Every morning upon waking, I scold myself for not being whatever it is I think I am supposed to be. It's like waking up next to someone who can't stand you, and it's crazy-making. Thankfully, I have chosen to intervene on my behalf and kick that shrew out of bed, and out of my head. It's a daily chore, but I'm up for it.

Some years back I gave up a promising career as a singer songwriter to spend time aching. I was diagnosed with an illness and after a year or so of massive discomfort decided my plans were dead in the dust. The illness is not life-threatening (or contagious! kiss me!), but it is ruder than a person who belches during a really good movie, and louder too. Pain can be unnaturally loud, and when it becomes chronic the din can be maddening.  

Pain can also be uniquely beautiful when it propels you toward a life that better resembles the one in your mind. Beautiful pain. Kind of an oxymoron in a way, but not. I have a strong feeling I would have spent my life quite discontented if I had kept going along the way I was.  

I had come to dread rehearsals, awaiting the end of each show instead of being excited about the show itself. I became more concerned with which A&R people may or may not show up than I was grateful for the family and friends who were there. I was grateful, but nowhere near the degree I am now, looking back.

I spent most of my life believing if I were famous, everyone would love me. I would no longer have to prove to the mean shits of the world that I was good enough to breathe the same air, that I was worthy of their love. That belief originated when I was a little girl, and it took me many, many years to think about it rationally. Ask a famous person if everybody loves them and if they feel worthy at all times.

I am slowly shedding old beliefs. I am reconstructing a life. I can have any life I want. As long as I am here in the world, I have a life to mold into something that delights me. That sounds like a cornball's picnic, but it's true. What am I going to do, waste it? I don't like to waste food, why would I waste my life?

So, I am moving forward, propelled by pain and a desire to feel content with myself. I am writing songs again, preparing to record my first full-length album. I signed myself to my own record label in a lovely ceremony (I wore my prom dress and changed wigs seven times, because I am that kind of girl), so the need for a record deal has fizzled like a weekend fling. I want to share my music. I started out wanting that.  

Some advice from my mom: Live the life you want to live right now, because in 10 years you will be seriously bummed out if you didn't. You can have any life you want.

I am keeping an online journal because I thought it would help me get back in touch with my creativity. If you're interested, stop by whenever you want. There will always be the sweet, spicy smell of fresh-baked cake to lure you in. Write me if you like—I would love to hear from you.    

Thanks for reading this.

As I wrote in one of the Notes from the Loo entries: 

I will be the girl without armor. Without blinders. Holding her heart in her hand. If you see me, say hello.

Linda