Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

Single Women

Wherever You Go, There You Are

by

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

It’s January, 2008, and as the snow dumps at record proportions outside my window in Aspen, Colorado – I am reminded of a little trip I took last fall.  It was just before the first snowfall, when the leaves were still turning gold, and the crisp evening air required lots of layering, warmer sweaters and all the yummy snugly apparel that makes one anticipate the fall.

It all began on Thursday, September 20, 2007, when I packed up my car and headed west to Moab.

No. It’s not in the Middle East, somewhere. The original Moab (or the Moab some may have heard of), circa “old testament” was indeed in the middle east, and those Moabites wreaked havoc on the Israelites.  They were certainly a force to be reckoned with, from what I hear.

Moab, Utah, though it’s historic reputation of being home  and jail  to some surly wild west criminals back in the day may rival that of the middle eastern Moab, is not quite so infamous. These days Moab, Utah is most known for being home to the famous Arches National Park (pictured above), and for being a favorite destination for extreme sports (biking, rock-climbing and hiking) fanatics.  I have a little house there, and though the turning of the leaves that occurs in autumn in Aspen is really something to see and often awe-inspiring, I was ready to get out of Dodge.  The dew on the grass, and the chill in air was enough to scare even hard-core golden leaf fans. I just knew if I didn’t leave, I’d be dealing with the first snowfall, and I wasn’t quite ready to let go of summer!  (How far away and unfathomable that feeling is now, as the snow piles to twelve feet on the side of the road)!

Back then, I had just returned to Aspen from the Santa Barbara coast, with the sheer bliss of the ocean breeze, together with balmy, 75 degree temps and surrounded by REAL bronze tans (with salt-water-pelted skin). And with 80 degree weather still the norm in Moab, getting out of Aspen was something to look forward to!

So, I headed west toward Moab, careful not to miss exit, 182.  Not this time.

You’d think I’d know my way to my own home – even if it is a part-time residence, wouldn’t you?  In my defense, I just love a good road trip. It’s very cathartic for me.  I get some much-needed thinking and problem solving done.  I also day-dream quite a bit, but I’ve learned (the hard way) that there is a certain point on the highway when I really have to pay attention to where I am.  I once ended up in Green River, Utah and hadn’t even realized I’d gone too far!  I pulled off the highway and wondered with awe at the great restaurants and conveniences they’d built since my last trip to Moab, just a few short months ago (I am blond.  I was born that way).  Then I realized I’d gone too far and turned my car around.  I’ve never lived it down, since.  My boyfriend sends friendly reminder text messages to my cell phone, with playful comments like, “Don’t miss 182!” or “Don’t miss the turn!” because of that little jaunt.

But this time, as I drove west toward Moab, I mused about the transition from Colorado into Utah.  It was interesting.  I drove through towns with names like Rifle, Parachute, Silt, and Grand Junction.  Think about it. It definitely can conjure up some wild west sort of images.  Let’s play word association:

Rifle:  guns, hunting, target shooting, pickup trucks and beer with too much time to waste.

Parachute: blue skies, colorful parachutes, extreme sports, paratroopers, wartime, pow, guns.

Silt:  white rock, powdery rock, quarry, middle of nowhere, desolate, target practice, pickup trucks, beer, rifles, guns, hunting.

Grand Junction:  The place where it all comes together.

‘That is soooo Colorado,’ I thought laughingly, as I drove past a “Caution, Eagles on Highway” sign.  ‘No wonder everyone thinks Colorado is full of cowboys and ranchers!’  It is a tough stigma to live down.  Imagine me, Ms. Cheevious at one of the year’s most anticipated parties – lets say an Oscar party in Hollywood (work with me here – I like to dream big). Tom and Katie (tom-kat) compliment my dress, I smile and nod as I walk by and bump into Leo (you know the guy – DiCaprio), who stops me for a hug and asks where I’ve been.  “I moved to Colorado,” I say.  “Colorado? What prompted that decision?” Now, I know in this instance that Leo is patronizing me. He’s choosing his words carefully.  He’s already imagined a gaggle of cattle ranchers, and eco-nazi hunters touring the mountains in their Hummers and gas-guzzling other vehicles, and he is trying to place me in that landscape. I can relate. I LIVE there, and I am still trying to place me in the landscape!

That said, it is incredibly beautiful country. While places like Colorado and Utah may attract hunters, gun aficionados and all manner of cowboy sorts, it also attracts hard-core, serious athletes. The two states combined are probably second to none in providing training ground for world class Olympians.  The hiking, snow sports (skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing, etc.), rock climbing, biking and more are virtually limitless, and people come from around the world to get a taste. They (Colorado & Utah) also attract their share of authors, writers, painters, sculptures – true artists – those who break away from the mold, and escape the confines or hustle and bustle of civilization in order to create something truly superb.  I think I fall into the latter group.  Yes, I like to imagine I am a true artEEst. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.  I am definitely an artist – but in reality “true” sounds like a heavy commitment.  Let’s not go there.

Anyhow, we (my boyfriend and I) spent the better part of the fall in Moab.  It was incredibly beautiful with space and air and blue skies, and visibility for miles all around us.  The red cliffs that tower hundreds of feet overhead are awesome and intimidating.  What is not to love?  It was a refreshing reprieve from our crowded lives in Aspen.

In spite of all that wonder and amazement, however, I started to get a little stir crazy toward the end of our stay.  I was ready for some social time, some fun cocktail get-togethers and cultural fare. That stuff doesn’t happen in Moab – at least not for me who knows no one.  It was time to get out of there and get my fill of GIRLY time. Shopping, chick-flicks, yoga class and fantastic meals at restaurants that are not closed due to off-season.

I guess my boyfriend got the hint, (maybe it was that banner I hung over his side of the bed that said, “Help me. I’m suffocating in the beautiful scenery.”) Shortly after I started dropping hints, we packed up and returned to Aspen.

So, as I gaze out the window, and the snow continues to fall, I am reminded that we can never get too much of life’s beautiful scenery.  Wherever you go, there you are.  You know what I mean?  Make the most of every day, and above all, stay true to yourself.  You won’t let yourself down.

———–

Register to receive these posts by email and get my eBook “Ahhhhh…Haaaaaa Moments with Ms. Cheevious” for FREE. Registration is on the right side bar of every blog post. See you next time.

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

Poison Spider Bee-otch!

by

I have an announcement to make:  I found my camera!  You may recall the worry and chagrin I expressed over losing things a few months back, one of which was my digital camera which had some great photos and footage that could never be recreated.  I mean, really.  What is a girl suppose to do when she loses her digital cam?  So many memories in danger of fading into oblivion. It’s just not right! I am soooo glad I found it.  Don’t even ask where it was.  I’m embarrassed to even say it was lost.  Let’s just leave it at that.

This movie, which was made while in Moab this past fall, is of a hike I enjoy up the back side of what’s known as Poison Spider Mesa Trail.  It’s a great little hike, with incredible views!  I could spend some time (and I probably should) writing about the hike itself, or why I have only just gotten interested in hiking now, after living a fairly yogic or pilates driven exercise existence.  But I think I’ll just let you get straight to the video.  We’ll call it a VIDEO BLOG post, so as not to make my writer-friends out there feel as though I’ve fallen off the wagon.  (Another post is coming very soon – a written one). But check it out here, and PLEASE write a comment!  Be sure to watch it – or fast forward if you must – toward the end, and check out the credits at the end, which are kind of fun.  Am I just overly excited about this little medium I’ve discovered?  I’m so proud of myself for learning how to do these little credits, and to play around with the volume levels on the soundtrack (excuse my lack of expertise).  But , please let me know what you think. When you finish watching, click to reply to post!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Iv628G10d4]

————

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

A-Muse-Ing in Aspen

by

Okay kiddies! Here it is – the much anticipated, long-awaited answer to what Lisa Jey Davis – Ms. Cheevious herself chose to “be” on Halloween, and the photos from that crazy night in Aspen to prove it. 

It was loads of fun, I have to say, though probably wouldn’t really qualify as an adventure in many circles, as I was home and ready for bed before midnight!  (Gasp) 

I’m sure the midnight oil was burning hot for most people in town that night, but I found myself quite satisfied with myself and very ready to head home (along with my other crazy friends, I might add) earlier than anticipated. 

But why continue to bore you with the details of what time I turned into a pumpkin?  I’ll get on with the most important thing – the very news item you’ve all been waiting for: 

What costume did I decide to wear this year for Halloween, (since the Guinavere costume was sooooo three years ago)?!!! 

Okay – okay, I was one of the nine daughters of Zeus.  You know, the Greek god?  I was Calliope – chief of all muses.  Calliope was responsible for inspiring epic event poetry and such.  Sounds fitting, right?  Everyone knows I write such epic, serious treatises on world events — like my halloween costume.

If you read my entry last week, Seeking Inspiration, perhaps you also saw the comment by a friend “A”  – the one who so cleverly suggested I dress as a MUSE, after reading my last comment to everyone “Will you be my muse?”  Ah, A is a clever one, indeed.  She even went so far as to offer the 4-1-1 on the muses, themselves: 

Muse = Goddess of Art:
in Greek mythology, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. The Muses inspired and presided over the creative arts. They were Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, and Urania, responsible for epic poetry, history, love poetry, lyric poetry, tragedy, sacred song, dance, comedy, and astronomy, respectively.

Needless to say, I prodded “A” to come along with me on my A-Muse-ing journey, Halloween night, and thank goodness, she agreed.  We got together the night before and put everything together.  YEP – HAND MADE costumes.  They ROCKED too! 

So here they are – enjoy the photos! 

IMG_0758-small
Me (Calliope), Julius Caesar (of course) & “A” (Erato, because she was feeling so Amore) – that wrap on Erato is PINK FUR… SOOOO COOL!  It’s for sale for $500, if anyone wants it.  ha ha
IMG_0763-small
Erato & Trinity, plotting to kick some ASS!
 IMG_0791-small
Calliope & Erato get a little NUTTY
IMG_0794-small
Me and the female TIN-MAN, or TIN GIRL, I should say

AND NOW FOR SOME OF THE CRAZY COSTUMES AROUND ASPEN, COLORADO: 

IMG_0760-small
Hot Mermaid & Pirate

IMG_0767-small
Aspen Airlines Big Boobed Flight Attendants

IMG_0780-small
An ALL-TOO-FAMILIAR Construction Zone – complete with cones and streetwalkers

IMG_0806-small
Old Lady Gertrude or Gladys, or something, the Mod-Squad Dude, and a Giesha – this was the rest of our gang that night!

IMG_0801-small
Crazy neon dude, on the move!!

IMG_0800-small
Me & a very young Gilligan!!!

IMG_0759-small
And the night wouldn’t be complete without a butt grab of an unsuspecting Teletubby, minding his own business. POOR TELETUBBY. 

Seeking Inspiration

by

I need help.

I went out by myself this evening in search of inspiration.  I know.  Sad.

It’s the weekend before Halloween as well as the big costume night at all the bars, pubs and night-spots here in the big lights, big ciy of Moab, Utah.  (YES, we are still here.  I do love it, but I must admit, I’m getting desert fever… I need something girly, and quick…!!)

My solo adventure wasn’t always supposed to be that.  My boyfriend originally planned to come out with me.  I planned to get dressed up as Guinavere, and drag him along, when he began dropping hints that he wasn’t feeling well.

I’m not convinced it was all purely physical.  Most men I’ve known have trouble letting their hair down and wearing costumes (role-playing nymphos, aside). It is quite possible that my man could be mentally disturbed over the notion of what he deems to be “playing dress up.” He is a hard-core rock-climber, after all (And I’m not kidding. He’s a hot, hard-bodied man… yesiree…).
TP-small

This is my man… wooo – hooo…..

I tried everything to get him into the costume spirit, too.  I said I would dress up in my Guinevere costume, and he could come as he is, and cary around a piece of rock-climbing gear.  I would stay in character, British accent and all, and claim to be searching for Camelot.  He would, in turn, produce his camelot (no, not that – but said rock-climbing gear!!) and thus, be my hero!  How easy is that?  No dice. He just did not feel well.  So, I offered a compromise.  We’d been planning to drive back to Aspen to meet with some clients this week, so I suggested we drive out closer to Halloween.  Aspen, Colorado comes to LIFE on Halloween.  Sure, the kiddies all dress up and go trick-or-treating, but I’d wager to say Halloween in Aspen is more for the adults (to clarify for those who suffer from Peter-Pan or Tinker Bell Syndrome: adults = those over 21).  It’s tradition. Upscale restaurants and bars clear out all their tables, fly DJ’s in from around the globe, and the town plays all night long.

Sounds like everyday Aspen, I know.  Aspen’s nightlife is famous for never letting up.  But people take Halloween seriously there.  They spare no expense, nor amount of creativity on their costumes.  It’s something to experience, at least once.  I’d compare it to Mardi Gras in New Orleans or Carnivale in Brazil, but I’m sure that’s just going too far…  isn’t it?

Once I knew we’d be in Aspen for its holy of holidays, I decided to get to work.  I needed a costume, and some inspiration.  NOW.  All my girlfriends plan to dress up as Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders (they always do those theme group costumes), and I canNOT wear something I’ve already worn (Guinavere is out – as it was an Aspen inspiration).  The first time I met this group of friends, I was Guinavere and they were all naughty cops.  It was pretty funny… me in my long velvet gown, while my new pals were parading around in a blizzard (yep, snow is common on Halloween in Aspen) in their hot pants and fishnet stockings…

Halloween-small
There I stand (or huddle) in the middle of a bunch of naughty female cops… oh and Bo Peep and a Sexy Pirate…  too funny!! I love those girls!

So, tonight I went to the neighborhood Moab “hot spot” in search of the latest and greatest costumes.  I learned something:  Small town does not equal Halloween creativity.  Go figure. Ya’d think all that pent-up creativity would leak out into the collective consciousness and filter through into the social scene – especially on a holiday that celebrates such creativity.  No, no and no.  I guess in Moab, the costumes run the variety of everyday, small-town USA.  Blood, gore, blood, vampires, blood, french maids, etc…

Needless to say, I wasn’t inspired. Not so much.  I paid for my one drink at the bar (to get around that whole “awe… that poor older single woman, here all by herself” thing, I sat at the bar and pretended to be very interested in the outcome of the Red Sox / Rockies game that was on the bar tv.  I didn’t fool anyone though.  I tried to make small talk with a couple of locals, by saying really sports-enthusiast things like “So, if the Rockies lose this, are they out?”  I TOTALLY thought the games being played here were the pre-world-series games, to decide who goes to the World Series.  When I looked a little closer I saw that the World Series was ON….  and gee… the Rockies made it to the World Series!).

It wasn’t all for naught though.  Just as I was getting ready to pay my tab, the bartender informed me of a guy at the other end of the bar who wanted to buy me a drink.  It redeemed the whole escapade for me, to say the least.  It actually brought to mind a question asked by Single Mom Seeking, of “Can a Single Mom have a Boy Toy?” To which I answered yes – with conditions…  Not that I was looking for a boy toy… god no. But since I am enamored, enthralled and in love with my beautiful man, this guy’s offer actually startled me, and caused the flight mechanism to kick into gear!  What is that all about??  I told the bartender to say thanks, but that I was leaving.  Then I ran home to my honey, as fast as my legs could carry me.

I went out by myself in Moab tonight seeking inspiration, when what I think I needed was a muse.

So, here I am – seeking inspiration.  Will you be my muse?

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

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.

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