Thoughts to Live By

Ohh city of expectations and fabulous blonde bodies, how you attempt to change my pace and steer my direction.

But no no, not so fast. Because I've got this nice little red leather book that has the more sane musings of out of Los Angeles Kristen. And damn she is good. Because she knows about the dark hole and the not so open skies and the pressing needs for one thing joyful. Each day. Just one thing joyful.

Because not all of life is a sleeper class train ride to inexplicable freedom.

When I left Ghana I wrote one of my most beautiful journal entires. I felt like I was being torn away from another world, an exotic universe in which I was able to become a beautiful version of myself.

But there are no "different worlds". Different elements, yes, different colors and rhythms and cycles of life. But just one world, and just one you. It's your own different elements and colors and rhythms that you're seeing.

It's intimacy.

So instead of spinning musings about the lifetime seemingly contained in the past 10 months (to be fair, I think "the end of Indian days" did the job) I had only simple thoughts when returning home:

I hoped to be well on my plane journey home. I hoped that my planes would arrive on time. I hoped to get home. I hoped to be able to eat when I got home.

And I hoped that in the months and years to come I remember that there is beauty in every crevice of being.

So in a month of Los Angeles living I have not found a job. I have not created a fancy-shmancy look at me go life. I have not met new people.

I have had a lot of tea. I have begun to learn how to salsa. And I have found ecstasy in the most exquisite samba class that makes your hips sing "damn, I feel like a woman."

And I wasn't sick on my plane journey home, my planes did arrive on time, I did actually arrive home (didn't believe it until I saw it) and I have been more than able to eat.

So I guess that makes for Life: 3.... Kristen: 7.

But as long as I am shaking my hips to a drum beat, who's keeping score?