About me, in one shot...

Found this little thing that I wrote when I was building my first photography website years ago.  Thinking of the "About Me" section that we have to fill out on resumes, websites, dating profiles...you only get one shot, right?  Or do you?  

 

It is more than just a thing you write to describe where you've been and why people should be interested.  Think back to the days when a resume was a crisp, clean ink and paper list, preferably on one piece of paper, that gave a snapshot of why you might be of interest to those who set eyes on it.  Once in those hands, the reader may slip into the role of a deity, one who thinks they have control over your life and can single handedly decide your fate.  Social media has changed all of that.  When seeking jobs after college, I can remember when I thought adding the book I was reading or including my recent music tastes on my resume was completely risque. I certainly would be dismissed if "they" knew I was reading D.H. Lawrence in my spare time (if we were being honest) and listening to Wu Tang on the suggestion of my buddhist neighbor.  In the midst of finding a "real" job, I was also looking for a "real" boyfriend. I had lost and found my heart in Ohio a couple of times, so I had taken some time off to heal the wounds. When I decided to actively look for someone, I started to see the parallels of seeking a job and seeking a mate. I realized we were all using similar tools for both. (eyes wide open, exhaustingly aware of opportunity, hopefully landing an interview or date, romancing the ideal partner or company new hire)

  

I came to realize that although the search was futile at the time, the tools I picked up along the way were absolutely essential. Partners, friends, jobs and opportunities are all serendipitous, and usually happen (yes, as they've always said) when you least expect it.

  

Looking through old ramblings while creating a new "about me" for this blog, I found something I wrote in the "about me" section when I set up my first social media account.  (Remember Friendster? Yes... I'm that old...)

 

With this description, I realized I was mixing reality and visualization (also an extremely valuable tool... don't doubt for a second that those olympic gold winners aren't doing that exact same thing on top of the slopes).  Anyone who wanted to join me for the ride was welcome. Although,  more importantly anyone with malicious intent, need not apply.  Fourteen years after writing this for an entirely different venue, I can say I would hire this girl in a heartbeat if she included this in her resume.

 

 

"i am my short bed head hair in the afternoon, morning, night

i am my tweed zip up jacket bought for 21.99 on west broadway

i am my black boots with the cuff and brown lining with zipper up the back

i am my half make-upped face in the morning from laziness and the hope that i won’t be frightened when i first glance in the mirror

i am my coffee, french pressed with 1/2 inch of cream at the bottom and a spoonful of raw sugar in a striped mug that reminds me of maxwell house commercials from when i was ten

i am my bus ride to work in london 4 years ago.

i am my bus ride to work in chicago 6 months ago.

i am my walk down broadway to the coffee shop and then reckless records on my days off

i am my sunday brunch at jack and benny’s or whole world or my house

i am my sunday driving down high street with my hand outside the sunroof

i am my licorice tea before bed 

i am my harley riding out west, arms full of tattoos

i am world traveling photographer and subsequent unicef ambassader

i am my music selection while driving

i am my published book

i am my own gallery

i am my vacation home in the south of france

i am my window in the hotel room in l'abbesses  around the corner from sacre coeur

i am my drive to work in the dark every morning

i am my fascination with written correspondence 

i am my illusions and reality all wrapped up in one fine flirtation

-skbg 2004-ish

Morning Perfect

And just like that, my tendency for flight disappears.  In one moment I am ready to sell everything I own and move to the coast of Belize.  Then, I take a walk in my new neighborhood and I am rich with my surroundings.  I marvel at the bouquet of homes that boast the bulbs they planted last fall. Sprinkled in are homes with porches that would make a city girl swoon.  With each step, I am introduced to new architecture, landscaping and porch miscellany publicizing the habits of the resident.  In a two mile walk, I am transported to California, Oregon, even Germany or France.  These are homes where fairy tales are written, poppies are painted, symphonies composed.

 

The sun plays with my face as I walk beneath the trees and listen to the birds sing each other their morning glories.  And in that moment, Ohio reminds what beauty this is.

Please, Please, Please {resurrected blog post from skbg 2010}

In 2010, I started a blog for all the things- art, life, music, movement. I fell of the blog train when we moved to NYC, had a baby- probably two things that would warrant KEEPING a blog, however, I let it fall off and practiced being in the moment with all of our NYC experience.  I found this post and thought it was still so relevant and explains a little more about my yoga history.  I almost edited the part about quitting smoking, decided not to- realizing that it is an honest part of my journey and something that I shouldn't hide.  Perhaps it will inspire someone else that is in a similar situation.  {disclaimer: Don't smoke.  It's a vile habit that's hard to kick. Use Meditation and Breathing techniques instead. Burning Palo Santo and Sage Smudges help, too.  Addiction is hard.  You can do it. Reach out if you have any questions. }  Hope you enjoy! 

Original Publish date: March 13, 2010

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It's never too late,
you're never too old,
you're never too sick,
to start again from scratch.

Bishnu Ghosh
 

 

 


I admit, I was a little nervous going to my yoga class at the gym. I signed up as a present to myself for quitting smoking (going on six months now, cold turkey, no sneaks!) My lungs are completely happy with me and congratulate me daily. My hips, not so much. They've been shaking their warning finger at me for a few months now, though I chose adamantly to ignore it. When I saw a picture of myself on the internet that I didn't recognize at all, that fervently shaking finger turned into "I told you so!" And just like the breath of fresh air March had blown into my house, I felt it just as strong in my body. I've been active ever since. Now, I had seen the girl who lead the yoga class and I judged her obviously fake tan and bleach blonde hair and instantly decided that wasn't the kind of situation I wanted any part of. I have been to proper bikram yoga in very inspiring atmospheres and have gotten used to the slow and stretching pace I practice at my house. I know myself well enough that with my newfound enthusiasm I was going to need a little more accountability to keep motivated. I sucked it up, grabbed my yoga mat and made my place within the class, in the back row, of course. My first class, she turned on the stereo and played a Michael Jackson mix. Doing yoga to Michael Jackson made me want to turn my downward dog a little dirty. My body was confused. I wanted desperately to hold my pose, but my hips intrinsically wanted to bounce around the room like Beyonce. As I held my airplane for a full minute, I reminisced about the days I thought I was going to grow up, move to NYC and dance in a studio like on the show "Fame". I loved their outfits and ability to seem weightless and I coveted the girls strong, sleek bodies. With the introduction of In Living Color, I wanted to be a "fly girl". While I secretly worked out to New Kids on the Block videos, learned every lyric to En Vogue songs, blasted Slick Rick on the stereo with my brother, I was wearing Poison and Guns N Roses t-shirts and head-banging to Black Sabbath at my 8th grade dance. Ever the contradiction. I was unstoppable, the DJ couldn't stump me. I knew every lyric and every dance move, no matter what the genre, and usually could sense what song was going to play before everybody else. Oh, middle school.


I secretly hoped that the world would follow Sir-Mix-Alot's taste in women, then I wouldn't have to worry so much about the Size 2 I was never going to see in my lifetime. At least the public's love affair with J.Lo's derrière has helped me feel more comfortable in my adulthood with my most obvious "asset".


So, my judging of the yogi at the gym may have been superficial and uncalled for; she has more than enough ammo to judge me as I try to keep up with what I am calling her "boot camp bikram" yoga class. In the long run, I think I will be thanking her for the transformation I already feel and for awakening muscles in my body I never knew existed. Who knows. Maybe there is still hope for me as a back up dancer. Although MJ taught me not to stop until I get enough, after watching the T.A.M.I show last night, dancing behind James Brown when he was on the mic, would always keep me coming back for more.