Upon my birthday on March 6th there was an immediate shift of energy in my life as the universe began pour buckets of sunlight and rainbows onto my path, temporarily stunning me with abundance. It’s not that I hadn’t asked, or more appropriately, gotten on my knees and begged for one sign that I’m still on the proper journey. Because when you’re insanely confused with the direction of your life you become only more confused by the false hope that a “proper” journey awaits you.
Some of the majesties bestowed upon me are so personal and deeply moving that I become mute when even trying to articulate their impact. I received the kind of encouragement and love from an artist that is a legend to me, encouraging me to continue to create and answer the call of an artist. These words, so delicately issued with kindness, were beyond the nurturing I could give to myself on my best day. And with that came the beginning of a very adventurous few weeks. Suddenly my phone was active from months of hibernation as friends and families and people I haven’t heard from in a long time began to reach out and mention they saw me in a Bud Light ad. It was an unexpected surprise, having never thought I would make the final cut and be recognizable, and more importantly an answer to something I’d been trying to manifest for the past three years: a national commercial. And as if all this wasn’t enough, a wonderful little show called “Sweet Retreats” offered a spot on their travel show for me and my best friend from the “Bette or Bust” days. I spent five glorious days in the warm and hospitable climate of Asheville, North Carolina, meeting artists (www.rachelclearfield.com) and finding a home away from home among the creative, healthy, eco-friendly spirits of this hidden bohemian gem of a city. Such an unexpected trip was a grand awakening to my life, collaborating with streams of loveliness and blessings. I was accompanied to a home in Asheville that was storybook come to life, leaving me a heightened desire to create beauty and art.
I’ve been back in New York for a bit over a week, trying my best to maintain the energy that has allowed such great things this year. My relationship has been challenged by the highs and lows of Apple shares as my boyfriend has invested throughout the roller coaster ride of a trading day. My sense of security has been impaled by news updates and current events. But in a deeper place, there is a calm.
This afternoon, escaping the swirling chaos of my apartment after being brought to feelings of unhappiness from external influences, I decided to take a walk to Petco with my dog. It is a highlight for him on overcast days, when the skies are too threatening for me to venture to Riverside Park. I just say the word “Petco” and he leads me down five flights of stairs and two blocks to the store’s entrance. I often spend a lot of time in the aquatic section, imagining the day I can have room for my own aquarium. But today, looking at the beautiful array of crimson and emerald and turquoise bettas I made the impulsive decision to take one home. It was something I have wanted, so easily within my grasp, and yet I denied it. Just a brilliant little purple and burgundy betta with his colorful fantail, as ostentatious as the fantail sported by my long-haired chihuahua, Jack. I toyed with naming my new friend Hope, but settled on “Stevie.” Because I feel it’s time to meet Stevie (Nicks), which is a dream I hope to manifest in the coming future to share my own personal tribute to her work (www.crystalrevisions.com). I also impulsively purchased a discount ticket to see Fleetwood Mac tomorrow in Newark.
I brought Stevie home, deciding that there are all but two or three places where my vibrant new friend could happily reside. I located an old glass bowl for his new home, washing it with care and setting it onto the table where my boyfriend had been slicing and dicing vegetables for a stir fry. As I attempted to pour Stevie and his water into the bowl, with fear and vigor, the fish jumped out of the water and landed on the table. He successfully leaped from my hands twice, chaotically jumping towards the shiny knife across the table, within millimeters from his own execution. In terror, I grabbed the knife away and tried three more times to scoop up my new friend and place him in the bowl. It was a harrowing experience. It was a near dream-killer. Not to mention the larger metaphor his death would impose on my future. Not to mention how quickly my boyfriend would launch into a tirade if he had seen this fish jumping around his precious cooking utensils, potentially contaminating them. Luckily he was so distracted with stock news that he didn’t even notice the swimming friend until hours later when I pointed him out.
But this poor fish, well he has become my focal point for thoughts of tranquility and focusing on my desires in this world. I’ve realized that if I don’t nurture my dreams, no one will. And only I can be responsible for the inner hope that grows and attracts such wonderful blessings as this year has brought me.