Tag: writing

The Miseducation of Maria Callas

The universe has me on a spiritual road trip today and it awesomely lead me to one of my favourite albums, “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.”

If there was such a thing as a Magnum Opus (the peak of creative work you express to the world), then this is it. (Rolling Stone lists it as the top rap album on their 2020 list of the 500 greatest albums of all time, tenth on the entire list.) It’s a work that an artist has put out that is so perfect, it’s almost cursed. Many artists fear this, peaking too early.

I, like many writers, could die happily if I achieved the “truest sentence” to encapsulate a feeling, to express LIFE through words in a way that you, the reader, might feel exactly what I felt or experienced in a moment. A photographer seeks to do the same with their camera, a painter with their brush, and so on.

I was fortunate enough to go and see Lauryn Hill with bestie a few years ago. And the experience was uncomfortable. And today I had a breakthrough in coaching that sort of unlocked why, and I wanted to explore my assumptions and their intersection with my own life.

The concert was a Rock the Bells show. Nas went first and blew us away with his start-to-finish performance of his quintessential album, “Illmatic.” Then we waited. For nearly three hours we waited. And what we got was a mess. Such a mess that we left early. What I witnessed was that Ms. Hill did not want to give the audience what they came for: a record-perfect repeat of the greatest and only album she’s recorded. No, she was in pursuit of something higher and much more frustrating. Her inability to reach what (as of today) I believe to be her ultimate goal was what made it unrelatable for the audience. I now know that I will never hear one of my three “desert island” discs live and I am OK with that. I’m sad and disappointed, but I respect it so much.

Why do I say that? Because what I hear as perfection in that record is likely not enough for L-Boogie. In that specific live performance and in other live recorded video performances I’ve seen, Ms. Hill is attempting to go for something that is nearly impossible to achieve: She’s trying to take excellence further. She’s trying to turn it up to 11.

I know this feeling. Others have said you’ve done a good job, maybe even an incredible job, but it’s not enough for you. You feel like there’s higher you can go. Like the truest sentence has escaped you. Because the truest sentence or the truest song arrangement is touching God. The pursuit of this has ruined many artists. It’s a dangerous slope.

I do this in my relationships now. I tell men, I’m looking to climb Everest. Are you strong enough to climb with me? The air is thinner up there, you have to work harder to stay up there, but the views… almost no one gets to experience them or the energy that accompanies them. Are you willing to accept that you might die trying?

In every other arena of my life, I’ve played it very safe. I am noticing where I keep myself small. I am noticing where I haven’t mustered the courage or found something I believe in enough to risk life energy attempting to reach it. I’m working through this now so I can teach it to others. I think it’s a very powerful life lesson. What do you feel so passionately about, what feeling or experience do you feel will get you that close to the TRUTH, that you’re willing to risk everything and work so hard to get there?

Here’s what I admire about Ms. Hill. She wrote the perfect debut solo album and for whatever reason has not released another. She has chosen to mostly zipline out of the public eye and there are many conversations around mental health and motherhood at play in there. But there’s also another POV, which is that she summited very early in her creation path, finding the road that to TRUTH, and yet not accessing the truth as deeply as she knows might be possible.

The pursuit CAN make you mad, I’m sure. There’s an alternate story, one where Ahab gives up on Moby Dick and finds a nice beach somewhere to enjoy his family and breathe and decide who he wants to be in this life, rather than chase the whale down to appease his ego. He’s got his three desert island discs and abundance and someone to keep him warm at night and things to nurture and it’s enough.

Welcome to my new path, Maria fans. I’m working on a new space to write. One that is all me, no pseudonym. Reclaiming my power, reigniting my spark, redefining my path. More to come.

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, by Lauryn N. Hill

My world, it moves so fast today
The past, it seems so far away
And life squeezes so tight that I can’t breath
And every time I’ve tried to be
What someone else thought of me
So caught up I was unable to achieve

But deep in my heart
The answer, it was in me
And I made up my mind
To define my own destiny

I, I look at my environment
And wonder where the fire went
What happened to everything we used to be?

I hear so many cries for help
Searching outside of themselves
Now I know that His strength is within me

And deep in my heart
The answer, it was in me
And I made up my mind
To define my own destiny

And deep in my heart


And deep in my heart
The answer, it was in me
And I made up my mind
To define my own destiny

I’m getting ready

Why do we always rush the ready? Is it fear that we’ll wait too long and miss an opportunity? Do we lack the faith that another opportunity will come along?

I think there’s something in there about faith. It’s a big theme in the book I haven’t been writing because I’ve been here spinning yarns and trying to process what is happening in my brain and in my heart.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Michael Kiwanuka this week, and so I’ll take my inspiration from him. Listen along here.

Oh my
I didn’t know what it means to believe
Oh my
I didn’t know what it means to believe

Do I still believe in love? And what kind of love is it that I believe in? Eckhardt Tolle says that “true love has no opposite” but how many married couples believe that they love each other, yet can also feel a deep resentment bordering on hatred when their partner does something as offensive as putting the toilet paper roll on the wrong way? (YES THERE IS A WRONG WAY! It’s OVER not under, fuck off already.)

My friend Gryff often asks, “What do you believe?” We’ll be in a meeting trying to solve something complex about our business and he will always bring it right back to beliefs. I don’t give beliefs enough credit or brain space. What do I believe?

My favourite belief rant of all time is performed by Kevin Costner in the film Bull Durham. I will leave it here for you (he kicks in at about 1:04).

“Well, I believe in the soul… the cock…the pussy… the small of a woman’s back… the hangin’ curveball… high fiber… good scotch… that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent overrated crap… I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a Constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. Goodnight.”

If I had a similar sermon it would be as follows:

“Well, I believe in the soul… that men and women are deliciously different but deserve equal rights… homemade granola… good bourbon… libraries… the curve of a man’s hipbone as best exhibited by Brad Pitt in Fight Club… that Big Bang Theory is indulgent overrated crap… I believe in eye contact that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up… I believe that life is too short for cheap shoes and crappy champagne. I believe in celebrating the over-the-topness of Celine Dion and the Spice Girls, but that indie singer-songwriters offer a path to enlightenment. I believe that your heels may never touch the ground in downward dog, that it’s about the journey not the destination, that Montreal is the most romantic city on earth. And I believe in seizing the moment via long, slow, deep kisses that happen in the 30 seconds before a movie starts. Goodnight.”

Needs work, I’ll admit.

But if I hold on tight, is it true?
Would You take care of all that I do?
Oh Lord
I’m getting ready to believe

Religion and spirituality have long given us an all or nothing approach. Either you believe in what they are selling or you’re out. But my book offers an alternate path for those seeking for something to help them feel tethered in a storm. So many of us shy away from admitting to some kind of belief system, because saying you believe means you’re either a bible thumper, an extremist or a new-age-y fluffernutter. Believing isn’t cool anymore. Unless it’s in a sports team. In true patriarchal style, the last bastions of belief are either extremely rigid or involve a score. Fuck that.

Oh my
I didn’t know how hard it would be
Oh my
I didn’t know how hard it would be

If I’m honest, I’ve been apprehensive to talk about the subject of my book for that exact reason. And it’s been hard to write it. Because the format of writing a book is nothing like writing a blog post or a magazine article. But also, because maybe I didn’t believe that I could do it. And maybe it’s time to have some faith.

But if I hold on tight, is it true?
Would You take care of all that I do?
Oh Lord
I’m getting ready to believe

I’m-a-gettin’ ready to believe. To believe that I’ve got this. That the love will come when I love myself, all of me, even the ugly parts. I posted a super unattractive selfie this morning when I was feeling my lowest. I’m so good at sharing the funny or the fun, but I wanted to see what would happen if I posted the other side of me, the one that plagues me with loneliness and self-doubt. The one that’s full of worry that she’s unlovable, that finding someone worthy of her time is so much work and the task seems impossible.

The response was immediate, an outpouring of love followed by quiet DMs from people suffering in silence. In loving what I perceived to be the unlovable in me, I was greeted with love. Pretty sweet.

And hey, there are parallels! Journalling through your grief allows you to find them. It’s wonderful! What do you do when a task seems too mountainous? You break it down into smaller chunks, into milestones. And writing a book and finding someone to love will both need goal posts to look towards, something to measure oneself against to understand if the achievements and work being done is leading somewhere meaningful.

This involves lists, and I motherfucking LOVE LISTS! Lists I can do. I think. Nah, I BELIEVE.

Then we’ll be waving hands, singing freely
Singing standing tall, it’s now coming easy
Oh, no more looking down, honey, can’t you see?
Oh Lord, I’m getting ready to believe

So I’m getting ready. I know I have to deal with my debt. I’ve been spending stupidly to fill holes in my heart. I need to face that beast before I can consider sharing a life with someone else.

There are a few stragglers from the reno I did around the time that Theo left. I need to complete those and make keeping my space wonderful and inspiring part of my daily practice. To lovingly put things in their homes once I’ve rid our space of ghosts and goblins, AKA the bits of Theo that still hang about the house. I need to mindfully make my bed, like it’s a prayer to have someone great sleep in it, next to me, my hand on his chest, my ear to his heart. That’s a goal worth mindfully pursuing.

I need to practice a morning routine that feeds me. Which means I need to practice a meaningful bedtime routine. I’ve been nagging myself about this for a while, but I want to really try to achieve it. It’s a worthy goal, because it sets me up for hygiene habits that help to ground me and balance my mind.

Then we’ll be waving hands singing freely
Singing standing tall it’s now coming easy
Oh no more looking down, honey, can’t you see?

Spring is technically here, but it’ll be a month before the weather makes me feel like it’s aligned with the calendar. I can’t wait to take my bike out, and maybe I’ve been stalling on that because of the weather and just need to suck it up. I’ve been going to the gym, and need to make exercise a habit, because it sets me up for feeling sexy and wanting to have sex with men who are not going to be my life partner, but are going to teach me a whole lot of things about myself.

I’m not saying I can’t be with men before these list items are tackled, but I can’t seek out someone truly meaningful until I get my house in order, my inner house and my physical house. I’m not ready for the big show yet, but I’m-a-gettin’ ready.

Mr. Saturday Night left me with that breadcrumb about his dog and I decided (with some feedback from my inner council) to leave it there. Because fuck. I don’t want breadcrumbs. I want a meal. I want the fact that I kissed a man in the front seat of his car to leave him slightly breathless with anticipation of where that kiss might go. I want him to be considerate enough to tell me I’ve crossed his mind when I have. I want to believe that he’s not so much like my ex-husband (though so far, signs point to yes). I want him to believe that I could be a lot of fun, and that I’m mature enough to not get carried away imagining that we’re in love when all it’s going to be is a summer of fun.

I want to learn how to be that person, frankly. I want to not go into a tizzy every damn time a dude doesn’t text. I want to be strong enough to walk away, because that’s not for me. Fuck yes, or no. I gotta start saying no to guys who are skim milk. I want cream. Come full fat or fuck off.

Oh Lord, I’m getting ready
Oh Lord, I’m getting ready
Oh Lord, I’m getting ready to believe