No place like Home or Knowing how to Fall

Have I mentioned that I started doing the Artist’s Way a few weeks ago?

Well, sort of.

I’ve been doing daily journals and have gone on a few artist dates a la Moi (No Guilt Day, No Facebook Day, Gym for 1st time in a Month Day…) The journals have been great and at some point I do intend to go back to the book and try some of the exercises – at some point.

The point of this is that I’m thinking about Me as an Artist. I’m trying to take all the BS that has been this Fall and transform it into something more productive than just a pile of steamy stinky life-poop. This particular pile of steamy stinky life-poop being the realisation that I have very little sense of Myself as an Artist and that, with the imminent Boot to the Rear from my home of six years I am truly faced with an examination of where I’m at and where I want to go next.

Home is a funny thing isn’t it. I’m a home person. I crave a nest, a place of safety and escape. I can live out of a backpack and a suitcase and can be quite happy – but I know I have a place to return to, somewhere that holds Me, past present and future. Then again, I read what I’ve just writen and I think, Well now princess, aren’t we being precious. All those things are just things. You don’t need them and you can, and will, find new versions of them anywhere you go.

This is it really isn’t it. Do I want to be settled somewhere, is this the time when I do this? Or am I being presented an opportunity, a chance to get out now and after a few months of saving by living under the roof of kind family go, somewhere, anywhere to see what the others are up to, to see if I can find my voice. To see if I can finally ignite the Artistic fire in me that I seem to do my best to smother.

When I’m not being precious about my home, about the things that I rely on to define me even though most people never see them, I see my home as a mask, as an escape from Truth, as a means by which I avoid Action.

If nothing else this whole your home is no longer your home and in truth it never really was yours to begin with removes from life the false sense of safety, that ratty old blanket I have been refusing to give up, the net that allows me to escape and hide.

Now, I’m privileged in that I can move in somewhere if I have to and I have family that will take me in if I have to. I’m not facing true homelessness – nowhere even remotely near it. I have no idea what I would do if I was so unfortunate as to come to that. But I can see it, I can see how, without my support system, without my education and ability to support myself through a whole variety of skills and means, I can see how quickly Things Fall Apart. I can see quickly how I can Fall Apart.

A Question of Truth now. Is this just another excuse? If I’d had the security of my home this Fall would things have been better? Would I have been more artistically productive? Honestly, I don’t think so. Honestly, I think that, shitty as this Fall has been, it has indeed forced me to look at my life in this place, and more importantly what Futures I am trying to set in motion.

Maybe the best thing I can learn from all this, the best trick I can remember learning as a child, the task at hand that will set the stage for the next act is that I know how to fall properly.

Don’t you remember when you learned how to fall so you don’t break, so you can get up so next time maybe you won’t fall so hard or maybe you’ll be able to make it look pretty damn spectacular or maybe even you’ll see it coming and flip that banana peel of life the bird. But you’ll know how to fall.

Once, at a Varsity Skating Club show, I fell.

It was the during the improvised solo competition. I hated it but I always had to do it because I always did well. They would tell you the theme ahead of time so you could come up with a costume and then they’d play you the music a few times. We’d all stand there on the ice, pretending we were into it (at least I did, the others may have actually been into it) and that we weren’t just dying of potential embarrassement (story of my life) and trying to figure out what on earth you were going to do when it was your turn.

After a few minutes of this torture we’d be ushered into the change room where, one at a time, we’d disappear and those remaining would have to sit and listen to the music play over and over again to various levels of cheering and applause.

This year, the year I’m thinking of now, the theme was Disney.

I think my costume was supposed to suggest Bugs Bunny or something. I don’t remember much of what I did, I think I threw in some dance (ice-dance folks) moves and some bits of choreography from my routines and then, I started setting up for my big combo move – back cross cuts into a series of spirals ending with a back spiral straight into a Lutz-Loop combo. Had I completed this, had I managed to shine and sparkle my way through this spectacular series of moves, who knows what would’ve happened – I like to imagine Kurt Browning busting in and shouting this girl is the next Canadian Ice Skating Champion and I’m going to be her private coach and then he picks me up and, with his magic skates, we fly off…

Where was I

Oh right. The Great Combo. Well, it didn’t happen quite as I intended. Let’s say I got as far as the back crosscuts and for whatever reason, the way these things happen before you even know, I’m flat on my Bugs-Bunny Tailed Behind sliding on the ice and you can hear them stop breathing and you know that this is the moment when you are the girl who fell or… or… what else is there…

Back Summersault.

1st place.


Just gotta know how to fall.