No Bad Days For Days!

The other day I was at the beach and I was sitting with this guy and this new couple and we laughed about something and this new couple walked off smiling at each other and I was smiling at them because even though this guy is best friends with the 47 year old man who Brock Turnered me and even though he blamed me for it, I actually like quite a lot about him and believe he deserves this beautiful new girl he is finally with. I was legitimately just thinking “Wow, sure is great to be me when I see this guy like this and it  makes me feel affirmative and happy and whole and I want to know this girl more because I can tell she is actually cool” when this other chick who I know doesn’t have much respect for me sort of slowly dances by and says to us, “Isn’t it nice to see people so happy? You know,” and she looks at us, “some people don’t like to see other people happy. Isn’t that weird?”

And my new friend looked at her quizzically and said, “Like what do you mean? Oh, yeah like jealous people!” And I wondered if she was trying to send me a shaming message because she deduced that since I felt so strongly that my perp should be held socially accountable for his actions against me and should be guided to stay-the-hell-away-from me, I couldn’t possibly want him or his friend to be happy. I could have easily been selfishly paranoid though because trauma, even  small kine like major betrayal, has the effect of making you more self-centered, no matter what, at least temporarily. That is just the physiology of it.

No bad days!

People like me don’t have that luxury, but you know what? I’ve never wanted living only with what we usually call positive feelings to be my end all goal in life. I’ve always felt that that positive insistence is just also sort of a lie. And kinda a mean lie at times. As my favorite comedian said, “Oh, that’s so nice of you, you go up to people in wheelchairs dancing? ‘Look what I can do!'”

Bliss is my inherent baseline but that doesn’t mean I shove the clouds away when they start rolling in.

The other day, or yesterday actually,  I was packing up the van with a mother I deeply admire and I said “It’s a perfect day for the beach,” without really thinking about it because I was happy it was chilly and a little windy and threatening rain. Her face did a funny flash and then she smiled because she knew what I meant.

My body is like the Hawaiian Islands. Even when the clouds roll in, I am so grateful to call my body and my heart my home.

I don’t ever want to insist that I have nothing but good days left in my life because really, that’s pretty damn selfish of me when the world is burning.

And sometimes, I may look recklessly emotional, but I am on to something powerful and moving.

Have you ever seen Kill Bill Vol. 2? The end is my favorite. My mom looks just like Beatrix Kiddo when she sobs. She got her little girl back but she had to murder her man and she’s sobbing tears of everything.

I had a night recently where I did just that. All night. And I wrote a little bit. And I kept just saying “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” because my heart feels so full and good and hopeful and even though I clean up everyone’s poop for a living, even though the guy I have a crush on doesn’t even look at my snap stories, and even though my car drives like a bumper car, I feel so rich and full and moved by everyone in my life and finally at home again in my heart and body.


Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.
-1 John 3:1

Truth, purity, sweet thoughts and one-pointed attention are all qualities that make one suitable to see the true Self.”
-The Yoga Sutras

“Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It’s about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen.”
-Brene Brown

“Only the truth of who you are, if realized, will set you free. ”
-Eckhart Tolle

“What draws people to be friends is that they see the same truth. They share it.”
-C.S. Lewis

Truth, like love and sleep, resents approaches that are too intense.”
-Wyston Hugh Auden

Without going to a dictionary, my definition of truth is the reality of that which actually is. Going to a dictionary, I found it uses the word itself in the first definition which I thought was something dictionaries were not suppose to do. Well, it says “true.”


The facts, the science, the math. I have long been absorbed and agitated and motivated by the idea of truth. They call people like me “seekers.” That was my goal from age 11-29. What’s the truth?

“All of this is just a game!” I told my dad when I was 17.
“We are all just so full of shit, I can’t do this, this game is so stupid!”

“Play the game, Abby! You’re perfect for it!” He told me, “at least go to church, people will respect you more. Just go to church.”

At 12 I went to church camp and came back certain that Jesus was the truth, and infected by our counselors fears, I was terrified of any of my peers being sent to eternal damnation. “I know he huffs paint and listens to Nirvana but he is a genius and a sweetheart and his childhood was not at all easy, how could Jesus, embodiment of love and compassion, possibly send him to hell if I wouldn’t even send him to hell?” Questions like that gave me reasonable, innocent and heartfelt doubt to the narrative I was being served. I read and read and read when I should have been socializing and absorbed in school drama. I flipped courses and found the kind of logical dogma of the likes of Niles Eldridge and Richard Dawkins and was convinced that that was the path to understanding truth. I did not at all make a good atheist. The outside world seemed so empty and my insides felt ill equipped to deal. I went to kill myself when I was 16, with resignation that on the other side, maybe I would finally see the truth… the reality of that which actually is. Instead, I tripped balls, embarrassed myself to the maximum degree and was thrust right back in to the world I was trying to escape. When we say God is Truth, those of faith are saying God is Reality. It just is. God is the facts, the data, the science, the whole thing that not one single person can ever fully get a grasp on, especially because biologically we are designed to push it away, for our own individual protection.


That’s the only individual truth I can hope for, the only fun I can cling to. My faith is so strong now. I don’t need to defend it in the same way I don’t need to run around the streets of Kailua at night insisting and checking that everyone recognize the sun is going to rise tomorrow. My faith is strong and we still need each other to understand truth. I need to check with my humanist atheist friends and my Christian friends and my gun enthusiasts and my social justice warriors and my rape-apologist adrenaline junkies and my Grandma and most importantly, your kids.

la illah ila Allah

There is no god, but God is one of my favorite declarations of faith.

The Angry Bitches are Coming!


They are coming. The angry bitches are coming. And they are coming for my second favorite director! I was raised super Christian, to have a firm understanding that we have to be careful what we feed our minds. Film, advertising, TV, books, all of this shapes our understanding of the world and most of what sells is not nurturing to our higher nature.  I was taught to understand the power of film and then I spent a few years ignoring it. Now, thanks to #timesup, I am fuckin’ cogitating. I’m feeling fervently hopeful that we are going to alter the course of history, we are all undergoing a cultural shift. I feel uncomfortable and I am a rebel, made for this shit, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.

My last ex, before he was my boyfriend, he really dated me. Like, earnestly. I have not seen this performance in Hawaii. I can blame my circumstance and my confusion, so for now I will. But this guy, so many dinners, walks and movie nights without him ever making moves on me. M I K E W H I T E as they say on instagram. Sigh. I remember how quizzically he looked at me when I expressed my fandom for no other Hollywood elite than Quentin Tarantino which to me really meant Kill Bill I and II and what’s to become of them.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just surprised because he,”

“-goes against everything I value?”

Yeah, violence.  And like a lot of us, I was captivated by his effusive ego. I drank it all right down, all of his fathead opinions. QT is right, I didn’t know shit about film, so I should listen to him, this savant. Mike introduced me to True Romance and we laughed at how curtly Tarantino’s acting takes us out of the movie.  Jackie Brown was shot in the town I had then just moved to. Pulp Fiction was always a NO. Uma Thurman reminded me of my mother, feet and all, and the whole Kill Bill shebang reminded me of where I came from. The overt violence seemed was excusable to me because of some idea of QT’s autistic genius. Plus, she overcomes and she wins. Not okay, apparently! But I know someone who was raped in the exact way Beatrix was raped and so the whole vengeance pomp mixed with that daddy/sensei/boyfriend/tormentor thing had me revved. Five years later, I was following Uma Thurman closely when I saw her reactive Instagram posts to Roy Moore, and as she gently followed up with a picture of her daughter, because public rage is still embarrassing.  We didn’t know it but we needed this formerly unseen layer behind the Hollywood narrative. QT and U best buddies, his angelic goddess muse!!!! Suck it up and suck it in, Uma you are a star and all thanks to the deep and abiding love of this awkward film profundity. Not quite. Now, New York Times OpEds are operating like group therapists and we are all like, wait, whats her perspective, really? It’s The Mother herself.  Yes, finally Uma spoke and she has done so with the keen emotional intellect of the daughter of a prominent Buddhist scholar.


Female rage, exciting when it’s Quentin Tarantino pageantry, embarrassing and uncomfortable when it pops up unannounced on our news feeds.

Most of us can agree.

I’m tuned in to what’s ahead for this team. According to her, Weinstein is still in therapy, which means he’s practicing what I’m practicing and what Uma is practicing. So, cool. All three of these players are highly intelligent, emotionally supported and zealously watched. I was going to write a blog on my recovery from deep shame but it looks like I’m going to need to grab some popcorn and sit back a bit because I believe, culturally, this showdown or kumbaya concert could be a downright game-changer.  Quentin Tarantino is not a sociopath and Weinstein is currently in training not to be a sociopath and Uma has been in anti-sociopathic training her entire life. I’m fired up for Quentin’s all time best method performance, finally. Authenticity is going to be his big break. (Yeah, that’s that fervent hope!)  And for Harvey, if he’s doing the work, “ruining his career” will quickly become simply, “changing his career,” which should automatically be the unintended consequence when one decides to abuse their power to such a degree in this great nation. Democracy! Checks and balances! Are we on the brink of creating a society that holds even powerful people accountable? Like we talked about in the beginning?

This is a real redpill moment for me, a consumer and a fan.  Genius fatheads are valuable. They make great artists and creators, and fun-time boyfriends quite frankly.  But this new layer, the female perspective?!?! I’m digginin’ it and I wanna hear more! We need all hands on deck, eyes wide, calling it like we see it. Uma gets it, I want to get it!


Edit: girlish hope. Rapey gonna rape, guys. Rapey gonna rape.

Be Careful

Some months ago I babysat for a family with a baby boy and a 2 year old girl. She was playing with toys, crouched over her knees and I was next to her, probably looking at my phone. Suddenly, I felt too hot in the room so I got up and decided to jump over the little girl to the fan switch at the exact same moment she shot her head up and I kicked her  in the head, or as I prefer to say, popped her with my heal a little bit. After making sure she was physically okay I had to assure her and myself she was emotionally okay. This was the first time I was watching her, she had no idea why  I kicked her and it could easily be construed that I kicked her because I am a child head kicker! I think she forgot all about it. I have worked for them a few other times and she seemed safe. It was probably hardest on me because I know my continued struggles and weaknesses and being careful, paying attention… it’s why I am bad at math.

I wanted to start with a story about a time I felt deeply ashamed as a child but it got derailed very quickly. I was a late 8 or 9 years old, sure that I had wanted to be the one to walk with my grandmother, who was dying of breast cancer. We were leaving the hospital and she tripped on something because I was going too fast and she fell and got a giant gash in her head and we had to turn around and go right back in to the emergency room. Where she got stitches.

“NO!” That’s all my mom had to say through out my account.

“We were outside of the grocery store in Fairview and I don’t even know if you were there. Aunt Weezie was there, ask your Aunt Weezie. She got that gash from the bathroom, Abby. Your grandad was there and she wouldn’t let him take her to the hospital and nobody could convince her to get stitches. She needed them but she never got them. It had already healed by the time she died, Abby! It was so big because she didn’t get stitches. She hardly got hurt when she stumbled but no, we weren’t at the hospital, that was in Fairview.”

My Aunt Weezie’s account was also different. “Oh no, we weren’t at the hospital, we took  her after because she did hurt her chin but again she couldn’t be convinced to get stitches. Were you there? Yes, you were probably there then. No, she threatened your grandad that’s why he called us. She wouldn’t get stitches. She was very stubborn, you remember that, that is where you get your stubbornness from, your grandmother.”


I have spent a lot of time elsewhere in life. This has effected my school, my work, my relationships and perhaps my fate. Despite this, much of my experience has been exceedingly beautiful and privileged and I need to share how I found freedom and ask for help where I am still trapped.

Some people have obvious flaws and weaknesses. I have a smile, a strong, tan and slender body and my ex-boyfriend says I am an absolute expert at big picture concepts. But I really struggle with the details, being careful. I know it is all very precious, sometimes fragile and temporary and even with that knowledge, without constant reminders, I struggle to move with grace. Maybe I am not the right person to talk about all these deep dark things I need to talk about. But I want us to heal and my mind has been consumed with the stories that my therapist assures me he doesn’t believe are pathologically obsessive.

It might help to share.

A few days ago, I  got to spend some time with the twin girls I babysit. I didn’t know I needed to write this post yet and we were packing up to drive to Waimanalo, to meet with some friends of mine. I Haoled Logan in to her car seat and knocked her foot. She sweetly alerted me. “Be careful, I have an owie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Logan, thank you! Sometimes I need reminders and especially from my friends. You can always remind me to be careful.”