. But mostly, because she stood up from the sandy dirt pit, dusted herself off, and went about her day.

Janis Joplin, Swimming Pools, and Changing Our Luck

                It seems like several lifetimes ago that I spent a year in College Station, TX. My reasons for being there, and the misadventures that followed are probably worth a post of their own sometime. But for now, all you need to know is that my life long struggle with insomnia was at an all time high, only surpassed by the following year, when I lived in Los Angeles.  But again, that is for another post. The point is, I was awake at 3 a.m. when my sister Kris showed up at my door one night. It didn't phase me that she lived 100 miles away in Austin  and she just randomly showed up in the wee hours of the morning. We were in our early 20's. Gas was cheap. She had a flexible job. It also didn't phase me, when she announced her reason for being there, in the form of a question.
               "Do you want to go see why Janis Joplin hated her hometown so much?" She asked.
                "Sure." I shrugged.
               After a discussion about which car to take, which probably went something like "Mine does okay on the highway but it doesn't really turn left.."  and "Mine doesn't always start but it does great once it does." (our Dad was a mechanic. You know what they say about Cobbler's Kids, or something..... I always get my cliche's mixed up....) We decided to take my car, and we hit the road, destination: Port Arthur, TX.
                Port Arthur isn't exactly the kind of town with a lot of places that are open at 6 a.m. , which is when we arrived. As we soon found out, it isn't the kind of town with a lot of places that are open, period. We passed the time waiting  for the town to wake up at an elementary school playground, lying on the merry go round and wondering out loud about Janis Joplin. Did she go to school here? Was this merry-go-round here back then? Did she like merry-go-rounds? Then we drove around, looking at the houses and buildings. By the time businesses opened, we both agreed that it was just a very sad town. I am guessing that it was a little more of a thriving town when Janis Joplin was alive, but who knows. We walked around and looked at shuttered buildings for about a half hour before we decided to get out of town. Poor Janis. We were both on the verge of a deep sadness for Janis and her fellow Port Arthurians (Port Arthurites? Port Arthuratorians? Ooh, Port Arthurities?!), so we bought Cat Stevens' Greatest Hits at a truck stop outside of town to cheer us up, and decided to head toward the beach. But then we passed a sign for Beaumont.
              We had been to Beaumont as kids. We had some really good memories of our trip to Beaumont. But we also had a shared memory of an incident at a hotel swimming pool, where everything we knew kind of shifted and was the beginning of a big change in our lives in the next few years after that trip. We fell into a conversation about how it was sad that one incident like that could overshadow all of the other really fun things that happened on that trip. I don't remember who suggested that we find that hotel. Maybe we came to that idea together. I do remember that we drove straight to said hotel. We had no problem finding it.
                 This particular hotel swimming pool was awesome. It was awesome when we were kids, and it was still awesome as we stared into it as adults. It was fairly big, with an "island" in the middle.. It was February. It was a little chilly out, so it was pretty much empty. I don't remember if we discussed it first, or if it just happened. But the next thing you know, Kris and I both jumped into the pool, fully clothed, and started swimming toward the island. We touched the island, then returned to the "shore", got out of the pool and left. It felt amazing. I was giddy. So was Kris. Neither of us could stop smiling. "We just changed our luck!" I said. It wasn't what I was trying to say. I am sure there is a better term for what we did. But it sounded good at the time, and that term stuck. We went across the street and walked through the drive thru at Jack In the Box . We went on to Galveston, driving in our heavy, wet clothes, singing along with Cat Stevens. Our clothes may have been heavy, but we felt lighter. It was such a good feeling. A feeling we agreed should be felt more often.
             Since then, both Kris and I have Changed Our Luck all over the country. We did the Chicken Dance in a Grandy's Parking lot in Denton TX. We played kickball at a gas station in New Florence, MO. I did cartwheels down a parking garage ramp in Santa Monica, and I did the worst Fouette Turns known to man on a street in Venice, CA. (I had to call my sister Denise on that last one and she described how to do them over the phone to me, so I may have been doing something completely different, but that isn't the point). This Changing Our Luck business is fun.
              I don't know if this works for everyone. I haven't really suggested it to others, or even talked about it that much..... but next time you pass by the coffee shop where you and your ex had the fight that eventually led to your breakup, go in and have an impromptu dance party, so that the next time you pass by it will be the coffee shop where you started the dance party. Instead of avoiding the street corner where you had a car accident, go there and draw a lovely chalk drawing that makes you happy. I hope it works for other people as well as it has worked for me. Try it, and get back to me, please.

Joss Whedon, Nathan Fillion, and Capuchins

 There are two things I should mention before I launch into the following story:
 1) I am a huge fan of Joss Whedon and Nathan Fillion.
 2) One of my life long dreams has been to hold a Capuchin Monkey.
Okay, one more thing:
3) "Hold a Capuchin Monkey" is not a euphemism for anything. I literally have always wanted to hold a Capuchin Monkey.

 In March, the U.S. premiere of Joss Whedon's Much Ado About Nothing took place here in Austin at SXSW. I was so excited about this, that I sprang for a SXSW Film Fest wristband. Anyone who knows me, knows that spending money on anything other than the necessities or music or books, is a very rare thing.  (For example, I once ripped the front leg of a pair of shorts, asked my friend Josh to help me staple them together and wore them for another three years before they finally fell apart to the point where they couldn't be worn in public. Why spend money on new ones, when they can still be worn?) But this was a Joss Whedon film, and Nathan Fillion was in this film and it was in my city, and it was announced that there would be a Q &A with the cast after the screening.........so I bought the wristband. I knew that having a wristband wasn't a guarantee that I would get into the panel, or even the screening. But I am nothing, if not a hope junkie.
           On the day of the screening, I met up with  a friend to wait in line. The group of people in line in front of us had been there since 1am. The screening wasn't until 3pm. I took a picture of them and sent a tweet to the Much Ado About Nothing Twitter account explaining that they had been there sincce 1 am . The Much Ado account retweeted it, and then a SXSW volunteer showed up and whisked those people off to interview the cast on the red carpet. I don't know if my tweet had anything to do with that, and I don't really know who sent for them. But the fact that they were being rewarded for their loyalty and commitment made me ridiculously happy. Me being me, I got all verklempt. It was the kind of magical thing that I associate with being a Joss Whedon fan. If my day had ended there, it would have been worth the price of the wristband- I had witnessed that little moment where someone was thoughtful enough to make those fans' day.
        A few minutes later, a volunteer approached us and told us we wouldn't be getting into the screening.
Although I wanted to see the movie so badly that I would have watched through a tiny little peephole if allowed, I just thought maybe I had bought the wristband in order to see how happy those people were when they were chosen to interview the cast. That I was just supposed to see that little snippet of humanity. While discussing a plan B, the same volunteer approached us again and told us again that we wouldn't be getting into the screening. I sensed that we were annoying him, so I said my goodbyes and set out in search of lunch.
          As soon as I was in line to grab a slice of pizza, I got a text from one of my friends that I had been in line with. "We got in!!!" it said. Huh. Okay. I typed a quick response "That's great! Have fun!" I would later find out that the reserved section opened up after some no shows. But I was still thinking about the group in front of us, and how happy they were. I just couldn't shake it. I was happy. I didn't get into the screening, but I was happy. This was how things worked out sometimes. I decided to call my sister Kris, because I knew she would like the story. She would get it .After I told her the story, she asked, "So I take it you didn't get in?"
           "No." I answered, "But I think that just means that something really awesome is going to happen for me. Something even better."
           She agreed, right before my phone died. I shoved my phone in my bag, turned the corner, and nearly ran into a couple who were holding......a Capuchin Monkey. I kid you not. Long story, short, they let me hold the monkey, who was named Mikey. They took a picture, since my phone was dead, and took my email address with the promise that they would send me a copy of the photo when they got back to their hotel that night. They informed me that it would likely be after midnight. I thanked them and went home to await the picture. I was so excited. I couldn't wait for my phone battery to charge so I could tell everyone I knew that I got to hold a Capuchin!

Around 12:30 a.m., I got an email notification on my phone. I opened the picture, and.......well, you know that awkward moment when you realize a lifelong dream and the only proof you have is......this?

        In some very odd, Kirsten kind of way, there could not be a more appropriate image to document that occasion. To this day, it makes me laugh. Oh, and by the way, the next day, I got into a screening of Much Ado About Nothing, I met some really awesome people, and Joss Whedon made a surprise appearance to introduce the film. He was standing three feet away from me. We breathed the same air for a few seconds. So I am not really sure what I meant when I said something really great was going to happen for me. All I know is that looking at the image above, it makes me really happy and reminds me that sometimes things don't happen the way you had planned. Sometimes you are hoping to see Nathan Fillion, a man known for his photo bombing skills, and you end up getting photo bombed by a Capuchin Monkey's antics, and that is somehow what you needed.