The Dance Retreat (Part One)

So, this is the late-night post where I confess that I still can’t think of any other words to describe my Ecstatic Dance adventure (beyond “epic”). It’s like I’m still thinking in beats and movements and textures and colors… all of the non-verbal modalities that I came to draw upon on the dance floor, night after night after night. Back here in chilly, muted-toned Pennsylvania, I’m desperately trying to hold onto the vibrant energies that swirled inside and around me as I breathed in Our Spirit and danced out My Poison (not the 80s band, but the self-limiting and self-destructive mental chatter and patterns that still linger in the dark recesses of a sometimes fearful and untrusting mind and body)… And even though I’m still carrying a charge– still living off the ambrosial fumes of a (completely sober) tropical intoxication– I can feel mySelf… fading. I mean… the Self who I met in the heart of the Dance… the Self who journeyed through iridescent space and time over the course of “conscious DJ” Hamid Martin’s insanely brilliant, two-hour-long “light and dark” set… traversing the ragged landscape of a battle-scarred interior… emerging a full-on whirling dervish– weaving effortlessly between drops of a pounding Hawaiian rain– feeling younger and stronger than when I started– feeling younger and stronger than I’ve ever been. And now… and now…
I am a shorter, paler, and qualitatively less handsome (uh oh, there we go again) Jack Shephard from LOST… desperate to get BACK TO THE ISLAND. (For god’s sake, watch the show if you have no idea what I’m talking about.) Only, what I’m craving isn’t actually there… (Well, yes, the papaya and sunshine most certainly is…) I mean that FEELING– it’s not OUT THERE, somewhere else. It’s RIGHT HERE… inside of me… fadi–
It doesn’t have to fade.
I can tap into it, any time I like.
Under cold, dark, grey, winter skies.
(I can feel it, if I want to.)
It doesn’t have to fade.
I can carry it with me, wherever I go.
I can crank up the music.
Or I can summon the beat from within, and float through the ether in blissful silence.
Of course…
I can still feel that old pain… that old doubt… those old and limiting beliefs and patterns chiseling away at my inner Wholeness… I can feel it all in the newness of this very moment. I can feel the ever-presence of my masochistic, perfectionistic, inner critic, as he delights in his masterful self-flagellation.
And when I feel it…
I can remember in my body how to get back to that Inner Island of epic glory.
My mind– doesn’t know.
It’ll take me every which way in search of every wrong thing, if I let it.
My body… KNOWS.
In that place beyond beyond words… beyond prose… beyond logic…
In that place where this track is Medicine and Everything is Going to Be OK. (For the love of God, at least listen from 0:27 through 2:16).
My friends–
In case you haven’t noticed–
I live in two different worlds (mostly in my head, but also in reality).
In one of these worlds, I have just been– as one of my new friends from Hawaii put it– “utterly cracked open.”
But… in the other world… I continue to struggle.
(Yes, I am remaining intentionally vague, because the details of which world is which don’t actually matter at present.)
My *point* is– [Note: apparently I now have a point]–
I don’t think it’s going to be possible for me to go back to “business as usual.”
(Not that my “business” has ever really been “usual,” but, whatever.)
What I’m saying is:
You can’t put Humpty back together again.
(Go ahead– ask all the king’s horses and all the king’s men. I’ll wait.)
You get what I’m saying?
There’s no going back to the manifestation of who I was before this thing.
(Again, not important if you thought I was A-OK beforehand.)
When I said “epic,” I wasn’t playing around.
This was some “warp-speed travel through the inner galaxy” kind of sh*t. Do you GET what I saying?
I’m not implying that everyone at this thing went through the same kind experience (though I’d guess many of them did).
I’m not implying that the retreat organizers were handing out Enlightenment on a Plate at the Kalani buffet. (Though I did have a lilikoi buttercream cake that could possibly claim that title.)
This “ecstatic dance retreat” was the masterfully-facilitated container for an experience that I GAVE MYSELF, through conscious MOVEMENT.
And maybe I’ll just end this wordflow here… because it doesn’t really matter if my words convince you (of what, I’m not sure), or not.
All that matters is all that matters.
(Do you like that? I like that. Maybe I’ll make a t-shirt.)
Stop reading, already.
Put down your brain.
Let down your guard.
Throw on some tunes.
And tear it all up.

Reality? Check.

For days now, I’ve been trying to figure out what to write next on this blog.

Not “what to write next,” mind you.

I’ve already started an essay that I hope to submit for “real” publication (i.e. somewhere other than my blog).

And I’m already outlining a book project composed of other potentially publishable essays.

But… I’m kind of freaking out because I just found out that everything that I’ve already posted on this blog is considered “published,” which (I imagine) disqualifies all of my best writing (i.e. The Memoir Series) from being published elsewhere.

[Note: I am counting on the assumption that restructuring/rewriting those essays in a significant way would constitute a new (and unpublished) work.]

So, I don’t know what to write next on this blog.

Because I’m trying to step up my game.

To write “literary” stuff that matters to other people– not self-indulgent manifestos that only matter to me.


Things are changing.

I’m just beginning to work steadily in a custom-tailored job that will allow me to do meaningful things in the world, both in this job, and in my life outside of it.  (More on that another time.)

I’m starting to recognize that some of the “passion projects” that seemed crucially important to me “in theory” are proving less compelling “in reality,” where I actually have plenty of time to work on those projects, and, yet… I don’t work on them.

And I’m starting to focus more on a few things which I never thought I’d find interesting or relevant in my own reality, and, yet… I am focusing on them.

If all of this sounds intentionally vague… you’re right.

The truth is, I was about to pull the plug on this site.

In its current manifestation, it no longer excites me or suits my needs. It’s like the suit a twelve-year-old kid suddenly grows out of but still has to awkwardly wear to his friend’s Bar Mitzvah.

But I’m not going to pull the plug on this site.

I’m going to take it in for alterations (so to speak). I’m going to spend a little time tailoring it to my needs.

The truth is–

I could ignore reality and just keep on keepin’ on with the same old, same old.

But that’s not why I started this blog.

I started this blog to find my voice as a writer (and as a person).

In this, my 250th post, I’d like to acknowledge my progress towards that goal.

It’s been a good year.

Not one without its challenges or disappointments, but– overall– a good year.

And I think it’s time to step up to the next level and seek out bigger publishing opportunities.

Which means more exposure to potential failure in the “real” world, and less publishing here, in my bubble.

So, I guess what I’m saying here is–

I don’t know what to write next on this blog.

When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.


Year of the Pen*

*And by pen, I mean laptop keyboard. But, whatever.

This is the year I’m going to sell some writing.

I already told you about my nascent book project (based on what I’ve been writing about in the memoir section of this blog), but that’s the marathon on the horizon.

Right now, I need to warm up and just crank out a series of short essays for the magazine market. It’s obviously a competitive freelance scene out there, but I think I have what it takes to get something published somewhere. 

OK, obviously, I’ll have to pick some specific topics to pitch.

I’ll have to do all the research on whom exactly to submit to, and how.

I’ll have to actually sit down and write.

But I don’t really have a choice.

I’ve reached the point of no return in that cliché:

If you don’t have to do “X” (usually some creative thing with wildly improbable odds), then find something else. But if you can’t not do it, then you absolutely must go for it (or you’ll be miserable for the rest of your life).  

So, I figure–

If I’m gonna go for it, I might as well do it right.

I’m gonna sit down with that phonebook-sized Writer’s Market (or the online equivalent thereof) and make a list of publications across my various fields of interest.

I’m gonna write as many inquiry letters and pitches as it takes–

For however long it takes–

Until someone trades me money for words.

And then I’m gonna do it all over again.

And again.

And again.



The End.




The “@!$& Yes or No” Test

So, I’m having dinner with a friend in San Francisco a few weeks ago, and over a heaping pile of pad see ew and pumpkin curry she hits me up with what is definitely the most intriguing philosophical/lifestyle concept that I’ve encountered all year.

Basically– when confronted with the need to make a big/ important life decision– she asks herself:

“Do I REALLY want to ______?”  (i.e. do whatever thing she’s thinking about doing)

If the answer is not a giant, resounding @!$& YES!, then the answer is NO.

And she acts accordingly.

This concept immediately and simultaneously blew my mind and quietly triggered intense metaphysical agita and internal grievances (unrelated to my meal).

Was this the secret to living a life of intense purpose and satisfaction, or an overly simplistic novelty that would likely land me in decision-making paralysis or trouble (or both)?

* * *

While I have been playing with the concept of saying “yes” to (almost) everything over the past seven weeks of quasi-freeform travel, I can’t say how many of those yeses were of the resolutely self-assured variety.

Usually the self-assured “yes” would be utterly predictable, as in: “Should we go out and get ice cream now?”

Um, how is that even a question? Of course we should go out and get ice cream now!

Sometimes, the “yes” would follow a moment of actual (but ultimately insignificant) deliberation, as in, “Should we go out and get ice cream now, even though we went out and got ice cream yesterday?”

Um… maybe, possibly we shouldn’t, but… YES! Again, how is this even a question?

And every now and then there’d be the “massive struggle to overcome introversion and/or inertia ‘yes,'” wherein I’d reluctantly agree to go out and be social, despite my inner Mr. Crankypants telling me I’d probably be happier reading a book all night.

Most of the time, I was glad that “I had to say yes.” Without that rule, I probably would have said no.

And that’s what intrigued me about this philosophy.

If I wasn’t totally feeling the “for-sure yes,” would having said “no” have been better than a “begrudging yes”?  Somehow I don’t think so.

Still, though–

We’re basically talking about whether or not to go out for drinks on a Tuesday.

(Of course, because I don’t really drink, this is actually a question of whether or not to engage in social activity with friends.)

Not exactly a life-altering decision.

So… what about when the stakes are much higher?

Generally, we’re going to try to avoid investing our time in an obvious “no” situation, but can we afford to invest in something we find not-terrible, but less-than-enthralling (i.e., an ambivalent “yes”)?

Or should we hold out for that @!$& YES!?

Even if that means passing up on a “not my dream, but I guess it’ll do” situation?

* * *

I don’t know, my friends.

do know that I can’t answer these questions for you.

We all have different life situations, dreams, expectations, comfort levels, etc.

All I can say is, I feel like it’s increasingly difficult to ignore/run from the undeniable YESes in my head, that– for whatever reason– I’m still not fully committed to.

I think that was the point of this latest round of travel– to gain some insight into (and commitment towards) what really, truly drives me. (And not just what I think should drive me.)

When I’m on the road, living out of a backpack, with virtually unlimited choices regarding how I spend my time and energy, it’s easier to see (and feel) what matters most to me.

Seven weeks after hitting the road, I think I can say that my adventure was both worthwhile and productive.

And yet…

I’m still finding it difficult to transcend my ambivalence– to self-assuredly choose my YES! situations.

What will it take to break this old pattern?

I’m tired of making big announcements and abandoning projects.

I’d rather just choose my YES!(es) and relentlessly pursue it (them) without second-guessing myself.

* * *

I don’t know, my friends.

(But I really do.)

My friend is onto something.

What would it be like to live a passionate life on utter purpose, without all of that draining, obnoxious ambivalence?

There’s only one way to know.

Regarding “The Dark Years”

Have you ever been in an airplane, circling around and around and around in a holding pattern, seemingly minutes from your destination airport, just waiting for the go-ahead to land?

That’s how I feel about the Memoir Series that I started writing last year around this time.

On the one hand, I had this incredibly productive burst of creative energy– writing some 80,000 words over the course of a few months– and this energy (in retrospect) served as a fantastic catalyst for everything that would follow in 2014.

On the other hand, after writing all of those words and reaching a certain point in my story, I suddenly abandoned the memoir project and moved on to other things (e.g. yoga trainings and traveling).

And now that I’ve accomplished quite a bit of yoga trainings and traveling this year, I can’t help but feel that time has come to finish what I started.

So, why did I stop in the first place?

Honestly, I wasn’t ready to face what I knew lay ahead.

Despite writing fairly candidly about a number of my life’s adventures (and misadventures) over the years, the astute reader (assuming that one actually made it all the way through those 80,000 words) may have noticed that I started the memoir with events taking place in late 2009 and beyond (beginning with the Squirrel Series), and then I jumped back to chronicle the first twenty-one years of my life (i.e. childhood through 1999).

Which means I still haven’t accounted for mid-1999 to mid-2009– i.e., my 23rd to 33rd years on Planet Earth– i.e., The Dark Years.

To clarify: I’m not saying everything was uniformly terrible during the Dark Years.

There were a reasonable amount of good moments– moments that I’m glad I had the good fortune to experience. A few summer camp adventures, a trip to Costa Rica, the expansion of my family by five standard poodles, my sister’s wedding, some awesome moments on stage with my band, etc.

But there were also many, MANY not-so-good moments during those years.

I’m not going to list them here.

I’m going to finish the memoir instead.

[By the way, I’d be misrepresenting myself if I somehow implied that the years following the Dark Years (i.e. 2009 – ’13) didn’t sometimes rival the Dark Years in their occasional periods of darkness. Still, I think of these as two distinct periods. Although I could theoretically divide the whole decade-and-a-half into the Early Dark Years and the Late Dark Years. Hmm… Let’s see how the next ten years play out, first.]

Anyway, my point is:

The Dark Years seem much, much harder to write about than anything that I’ve tackled, thus far.

The situations that I’d have to write about seem way more complex and embarrassing, and an honest evaluation of my thoughts, behaviors, and decision-making processes over the course of the Dark Years is probably going to serve as a more severe indictment of my mental state during that time than maybe I’d want to actually admit.

Which probably contributes to the quasi-masochistic thrill I feel in turning to face the Dark Years head-on.

Anyway, I think the pain of ignoring/hiding from the past is probably worse than the pain of working through it, so… here we go.

* * *

OK, I’m not quite done with the disclaimers.

First, one brief nod towards keeping things in perspective:

Despite any challenges I may have faced over the years, I’m still far luckier than so many other people who have had it much worse— who have had far less opportunity and support during challenging times.

For better or for worse, I have the ability to write about this stuff without having to worry (too much) that it’s going to ruin my career, or whatever. (If I’m lucky, this stuff will make it.)

I’m already past the point of no return, as far as my internet presence is concerned. My résumé is such a convoluted puzzle by now that even the slickest LinkedIn presentation can’t make me pass for “a normal person.” So I’m just not gonna bother even pretending anymore.

At age 38, I think it’s possible to say that my comparative advantage might be my persistent deviation from the expected norm.

But it’s also safe to say that my deviation from the norm was wholly made possible by the fact that– thanks to my family, my education, my social network, and my relative privilege– I’ve never had to worry about starving in the streets.

In other words, my tale is not one of survival and hardship. It’s not “a struggle against the odds,” or an addiction and violence-fueled melodrama.

In fact, it might all come across as a little tame, after the build up.

Nevertheless, it’s my story.

And I have no interest in comparing myself to those who’ve had it worse (or better, for that matter).

So, why tell my story at all?

Because I want to.


Because I can.

If it resonates with you, great.

And if not, great.



The Dark Years…

Here we come.

The Secret of Life… REVEALED!

Guess what? I didn’t make it to Ojai today. (And the world didn’t end.) Instead, I continued to busy myself with ghost-chasing and second-guessing and laughing-crying and consciously rewiring in the City of Angels. This is my true yoga, “off the mat.” Everything in this city is my “edge.” Every part of me is sore here. Every pose hurts. I still can’t seem to get over the life that I (willingly?) gave up here, so many years ago. And yet– it is what it is. Get over it.

* * *

The least productive game I’ve ever played is “What if…?”

So why do I keep playing?

Maybe because I’ve gotten so damn good at it.

Flash forward. Here’s the solution:

“Embrace the suck.”

Whatever your problem.

Yeah, you can try to dull the suck with any number of temporary measures– escapist entertainment, money, drugs, whatever– but the suck never really goes away, does it?  I don’t care how rich or powerful you are– the suck always finds its way back, somehow.

Better to embrace the suck, I think.

To revel in the suckitude of whatever your bullshit situation.

To recognize that– Wow!– This totally sucks! And here my chance to turn this sinking ship around.

No one wants to hear your (my) sob story.

I mean, even if they do, that’s not what they only want to hear.

They want to hear what you’re doing about it.

Better yet, they want to see what you’re doing about it.

(You are doing something about it. Right?)

* * *

GOOD GOD! I am so sick and tired of being whatever the procrastinating/perfectionistic equivalent of being sick and tired is.

I am not sick and tired!

At age thirty-eight, I’m (finally) fairly rocking it re: my own “health and wellness.”

But at age less-than-twelve-years-to-fifty, I’m still just crushed by the needless drama (and ramifications thereof) in the annals of own personal narrative.

I look back in awe and horror at my eighteen-through-thirty-seven year old adult self.

You! What were you thinking!?

And then the old game is back on, with a vengeance.

And I realize how hard it is to move forward while playing that old game.

So, how to stop playing?


Practice “being present” one thought at a time.

Find the edge.

Feel the pain.

Embrace the suck.

Take a deep breath.

Do something (meaningful).


* * *

I don’t know… it seems like a reasonable approach.

There’s no magic.

There’s no shortcut.

There’s only practice.

And practice.

And more practice.

(Sorry./ You’re welcome.)

The What Now (Take 2)

So I started writing (another) one of these long-winded, evasive posts about some unimportant thing or another, and I realized that I was only delaying the inevitable follow-up to the three-part “(Re)Branding” manifesto I posted just about two weeks ago.
[In case you missed them: The (Re)Branding Part One, Part Two, and Part Three]
Now, I do realize that over the years I have been prone to making bold proclamations re: big projects, and then abandoning and/or moving on before ever really getting started.
So this is my attempt to hold myself accountable for moving forward: a recap of what I’ve actually been doing over the past two weeks, and what’s coming next.
And then– when that’s done– I may start just writing “slice of life” essays and memoir again. Because I find all of this other stuff sorta tedious, and probably so do you.
The Recap
Ok, here goes:
#1: I started learning HTML and CSS (and even JavaScript). Both to improve my control over my online presence, and to obtain at least one “practical” 21st century résumé skill.
#2: I bought my first MacBook Pro in six years. (Well, ever. I didn’t buy the one I’ve been using for the past six years.) I figured this was a reasonable investment in my future– and a better use of funds than spending ~$1000 on a 3 day yoga training. (Which I would still love to go to, but the computer is far more important investment, because…)
#3: I downloaded Logic Pro X (music production software) and signed up for a 14-day trial (to learn how to use Logic Pro X)– which I’ve actually been using.
Lest this list sound like a whole bunch of spending without earning…
#4: I started working (part-time and remotely) for my favorite summer camp in Hudson Valley, NY., and now I can sit in a cafe or under a palm tree with my laptop and my cellphone and my earpiece-microphone-thing and feel very, very professional.
#5: I just led a “Mindful Judaism and Yoga” class at Stanford University (which I suppose I’m uniquely qualified to teach), simply by being in the right place at the right time (thanks to traveling aimlessly).

Why am I writing this post again?

Sorry, I’m in a sort of weird headspace right now.
Still stalling… still stalling…
OK, screw this.
I see this project encapsulating three different phases– or “books”– which I suppose makes it a trilogy of sorts (even though each “book” might really be a “section”… whatever, not important right now).   
(I’m switching gears, in case you didn’t notice.)
Book One basically covers the bulk of my (sometimes crazy) existence through, say, January 2014. I think a good name/ section heading for this phase might be my old favorite: Brilliant Disaster.
Book Two would then start in February 2014 (about ten months ago), concurrent with my climb out of a serious funk (which will forever be immortalized in the archives of this blog), into the realm of relative calm and cohesion that more or less characterizes my life at present. Even though I still feel a bit in limbo and it might be too soon to make any bold proclamations, I would call this book/phase Life After Crazy.  
Which means that Book Three will cover a phase that I’m actively attempting to transition into– a period of immense creative flow coupled with calm confidence and sustainable self-sufficiency. I think I’d call this section Make a Sound, as that’s what I intend to do (in the realm of music and beyond).
To clarify: this third part will chronicle the actual production of the project, as well as my reflections on transitioning into the life I’ve both dreamed of and deferred for way too long.
Anyway, that’s enough of that for now…