acceptance, hope, manifestation, sobriety

the manifestation of hope

I have a confession. I really, really fucking love Tony Robbins. Dude is a master modern motivational orator, and I dig his empathetic, vulnerable power vibe pretty hard. At SXSW in 2016, I went to see his documentary film I Am Not Your Guru on the advice of a friend who said it was the best thing she had seen at the festival. The film covers Tony’s annual Date With Destiny event in Boca Raton, Florida, a 6-day retreat that promises people all kinds of life changing magic, but essentially what he’s selling is hope. I came out of this film not having any idea about the real man behind the icon, because it very much presents him as an all-knowing, all-healing guru to the maximum power. Tony Robbins, the public figure, the self-help god of public speaking and riling people up in their own self interest, has a magical, infectious charisma that is enchanting to watch in action. The way people respond to his magnetism and emotional outpouring is astounding. By the end of the film, I was totally glamoured. I’m definitely the target market for things like this, a person who has a deep and constant drive toward self exploration, personal growth, and emotional expansion by whatever means necessary. I am deeply motivated by hope in my own life, because I know what it feels like to feel totally hopeless. I don’t know that he has everything definitively figured out, but he’s on to something. In my book,…

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acceptance, change, letting go, self care

trust yourself to the water

To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float. – Alan Watts Everyone knows that caterpillars and butterflies are the same creature. The caterpillar starts out as a cute little wormy fuzzbug, squinching around the garden on her little legs, being adorable, tooling around snacking on leaves and green things. Hanging in the safety of the garden, nibbling up all the goods she can find. The caterpillar has no idea she’s ever going to be anything other than a caterpillar. The one day, she gets a shot through the heart from the universal life force, and realizes something big is about to happen. She has a job to do. A nest to build. She has an imperative to stop caterpillaring and go into hiding. She builds a chrysalis, and snuggles up inside it, and waits. The whole biological process of this is magical in itself, but the real beauty and transformation happens outside public view. For the longest time, I assumed the caterpillar had a butterfly suit all tucked up in her accordion bustle, her legs came out, she shed some stuff and unveiled some other stuff and poof: butterfly. This is not the case. I know this about how butterflies are made, and about how humans realize their own authentic potential through radical transformative change. I’ve been in my own chrysalis for over a…

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self care, sobriety

high maintenance

Hi, my name is Sinclair, and I’m high maintenance. This term is generally used in a rather misogynist way to describe a needy woman who requires a lot of care from her (typically male) partner in the form of time, money, or effort. Women who demand emotional connection and care, attention, intimacy, or other forms of human interaction are often deemed undesirable because really, who has time for all that work? My recent understanding of this condition hasn’t come from being in a partnership with anyone, but from being fully with myself, without any adulterants, no escapes, no distractions. Just me. On my own. Doing life. Since being sober for three years from 2011 – 2014, I’ve spent the better part of the last three years in an on again/off again relationship with booze. A lot of things contributed to my thinking that this time, alcohol wouldn’t do me wrong like it had so many times in the past. I had done hundreds of hours of talk therapy. I had coping mechanisms that were healthy. I had a support system that was solid. I had done multiple years of my whole bad ass life full of events and parties and travel without drinking and loved it. I had taken my self esteem and self worth from the bottom of the valley to the top of the mountain. I liked myself. I had become a person of integrity, responsibility, and reliability for myself and the people I love. I was healthy…

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forgive yourself

This new year, as I have for the last several, I set an intention: Radical Self Care. For me, this means putting my own well being, health, safety, happiness, and life as a whole first. This probably sounds like a selfish stance to take considering the chaos we find ourselves in politically across the globe, but I know full well that when I am not taking care of myself, I am no good to anyone else. More and more, I’ve realized that the only real control we have as individuals is how we manifest ourselves in the world. That starts within, by being our own best friend, our own cheerleader, and our own biggest fan. When we are run down, coping, holding on, and not thriving due to lack of maintenance and care, our personal and professional lives suffer, our relationships feel like burdens rather than gifts, and we often use being tired, busy, and stressed as an excuse not to be fully present and participate in our own lives at the levels we would like. Radical self care means making sure I do all the things I need to do for myself to be as awesome as possible. But before I even got to the actions of care I would need to take, I had to unpack some lingering perfectionist self criticism that has been weighing on me. I started meditating regularly in January, and became very aware of a stream of negative and hurtful self talk that was…

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self care

surrender

This post was originally titled “RESIST.” I’ve been thinking about that word a lot lately, in terms of politics, my body, my own paralytic inertia. It feels like the word of 2017 already, that somehow by claiming mass resistance, we can stop all the terrible things we are afraid of from happening. If we resist, we can still overcome and prevent and arrest the will of the powerful. We believe resistance is the only answer, fierce, vocal, physical refusal. To not normalize, allow, or accept acts of hatred, bigotry, oppression, sexism, racism, xenophobic and homophobic and transphobic hate crimes and discrimination. To resist means we believe #BLACKLIVESMATTER. It means we believe women’s rights are human rights. It means we believe no human is illegal. It means we believe in science and protecting our water and air and land. It means we don’t allow gender or genitals or biology or binary determine who we love. Love is love. It means we stand up and fight. We must resist. RESIST. It’s our battle cry. And underneath, with all of the political strife and fear going on,  in addition to that weight, I have been silently, slowly drowning. I have been unemployed for four and a half months. I have applied for scores of jobs from retail to things in my field that I am way overqualified for to dream jobs that I would destroy at, all, as of this writing, to no avail. I’ve pitched to build a dozen websites, applied at six…

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the lion and the lotus

The last couple of months have been a complete and utter hurricane. There are guidelines about all the major life things you shouldn’t do while decompressing within the first few weeks of returning from Burning Man. Don’t quit your job. Don’t get married. Don’t get divorced. Don’t move cities. Don’t end relationships. Don’t start new ones based on the intense loved-up feelings you have raging inside your tiny human heart. Don’t think you’ve found your soulmate. Or at least wait until you actually land to be sure. Don’t keep trying to be at Burning Man by pretending you’re still at a 24/7 party. Don’t walk around naked in public. Try to be normal. Return to your old life. Press pause. Regroup. Process. Deal. Move forward, slowly and carefully, with deliberate intention, and try to gracefully integrate HOME into the everyday default world. So, what did I do? I base jumped off a cliff without a parachute, of course. I ripped open the wound of my father’s death and had to let it heal for real this time. I grieved. I released. I walked out of a job that was making me emotionally, mentally, and physically ill. I ignored reality, while simultaneously having to take deep dives into it at a large, intense, successive handful of desperate doctor’s appointments so I could treat the cause of my severe anemia, anxiety, and depression before I lost my insurance. I was biopsied for cervical cancer. I lost my insurance. I got into a massive, weeks…

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what happened at burning pan part 3 – taking dad to the temple

The featured photo in this post is my favorite photo of the temple. It was taken by Andrew Jorgensen for The Confluence. He has an amazing gallery of brilliant images that you should look at.    My father and I always had a contentious relationship, probably because of our similarities, and how much I just wanted to have him around and he just wasn’t. My earliest memory in life is of the one time my father spanked me when I was three because I was being a stubborn brat and made a mess and wouldn’t clean it up. My first memory of being alive is one of anger toward me from a man. The man who was supposed to love me the most. It’s not an accident how I am now, because that’s how it started. I’m not blaming him, he did the best he could, but that shit sticks. He would blow into our lives and do literal magic tricks and take us on fancy vacations and be big and intense and I thought that was how men were. He was majestic, surprising, fun, loving, funny, fun, and weird. One year, he showed up with a fully decorated golden Christmas tree and just brought the whole thing through the front door like it was no big deal. I can’t count the number of evenings he would roll up in a new sports car (When I was 8, dude had a Delorean. Like the Back to the Future for real kind….

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what happened at burning man – part 1

I was never a person that was like "I have to go to Burning Man because it's on my like Bucket List of life." I'm not a bucket list person because I believe that life brings us the experiences and people and places that we need when it is time, and that happens to me every single day. To say Burning Man is on your bucket list is insulting to the organic magic of the city and the people who work so hard to build and survive and love together and make it happen, and to treat it as anything other than a magical, beautiful gift in your life negates the true open experience of being there. Burning Man is not a thing that you should do because it's on some checklist. Burning Man is a place that calls you home when it's time. When you go to Burning Man you better fucking mean it, because that shit will try to kill you again and again and again. Burning Man is not a thing you do once to say you've gone. It is a life changing, heart ripping open, otherworldly space trip to another galaxy that will blow your entire life apart if you let it in. Burning Man gets in your lungs and your blood and your skin and your heart and your soul and tears you apart and shows you that anything is possible forever. That there is nothing you can't do. That there is nothing unloveable or broken...Read more
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shark week

Two things: 1. This post is about periods. If you’re someone who can’t deal with talking about lady bleeding, probably go lie down and have a cookie and then and come back and learn something that might help you help a woman you love. 2. I am okay. Everything is being managed at an Olivia Pope level of handling. Shit is under control. I will tell you if you need to worry. I promise. As with most human biological processes, we all have our differences when it comes to our bodies and how they work and what is normal. Due to the whole DO NOT GET ACCIDENTALLY PREGNANT fear most of us are hardwired with the day we bleed for the first time, most women pay close attention to our menstrual cycles. We know when shit is going down in the uterine palace, sometimes to the exact moment. Lots of us have been doing this for longer than you’ve not been a virgin, so we are good at knowing what our bodies do and how it’s supposed to be and when something is wrong. Also because we are goddesses who are cosmically linked to the oceans and the moon and the planets, but you know, women. Of course some variations are expected, and there’s nothing to write home about if you have an extra period or miss one here or there, even though you’re not pregnant. And like, everyone has extra periods when they are under massive amounts of stress. Like it’s totally normal if that’s…

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