Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

Hip Chicks

Separating the Women from the Girls

by

Last night was a my girlfriend Persephone’s birthday (okay – it’s not her real name, but I’ve always liked unsual names that sound like Greek goddesses or something, so I figured I’d lob that one onto my friend, in the interest of anonymity and all. Heck, I wouldn’t mind being given the alias of Persephone.  Then again I wouldn’t mind being a Greek goddess, or any other type of goddess for that matter.  At least for a day…  but I digress).

Anyhow, the big “P” planned a casual gathering of dinner and drinks with a few of her girlfriends.  I was the first to arrive at the utterly hip and cool restaurant, hand-picked by the birthday girl.  We were in for an added bonus because she works there most other nights, thus initiating the unwritten code between on-duty bartenders, and off-duty workers of drink “hook-ups.”

I ‘m not one to choose where to eat based on the drink “hook up,” but can certainly see its merits among stuggling college age kids and what-not.  Don’t get me wrong…  I’m all about enjoying a good cocktail, on-the-house or otherwise.

So, I walked into the bar, and noticed the familiar face of Scotty, the bartender on duty in my friend’s absence.  I told Scotty I was there for P’s birthday, and promptly ordered a soda and lime juice.  It is my drink of choice lately, to help me succeed in my new health blitz.  I’d been successfully dieting, exercising to shed the excess pounds from the last two years of debauched eating and drinking, so I was NOT going to throw it all away in one evening.

Now, onto the reason for this blasted post!  The rest of the girls arrived soon enough. Everyone was dressed up in their cutest parading outfits (myself included – at least the cutest thing my boyfriend felt good about), and we soon were seated at our table in the dining room.

The ambiance was perfect – a very chic restaurant, with some of Aspen’s own Who’s-Who in attendance – and our own Ladies of the Roundtable all in waiting.  Well, waiting for drinks and appetizers anyway. I made small talk with the girls I didn’t know to my right, as everyone else that I knew was either sitting a mile across the table from me, or was seated on my left getting tanked.

It became increasingly difficult to make small talk, at least with any success.  As the evening progressed, the music in our little bistro got louder and louder.  I have a hearing problem.  It’s true.  Not a bad one. I just can’t hear background sounds very well. It’s something they think I was born with, but I have a hard enough time deciphering bacground sounds in the grocery store, let alone in an obnoxiously loud restaurant (which is what our little Camelot had turned into).  I smiled and pretended to understand what my new best friend Karina was saying, three seats over from me.  I had to pretend.  I’d already said “EH?” and “What’s that?” far too many times to be civil, or at least not appear to be an eighty year old with extremely good cosmetic surgery.

That’s when it happened.  Persephone and I caught each others glance, and she hollered across the table, “Are you doing okay?  How are you holding up?”

I said half-laughing, “Great!” But I couldn’t help but wonder why she’d singled ME out.  So, when she repeated it about twenty minutes later I said, “Why? Do I look tired?” and she replied, “No more than me, sister!” I quickly countered, “I’m just looking OLD! That’s it, isn’t it?!”  Of course then, Heather who was sitting next to P said, “Don’t you worry about it LJ!  I’m definitely the oldest one here! I’m 34!”  My mouth must have dropped to the table, as my mind raced, ‘Am I flattered, or insulted?’ From Heather I was flattered, I suppose, as she apparently had NO idea of my true age.  But very quickly I realized that my friend P had heard this (and anyone else?), and she DID know my age.  I had to fess up.  I said, “No, Heather.  Sorry. I win.  I’m 42…”  I think I expected her jaw to drop to the floor as she exclaimed with a shriek how there was no WAY on earth I could POSSIBLY be 42.  It never happened.  I think she’d had a few drinks by this time, and probably forgot we were even talking, as she mumbled something about her cool nail polish to another girl next to her.

As the smoke screen cleared, and I was fully exposed, I was forced to take a little inventory of the real situation:

1) I was trying to have a meaningful conversation with some girls who I hardly knew, and were probably still in their 20’s.  One had just come off the road working for rock and roll bands like Aerosmith.  She was wide-eyed and curious about me and what it was like to work for myself. She said she’d love to do that some day, but felt very comfortable in her “profession.” That should have have been my first clue, or at least tipped it off for me.

2) I was struggling to hear!  Not to understand.. though that had its challenges as well.  Do you hear me?  I couldn’t friggin’ HEAR what people were saying, when apparently everyone else could hear just fine.  Even though I couldn’t hear, I could definitely observe that this too was a MAJOR clue.

3) Everyone assumed their expected roles.  Birthday girl gets to drink and gets her way, no matter what (that never changes, and it shouldn’t).  Everyone else is there for the birthday girl, but most use the occasion to eat drink and be merry, and eventually make utter babbling fools of themselves (hey, I’ve been guilty of that… check out my Alcohol with Altitude post…).  But that was my third clue.

4) My own friend P was truly concerned about me, because obviously I was the OLD LADY of the bunch, and I might not hold up okay. THAT WAS IT!

I came to some important conclusions then:

1) I am not old, I am just wise! And I think I have some semblance of intelligence (I may also be delusional, but happy nonetheless).  I have been lucky to live and experience some of the most enviable things in my life.  For some reason my younger friends translate that as smart and successful.  I love my life, and I thrive on inspiring, intelligent conversation, and I see my time and engergy as extremely valuable – as my “free” time is so scant these days.

2) I do not usually go out for the purpose of getting drunk anymore.  I admit – it definitely happens that a few drinks take their toll on me from time to time – but I stopped going out to “party” when I was in my early twenties, with the exception of a brief stint between 36 and 40 when I was freshly divorced, on the prowl, and before I met the man I love and live with.

3) I HAVE my career and I am happy in it.  I am exceptional at what I do.  That’s why I make a good living at it, and I have crafted it to suit me and the lifestyle I have chosen.

4) I like to surround myself with people who are happy, successful (in more ways than just financially) and those who are always growing, learning and expanding.

The bottom line?  I am just in a different space these days than most of the girls at my friend’s party.  I was so glad to be there to honor my friend, and I do not really KNOW her other friends to conclude whether they are intelligent or “with it.” I just found that I didn’t have the drive of years ago to find out.  That was the difference between me and some of the girls that night.  I laughed and I had a nice time, but in the end, I am not a young girl anymore.  I am not really searching for love, career, success or contentment, as they continue in their search. Oh, I will always strive to achieve more of my life’s goals, but for the most part, I am happy.  And above all, I do not limit myself.

The gal who was sitting on my right epitomized our differences.  At one point in our conversation about career, she said in a knowing voice to the younger, more impressionable girls, “Well, we all make sacrifices to live here.  It’s just a fact of life.”

I wanted to shout out, “We do not!”  I live in Aspen because I CHOOSE to.  If Aspen were to stop fulfilling me or required that I make great sacrifice to stay here (without real merit), I would move on.  Anything is possible! I choose to live without placing limits on myself with every breath.

I don’t say these things to shun or diss my girlfriends.  I love P and her roommate, as well as my other best friend who got tanked that night… I like to go out and get a little crazy, and be carefree as well.  I’ve just been in the company of people lately who have raised the bar for me.  They are people I admire, and see as movers and shakers in our world.  The kind you feel lucky to know, and you can learn from as well as offer input into their lives on a daily basis.

It’s just that the truth of our lives – how we choose to live right now – is what separates the women from the girls…. and lately it seems as though there is a GREAT DIVIDE!

————————–
Blog content copyright 2007, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious.

Guilt Can be Good

by

Okay, so this morning I woke up at 4:15 am to ride with my boyfriend to Denver for a doctor’s appointment.  He’s had this “pain” in his neck (believe me, it is not I that am the pain in the neck.. his pain has lasted for over five years), and finally, after the two years I’ve dated him, he’s finally found someone who can help.  He does this combination of acupuncture and this craneal sacreal massage sorta-thingy…  Anyhow, I went partially out of guilt.

Ever wonder why in the hell we repeatedly open the door when guilt comes knocking?  I know the answer!!

Want to hear it?

Really?

Well, it’s because we LIKE IT.  We are friendly with guilt.  We’ve developed quite the comfortable relationship with her.  Yep – guilt is not “metro-sexual.” Guilt is a “she.”  Aren’t all environmental and societal traumas relegated to the female gender?

Nevertheless, I digress.  I was talking about waking up at a GOD-AWFUL hour this morning.  I wanted to go with my boyfriend.  It was my suggestion, because in the two and a half years we’ve been dating I’ve been very supportive, and been there for him at appointments and such.  I’ve done internet searches into the night helping him discover a clue to his mystery illness.

But beginning last spring, we began to hit a few bumps on our path toward relational bliss.  We underwent a few periods of separation.  They weren’t break-ups.  They were periods of time where he would stay with his family in Arizona while he visited the Mayo Clinic, or when I traveled extensively shopping my book to agents in NY, or another time when I drove out to California in search of myself.

Anyhoo…  I am leaving town again this Thursday for eight days.  I’ll be at a 5 star, 5 diamond resort in Santa Barbara, California, and without my man!  (It’s a work thing).  So… when I realized my hunka-hunka-burnin’ love was gonna’ be here in Aspen paradise, and not in beachy, Southern California paradise with me, I felt sad.  I remembered the times a couple of summers ago, when we took road trips to go hiking, or we’d pack up whatever food we had at the last minute and jump in the van to go camping – just for a night.  He is the only man who could ever show this city girl how to enjoy the mountains – bugs and all!  (okay – not the bugs… ewww).  Ahhh, but those were the days.  It’s not that we’ve lost any sort of enthusiasm.  We’ve had our regular share of relationship challenges, but it’s actually very easy to be with Tom.  I love him.  I actually LIKE him!  He makes me laugh so hard, I want to pee sometimes.  AND we WORK together.  We both own our own businesses, which go hand-in-hand together, and we BOTH work from our condo.  It’s amazing we get along as well as we do… but we do.  It’s just that business has been so good in the last year or so, we’ve had very little down time.  When we first met, I was on a break from working for a while, and we played all summer long.  Ahhhh…  I remember it well…

Anyhoo (did I say already that?), I felt sad, and sadness turned into guilt over not spending enough time with my wonderful, special, adorable man.  So, when my zen chimes were piercing my ear drums at 4:15 this morning, I got up with a smile!

I’m still smiling, and it’s 9:37 pm.  It’s a tired ole smile, I must admit.  But if you look past the haggard, frizzy, curly hair, you can still make out the slightest upward curve of the lip, and the twinkle in one eye.  (no I’m not a one-eyed girl…)

I’m so glad I went.  It was well worth it, and spoke volumes to my man.  I suppose in this case, guilt was a good thing (or gal?). See?  She can get a little too comfortable hanging out at times!

Catharsis of a Scenic Hike

by

 

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7kPs-542_Y]

The Catharsis of a Scenic Hike
By Lisa Jey Davis a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious
Image copyright Lisa Jey Davis (c) 2004
In Association with Read ‘Em & Weep Articles on LJEYS.COM
You know, people’s lives are just a little crazy.  Things can often seem crazy at work.  It’s crazy keeping up with the kids and their schedules, or social and other obligations.  Even having fun out on a Saturday night can get a little crazy! Every once in a while in our lives, our bodies need to relax, regroup and rejuvenate.  It’s a lofty goal indeed, when we are stuck in grid-lock traffic at rush hour, racing around the mall to buy last minute gifts, or fast approaching a deadline we have worked very hard for.  But rejuvenation is essential.  Why do you think yoga has become a more popular practice in the last twenty or thirty years? I practice yoga, and I love it. Especially when I can practice outside, or in a calming, beautiful environment.  I must say that getting outside and breathing the fresh air, participating in nature – whether walking, hiking, biking, or practicing yoga – is extremely cathartic. There is nothing like it.  My new love is just getting out for a walk, or hike – someplace with beautiful scenery or views, where my mind can be drawn away from the pressures of life.

Today I went for a walk with my boyfriend.  We’d recently dealt with our share of stresses, from sickness (our entire house came down with some weird respiratory virus that made our heads spin – literally!  We were all dizzy.  Did you know there is actually a medication that takes away vertigo?) to an unusually early cold snap with over twenty inches of snow, that caught a lot of people off guard, not to mention the unending work both of us had to accomplish in our jobs (which we both do from home)! It seemed we’d become attached to our computer monitors, and I was feeling very claustrophobic.

After days of working inside, cooped up and feeling a certain communion with my internet connection, I’d had enough.  I needed to get out of our little condo and into the fresh air

DSC01291(we live in Aspen, Colorado, where all the condos are small – it’s much like New York City – not much space).  We drove to the guard rails on Independence Pass, where it gets locked up for the winter season.  We parked, got out and started walking.  Granted, it wasn’t a real back-country hike (we were walking on pavement), but we went at a good clip for over an hour before turning around.  The crisp, cool air was fantastic (and since most of this part of the pass gets full Southern exposure, we weren’t in danger of freezing).  The best part was the magnificent views! It felt so great to be outdoors, taking it all in!It’s times like these, when I get what I like to call my more “creative” ideas.  I can fantasize or get lost in the wonder of the wilderness.  My imagination goes wild!  One such wild adventure of the mind started like this: I noticed how I was sweating hot, even though I only had yoga pants, a bra top and a light fleece jacket on.  The air kept cooling most of my body down, but it seemed my chest stayed pretty warm (and even sweaty)!  It was then that my mind took leave. I wonder if my chest isn’t cooling off because I have silicone implants? 

Then I said aloud to my boyfriend, “If I was ever found frozen to death out here, honey… I wonder if my chest would freeze?” “What?!” he laughed incredulously, knowing I was referring to my silicone implants.  “That’s just out there!” I knew it was.  But I continued, “Well, you know.  My breasts never get cold!” I said, laughingly. “They don’t?” he asked. “Nope! But I’m not sure if it’s because when I’m outside in the freezing cold, I am moving around so much, exercising, that my chest stays warm because of the extra weight, or because my lungs are working so hard?”  I contemplated this, before I went on, “Because I never come out in the freezing weather and just stand around, so it’s hard to know if they would be warm, if I were standing still!” “That’s just too weird, honey!” he kidded me. We both laughed at the strange places your mind (well, my mind) can go out here on wasteland’s edge.

I admit, it was a twisted comical moment.  Why on earth was I thinking about whether or not my ta-tas would freeze anyway?  Leave it to me to ask the question loads of girls have wondered (haven’t they?), but were too afraid to ask! 
DSC01286Just recently, I read an opinion column in the local newspaper that suggested they set up a booth at the base of one of Aspen’s most popular hikes, Smuggler Loop.  The author noted how so many people use hiking as a way to deal with the pressures of life, so the booth at the base could be staffed by a priest, a counselor, etc… He had some great ideas for how to market the ideas, i.e. “Counselors of Cardio” or “Reverends in Reeboks.” It was pretty funny.  I thought, Now that could work! But the truth is, lots of people go out into nature and on hikes to think, not to talk!  Hiking, walking – getting out there and breathing the fresh air is extremely invigorating, and can solve a world of woes.  One could argue that given the places my mind travels to on these hikes, perhaps a little psychological help wouldn’t be out of order! I swear, my pocket version of “Psychology for Dummies” never warned me of the dangers of going wacko out on the trail! 

The point is,  I went on this great walk, and I experienced some incredibly peaceful, contemplative moments, as well as plenty of laughs along the way.  It was actually an enjoyable experience for the self-proclaimed city girl that I am!  But it also cleared my head. Believe me, I have plenty of things going on in my life to cloud or distort my thoughts and stress me out!  This little jaunt took me to another world, and I relished the moment, as well as the wonderful benefits to my body!  

————————–
Photos & Website content copyright 2007, LJEYS.COM & LISA J. DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious / Blog content copyright 2007, LISA J. DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious

Alcohol with Altitude (and hormones!)

by

Friday evening started out like any other evening out on the town.  My boyfriend and I met some of his friends and their teenage sons for dinner.  We enjoyed a great time at one of my favorite restaurants in Aspen, Blue Maize.

Perhaps I should preface this a bit with some hindsight revelations. I think women should be very careful when they drink during ovulation.  Pardon the abruptness – but my body was trying to drop an egg (ew.. I know) all week long!  I knew it was trying, because it was that “in between time” and no matter what I did, I could not get enough to eat!  Every single healthy pattern I’ve developed and lived by over the course of my life not only went out the window, but traveled to another town. I engulfed every decadent food item I could get my hands on in my waking hours.  I don’t even LIKE pop-tarts that much, but they were in my cupboard.  And let me tell you – if you toast those babies, and put some vanilla frosting on them (the kind that’s ready-made in the jar), they are incredible!  All in all, the food is actually quite harmless, since the whole episode doesn’t last forever, (aside from the pounds one might have to lose afterward).  But the alcohol  – now THAT’S another story.

Perhaps someone out there has some expert advice to offer about this, but I can attest to the fact that alcohol affects me immensely during this short window of time each month.  I’ve had some gnarly benders as a result of drinking and ovulating.  There should be a law against it. The penalty should be almost as strong as one might get for drinking and driving.

Instead of this: Which we all know not to do….
drink-drive

There should be signs like this:
drink-ovulate
(those little key phrases? “ovulating” and “hormones”).

I SWEAR, it would only be fair to do so!  Men and women everywhere must be WARNED!

At dinner I drank a martini, then a glass of white wine (as I couldn’t decide what to drink that evening).  As we neared the end of the dinner, I reminded my boyfriend that my girlfriend Leopardesse,  from Los Angeles was in town, and I’d be getting together with her afterward.  My boyfriend asked cautiously whether I would still be okay the next day to go on our planned rock-climbing adventure.  I assured him with a “Pffff!”  that yes, of course I would!  I’d promised him we’d go rock climbing, so that is what we were going to do.

I should have gotten a clue, when after being with my girlfriend for only a short time, I started to notice my lack of control over my face… particularly my mouth.  My brain kept telling me to form the words, but my lips were not cooperating.  They moved sideways, when I wanted them to move up and down.  I felt like I was speaking in slow motion.

The second clue should have been when Leopardesse  proclaimed to her other friend at the table, in a somewhat sweet, understanding voice that her girlfriend (moi) was a “little” drunk.  Of course I guffawed at that, denying it vehemently.

We went from that restaurant to another, where they’d cleared the tables and turned it into a nightclub. What’s really interesting is how a person can “think” they are just fine and in complete control, as they stumble around, slurring their words. I eagerly consented to go to the second stop “on the way” to our final destination, The Caribou Club.

Before I knew it, I was seated at a table with a huge bottle of vodka in front of me.  I took one sip, and decided I’d had enough.  Everything went blurry.  The room was like an episode of CSI. You know, where they show things that happened at a party, in the past – where eveything is out of focus and the voices are echoing?  Women were laughing and conversing, and I just sat there, dazed and confused. I’m not positive, but I may have had my mouth partially open, a little drool coming out! ha ha

Finally, after allowing the room to spin for some time, I’d had enough.  I bid farewell to all my new best friends, forgoing our last stop of the evening, and headed for the Aspen shuttle stop.  On the way, I stopped at a hotdog stand and wolfed down the most decadent thing I could think of – some sort of sausage thing.  I ate it before the bus arrived!  How’s THAT for ovulation?

I got home fairly early and passed out.  The next day I tried to put the pieces together, as I fumbled to put on my hiking boots, determined not to hurl.

Apparently I had still been able to muster up the ability (god bless me) to network, and I actually collected some business cards and contact information from a few power women I met that night (lord knows they’ll think twice at engaging in anything professional with me! ha!).  I didn’t remember any of it the next day.  I contacted my girlfriend to obtain one of the girl’s phone numbers, and she scolded me in her lovely Swedish accent, “Darling, you already have her business card in your purse. She wrote her cell phone on the back!  You’d better check your purse.  You never know what you might find in there today.”  I was dumb-founded.  How could it be?

In hindsight (one more revelation), I don’t think I really drank that much.  I think I had two martinis and a glass of wine before I lost it.  I’ve had much more before, and been thought completely sober.

It was utterly confusing to me, the fact that I couldn’t see straight after drinking in moderation.  We are talking about a period of several hours here.  What started at 7:30 pm ended very quickly at about 12:30 am.

After beating myself up, and being mortified over those first impressions you can never get back, I finally decided to let it go – give myself a break. I was, after all, trying to tie-one-on at 8000 feet after spending two weeks at sea level. It’s a known fact that high altitude mixed with alcohol makes you lose control of your senses quickly.

If you add hormones to the mix, you’ve got yourself a concoction that carries QUITE A PUNCH!

————————–
Website & Blog content copyright 2007, LISA J. DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious

Can We Find Ourselves?

by

Wednesday, July 18, 2007 was a day in recent history marked for me by sadness, guilt, and hope – all rolled into one little package. It was the day my youngest child – twelve years old – loaded up his prized possessions (with the help of his dad and a friend) into his dad’s truck and drove away to live a brand new life… A life without the everyday influence, participation and firm, loving hand of his mother.

I can’t begin to express the flood of emotions that ensued once my son drove away and headed for another state, to the land of what he saw as opportunity and life on easy street. I was ill-prepared for the countless negative thoughts that would whirl through my mind, out of control. “If only you’d done this…” “If you lived in a house, maybe he’d be happier…” “You’ve been such a bad mother…”

The reality, which I so seldom indulge in, is that life with me was not so bad.  As a matter of fact, it was pretty damn good.  How bad can life be in Los Angeles, California, surrounded by good friends, a fun community and endless opportunites?  And then, what about once we moved to Aspen, Colorado?  I’m sure the winters can grow tiresome, but walking out your door to hit the slopes is not all that bad. Riding your bike to school, because it’s safe enough here to do so.. well, that’s pretty special too.

It was the divorce that made things tough on my little dude.  He and his dad were always very close, and as such, his dad could do no wrong. Ever. From the time he was six or seven, and shortly after the divorce, my son asked if he might ever be given the choice to live with his dad.  At the time, I understood this to be his little heart crying out for his daddy, and I supported him.  I knew his dad would be very important in his life. I told him when he reached twelve or so, it would be possible.  I figured that was several years down the road, and would be plenty of time to raise him into the child he could be…   He never forgot.

Just before my son’s departure, I began to panic.  I didn’t know it, nor could anyone tell me, but I was trying to figure things out – and fast.  Why was my son really leaving?  Was there anything I needed to do to change things? Should I look within myself and make changes, or try to fix my external surroundings?

This thinking, and related behavior (tears, emotional roller-coaster rides) put tremendous strain on my relationship with my boyfriend – whom I live with, and with whom I’ve started to build a new life. I started to doubt every choice I’d made since the divorce. First, to move from Orange County to Los Angeles, then to move to Aspen.  Then to move in with my boyfriend, whom I’ve since claimed to be the love of my life. Had it been too much for my son? Had he finally reached his limit?  Was all this grossly unfair to expect a child to endure? And what was this whole business about Aspen?  What was I doing here after all?  Was this really what I wanted?  I’m a marketing and public relations maven!  What could Aspen possibly have to offer me?

I decided to take the time immediately following my son’s departure to travel back to Los Angeles. I needed a good dose of it too.  I needed to take it all in and decide if I could live in peace and happiness in Aspen.  Los Angeles is one city I love. I knew this would be a challenge.

My older son had remained in LA, so it was a perfect time to pay a visit and receive some much-needed acknowledgement as a good mother.  It was a good move. I realized that I’d never visited LA and spent time with my older son – just the two of us.  We needed that time.

I also realized it was ridiculous to pressure myself into deciding for or against a city.  There were a few things I knew for certain which remain true:  1) I love my boyfriend; 2) I want to continue to try to build a life with him; 3) I love Los Angeles, and all my friends and family there; 4) I’m definitely a city girl and need a good dose of the city regularly.  But whenever I tried to reach a decision about moving to Los Angeles, or staying in Aspen I felt like I was being shackled. Choked out. Smothered. I didn’t come to the conclusion that I wanted to leave Aspen, nor did I feel I was so in love with Los Angeles that I would foresake everything and move back. Why couldn’t I make a decision?  I’ve been hailed among friends as being a decisive, action-oriented person.  I’m the one who’s brave and willing to take risks.  What was I afraid of here?

I guess I realized that this whole great whirlwind of emotion was more about ME then it would ever be about any one place. I had lost my peace, and felt insecure.  I was living in fear and regret.  My peaceful, self assured way of being had been chewed up and spit out by the ebb and flow of life, and I’d sat by and watched it happen.

I also learned that it is impossible to fabricate security, and peace.   This I know.

I went to Los Angeles hoping to find a piece of myself still there: some hint or clue … I hoped I’d find that little piece lying on a curb near my regular haunts or on the counter at my favorite music store or something..  I didn’t find myself or any remnant thereof in Los Angeles (metaphorically, of course)..   It just didn’t happen.  I loved it.  I missed it.  I missed my friends and my son.  I missed the conveniences. But I just couldn’t bring myself to say I was ready to give up on Aspen and the man who is my love.

I remembered an important idiom I’ve quoted many times, only this time it had real meaning:  “Wherever you go, there you are.” That was it.  Wherever I go, There I am!  The key to this whole mess, the ups and downs emotionally, and my happiness and peace was ME.

I realized that you can’t find something you haven’t lost… DUH. I wasn’t lost.  I was just crazy and sad over something that is NORMAL to be crazy and sad over.

I’ve decided to sit with things as they are.  Cry when I need to cry. Laugh as much as possible.  Remember who I am, and stay true to that.

Wherever You Go There You Are

————————–
Photos, Website & Blog content copyright 2007, LISA J. DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious