the art of failure

It's a cliche for a reason but, seriously, sometimes all you need is to get away. I guess we were of the same mind when each of us went to the beach this past weekend. He claimed it was because he "had a lot to think about." My reason (not expressed in words until here on this page): I'm going out of my mind. I can't look at that cat face any longer. I can't look at the can of paint (that needs to be out of can and onto wall) in the kitchen any longer. I can't look at the endless weeds in the yard, mocking me. And it doesn't matter what I try to do or how much I accomplish (even if it feels satisfying, yes), I'm still thinking about it. Not that "it" is a bad thing. It's not. It's just....a lot. And, man, I need a change of scenery.

And before I could protest that I had "so much to do, no way can I leave," I was rescued. Actually, I was coerced. Plainly told what to do. And I complied without hesitation. iPod charged up, tank full of gas, the 1970s oversized woven Mexican beach blanket that my parents used back in the day tossed in the backseat....and we were off... a lil road trip to Pass-a-Grille. We stopped at Whole Foods in Tampa for "something not fried" and a big bottle of Crystal Geiser. As I got closer to the water, I could feel every muscle in my overly tense body relax. Something changes in me around water and always has. I used to board the ferry for Martha's Vineyard every summer after college and instantly forget the stressful exams and the hasty packing up and the returning of books and the bittersweet goodbyes, some temporary, some permanent.

I was always transformed into something better with one view at the deep, blue-black water and the feel of the sticky-thick salty air on my skin and the slow movement of the ferry, transporting me elsewhere, off the land and into a more magical place, a place resting in the middle of the water, with heavier, denser air, and a welcoming sense of isolation. Long before the Clintons. It was an enchanting, but down-to-earth place that happened to be the home of Carly Simon and Jackie O. It was also chock-full of lesser known writers, artists, and musicians. Not celebrity worshippers so much as locals. Especially then. It was fisherman. Old hippies who never left. And a woman who told me once "driving on freeways puts ruts in your brain." People of that nature. Water people. People who like silence. Air. And space around them. And, of course, the sound and the smell of the water. Like me of the Scorpio sun and Pisces rising. All happily washed up.

Crossing that bridge this weekend was no different---and yet it was. Life is much harder now. Isn't it? It's harder to just...be. Harder to let things go. I know it's about control---having it, losing it, trying to get it back. But, as I have to keep reminding myself: I am not in control.

And that is really ok. It's good to admit. What is control anyway but an issue with judging oneself? I judge myself harshly, bitterly, unmercifully. I don't do this to others. But I expect them to do it to me. And, sometimes, well, they do. The control aspect of my life is really about how well I achieve things. And how I react to failing. Failure is not an option in my little world. But failure is an everyday occurrence. Like spilling your coffee on your pants on the way to work. That's failure. Or blatantly misspelling a word you know very well and turning it into to traffic. That's failure. Or losing your job, your self esteem, your boyfriend, because you feel so out of control and like such a.....failure.

But, the truth of it is, the failure isn't the things that happen, it's the way you react to the things that happen.

Whatever the case may be, there's little (and big) failure all the time. And I'm learning, oh so slowly, that this is gonna happen. Again and again and again. So what can I do about it? How can I change how I react to it?

I have to....let it go. But, for someone like me, a type A person, masquerading in a type B frame of "I'm a creative" mind, well, I can assure you, I don't let things go. I hold on to them like they're mine, all mine. And, yes, it's all my fault. Because I failed. Because I'm not good enough until I've controlled every last thing.

What a joke. What an illusion. It's simply not possible. And who wants to hang onto all that? God, it's so heavy.

With all this in mind, and out of town, and away from the cat, the paint, the weeds....I floated in the warm, salty ocean, I let myself feel light. I smiled at people as I passed them on the beach. I slathered SPF all over me each time I got out of the water but still I got too much sun. Eh. It's ok. (I have a feeling melanoma isn't the way I'm gonna bite it).

And I felt happy. And freer than I've felt in a long, long time. Learning to let go, as cheesy (and again, thank you very much) as cliched as it sounds, well, it's the only way to live.

The only way to live.

Otherwise, I'm pretty sure you're not living at all. You're just thinking about ways to "control" your life. What a waste of time.

Note to self: Achieve. Fail. Don't give up. Be alright with what happens.