One big leap

What is there to share? What is the true thing that I have to say?

I left San Diego on Jan. 30 because my heart told me it was time to move on. It was time to feel what was next. I moved to Portland. Leaving San Diego was my final and biggest act of letting go in 2019.

I WISH San Diego had been the place for me. The home I dreamed of. It just wasn’t. After 13 years, I feel sure in this statement. When something is FOR me, I just know it. I know it in all of my being. No matter how I tried to transform myself inside of San Diego, there was always a mismatch. A longing inside me for somewhere else that matched me.

Over the past couple of years, there has been a growing unrest inside me. I criticized myself for it. I had an extremely comfortable life in San Diego. I had the perfect one-bedroom cottage in a hip neighborhood with parking and laundry inside my house. I lived two miles from work. And I had the best boss on any planet in any dimension or alternate universe. She is No. 1.

I had coworkers who make the world go ‘round. I had built loving and lasting friendships with people from many walks of life and of course at the end of every day I always had Buttercup.

I could go on listing all of the wonderful qualities of my old life – I was wearing shorts in January, folks. San Diego is paradise and there is no two ways about that.

However, it just wasn’t my paradise. I grew restless and bored. I wanted room to roam and nature at my fingertips.

I am a girl from the mountains. I am an Adirondack kid and I can’t ever shut up about that. I love talking about living in the woods and that our class trips were hiking and skiing expeditions. I love remembering all the funny things that we all did to get by in the mountains. Things that were commonplace to us, but are far outside the norm for city slickers.

I have been missing the mountains something fierce. I also realized that every time I visited Portland, I never wanted to go back home except to be with Buttercup.

Maybe I am telling this story all a little backwards but that’s quite alright. I don’t want to be caught in focusing on a narrative when the important matter is that the Universe has been sending me the signs of Portland for more than a decade.

I remember in 2004 my friend Sean describing Portland to me and it sounded like Utopia. I tucked that information in the back of my mind and set about my life. I never forgot his words and I can see in my mind the excitement on his face when he was describing the lush landscape of Oregon.

Then over the years people would say to me “you belong in Portland.” I started to relate to that as some distant dream because I had no idea how to extract myself from the comfort of San Diego. Why on earth would I do such a thing?

They (and by “they” I mean Oprah) say that a call from your soul starts out as a whisper then becomes a brick to your forehead the longer you ignore it. Well, on Dec. 27 the brick came and I could not say no. My dad asked me that if he and my mom gave me the first month of rent for Portland could I make the leap. There was no way to say no to that. The rent I would be paying would be to move in with my dear friend and constant adventure buddy Jenn.

So I said yes. And I was terrified to dismantle my life in one month. I got rid of 99 percent of my possessions. My mom flew out from Florida, we cleaned out my place, packed the car and drove 1,000 miles in two days. Buttercup was an angel and only had some meows from the backseat but other than that no complaints.

We arrived in Portland at about 2 p.m. on Jan. 31. Jenn welcomed me with hugs and laughter and a few days later it is starting to sink in what I have done.

A little Portland bathroom graffiti that I saw on Friday night. It reads: “Everything is working out best case scenario.” I know this is true. Photo by Ranger Holly.

It is no small thing to uproot yourself in obedience to a call in your heart. It is an intangible thing. I have no physical documentation to prove that I am supposed to do this. I have nothing but a zillion little clues that took me here. Inexplicable synchronicities that light my path ahead.

Here I am. In Portland. In some moments I am asking myself “WTF did I do?” In others, I have a smile cracked across my face because I know there is so much goodness to come this year. I also know that I am the dreamer of the dream and I create my life. I say how it goes and I declare that this is going to be remarkable. This is a chapter that will be full of love, adventure and overwhelming joy.

I am beyond grateful.

End note: I am sure there are more words to come on this subject. I am still settling into this new world. I miss my San Diego people so much. I am also so grateful for a soft place to land in Portland. I couldn’t have done this without Jenn.

Freedom for 2020

A lot happened from September until today and I will loop back and write about those adventures in the near future. Unrelated, I have been fighting a Florida Swamp Flu for the past week that I picked up while visiting my family for Christmas.

The delights of Florida Swamp Flu are not what I have come to discuss, though. The New Year is what I am contemplating right now. I am such a fan of the start of the year. I am ready for fresh starts and nothing feels fresher than Jan. 1.

Last year, my goals were to let go and create. And like anything that you ask the Universe for, those opportunities showed up in spades. 2019 was challenging and heartbreaking but to frame it positively, it was full of learning, growing and expanding myself beyond who I knew myself to be. I am grateful for it and proud of myself for moving through it all. Gracelessly at times, yet with courage to mess up and try again.

Freedom is the name of the game in 2020. Photo by Ranger Holly.

For 2020, I am putting my focus on one word: Freedom.

Freedom of all sorts. Financial freedom, spiritual freedom, freedom with my time, freedom to travel, freedom to authentically express myself, and much more. More freedom in all areas of my life. After last year, I am interested to see how opportunities for freedom will present themselves throughout 2020.

I am also giving myself the freedom to let love find me. I am letting go of the looking for love around every corner. I don’t just mean romantic love. I mean work that I love, friends that I love, coffee shops that I love and adventures I love. This year, they will all find me. I won’t search, struggle or try to control or grasp at people, places or things. If it doesn’t flow, I will let it go.

Another thing that I am thinking about at the start of this year, is something that my Faux Pa Tom quoted to me from Teddy Roosevelt’s “The Man in the Arena.” In full, it reads:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

The part that Tom quoted was “his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” I may not succeed at everything I have done or will do but I have felt the distinct joy of victory and I am determined to have that feeling as much as possible.

Victory and freedom feel quite similar to me. Standing on top of any mountain I have ever climbed. Stepping on stage or to the front of a room and making people laugh. Being at the front of the crowd at the concerts of my favorite bands. These all feel like victory and freedom to me. I am looking forward to digging into these experiences and feelings throughout the year. I accept that this means I will also experience some failures. I know that these failures are temporary and do not define me and that I can keep going.

Cheers to 2020, everyone. Happiness, fun and infinite adventure are available to us all, we just need to get in that arena.

Cautionary goals

It’s the middle of 2019 and I don’t know how that happened. I feel like I fell asleep sometime around the end of February and just woke up to full-on summer in San Diego. What was I doing all that time? Probably just a bunch of nothing… just kidding, everyone who has ever met me knows that’s not true.

Anyway, enough rambling preambles. Mid-year, I always take a look at the goals I set in January to see what I have accomplished so far. One of my proudest accomplishments is telling a story at The Moth. That was the achievement that I wanted the most. I wanted it so badly that I could taste it. I wish I could see the recording of it so that I could remember it better and see the joy on my face as I told my story.

One of the toughest goals I set was letting go. Let me caution you about setting goals and putting things in writing: DO NOT EVER set the goal to let go unless you are absolutely sure you want to learn this lesson. In January, I wrote, “I will let go of things that I don’t even want to let go of so that I can create more space in my life.”

Insert a slow, sarcastic clap here.

I only have myself to hold responsible for this one. Yes, it is true that I want to practice nonattachment and remain committed to my life and not attached to outcomes. However, I am known for throwing myself in the deep end of the pool and that’s exactly what I did with this goal.

I set that goal with such bravado or blind faith in what I was doing. I have no idea which is more accurate. Maybe it was hubris.

Here’s the thing, I would gladly give away all my possessions and my money if I get to keep all the people I love. Releasing possessions is sometimes challenging because of sentimental feelings. Releasing people, now that’s a whole different level of letting go that I have always struggled with. The people I like. The people I don’t like can obviously just eff right off.

“I will let go of things that I don’t even want to let go of.” I wrote some similar words in a letter to someone recently. A letter where I let them go and it was the last thing I wanted to do – ever. Here is where the Universe is calling me to a higher level of trust and faith. It’s asking me, “Can you let this go and trust that more beautiful things will fall into its place?”

I don’t think I have another choice, really. I know that’s exactly how it works. Let go and then many more beautiful things rush right in. Also, there’s that old cliché, “If you love something, set it free.” People are the hardest for me to set free because I really do love them so much. My baseline of operation is loving people. Yes, it can go up or down rather quickly from there but you get the idea.

For the past few days, I have been thinking about this Steve Prefontaine quote.

“I’m going to work so that it’s a pure guts race at the end, and if it is, I am the only one who can win it.”

Prefontaine was a young middle and long distance runner in the 1970s who died in his early 20s. He was known for his passion and commitment to the sport. He left it all on the track for every race.

I have been inspired by Pre since I watched the movie “Without Limits” with my track team buddies in high school. I often think of how hardcore he was about life, running and he was pretty passionate about justice (one of my favorite things, too).

I think the reason this quote has been swimming around my mind is because I am realizing that it takes a lot of guts to constantly let things go. Letting things go means you’re almost always somewhere new and uncomfortable. Facing yourself in the mirror after each thing is let go and asking, “Who am I now?”

I didn’t realize this in the beginning, but it takes pure guts to release people, places and things and face the unknown. I’ve shed a lot of tears, had a lot of the SAME conversations, resisted the inevitable and then finally given in to letting go.

The thing that has become clear to me over the past six months is that if I am lucky, by the end of this year of letting go, I will be just like Pre and I will be the only one who can win this race.

Epilogue: I have also been comparing myself to Evel Knievel because he had a penchant for taking the leap, breaking a few bones and getting back up again. That’s me… with my emotions. So go ahead and choose the obscure athlete reference you like best. – Holly xo

Evel Knievel casually jumping some big old trucks. Source

The Moth

“It's actually Horvath, but having your Polish last name properly pronounced is, you know, kind of low on the list of priorities.” Season 5, Episode 10 of Girls. Hannah does The Moth.

When I watched Hannah Horvath tell a story at The Moth in Season 5, Episode 10 of Girls, I knew I wanted to do it, too.

I am a theater kid at heart and I took the stage many times in high school and I loved it. My favorite performances were the ones where I wrote and performed in the stories. There was a one-act play that I wrote about what goes on in the teacher’s lounge. As well as a monologue that I wrote about a feminist who refused to shave her underarms and had taken over the PA system at the local Walmart.

Last December, I went to a curated evening of Moth stories with Jenn in Portland. The performers were moving, funny and inspiring. That night I set my goal for 2019 to take the stage.

I wasn’t sure which stage I would take or when. I did know that I wanted Jenn to be there and I wanted it to be a Moth StorySlam. I set my intention and sent it off into the Universe.

In March, Jenn texted me asking if I would want to come to Portland the first weekend of June to see her favorite band Rainbow Kitten Surprise play two nights. Yes, absolutely. I got the time off work and then had the idea to check the Moth schedule in Portland. Bingo! June 3 at The Secret Society.

I started practicing my story and organizing my thoughts and story arc and making sure it fit the night’s theme of “chemistry.” I was having a bit of a hard time deciding on the ending but I was confident that it would come to me.

One of the reasons that I wanted to do this is because the people I adore most in my life have been the ones who tell stories that have me hanging on every word. When I was a kid, my Uncle Ralph would tell stories at our dining room table or around the fire at his camp in Bloomingdale and I was enthralled. It was the way he lived the joy of his stories and laughed deeply from his soul and I could feel what he was feeling as his stories played out.

I also have a theory that some of the best storytellers are from Kentucky. My dear friend and Kentucky native, Dan, tells the most phenomenal stories. We used to work together and I would do anything to bait him into talking to me and telling me a story.

Then there is Penny. My fauxom and as I call her “the arbiter of lost souls.” She’s also from Kentucky and reminds me of Uncle Ralph and Dan combined. She will tell these wild stories and be laughing so hard that tears are streaming from her eyes.

These three people are my storytelling idols. For a long time I have wanted to be like them and make people feel how they make me feel when I listen to their stories: alive and inspired to go out and live more adventures.

On June 3, Jenn and I went hiking and I was nervous. I was rolling my story around in my mind but more so I was nervous about the prospect of not being selected to go on stage. The Moth is done by lottery and there are only 10 spots, so there is no guarantee you will be chosen. And I was still wondering how would I end my story. What would be the thing that wraps it all up? After two months of working on this story, I was still not sure.

We got to the venue that evening and stood in line waiting to get in. I was so excited that I signed the registration paper without reading any of the fine print. I peppered the man registering people with questions and then I went to talk to my friend Dale and settle my nerves.

Then it was show time. The first half of the evening had five storytellers. None of them were me and I was just sitting there trying to be present with them but also praying that each name drawn from the plastic jack-o’-lantern would be mine.

At intermission, I looked at Jenn and said, “I have to give up or this will never happen.” This is the secret to manifesting what you want: give up.

Intermission ended and the MC drew a paper from the pumpkin and read, “Holly.... (insert LONG PAUSE where I know it’s me because my last name is often mispronounced).” He mispronounced my Polish last name and I stood up laughing to myself remembering that episode of Girls.

I took the stage and looked out into the audience and I felt like I was home. The stage lights were on and I could see Jenn and my friends in the second row and it was go time. I had the audience laughing about my life experiences and the comedic characters I had met one night in Downtown San Diego.

So pleased with myself in my vintage sequins. Photo by Jenn.

Now, I’m not going to tell the full story here, that’s for me and my closest 200 friends in Portland to share. However, I will say that my favorite part of the story became the ending that I had figured out just a couple hours beforehand.

What I will tell you is this: At the end of my story I told them that I asked for a sign from the Universe that someone I care about is safe. And when I told them the sign that the Universe sent me just five minutes after I asked, the gasps and reaction was audible and I knew I had told a story that had them hanging on my every word.

There’s so much more I want to say about this event but I am still sorting through it myself. I am so proud of myself for accomplishing this major goal of mine. And for telling the Universe that this is what I want to be doing. I want to be onstage telling funny, heart-felt stories to my closest friends and bring us all back together around the proverbial campfire.

As I was writing this post, I realized that my Uncle Ralph died on June 1, 2003. It was June 3 that I was onstage telling my story and sharing the gift that he gave me so many times. Thank you, Uncle Ralph for getting me on that stage.