Christine Macdonald's Open Salon Blog

Vacation: Expectations, Honesty, Chemistry, Reality

Wed, 30 May 2012 12:05:59 -0400

There’s something about going on vacation that makes us feel like we’re nine years old again. Butterflies spin in our bellies, as we cross off each passing day building up to our departure. As the vacation countdown continues, we make last minute trips to the drug store, check the weather forecast, and begin mentally packing our bags.

When our travel day finally arrives, we happily navigate space in our carry on luggage between the four pairs of must-have shoes, figure-flattering tops and our favorite pair of jeans – all the while, our minds fueled by excitement, begin to wonder:

What type of adventure will this be?
Who will I meet?
Will I learn anything?
Will I face any fears, or discover new ones?
Just where will the Universe take me?

· It’s the very reason we take time for ourselves, away from our everyday lives. An escape from the mundane. To feel like that nine year old; so carefree and open to limitless possibilities and opportunities.

Whether you’re on a Disney cruise with your family, a mountain hiking excursion with friends, or flying off to Hawaii with the love of your life, all vacations have ways of taking you outside yourself, on little adventures. The best ones take you outside your comfort zone.

The Universe really does have its master plan, and going off your personal grid of everyday routine is an excellent way to ride the wave. Some of the most amazing life opportunities occur as a result of stepping outside of who we are. We learn valuable lessons about ourselves when we let go of who we think we should be.

Although I’m a pretty heavy thinker (ok, dreamer), I’ve never been much of a planner. Outside of knowing how I’m getting somewhere and which hotel I choose, my usual agenda is that I have no agenda. This behavior serves me well, but as I learned on my most recent vacation – when other people are involved, and there’s not much structure to plans outside the “play by ear” motto, excitement flirts with expectations, which can turn in to deflated feelings when things don’t pan out like you hoped.

Part of my vacation was meeting up with an old man-friend. He’s completely wrong for me on almost every level, but we respect our differences and don’t judge. Nobody chooses chemistry; all we can do is choose to react or detract when it hits. When it comes to Patrick, the lightening bolt hit in the form of effortless conversation, a ton of laughter, and me trying not to step on his shoes as he spun me on the dance floor. A stripper with the moves, I was. A two-steppin’ twirly girl, notsomuch.

There are few people who get me, and I them. Even fewer who share the same humor, love of music and panache for dancing (even if I shake my booty like I’m still on stage, and he spins the ladies around like the awesome entertainer he is). We both dance like no one’s watching, but secretly hope they do. We love adoration and attention, which makes us a great pair of friends who know how to work a room. Then there’s the sexual chemistry. We were cloaked in it from the start. To say Patrick has that certain je ne sais quoi, is an understatement. To believe I’d use a trite French term of endearment, and actually hear my voice attempt the accent, is Patrick knowing me.

The year we met, I was in a new town and just getting my feet wet back in the dating world. It had been a while since I felt such a powerful connection with someone, but powerful it was. Something greater than myself made me pounce him in mid sentence as we were walking. After Patrick’s priceless look of shock and my confident “oh, like you weren’t thinking about doing that?” reply, the floodgates opened and for the next few hours, it was tongue-o-polooza. All these years later, I still regard the night I met Patrick at that concert to be one of the best times I ever had.

Contrary to what you may think, as a stripper, I was still a lady – so there was no horizontal hokey pokey that night. Which I think, laid (pardon the pun) the foundation for an amazing friendship in the years that followed.

But here’s the thing about chemistry - it finds you. Every time Patrick popped back in my life, there it was. Like an old lover coming back for more. As time went on, each encounter we shared, via the phone, email or smoke signals, we untied the constraints of our lives and made time for one another to just be. We enjoy each other so much, but the reality of our lives is that between work, travel schedules, geography and anything else you can think of, a traditional relationship, with us will never be. Which, makes it even more exciting, naturally.

The Universe definitely has a sense of humor. Little bitch.

The planets must have been aligned in our favor during my recent vacation, because for the first time in ages, Patrick and I would be in the same town. Giddy with excitement, I was. And as time drew closer to our rendezvous, we began to talk about things we’d do, people we’d want to meet, and how exciting it was that we’d have three whole days together. The only snafu in this plan – was that it was starting to be a plan.

Patrick travels the globe for his career, and the reason he was in the same town as me was really a happy coincidence. I kept telling him I would roll with it, and he kept saying any second he was free, he’d find me. Sounds perfect, if the seconds he were free actually weren’t so few and far between.

The day I arrived was magic. Like no time had passed, we picked up where we left off years ago, and settled in to our fabulousness. A great start to our little adventure.

The next day, reality hit. After not hearing from Patrick except to learn via text, I should make plans without him – I was deflated, angry, hurt and confused.

Little did I know, I was knee deep in an extremely valuable life lesson.

In all the build up of our reunion, I lost myself in the expectation of having something that really wasn’t meant to be. It’s like my nine-year-old self arriving at Disneyland, only to learn my favorite ride is closed for repair. As kids, we’d get upset, but it’s not going to stop us from enjoying the rest of what Disneyland has to offer!

After the let down of not seeing Patrick that night, I took a moment to process the reality of the situation, remembering it wasn’t about me at all. I was angry at the circumstance. But I still needed to let him know how I felt.

The reason I love Patrick to pieces, is that I can be a total girl sometimes and he doesn’t judge or use it against me. Boys want to fix it, but sometimes Girls just want to be heard. I knew Patrick couldn’t fix his situation, so I hesitated telling him how disappointed I was with this trip not turning out as we hoped. I knew he would feel pressured, but in order for me to move past this setback, I had to get it out. So I did. And he did. And later, when his work was finished, he found the time to see me.

“I’m okay.” I said with a hug hello.

“I know you’re not, but that’s okay.” He laughed nervously, as if to wonder how long I was going to give him shit.

We shared some laughs, and after a while, it was water under the bridge. The next few hours were spent laughing, dancing, meeting great people and riding our chemistry wave.

Saying good-bye to Patrick is never fun, because we never know when our paths will cross again. But I left him this time with so much gratitude and love for what I learned.

So much of what we take on in the form of disappointment or grief is based on how we build things up in our minds. My time with Patrick was not what we talked about, or how I imagined, but that didn’t take away from any of the moments we did share. As always, those little nuggets of time together are one for the books (or, Blog).

The balance of my vacation was spent with two of the most amazing women I know. We worked together 20 years ago as strippers in Waikiki, and, as usual, our reunion was packed with all sorts of Awesome. Countless bottles of wine, going through old photos, sharing memories and making new ones. I won't give away the dirty details, but to give you a taste, I’ll say that I received a text while sitting at the airport that read: “I keep cracking up every once and a while thinking of you dancing naked with chicken nuggets.”

The boomerang effect

Thu, 12 Apr 2012 10:04:03 -0400

I pulled up the narrow driveway and saw them: a crowd of hungry people, patiently waiting, lined up around the building. Navigating the alley which led me to a tiny parking lot, my eyes met with many of them as I smiled, waving hello, while mouthing "Happy Easter" to the little ones hiding behind their mother's legs. My heart thumped rhythms between pity and fear, and as I took a deep breath, was unnerved by a thought.

"Are you taking your purse?" I asked my friend Rebecah, already knowing I was bringing mine.

"No, I'm just going to lock it up in the car."

I wanted to follow Rebecah's lead and leave my purse behind, but caution didn't allow it.

I felt a little guilty for thinking the worst - for judging the people in the soup kitchen line, thinking they were criminals. I wanted to believe in their good hearts, but what did I know? Maybe the clichés were right. Maybe these people were all drug addicted savages who would go to any lengths for their next fix. Maybe. But what about the children? Surely the parents of these adorable kids were good people. Who knows, forsure. In the end, I followed my gut.

"I'll just take my wallet."

As we met the organizers and signed in for our volunteer shift, Rebecah and I got to work. I found a secluded spot under my side of the counter, put down my wallet and picked up a serving spoon.

I normally spend Easter with friends, sipping wine and sharing laughs over a home cooked meal. This year would be different. Back in January, I decided to get more involved with my community, follow through with wanting to make a difference, so I signed up as a volunteer for Someone Cares Soup Kitchen.

The task seemed easy enough; spend a couple hours serving the needy - do my time, and get out of there. I'd meet some new people and earn Brownie points with God.

I grew up doing the church thing, and make a joke now that I'm a "failed Catholic". In all seriousness, my faith in God has never been stronger, but there are too many things about oranized religion that I don't agree with to limit myself to one way of thinking, so I keep my options open to all venues of faith. I'm an equal opportunity child of God. I pray, meditate and above all, try and be a good person. That last one isn't easy, especially when you're a recovering narcissist; another reason why I opted to volunteer this Easter. I'm trying to make it less about me - at least some of the time.

So I offered up what was in my tray, exchanging smiles with hundreds of strangers. Some were so little they couldn't see over the counter, so fellow volunteers (dressed as Easter bunnies) held the kids up so they could see the food.

Some of the men were my age and dressed in hats, dark glasses and barely spoke. I immediately figured they were hiding, perhaps in shame of just the fact they were there. Then there was the woman who looked my mother's age, with a goiter so large my stomach twisted at the sight.

As time ticked by, the people kept coming. Some came up for seconds and thirds. And with each person, I looked in their eyes and saw they had a story. I cast judgement aside. I prayed. I prayed for their health and happiness, as well as my own. I prayed with gratitude for so many things in my life I never want to take for granted.

It's so easy to get caught up with the why me's of life, especially when you live in a sea of affluence like I do, on the outskirts of Newport Beach. Those Real Housewives are real. Living a mere twenty minutes from the soup kitchen, I couldn't help but notice the contrast between the have and have nots.

After our shift, Rebecah and I went for lunch, then I did some grocery shopping. I was pretty tired when I got home, and the last thing I wanted to do was cook and prep my lunches for the work week. But I kept thinking about those people in the food line. I kept thinking if they had a fridge full of food, they wouldn't think twice about cooking. So I played some tunes, sang in my kitchen, and got to work.

I always knew volunteering was a way to help people less fortunate. What I didn't plan on was how this act of kindness would circle back to me - like some heartfelt boomerang - helping me recognize just how fortunate I am.

Born this way: what I learned from Lady Gaga

Mon, 26 Mar 2012 09:03:29 -0400

Big ears, short legs, body fat, bald spot, big nose, crooked smile - whatever the flaw, let's face it, we all have them. And if you think [freaks of nature] super models don't, think again. Chances are those mega beauties have stories of growing up the gangly, awkward girl, being called "giraffe", or "big foot".

It’s hard to relate to anyone who makes a living off their good looks, let alone imagine they could have a history of being picked on as kids. So let’s get back to people like us – everyday folk - who have a beauty all our own, shall we?

No matter what our age, name calling does damage. As we mature and grow in to ourselves, we learn to accept our unique flaws as part of what makes us who we are. We realize how exhausting it is to try and change things that are simply not in the cards – so, although our feelings may still be hurt, those words begin to carry less weight. We learn that we are not defined or validated by what other people think of us. What other people think of us is none of our business.

But when we’re young and vulnerable, being on the receiving end of name calling feels like daggers in our hearts.

Freddy Kruger.

Pizza Face.

The Elephant Man.

Moon Face.

You name it, I heard it. And even after years of therapy and countless surgeries to remedy the scarring on my face, I am still haunted by those names I was called as a teenager in high school.

In watching Oprah’s interview with Lady Gaga and Mama Gaga last night, I learned about the Born This Way foundation, a marvelous cause in which the only goal is to help people realize they are beautiful – no matter who they are, how they look, or what anyone says. Their mission statement reads:

To foster a more accepting society, where differences are embraced and individuality is celebrated. The Foundation is dedicated to creating a safe community that helps connect young people with the skills and opportunities they need to build a braver, kinder world.

We believe that everyone has the right to feel safe, to be empowered and to make a difference in the world. Together, we will move towards acceptance, bravery and love.

If you’ve seen Lady Gaga perform, you know she’s pretty wild. Some would even call her a freak (who wears a dress made out of meat?). And let’s not forget about the whole Grammy-Performance-Egg incident.

It’s easy to judge people – especially performers like Gaga who not only push the envelope of eccentricity; they tear it to shreds with their ideas and ideologies. But when you peel away the layers of outrageous costumes and theatrics, you have a real person with feelings, not to mention a shit load of talent.

The 70s gave us Ziggy Stardust through David Bowie, and Elton John showcased platform-shoe-glittered-star-glasses fashion.

This generation, we have Gaga.

I was surprised to learn Gaga was bullied as a child. She has memories of being grabbed by school mates and thrown in a garbage can in public. Of this incident, she tells Oprah – “those moments create emotional scars – you carry them with you forever”.

As tears trickled down my perfectly flawed cheeks, I never thought I’d feel it - a sense of connectivity with the extravagant singer. She gets it.

After landing on the Born This Way Foundation website, I entered my name as a supporter. What a powerful wave to ride, knowing that we can join such a mission of kindness and compassion.

It may not be realistic to envision a world without Hate, but it sure does feel good to know that by joining the cause to try, we can make a difference.

“Whether life's disabilities left you outcast, bullied or teased - rejoice and love yourself today, 'cause baby, you were born this way” - Lady Gaga

Homecoming: A full circle journey

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 10:03:10 -0400

It's a strange thing to learn of a loved one's passing who you didn't really like. I feel like I should be grieving more – then sometimes, I’m shocked I’m even grieving at all.

My step-father (the man who helped raise me for 39 years) succumbed to heart disease last week. It was something the family expected and frankly, we’re a little surprised this didn’t happen sooner.

Richard was a grumpy, disconnected man, who epitomized narcissism and never showed love. He’s gone – but not without leaving his legacy: I learned how to make the perfect gin martini when I was seven.

Archie Bunker had nothing on Richard. It’s easy to harbor feelings of anger and resentment with him - still, I feel a sense of peace, in my acceptance and forgiveness of his flaws.

Compassion trumps resentment.

I fly back to Hawaii, the scene of the crime, next week for the funeral. With just one flight across the Pacific, I am pulled back in to a life I’ve spent half my life trying to forget.

But maybe I shouldn’t forget. Maybe this experience is unfolding before me to serve as an opportunity to embrace the lessons I’ve learned.

There is a scene in George Clooney’s movie The Decedents which was filmed at The Elks Club in Waikiki – the backdrop to countless memories of abuse and neglect. It didn’t dawn on me that movie was filmed on O’ahu, and as soon as the camera framed Clooney and his on-screen daughter near this particular railing outside a restaurant, I gasped. Panic set in, and I nearly left the theater.

Then I took a breath. I marinated in the Now and realized – I don’t have to be a victim to my past. I can come full circle and own my truth, recognizing how far I’ve come.

My trip next week won't be easy, but I know that no matter what the circumstance, I can break the cycle and love deeply, even if Richard didn't know how.

It’s the people who don’t show love that need it the most.

And what a time it was

Tue, 20 Mar 2012 10:03:14 -0400

I arrived in Oakland the morning of the event with starry eyes and carry-on luggage in tow. As excited as I was to be part of The Moment book read in San Francisco, I was even more jazzed to hang with my old friend, Kimmy.

Kimmy and I go back.

Before texts, Facebook, and iPhones, we gabbed on our land-line telephones nursing hangovers as we tried to endure the agonizing three-day waiting period it took for our camera film to develop. We lived off 7-Eleven nachos, Burrito Supremes, and the type of audacious fortitude only twenty-three year olds could know. We swapped form fitting dresses and leather shoulder-padded jackets from Contempo Casuals and flirted with boys who bought us wine coolers.

I consider it a personal blessing there was no You Tube (let alone, Internet) back then.

It wasn't an instant connection. As most women do, we sized one another up and felt a competitive vibe upon introduction. But as time passed and our armor of insecurities wore down with each passing laugh and discovery, we became sisters.

Kimmy is the type of friend who tells it to you straight; I admired her honesty and bowed to her take-no-shit from men attitude. She admired my strength to endure the life I was making for myself - full of addiction, abuse and the chaos my choices caused. She saw my beauty before I even knew how to find it myself.

When I decided to move away from home and off the island, Kimmy was the one who gave me the push I needed. Still stripping on the weekends but trying to break free from the night life, I picked up a job waiting tables at California Pizza Kitchen just outside Waikiki. When Kimmy knew I was serious about moving, she helped line up a restaurant transfer at her local CPK.

A few weeks later, I arrived in Northern California with two suitcases and dreams of a better life. I slept on Kimmy's living room floor, and grew accustomed to her two-year old, Kai's wake-up calls; his chubby fingers pushing my forehead and groggy voice always asking: "Kiki, you up?"

After a couple years and a half dozen career-changing forks in the road which included waiting tables, selling hair care products, and managing clothing stores, I headed south in search of warmer beach weather, and landed in Laguna Beach.

For no other reason than Life sweeping us away through the years, Kimmy and I lost touch. We were never far from our minds, however, with each passing holiday, birthday and momentous occasion (she saw my cancer, and raised me her brain tumor - discovered while she was seven months pregnant with baby number three).

Still, the calls dwindled and our communication morphed in to sporadic texts. Fast forward to our recent reunion in San Francisco last week, and like no time passed, we were back.

The book read was a huge success and my visit with Kimmy, an overdue celebration of sisterhood.

It's hard to imagine my little alarm clock, Kai is graduating high school soon. It's even more of a challenge to realize I've been off the island for over a decade. And although almost nothing in our lives is turning out exactly as we planned, we can be sure of some things: our friendship is never ending, we still make each other laugh, and we never have to wait for camera film again.

Silly, with a side of Boone's Farm

Happy Birthday Kimmy

Me, Kimmy and our friend, Dany - In tears saying good bye, leaving Hawaii

We haven't changed a bit.

iPhone shot taken last week (Spring 2012).

“Time it was and what a time it was, it was - A time of innocence - A time of confidences - Long ago it must be - I have a photograph
Preserve your memories - They’re all that’s left you” - Simon and Garfunkel