Finally Sharing Paris for M

I light a candle as I sit down to write this--the first post I've written in over a month. And though I shall not name the person to whom this post is dedicated, simply calling him "M," I will say that I write this as a prayer or my attempt to give solace to him, the story is written and the candle is lit for him.

When I came home from Paris in January of 2007, I was devastated and my nerves were shot. Up until this point I had suffered no real heartbreak, but this undid me. Every dream I had ever had had previously been attainable; success in school was guaranteed as long as I tried, which I did. High marks and praise from teachers followed, as did acceptance into prestigious, rigorous universities. Becoming a competent equestrienne only depended on my natural skill, my practice and observation of horses and trainers' techniques....you get the point. As long as I tried, applied myself, and found interest in the thing which I wanted to accomplish, they were mine.

Not so with Paris. Since middle school, my dream was to study abroad, to learn a beautiful language and speak it fluently. I wanted to live abroad, in France or Italy, experience the beauty and the differences of those cultures. And so, I found myself as a sophomore in college, being accepted into a program for study abroad which would incorporate my scholarship money and allow me to attend classes at places like the Sorbonne in Paris for the spring.

I was enthusiastic about the upcoming trip. I was so excited and I did everything right; I was the young woman who read up on the Parisian culture, who studied maps so I knew exactly where I'd be living and studying upon getting to Paris. I had maps, I reviewed the transit system and made numerous copies of my passport, visa, identification and medication information--one for me, one for my parents, one for the school center and one for my luggage. I prepared the most anyone could.

And then I got there and the roiling anxiety that had been brewing in my belly for weeks and months came to a boil. I got to Paris, went to my host family's home and the anxiety pot was knocked off the stove, anxiety spilling everywhere. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat (being in Paris, something I looked forward to), I couldn't laugh, I couldn't concentrate. I had never felt so alone in my entire life. I was completely isolated, away from everything that meant something to me---my parents, my animals (Aussie Pup was no more than three months old), my friends, my aunt, American entertainment and television. So consumed with nervous energy I stalked the city crying, spending countless hours haunting Le Metro, walking into the evening hours, not stopping for water or food, doing nothing but walking, because walking was the only thing keeping me from insanity.

I was in nine different types of pain, and I could do nothing but go home, because I felt that if I didn't go back home to the US as soon as possible, I was going back to the US in a body bag.

And so, ten days after going to Paris, right before the semester began, I returned home, to a family that was accepting and loving and not ashamed of me. In fact, it was I who was ashamed of myself. I was the one who had failed me; for the first time in my life, I could not accomplish something I wanted, I couldn't succeed. I was crushed and although this happened more than two years ago, I am still very tethered to the pain. It has colored my world ever since, and since then, it has become a habit of mine to see a situation turn out in negative ways instead of the optimistic Carolyn, who once found it so easy to believe that only the best in life could happen. Fear crept into my world; fear of depression, fear of the dying of dreams, fear of loss and isolation. "The Fear," as Hunter S. Thompson wrote in his Las Vegas-set novel is still with me.

I write this for one main reason: to share my experience with someone who is feeling something similar. He chose a path in life which he thought would give him experience and direction and after six months, he came back home. When I came home, it was to a family who loved me, who did their best to make me feel better, who were easier on me than I was on myself, and I had the ability to speak to a counselor who was supportive as well.

Unlike me, M is not so lucky. Since I don't know him extensively, I can only imagine what his heart is feeling and his mind is thinking. He's handsome, highly intelligent and cultured, possessing a depth of emotion I think many young people (in particular, men) may lack. One more thing has not worked for him, and he has returned to a less than understanding, gentle, accepting household. I believe he feels lost, and having felt like that in the past, I know it hurts.

I want to share this story with him in some small way. I want him to know that though our experiences were different, they were similar in many ways as well, and that he's not alone in feeling as he does. The truth is, to some extent, I think everyone in their twenties are lost. I know I am. And if he's feeling lost, which I think he is, I want him to know it's okay, because I'm there too, and so are many people. I want him to know that as shitty as right now feels, one day it won't feel like this, and he'll look back at this as a dark time that taught him something about life. He'll recover, and he'll figure out life. It just won't happen tomorrow.

I also want him to be easy on himself. Not only has he gone through something hard, but he returned to less-than sympathetic conditions of family and household, and the fact that he's still alive, walking, eating and functioning is something to be tremendously proud of. It is a sign of real inner strength and my fear is that with all of his modesty and self deprecation, he doesn't see that strength in himself.

Someone who was close to me and helped me through senior year, once told me that my fear of getting depressed in the future was a reliable one---in that, most likely I would experience severe depression somewhere down the road. But she said, and I'll never forget this as long as I live, that I had a sense of magic in me, a passionate fire and that, this magic would be enough to pull me through every time. If I didn't believe that today, she said, she would hold the knowledge for me and when I was ready to believe what she knew as fact, she would hand it to me and let me hold it for myself.

I don't know M very well. But he means an incredible amount to someone I love dearly, and through extension, I care about M as well. I will do my part to hold his strength in my hands, so that when he doesn't see it, I can show him. And one day, as the pain eases and drops from sight I will give it to him, so he can hold his own power in his hands.

If Only/ There Once was a Dream/ The Godliness of Animals/ Imagine....

As thoroughly depressing as I've found this to be, I cannot avert my eyes or turn my ears away for that matter.

Corporatocracies may exist, as well as government and corporate sanctioned assassinations, takeovers of other foreign corporations, militias and governments. (See movies Zeitgeist and Zeitgeist Addendum).

Entertainment is named by many learned people as the way by which people are numbed into apathy. This is true.

But this is also true of entertainment (art): entertainment is needed, because if the human brain is bombarded with too much truth, too much pain all at the same time without reprieve, insanity and spiraling depression-filled helplessness and hopelessness ensue.

Entertainment, art, fashion, music, philosophy, literature....all exist to help us dream. My man, my homeboy and inspiration had A DREAM. He dreamed that "my [his] four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I HAVE A DREAM TODAY." (You should know these words were written by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. [may he rest forever in peace]).

He told us that he saw a day, dreamed a dream that we would all, in essence be one. That we could love without boundary, care without separation of us versus them. That we were all children of God, all worthy of the same rights as everyone else.

It is no mistake that his words of peace, of strength, of fighting, of anger tempered by compassion and kindness were framed in the words of "a dream."

We need to intellectually dream, to raise our souls to the level of the greatness of human potential and evolution. We need to dream, which is why when our bodies rest at night, our minds must dream to function in the morning. Make no mistake: WE NEED TO DREAM. And entertainment, art and especially LOVE are the things that soothe and re-balance the soul. Animals too, our pets help us dream, help us reach that level of calm love. and balance.

There's a theory out there (see Buddhism, Zen, Taoism, meditation) which is revolutionary; consider what it would be like if only every individual had the necessities of life and therefore could afford the time to dream their dreams and calm their souls. How much more peaceful would people be? If only everyone had enough so that they could dedicate time to sitting in silence and grounding themselves in the love that flows from star to sky, from sky to tree, from tree to soil and rock, from soil to foot, from foot to leg, from leg to heart and from heart to mind.

Problems would still exist as we are human; jealousy and violence (although more petty than before) and problems of the heart when it comes to love. But with the grounding that everyone could achieve, I have NO DOUBT that the mind and the soul and the heart could heal through art and that we could all live on eagles' wings; soaring with freedom and majesty.

We need art. I am a staunch supporter of the free word as I am of all forms of entertainment. Give me mindless television (in healthy, controlled doses) which relax the mind and give people a breather so that they are not overcome with suffering. Breathers allow for people to resupply strength for the hardship ahead. Give me comedy and fantasy and drama. Give me all of these things and I will show you a world that is more at peace for the challenges ahead.

In hopes that the hope we've placed in elected officials, especially Obama, are not mislead, and that in the breasts of these politicians, their hearts beat true to the words their mouths say.

"We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force...They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our (and every WOMAN, man and child's) freedom. WE CANNOT WALK ALONE." -----Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Dedicated to those who pursue truth and good change in the face of fear and threats against life. To those who inspire hearts and minds, who open eyes and who love. And dedicated to Andrew, who has opened my eyes in more ways than one....

This One is for the Guys

There once was a woman who wanted to write. And she did, but most of her posts were introspective pieces about her life, her fears and her search for love and her quest to keep on writing. Here are some things she's heard from men that have stuck with her (gasp)!

This one is for the guys...


All I ask is that you try your best---James Neuhausen

Love is like writing; you have to risk it all...

You can do anything.

I'm always trying to better myself and learn whatever I can---Sean Coker

Yes, but Carolyn, some people are so dull they don't even have the imagination to dream.

You're writing is tremendous. You owe it to the rest of us to keep writing---Greg Schultz

You have moments of charisma.

[You're] not transparent, but translucent.

I'm infatuated with you, something I didn't think would happen. I lie awake at 4 in the morning and am surprised that I think of you.---7-1

Success to me, is happiness. And I would tell my kids, to do something they enjoy doing, even if it means living in a trailer home.

You say I look young? I tell people, yeah, um Jack Daniels, rock 'n' roll and sex---musician
Scott Bennett

Keep plugging away at it, and you'll find your opening, your window---friendly airline passenger

Everything comes down to leaps of faith---Movie Industry Mark, outside of Kaldi

You'll probably always have him in your heart. I understand.

I love you, Carolyn.

I never thought I could love again.

No one's ever looked at me with that emotion in their eyes---Andrew Wescott

And Then There Was.....Los Angeles

I used to shrink from 95 degree heat, and I find it almost outrageously funny that in the last few months, I've found myself laying out in that same heat, taking it all in, happily into my skin.

I often find a shady tree to lie under and I feel the cool of the heat that washes over me under that tree. I take stock, as I have over the last few months, as to how lucky I am to be here again.

It's not that Portland was all bad---and even if it were, I needed that year of crushing gloom to realize where home really was for me; to be thankful for Los Angeles.

From here on out, I'm going to try to paint my time in Portland not as a "bad year" as I so often hear myself saying----but as the year that was hard, and inevitably led me to the greatness that is now.

Amidst all the fear of disappointment, all of the fear that I won't write---something I desperately want to do---I know I will find my way into a career that makes me happy. Something creative and fulfilling. Right now, I'm trying to be more than content over the opportunities I have in my lap, and the love I have in my life.

I, Carolyn Neuhausen, am loved, in a way I thought was impossible in the past. And as this means so much to me, I am basking in the glow of it.

Equal parts ambition, fortitude, persistence and personal championing will get me to the place I want to be at. Of this, I am (almost) certain!

A Year Ago....

Shit Howdy! Things have changed for me.

I'm reading a post on the Portland Sentinel website about this year's upcoming National Night Out festivities in Portland and I realize that was such a major story for me when I was working at the Sentinel last year.

Last year.....

I feel like I've grown in leaps and bounds from the person I was. I was so naive. I was so young and had so little experience with life and love and independence.

The journey I've experienced in the last year hangs nostalgically in my heart, bittersweet, bringing tears with it. I see a picture of him and he looks so damn good. I hear his voice and it brings everything back to me. No more, I say.

I'm staring 23 in the face and things are so vastly different. I've met great men. I have new friends and reconnected with dear old friends. She boxes me ferociously, and like the traitor she is, she's sweeter to my dad than myself, but I've got a new cat, a new member in our family.

I've come home to my roots. I've learned things about this city that I didn't know. I've gone to the House of Blues. I've heard Pat Green live in concert. I know the West Side street-scape in a way I didn't before I left. And I can also claim that my name dots the Los Angeles Magazine website here and there.

Where will this lead, I ask the stars.

On an assignment, I went to the Paley Center for Media and saw a screening of a film about Walter Cronkite's life. His life was amazing. He saw the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl, was a stringer in college for a major city newspaper in Austin, Texas. He was less than 25 years old by the time he was doing news on the radio and going overseas, flying in WWII planes and gunning at enemy aircraft. He was the first reporter to tell of news from the Allied occupation of North Africa. He saw the end of World War, the beginning of the Cold War, corresponded from Moscow, covered political conventions and protests during the 60s, reported on Watergate and the race to get a man on the moon.

And I think to myself, quite depressingly, that I'll never be the legend that Walter Cronkite was. I'm older than he was when he started working for a major media service. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to get my foot in the door enough to get paid (lowly too,) for my work.

While my life has just begun and I cannot predict the great challenges and turmoils and awesome moments I'll live through historically, I know in my bones that I am not wired as Cronkite was. I don't think there's any way my stomach is strong enough to report on war. I wouldn't be happy traveling around, covering international news, although there's a large part of me that wishes I could be happy doing just that.

No, my roots are too settled, cast too far into the ground. I did the traveling thing and I crashed and burned. I hold myself up to past experiences, which tether me to fear and the past, and yet those experiences are ever with me, because my ability to remember will never leave me. That is my curse; my tremendous ability to remember details and moments also links me to them, which means I'm never more than a memory away from the past.

I remember something I heard in a documentary some years ago; Julius Caesar was 25 years old and gazing at a statue of Alexander the Great. He started weeping and it's said that he proclaimed "I'm older than he was and I have yet to conquer the world."

At the time, I thought this was a stupid thing to feel; after all, these men were entirely different. One was Macedonian and lived several hundred years before the Roman Caesar did. One was of "royal" blood and the other was not. One lived in a monarchy and one lived in a "democracy."

But now, upon hearing about Cronkite's life I feel much the same way I imagine the first Caesar did. Will I ever be strong and brave enough to live the adventures I want to? Will I ever rub shoulders with the people I want to meet? Will I ever impact peoples' lives and change things for the better? Will I make a difference? Will I be remembered?

These are the things that drive me forward and hold me back. But I'm older and wiser now and I'm happy that the future remains dark to me; I don't want to know what I'm to become, I want to live every moment in utter surprise.

They're Bad for a Reason.....

What is it about "bad boys" that women like so much? I don't know that I can or even want to justify other womens' desires for these types of men so I suppose that I'll talk about my own beliefs and feelings regarding this dangerous and specific type of creature.

I used to think, at the young age and the feeling that I was seemingly much older than that in my mentality, that I would never go for a bad boy because they were, well, bad. I didn't want that. Or so I thought. And then I realized that there was an element of adventure, or rebellion or counterculture or something "bad" about the men I was attracted to. I made mistakes and flirted and got involved with and got attached to and hurt by men who weren't worthy of me. Who weren't good.

Greg Behrendt says that a bad boy is "bad" for a reason. These are the men to stay away from.

And then it dawned on me: why I'm attracted to the guy that's going to hurt me. Because they seem interesting, accepting, and free spirited; all things my perfectionistic and judgmental self wouldn't allow in my own personality. I liked the idea that they did things that were taboo, or things I was too afraid to try. That they had a past my walking the line didn't afford me. And then I realized, very pathetically, that I didn't view these men as partners, but more as substitutes for who I wanted to be.

No more.

I won't go after or say yes to someone to get a thrill from their life. If I want a thrill I'm going to own it. I'm a woman, an adult and I'm finally capable of making decisions for myself without regard to the constructs of society or the idea of how my parents would feel about any decision I were to make.

I'm no longer going to look for someone else to give me what I'm lacking in my life. If I want to learn more about cars, I'll do so on my own. If I want the thrill of a 180 mph ride, I'll do it for myself. The older I get, the more I feel fortunate in the idea that I can finally make decisions wholly for my own life and for no one else's satisfaction. After all, I only have one shot at this life in this body and in this mind frame, and I won't waste my life concerned about my decisions and how they affect others. This is my life. This is MY LIFE. Mine and no one else's.

So from here on out, I'll search for a man that compliments my life, that has that spark that I've got and the passion that resides in me. But he'll be a parnter, not a substitute for what I'm lacking in myself. I've gotten old enough to know that much. See, some things do get better with age.

"See, it's not what you said, but just how you said it...."---Pat Green

Los Angeles, How I've Missed You

It is said that the official founding of the city of Los Angeles was September 4, 1781. As I write this I would like to spend some time giving tribute to this beautiful city of mine. 

The City of Angels has opened its (his, her?) arms to me. I was an expatriate. Fed up with the eternally sunny, warm weather, with too much lack of any variation of rain, or trees turning color or snow, I was so ready to leave. I wanted to flee the "shoulds" of my father, the darkness that haunted my soul like a ghost, the city I felt was stale under my feet. I wanted adventure and a change of weather, pristine air, and a mountain soaring in the distance, its peak always covered with snow, a promise that would be fulfilled in later years. 

A change is what I got. I met some incredible people and learned many a thing. I fell in love with journalism---something I never knew would happen. I learned how to manage websites, track google analytics, learned where a Lisianthus flower grew, and the difference between Asiatic and Oriental lilies. I learned how to make decent cups of coffee, how to risk life and safety in the haunts of an abandoned factory. I fell head over heels for someone who subsequently broke my heart; I spent far too much time missing this person, convinced I would see him in Portland (I never did thankfully). I spend too much time speaking of this person. He came, he conquered and he's gone. He'll stay in my memories but I pray that he'll leave my heart (almost 100% gone and leaving more steadily every day). 

I met God in the form of the angel I met in my freshman year. I still talk to her and think of my best friend every day. I watched Grace Jones and had countless jokes with Meagan and Lora. I saw Seattle with Jess. 

And yet.....

I find that I tried things, I got out there, I did craigslist and internship meet-ups and tennis and knitting circles, and yet, the world stayed closed. My world was a Monday-Thursday routine of work, television and dinner with Meagan and weekend errands by my lonesome. I spent so many hours and days doing things by myself and occasionally with Emily. Life was so small and lonely and fixed. 

And then I was laid off and I came back home. My home. My home, how I've missed it. I've missed those San Gabriel mountains that are stained purple with the dipping of the sunset sun. I've missed La Crescenta and La Cabanita and El Cholo and Venice Beach. I've missed Zuma and Amelia and April and Jessica S. I've missed Mom and Dad and my darling Phoebe and Aussie Pup and Willie. I've missed Griffith Park, and the Greek Theater and the pine trees and eucalyptus trees. I've missed the Sun and the promise of sunlight on any given day. I've missed that marine layer. 

Los Angeles has opened its arms to me and I got kisses and tea parties and new friends and old friends and excitement and front covers of the Pasadena Weekly and work with Los Angeles Magazine and knowledge of this great city's gastronomic culture and culture of things yet to come. 

I have come home. I am no longer an expatriate. And while I might sit in traffic cursing the millions of cars in traffic with me, and cursing the indian summer temperatures peaking above 100 degrees, I will remain forever in love of the hustle and bustle, of what Los Angeles is and what it has to offer. I will be grateful for the opportunities it has afforded me, the culture that can be found from Muscle Beach to the haunts of old orange grove ranches of San Bernadino, the museums in the Miracle Mile, the haute couture of Beverly Hills and the old history that lies in the Pasadena area. 

I am an Angeleno, and I am SO GLAD to be home!