"Beauty": The Eye (and Envy) of The Beholder?

Professional women labeled the "B Word"(beautiful) struggle to be recognized for their ability beyond their physical allure

"She's such a good-hearted child" Sister Jacqueline of St. Mary's Grade School said to my young, devout-Catholic-Irish mother when I was all but 8 years old; "it's shocking how sweet she is-- you wouldn't think so to look at her", she finished as my mother felt the unintentional blow like a kick in the teeth.  Mom explained to me, some years later, that it took her a minute to realize the porcupine edge to the very masculinely unattractive Principle-Nun's "compliment" was her ineloquent way of stating she found me, at 8 years old, to be both pretty and nice, essentially… And, somehow, that was shocking… to a grown woman in her 60's… who taught Christianity as a life-profession.  Given her shock, with similar statements about my non-evil heart which resurfaced for years to come, Sister Jacqueline generally believed, apparently, that all sweet-hearted children were homely or all pretty little girls were assholes?  But I digress. 

When a former high-school friend (and political windbag) trekked from Los Angeles to Chicago to visit me and produce a music video for me in October of 2008, the air percolated with the new-energy Barack Obama was pouring into the Presidential race.  Adam (the arrogant windbag) and I were having lunch on his first day in town.  I mentioned something about my concern for Obama's ability with international relations versus Clinton's and Adam gave me this cartoonish phony as can be smile with the ever-patronizing retort "Awww, Erin, you are so cute-- pretending you know about politics and shit".  To which I almost stabbed his nearby hand resting on the restaurant table with my salad fork.  When I directly asked him what in the HELL would make him think I DON'T know about politics, or world affairs for that matter, he was surprised and apologetic (but, tellingly, not humiliated at his own display of pompousness), we began an in-depth political conversation.  Much like my worldly, historically savvy and liberal Iranian friend who asked me "How in the world do you know so much about world events?"… Or the club owner in Chicago who spent 16 years dismissing me as "a broad with great pins that looks too good to be a real jazz singer".  Or the octogenarian record label owner, just yesterday, who got on the phone with me by opening a conversation, not with "So who have you worked with?" but instead, "Listen, honey, let me tell you how the world works.  Real jazz artists…" and he went on to tell me all about the business I have been in for almost half of my existence.  (Real Jazz Artists?!?!  Meaning men, of course.)  

People who read my poems, hear my music, friends that seek my advice or read these blogs that I write… People who understand me to be articulate, educated, travelled, culturally enmeshed with friends and constituents from all over the world, intelligent and intuitive... somehow,  these same observers, still, find it necessary to remind me that I do not "look" like I would be "this smart" or "this nice of a person" or "so well read" or "so well written" or "such a serious artist" or "so good with kids".  

What. The. Hell.  

Yesterday, a globally recognized jazz legend and newer friend of mine whom I will be recording with this year, called to tell me he encountered some negative comments about me from musicians he knew.  When I asked in regards to what exactly, he explained a couple people told him they viewed me as more of a showgirl than a true jazz artist.  I asked if these people whom he kept nameless were people I knew and worked with and he said no- just people that "heard" about me.  He went on to tell me that one of them said I was a very provocative dresser.  Provocative, eh?

 Provocative compared to whom, exactly?

Mother Teresa? Martha Stewart? Jennifer Lopez? Diana Krall? Josephine Baker?  (I decided to research what other singers wore in their photo shoots-- singers of all ages and genres, from jazz to opera, from the swing era until now…)

And I looked at some of my photo shoots versus what I actually wear when I sing…

But does it REALLY matter?!  Does anyone ever bother to bring up what a photo-whore Kurt Elling is?

I mean are his images acceptable because he does not have breasts?  (Is he really wearing an ascot?)  Is his talent questioned by his peers because he loves getting his picture taken??? Doesn't seem to come up in conversation when a new bass player or pianist is called to do a gig with him.

So the fact that I have recorded four albums of my own, written songs for films that won awards (two), sing in renowned venues everywhere, collaborated with some of the most revered jazz artists alive today and push myself to learn Charlie Parker solos, Cannonball Adderly solos and write lyrics to Bud Powell tunes while other "jazz singers" who dress dowdily or unfashionably or who have poor physiques, unattractive faces etc… They can be taken seriously because they don't hold the same penchant for style that I do?  Trust me, there are plenty of talented and better looking singers out there than I and I know several singers who know how to rock high heels and a sexy look without losing an ounce of dignity or class.  I always thought I was one of them.  But I guess I stand out as "provocative" in my style.  Hmmmm… What I wouldn't give to find out who the saint is that deems me so shallow… based on my looks...

If I allowed myself the time to recall every presumptuous condescension, based merely on my looks and casually tossed my way since girlhood, I would probably be an unproductive, angry and isolated adult.  Err uh… Wait.  Anyway…

"The anatomy that brought her daughter a constant stream of awkward and unwanted attention, judgments and exclusions from things she wanted most as life would turn out…" 

My mother often whispered to me "Your beauty is your curse" to which I would say rolling eyes and all, "MOM, just because YOU think your daughter is beautiful doesn't mean I actually am!".  She found it to be a double edged sword for her daughter who grew to be a talented ballet dancer… with large breasts that would propel her into half a lifetime of eating disorders, trying to "cure" or change the condition of her natural anatomy.  The anatomy that brought her daughter a constant stream of awkward and unwanted attention, judgments and exclusions from things she wanted most as life would turn out… The body that endured sexual battery and rape before reaching her twenties… The body that was mocked by other ballet dancers, operated on by endometrial specialists for a debilitating incurable disease… The body that was too short and "round" for serious modeling, not tall enough to be a Broadway singer-dancer or a Rockett, and too slight for an opera singer (before the trend for opera singers to slim down came about).  The body that got noticed first --before or instead of the sometimes lonely or sad eyes weary of misperceptions and the body that took precedence over the remarkably mature singing voice and was reduced to playing sex pot roles in school musicals instead of leading lady roles.  The body that endured and survives over 15 operations, a pituitary tumor and a blood clot disease and a very serious car accident in 2006 that caused all kinds of physical problems.  The body that has been hit, kicked and physically thrown around by men who claimed to love the person inside that body… The body that lost three pregnancies after a decade of being told pregnancy was not an option in the first place.  The body that undergoes excruciating biopsies only to appear on stage 24 hours later in one of those "provocative" Banana Republic dresses in a corner stage of some jazz cafe.

    

"Art is a Pain"

I've been thinking… about our need for pain.  Shall I explain?

The expression of pain through musical or visual or literary art is a great example of how misery loves company.  Relating to the minor cadences of a haunting piece of music, or the prose of a suicidal poem which cascades through every veiny patch of memories we can't stanch but masochistically tap into on repeat-- these things are created to elicit an emotional, visceral reaction, and likely, they are only successful in doing so because they were created by a wounded vessel.  It's strange to look at it so analytically… so devoid of passion… but, I am stimulated by the fact that human beings, in their most desolate states have the succinct capacity to generate empathy for hundreds of years past their momentary expression of need.  

Art is a need before it is a comfort.  It is an obsession before it is a solution.  One artist's pain is the medicine or the lesson for a human being oceans away, decades to come.  Art therapy has been implemented in child psychology for decades and has entered rehabilitation centers such as prisons and hospitals-- as a useful step toward healing.  Music has long been found to activate babies' brains, Alzheimer patients' memories and assisted in mental illness studies.  

The human experience in every way begins with pain and survives pain and often relinquishes to pain in the end of our lives.  And we can be united or divided because of pain… But the art of pain is something that hypnotizes us into a state of collective understanding.  As much as we need affection, love, nurturing and forgiveness in life, we, also, need pain.  Pain protects us, informs us and delivers us from bad situations as we self-preserve in both healthy and unhealthy adaptive manners.  The music we turn to is an equalizer in feeling, at least in part, that we are not alone.  Books are life-savers in that regard many times.  Poems are meditations for us.  Photographs are inspirations… Art is the mirror of life when it is authentic.  It is also our glimpse of fantasy and escape.  Art is necessary.  And so is the pain that it comes from.

That's all for now.  

Desperado, Come to Your Senses.

"A whale wounded (as we afterwards learned)... had broken away from the boat, carrying along with him half of the harpoon line; and in the extraordinary agony of the wound, he was now dashing among the revolving circles like the lone, mounted desperado Arnold, at the Battle of Saratoga, carrying dismay wherever he went." -Moby Dick (Herman Melville)

From the haunting and perplexing novel, Moby Dick, there is a thread of coincidence that hooks into my Pisces' sense of direction which came to me like a minuet of dreams and questions in my relentless insomnia last night:  The overtly, complexly symbolic characters in the novel epitomize the personalities of a modern society for which we blithely sail above empathy. We dive into dichotomies of our own doing; such as the orphan-like, alienated outcast (Ishmael) and the obsessively punitive Captain (Ahab), who lives only to destroy what he deems as "evil" (the whale)... One could infer the whale is the cosmic energy we breed and destroy ourselves with.  I am struck with the paradox that Ishmael is considered "orphaned by the world" but the domineering Ahab is actually an orphan in the story.  And it is here that I begin my point (as you mumble "FINALLY, Jeeeeezus!").  Ahab is brought into the cold abyss of the sea, to his death by being literally entangled by the weapon he uses to hunt down his object of resentment.  It is of my perception, that Ishmael is the only one spared by the determined whale who returns ten-fold to the crew the merciless harm they have inflicted, to paraphrase (albeit poorly) the author's sentiment.  But both men suffer a loneliness that drives them to isolation: Ishmael lives and survives contained by himself, while the reader suspects he wants an inclusive existence.  Ahab foregoes life to pursue death as his motivation, and it becomes his identity-- death.  He dies in the bottom of the lonely vast sea of oblivion. As the opening quote suggests, we carry with us the pain inflicted by others, but it is ultimately up to us to create our own fate.

Everyone has a struggle to survive.  Everyone has to defend the skin of their being, in one way or another.  Sometimes though, I wonder if we exist as orphans plagued by the fear or anger we choose to embrace in order to deflect the  illumination of who we really are beneath the scars and medals and niceties and compulsions.  

If fate is the whale that comes back to sink or amaze us, and the ocean is the tide upon which we conduct ourselves, then can we evolve enough to be neither hunter nor prey? Can we not learn to coexist with the demons within us while remembering to respect the frailty around us? Each of us, I believe, is a vessel, no less sinkable than a ship, but has the mechanics to float and touch upon new horizons if we allow ourselves the courage to accept our limitations and strengthen our skills for progress, not destruction.  Unity.  Everything is united, in some way.  In that sense, no one is alone.  And those that wish to scour the earth for absolutes and ultimate victory, like "desperadoes", eventually learn that the answers and the riches are never things that can be taken but only learned and given.  

It's romantic to love an outcast, a captain or a whale.  But the sustenance of greatness and longevity are acquired in the beliefs we choose to nurture about the world around us-- fear, rage or power will never protect you, only make you a greater target in the end.  Love is always more powerful than hate.  I've decided, this week, there is no such thing as a victim of love or the disease of compassion; you can navigate yourself away from danger without losing your compassion for the wounded beast that thrashes against you.  You can love without drowning in the hallows of a siren-song.  Some of us are in dire need of belonging; some of us are compelled to conquer.  The journey to healthy love is long and challenging, but richly rewarding if we do not confuse safety and complacency, confidence and indecision... trust and self-respect.    

"It seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table.  But you only want the things you can't get...Your prison is walking through this world all alone." ~Desperado (Don Henley/The Eagles)

 

Love is Unconditional, Boundaries Are Not

Some of you know that I was sucked back into a very abusive relationship, by obsessive vows that he had changed and saw the error of all his vicious ways of the past. Well, he threatened my life in another psychotic rage this weekend. He degraded me and said he would kill me and then himself. And I believe this to come to fruition one day. He is highly obsessive-compulsive and once he starts fixating on an idea, a rageful thought, a suspicion... there is NO talking him down from it. I've been through this for years with him. It is utterly draining.

...I thought I was doing everything "right" this time; I did not yell or curse or even try to stop him from leaving or calm him down from his pacing and sadistic rants. I was quiet and asked if he thought his vile name-calling and screaming was an appropriate or respectful response to his feelings of anger. I asked him to quietly and calmly stay still and tell me exactly what it is that bothered him (as it was random rage after a really beautiful evening together) WITHOUT insulting me or threatening me. This made him more incensed.

His anger is not something that can be easily tracked or predicted or understood. I ended up hiding in a closet until he finally left in the middle of the night. I could not move, speak, cry, or ask anyone for help --fear, shame, disbelief, pain... they are great inhibitors.Abusers, specifically narcissistic ones, count on silence and they insure it by threats, intimidation and despicable shame-tactics. He has painted me out to be the instigator, the liar or the source of blame for "all" he has said and done over the years. I believe he needs psychiatric help and serious medication for mood stabilization and I have at least one psychiatric professional whose evaluated him that is in full agreement.

Are you or have you ever been abused? Ask yourself if this sounds familiar:

He habitually deflects the issue of his disproportionate rage and cruel behavior, words or mistreatment of me by bringing up my past traumas as "evidence" that I am the common denominator and therefore "without credibility". He apologizes -and only rarely- but never completely or with full accountability attached; he always leaves a loop hole that either suggests or outright accuses me to be somehow responsible for HIS behavior. He likes to state that since I have had abuse in my past and he has "never been accused" of abuse, it is clear that I am either crazy or vindictive and he has never been anything but "patient" with me. Lies.

Abusers' primary tactic is to make their victims feel responsible, if not "confused" regarding the mistreatment endured. Often, an abuser is not someone others might suspect-- and that is a great advantage to them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvPVSOBKyV0



So, I just want anyone to know, who is reading this, it does not matter what your past is about or how great a guy people think your abuser is-- or even how great a guy he USUALLY IS. What matters is how someone TREATS you. Even if that person has never (yeah right) mistreated anyone else in their life but you-- YOU COUNT. Even if he only degrades a couple times a month or has only hit you a few times over the course of a few years. The issue is not really the severity of the marks left on your body, but, rather, the depth of the damage done to your self esteem, your ability to concentrate, your ability to be treated as an equal and with respect and boundaries in place... When someone diminishes your voice by silencing it or telling you that you are "crazy" for saying your feelings were hurt or your arm was hurt by his aggression or your confidence has been shaken by his constant denials of what happened... That is abuse.

I started recording his behavior on my phone when possible (if I was near my phone and able to do so without him seeing). I have his manic voicemails which go from soft-toned urging that I must be mistaken about his "intentions" to his out and out SCREAMING that I am unlovable--- in the SAME 5 1/2 minute voicemail. I have pictures of what he has done to my face, my ribs, my arms... I have hundreds of text messages where he oscillates from adulation to degradation. Sometimes within minutes of each other. When he is presented with such evidence, which he smugly accuses me of never having, he immediately pivots and tells me, quote "A normal person does not record other people, only someone who is up to no good." Brilliant, eh? He threatens my life, but because I have the clarity of mind to record his 45 minute diatribe against me, I must be the one who is mentally unstable. It is called DEFLECTION.

When you are made to feel like someone might hurt you (emotionally or physically) at any given moment, that is abuse. When you start asking yourself how you can accommodate his mood swings to the point where you are a walking wreck trying to dodge stray bullets of verbal attack, you are being abused. When you are stonewalled (aka "the silent treatment" or being shut out from communication or affection in your relationship) because you stand up for yourself, that is abuse. People think abuse means a woman covered in bruises on welfare. The worst abuse is being systematically convinced you are the cause for ANY mistreatment. Anger is a normal, healthy emotion-- everyone feels it from time to time. Everyone. Rage is the inability to control your behavior or to see any other side of things. I grappled with my own rage for years as a result of traumatic experiences. I addressed it by taking responsibility for my actions, not excusing them. I started taking zoloft. I have no shame in it and plan to be on it for my lifetime. It has helped quiet the emotional noise while coping with painful experiences. And it has a very obvious, POSITIVE effect on me. My abuser likes to use this as ammunition to attack my sanity or "credibility". Case and point of deflection. Guess what: I'm here to tell you, it does not matter if you are a judge or a prostitute, NO ONE HAS THE RIGHT TO ABUSE YOU. It does not matter if you are a nun or a heroin addict, NO ONE HAS THE RIGHT TO ABUSE YOU. It does not matter if you are an ex con or an art student, NO ONE HAS THE RIGHT TO ABUSE YOU. This means, degrade, devalue, dismiss or undermine your need for respect or your feelings about being disrespected.

You can disagree with someone without fighting them. You can have an argument without name calling. You can be upset and still control how you react to your feelings. But to threaten or intimidate or stonewall or humiliate or degrade someone else is an act of abuse, period. You can abuse someone in a whisper or a scream. Abuse is categorized by the intent and severity and pattern of maltreatment of another person. Everyone loses they temper and says things they shouldn't say. The difference is how you resolve it: by acknowledging you were wrong in doing so -WITHOUT DISCLAIMER- and vowing to never repeat it by taking actual steps towards changing your approach to communicating is the healthy, non-abusive tactic. Flying off the handle continuously and blaming others is not acceptable. Or mature.

I have done abusive things. I have said things and behaved violently in the past myself. I openly admit this as I have years ago CHANGED this behavior forever and understand the repercussions such behavior has on others and, ultimately, me as well. I am ashamed that I behaved that way, ever once, let alone several times in my past. I'm not here to state I am an angel or without vices. I am here to say, no one is perfect, but there is a bold line between abuse and discord between two people. Abuse results in long term damage to the psyche and never has a resolution without the abuser's courage to address and admit FULL culpability. No one makes you hit them. No one makes you say cruel things. No one makes you lie. No one makes you cheat. We are each, individuals responsible for our own words and behaviors and if there is a chemical imbalance that causes one to lack control or cognizance of their actions, it is STILL up to that person to CONSIDER such a thing and seek treatment immediately. If a schizophrenic can take medication responsibly, anyone can. Narcissists' main obstacle is their innate inability to recognize ANYTHING is wrong with THEIR BEHAVIOR.

If someone you love that loves you is telling you that you are repeatedly battering their emotional existence, it is worth the investigation into real, psychological help. That does not mean remaining defiant that the victim somehow shares blame. Take responsibility for yourself REGARDLESS of the other person and you will often find, therein lies the solution to wiping out the conflict at hand. Abuse is not something to be be dealt with in couple's therapy, I learned, because that implies shared responsibility. The point of couples' therapy is to address the future by endeavoring better communication in the present. It's impossible to communicate with someone who abuses you if you allow him to convince you that you are at all to blame. Abusers would like to think that if only their spouse/partner didn't do "----" than they would not be tempted to do "---". No. The minute you DECIDE to cross the line by degrading and threatening and hurting someone, you are responsible. Nothing else matters.

Can you truly love someone that hurts you so deeply? I think so. I think the existence of compassion is the proof of unconditional love. But there needs to be conditions with boundaries, not love. Boundaries include never permitting anyone to convince you that you do not deserve respect or physical or emotional safety. It is your RIGHT to feel safe and respected. Abusers are not shadowy figures that creep out from nightmares. Sometimes, they are gentle-faced, gregarious, intelligent and family-oriented people. If I had a dollar for every person that ever said to me "Really? He did that? But he looks so normal", I would have almost 70 bucks. ;D Abuse is insidious by nature. And I can personally assure you that loving a man who rapidly swings back and forth from the polarity of adoration to dehumanization in terms of his belief system of me, has been the most lonely, nerve-wrecking and soul-crushing experience of my entire life. Do I still have a glimmer of hope that he can be treated? Of course. I would be a liar if I said no. Do I think that he will ever fully admit to himself, or his family and friends and co-workers what he has actually done to me (and his ex wife)? No. He has told me he thinks as long as he admits it to me, it should be enough.

But that is the abuser's way. They retract their vows and deny their abuse so nothing they say or do has any real currency until they step forward to acknowledge the truth. You carry their secrets like a heavy vault dumped into the bottom of the ocean. People will side with his snide jeers and off-hand comments about his crazy-ex and you, weighted down with the memories and the shame and the scars of his words, actions and hands, are violated again and again and again in that way.

And while family members and even my abuser like to think my openness about this subject is inappropriate; I respectfully disagree. I'm not crazy. I'm not vindictive. I'm not looking for attention or sympathy. I am reclaiming my voice and my empowerment of self-sufficiency and esteem. I wanted very much to believe things could work out with him this time, but I always secretly knew he is incapable of change-- at least without psychiatric assistance. I do not love him any less, strangely. And I do not even regret going back to him because I do love him so much and did have such incredible happiness with him before the attacks crept back. I guess I am just choosing to show him I deserve better instead of telling him this. The best way to do this is to treat myself with the respect he has failed to give me, and get away from his abusive cycle. It is not as easy as you might think. Our need to believe the best in others can be a very dangerous quality when it starts to impair your judgment. He deserves love, like anyone else. And I don't think I will ever turn my back on him. Ever. And I will always hold out hope that he recognizes the issue lies inside him and only he can unlock the door to change and genuine happiness. I still think maybe if he gets medicated things could improve. But it's a long shot. And the fear I have of him is real and protective... unfortunately, it may never go away though. He hurt me, but I am still here. So far. He has threatened to kill me once again, but I am taking steps towards safety.

Thanks for reading this; feel free to share it with anyone you think it might help.

Again, please read this link by Divine Caroline. It is very informative.

The Perspective on True Love from a Labeled "Drama Queen"

Stormy love affairs are often the subject of soap operas and epic sagas in literature.  Hollywood makes more money off of the "personal lives" of their elite stars than they do from the films the stars appear in
--the Western world at large, devours the scandals and seductions of interchangeable celebrities and pop-stars du jour.  The internet is flooded with gossip sites and forums that allow 12 year old girls to idealize the shapes and pretentious schticks of glorified "popular girls" like the Kardashians and 27 year old guys to ogle and judge the relative hotness of such televised sensations with the deluded belief their lives emulate that of reality shows that have nothing to do with reality.

But when your legal assistant is often running to the bathroom in tears or seen with her on-again-off-again beau who allegedly swats her in and out of his life like a spastic ping pong ball, people will instantly say "so much 'drama' with those two".  The dismissive and judgmental phrase implies the emotions and happenings between the said couple are somehow less serious than what one might feel about his or her own life issues.  There are people who are adept in avoiding drama at all cost.  And yet, I'd be willing to bet, those people are the cause of much heartache to someone else who just wants to be close to them but doesn't get the chance.  Drama is not TNT, it is life.

I am a person who takes offense at the liberal use and misuse of the word "dramatic".  Being animated is not necessarily being dramatic.  As someone who "gets noticed" even when I am just fixing a bobby pin in my unwashed hair at the neighborhood deli, I find the attention upon me is often construed with accusations of causing my own drama.  It has troubled me in recent years and made me acutely aware of watchful eyes and disingenuous people.  I have been accused of drama in my most vulnerable moments and my most unmemorable interactions of good intention.  I have learned that being called dramatic can easily be a stigma placed on people who are demonstrative and emotionally open.  Somehow, people who are openly sensitive or perceptively interested in the feelings and reasoning of others, are at more "risk" for being labeled a drama queen or overly-emotional or too-sensitive.  And yet, people who are quick to detach from situations are seen as measured and rational.  The ideas contradict the nature of humanity, which, essentially, is not JUST the survival of the fittest but also the ability to be empathic and, yes, vulnerable.

There are those who think love is something that should come easily and calmly.  I always wanted that kind of an experience.  While finding love has never been especially difficult for me, making it last has always come with a lot of conditions, which, in the end, doesn't feel like love, it feels like... pain.  And this is where I hear "You have so much drama! Don't you want a relationship that is just easy?".  Anyone would.  But how many real relationships are actually easy?  I know many people who have barely uttered a harsh word to the other, but live a quiet, static and joyless existence.  I know couples that do everything together and are the "perfect match", but one if not both often complains regularly to their buddies that they are tired of keeping up appearances.  I know couples that adore each other but suffer in private with tense evenings and sorrowful mornings as they struggle to conceive a child.  --I know marriages that have ended because of it.  I know couples that have lost a child and never found themselves again, and live very catatonic lives behind closed doors.  Do people call their lives "dramatic"?  Hell no.  But when a somewhat glamorous woman and a debonaire older man genuinely love each other -passionately and openly- and argue with the same fervor, people are salivating to judge them as dramatic or... unserious.   And popular opinion leaks into the background of each person's rational; somewhere along the way, removed family members or nosey acquaintances can provoke a doubt in each person, and that doubt becomes the premise of altered behavior, unfounded assumptions, and tainted perspectives that inflate any issue at hand.  And these are everyday people who are not on television or in tabloids.  So imagine the celebrities who finagle their lives around the roar of the crowd that makes or breaks their People's Choice Award nominations.

Love is hard.  Being in love is wonderful; staying in love takes patience, understanding, empathy and thoughtfulness.  This goes for two farmers in rural Iowa that have been married 48 years, and the 48 year old business moguls on Wall Street, as well as the broke 23 year old actors that are living with their in-laws for the first 2 years of marriage.  And it goes for the jazz singer and high powered attorney that have brought out the absolute best and the absolute worst in each other.  Some believe that a happy median is always the answer.  When a person is wired to feel things strongly and unabashedly, that person is unlikely to find content with another person who does not experience things in that manner.  The dynamics of passion and chemistry are intertwined with psychology and character, yes, but the tumult to thrive inside the center of levity, versus the danger to allow the tumult to dictate the outcome of peace becomes the rumbling question.  I'm no stranger to dysfunction, and I have, for years, questioned my own sanity in the midst of love's chaos, and I have discovered my proclivity for loving difficult or unconventional or even "damaged" people... But who isn't damaged who has ever ventured to love unconditionally?  I know a loving couple that have thrived together for years-- the husband is severely schizophrenic and she is years younger than he is.  My godmother's son has Compulsive Obsessive Personality Disorder and has been medicated since early childhood.  Over the years, he has resisted medication at times or claimed he no longer needed it, but the proof is in the way he affects those who love him most when he is not medicated.  His relationships returned to a volatile state, he withdraws socially or fixates on unhealthy situations... He is now in his late twenties and in a healthy, loving, sweet relationship and realizes he can never go off this medication if he wants the benefits of this love as his personality is too painful to be around without such medical and therapeutic assistance.  He is a great man, soon to be a surgeon.  The bravery of choosing to acknowledge his need for help has salvaged his future in every single way.  The stormy patterns of love can often be traced to the imbalance of communication, empathy and outside support.

Napoleon's great love, the Parisian Josephine de Beauharnis, an older woman than he, was someone he lustfully pursued for significant time-- she resisted him from the beginning, with doubts of his sincerity and little attraction to him initially.  She was talked into marrying him, ironically, by her then-husband who was in love with another woman and wanted a divorce (who later was beheaded and Josephine, being his wife, almost joined him, but I digress).  To Napoleon's oblivion, she was flagrantly unfaithful throughout his time in Italy during the onset of the war in 1796; it was only when he decided to have affairs, that Josephine fell madly in love with him. (Drama, anyone?)... When he divorced her and married a younger woman around 1810, Josephine was crushed.  Through a string of defeats in battle, Napoleon was exiled to Elba Island about four years later and his wife and son left him.  It is said that Josephine did everything she could to get to Napoleon to join him on Elba Island, but ended up dying in her endeavor "of a broken heart"-- ACCORDING TO HER DOCTOR!   Napoleon escaped to Paris, where he picked violets from Josephine's garden and wore them in a locket until he died. Yes, he had syphilis, and was said to go crazy from it, but, whatever... he mourned the loss of Josephine until his death.  Stick with me, people! I'm just saying, Napoleon's "complex" might have gone beyond his short-height, ya know?!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMKy3Caci80


I reiterate.  Love is hard.  And while I have heard many times in my (ahem) young life, that "It shouldn't be this hard; you are settling for something beneath you- for what?!", I also recognize that it is in my nature to not settle for what is easiest.  People have accused me of settling for men that do not "deserve" me.  I think, in contrast to this perspective, no one knows more than I do, what it means to love without expectation, and in my tribulations as a "female jazz artist", and my determination to blaze my own trail (however overlooked it may be in the presence of majestic gardens of accomplishment I strive to live up to), I DO know that nothing great, in my life, at least, has ever come all that easily.  It's noteworthy to mention my resentment of this very fact has ignited bouts of (misplaced?) rage, depression and self-pity.  And let's face it, living out loud does not make for a docile spouse.  Sometimes I feel shame for not being a more malleable personality and then I overcompensate in exactly the wrong areas of life, such as letting acquaintances take full advantage of this very obvious insecurity.  But generally, my passion to live fully and love passionately trumps my wish for respite from this trying journey.  And to many, I suppose, that actually crystalizes my image as a person wrapped up in drama.  But to me, that thought reduces the deeper issue: I want to love and be loved --passionately, loudly, unapologetically and selflessly to the last breath.  And the cognizant romanticism I engulf my existence in does a lot to let me down when faced with words like "pre-nuptual agreement" and "estimated life-value" (in life insurance policies).  So... I am caught like the moon at dawn between the world of cynicism and the heart of optimism.  Where I have surrendered my dignity I have mightily defended the vow of love; I do not want to be Napoleon, carrying violets for a love that was
-too late realized- worth the inconvenience of imperfect situations.