My burn bio

Well hello there.

I'm R------ (for pen name purposes, Audrey).
First burn.
First Kostume Kult camping.

So. Flipping. Excited.

A little something something about me:

I'm a Gemini, with an outward pretty, pressed, and perfectionic demeanor.
She doesn't sleep in tents and always keeps it perfectly placed. So perfect. So so perfect.

And then there's the other.
The wild child*, The Mad Max.
Let the wild rumpus start.
* She's getting a super amount of attention these days.
Totally psyched to let her run wild in the desert.

Dirty. Sweaty. Open. Free. And fully self-expressed.

Requesting an appropriate playa name that reflects that.

I'm loud and quiet.
I'm cool and hot.
I'm super normal and totally weird.
I'm an anxious fool and a cool, calm, and collected little lady.
I'm a gamine ange nu and a bit of a deviant.
I'm a hopeless romantic and a she-ra man hater.

I. Am. A. Fairy.

I'm not French.
I might as well be.

I say what I think.
What I say is.
My world is in the stars and on earth and in me and in you and outside of us and around us and everywhere and everything.

I have a wild temper.

I love food.

I am afraid of fire.
I love to watch things burn.

I'm all about now. And now. And now. And pay as little attention to then. And then. And then as possible.

I'm an artist AND a scientist.
I can be smart as f*{k and gullible as ever.
I can be in the clouds and obsessively calculated.

I pretty much looooooove costuming.
I'm thinking lots of devil/angel/fairy/evil sprite stuff for the burn.
Glitter and wings. Pointy ears.
Red lipstick and false paper eyelashes.
Mud and dirt and an oily glow.

I used to be a pro ballet dancer.
i think it was for the Tutus and drag queen makeup.
i pretend it was for the classy art.

Nothing too fancy.

I am ready to let it out and let it all go and take it all on.

Out to find and to love the grey area.

I want to be scared out of my mind, jump, and land on my feet.
Because I do.
And I'm ready to challenge how far I can take that.

Oh, and I don't know how to swim.

PS I'm writing this in my medical office, wearing a JCrew sundress, a cashmere cardigan and penny loafers.

There is an actual penny in the front of my shoes.

Well, alright.

I'm going to Burning Man.
Challenge Accepted.

XxO
- mad max?

Hope.

Hope.
An expression of believing.
An expression of what's possible.
An expression of excitement.
A need.

We hope.  Some of us, myself included, more so than others.

I'm sitting at my laptop on a gorgeous sunny May Day, dedicated to mothers and my phone rings. 
One of my oldest friends, calling to see how I'm doing.  How I'm holding up.  How I'm dealing.  
      Mixed with telling me how she's doing.   how she's holding up.  how she's dealing. 

It's interesting how celebrations can create responses directly opposed to what they're meant to create.  

Today we celebrate motherhood.  
We thank our mothers, our grandmother.
We smile upon our friends and family members who have taken on the astounding responsibility of being a mommy.

                       and, for some, friend and I included, we hope.

Before that call I was sitting here lamenting my mother's death.  
Wanting to pick up the phone or drive to PA and take her to lunch.  
We'd likely get sandwiches as the local diner or sit in the back yard sipping sun tea.  
She'd likely tell me about my brothers, my dad, her friend Kathy, her mom, the people she sees during the day, the way she experiences things, the way god plays a role in everything she thinks, does, and says.  
             Never a word about her, though.  Just what other people mean to her. 

That was my momma.  Selfless and perfect.  

I was sitting here thinking about the death of a new mom I know.  Someone who battled sickness through and through, until her body failed her...leaving behind a 6 month old son.
She, I know, would have been an incredible mother going forward, had she had the chance.

I was sitting here thinking about the myriad of times I have seen that love is possible and then found it not to be so...
               at least not then
                           ...or maybe at least not with him.  
A possibility of love that transcends pain and suffering, that creates a bond where all is open and communicated and supported and soft and adventurous and quietly powerful.  

A possibility of love that picks you up when you're down and supports you to find your own way up.

A possibility of twosome that creates and excites and works it out when it's not so great and celebrates every moment of when it is, simply wonderful.
  
A possibility of having that person who'll help me become a mother.  
              To give of myself to create a human being that will grow and become everything his or her  
              little heart desires
                    who will learn to walk and run and GO...
                    and fall down, and sit still, and, sometimes stop...because we all do, sometimes.  
              A human being that will suffer and hurt and fail and express and thrive and win...

                              and it'll all be perfect and my love and I will watch it all.

As much as the above sounds bittersweet...it's all based on hope.

It's all based on believing what's possible and never letting whatever comes at you stop you, NO MATTER WHAT. 

Even the things that might make you want to say that hopefulness breeds disappointment.  
          That hopefulness is for fools.  
          That hopefulness puts you on the path to failure and acceptance of what really may never be.
          That hopefulness is stupid and you'll never do that again.
                That you want to slam the doors on the things that hurt you
                        that didn't go the way you planned
                              that didn't let you be seen for what you can offer and how much you want to give.

Those things are just hiccups.  
None of them are sentencing death to a dream.  
None of them are saying that even those particular situations won't ever truly be.
        It might just be different than you've expected.
        It might just be a space of waiting...of timing, which we are all capable of acknowledging.
    
Frankly, if you want it...be there for it and hold on to the hope.  
If a setback shows up in front of you and you use that as a reason to throw in the towel...well, you really didn't want it in the first place.  
              If you did, you'd wait for the clearing, for the opening, for the space where you can take it and 
              run with it---into whatever beautiful field of possibility that's appeared in front of you.  

Use Hope.  

Really, use it...and let it use you.

Use it to drive you.  
Use it to steer you to streets and cities and whole new worlds that would never be if you gave up.
Use it to express yourself, passionately. 
Use it to forgive yourself and whomever you want to blame for stifling what you're up to.
Use it to create love for those upsets and challenges.
Use it to create good from every experience.
Use it to further you and catapult you into showing yourself how god damn in love with yourself and your life you really are.  
Use it to believe.
Use it to create.
Use it to breathe and love and jump and fly and open your arms wide to let it all just come to you.

Because it will.  

Anything you hope for...Anything you believe is possible...Anything.  

It's all yours.  

It's just a matter of time...

  - Audrey

Wide awake...

I have had a dream, over and over, for years.
It wasn't always clear what happened in the dream...but something was preempting waking from my rest with my arms reaching for the ceiling, left arm extended and the right arm running it's fingers gently up and down.

A light touch, or a tickle, soothing and warm.

I was attributing this to some sort of nervous twitch or a longing to be touched in a gentle way and then the dream clarified itself.

I woke clear and feeling a deep rooted longing to fall back into that place.

I have a fantasy in my REM.

It's likely not entirely a fantasy, but it's felt like one juxtaposed with the paralleled experiences I've had in the real world.

Behind closed eyes I dream of being safe in someone's arms.

The dream is simple.
I wear a short blue dress and no shoes.
He wears a grey shirt and tan slacks.
It is warm but i don't know where we are.

He smells like a man smells after he's been sleeping.
That smell that's hard to describe. That you bury you head into your pillows to remember when he isn't there and can't seem to get rid of when he's gone forever.

I smell like grass...or spring. Fresh and light. Earthy.
Sort of how I'd think I'd smell from what I see in the mirror.

Fresh. Light. Earthy.

All that happens is a hug.

I settle my head into his left chest with my hands snuggly interlaced in front of my chest, elbows down towards his belly.

His arms hold me with strength.

Just a safe, unmoving hold.

A hold that has touch and warmth and safety and love.
                          Deep, quiet, real love.

I stand still and close my eyes.

This is when the faces flash. 5 or so, none I recognize.
                   The last is fuzzy.
The prior are so clear that I feel if I saw them walking down the street, i'd say hello as if they are old familiar friends.

I open my eyes back in the hug and lift my head, look up at him, catching the shadow of a face blocked out by the brightness of the sunshine.  I squint and turn my head down towards his shoulder.
My eyes close again.

I wake up, reaching.

It's that deeper subconscious yearning for someone who has the strength to hold onto me and let me just stay.

It's so hard to believe in that possibility when everyone appears to be running away.

Too busy.
Too wounded.
Too superficial.
Too lost.
Too mistrusting.
Too indignant.
Too driven.
Too damaged.
Too old.
Too young.
Too different.
Too self-absorbed.
Too self-reliant.
Too unfamiliar.
Too scared.

It's possible still, and so, I believe.

This surfacing into my consciousness I begin to see it's only a matter on time.

Today I feel calm and completed in my past.
Today I feel ready for my future.
Today, in the present, is a day filled with awakening
      preceeding a future that might just be filled with
               Spring days, bare feet, blue dresses,
                           and a man in grey Tees that smells like it's morning.

Because I'm letting you go

"I've never had a friend like you", he says.

"Well, dear, it's because we are in love."

"Yes, that's true."

"But you're getting married."

"That's true too."

So it goes between us two.  Misfits until we found each other. and then you went off and I stayed and played and asked you what it all meant.

You reassured me that it meant that I hadn't found it yet.

But I had.

I was afraid of you.

You know my secrets.  I've washed my wellies in your dishwasher and I've fed your shoes to your dog.

I've stolen your girlfriend with every intention of making her feel insecure, with hopes she'd give up the thrown, next to you.

I wanted to sit there.

I'd never have to fix your collar or tell you you drank too much.
I'd never have to guess what you meant or what you were thinking, because you tell me.  You always have.

I don't regret a minute of knowing you, but I do regret all those times I thought I wasn't good enough for you.

You have horses in your backyard and a house in Morocco.

I have nothing.

You know how to give and receive and be present and loving.

I'm afraid of everyone.

You brought me flowers because I got my heart broken.  You told me I was the one everyone waits for.

I didn't believe you.

                                                       You stopped waiting.


You're going to marry her.
I'm going to be there to celebrate.
It'll be the first wedding where I don't even see the bride.

There's been 2.  2 men in the many who've made me realize that they do exist.

That love isn't all movies and fairytales.

That I'm lovable.

I did this though.  I pushed both of you away.
The first, I was young.  I didn't know what love meant.  I told myself he wasn't enough.

he wasn't.

but you are.

Maybe the 3rd time is the charm.  Maybe the next one who comes back to me after I tell him to leave will work.
Maybe then I'll stop quizzing and judging and creating all the reasons why this is doomed and I prefer to sleep alone.

Maybe then I'll find the strength to ask him to stay.

I missed you when you left.  Every thing I owned reminded me of you.  Every man with a good suit and a smashingly kept hairdo.  Every girl who looked happy made me imagine you.  Every one.  Every last one.

I didn't even realize I gave up then.

I did.

You are like light. You are like french macaroons with a cafe ole.

You are the love I never got to have.
And we would have been perfect.

It's time to move on.  It's time to believe again.  It's time to give up giving up.

You gave me that.  I realize all this because of you.
I love you more today than ever,
                    because I'm letting you go.

Because I'm just fine

Everybody knows there was a hurricane in NYC this past week...especially those of us who live here.  Everybody does not know that Audrey has been feeling a complete mess of late and, essentially incapable of a self-preserving thought, much less actually caring for and loving herself.

So it takes a natural disaster does it?
I suppose sometimes it does.

The fact is Audrey would love a break.
She's been creating all the things she can have in this world.
From nothing...not just Landmarked out "from nothing I am the possibility of..." crap, but actually from nothing.

This chick has made it.

So she's solo and struggling...there's no permanence in that.
She's fostering real bonds to take into the rest, the amazing future she's setting up.
She's growing to believe in her true beauty and her soul that tells it like it is.

So shut up if I hurt your feelings...you need a reality check.

Enough about me...because I'm fine.

It's amazing how people we care for, the ones that pushed us away, come out when the weather threatens us.
It's amazing how selfish people become.
It's amazing how much people want a pat on the back and a hug.

No it isn't...BECAUSE THEY DO, naturally.

I love New York.  I really do.

But why does it take this sort of horrible shit to bring us together?

We do care.
We are allowed to be selfish.
We all need a pat on the back...and a hug.

I walked through a dark and and desolate downtown Manhattan to and from the hospital this week.  On Friday morning, as I trudged over the Brooklyn Bridge into the newly rising sunlight warming up an otherwise tired, cold, and worn out southern point, a woman coming from the darkness caught my eye, smiled, and said, "Have a good day".

I will, thank you and I'll continue to pass this on and wish the same.

I've come to realize that, despite attempting to shed all remnant of my suburban skin, I've kept my most precious attribute.

I love people.

I trust them and I care for them and I see them in a way that suggests that there's good there.
There's always good.
In fact, it's the root of all of us, whether it's covered by cemented walls of bitterness and hostility, it's there, right at the center.

I make a lot of interesting choices about the people I try to get to.
      like a friggin' Mother Theresa half the time.

I want people to let out there good and let my good in.

I know I have to protect myself and I have to try to stay away from the ones who don't seem to have that in them.

Oh well.

I find it so hard to believe that they can't get there, that it's that difficult to let me in.

So, it did take a hurricane.

It took a hurricane to realize that I can do that and I can be there for people and reach out and go for those connections and, they may just turn away and that's fine.  It's no reason to stop, just a reason to say, "OK, that happened, looks like this one just needs me to be less aggressive and really probably needs a pat on the back and a hug even more than I do".

A heavy weight left me this week.  I started realizing a rejection really doesn't have ANYTHING to do with me, nor does it make me any LESS lovable.

It just means that sometimes we open our arms and people are too stuck in it and miss the chance to feel loved.

So I hopped in to help at a relief collection today and just enjoyed giving.  I'm going to keep this feeling.  There's no attachment to the result, to the thank you...to the acknowledgment.  It just feels good to give and to see a brick or two fall away from those New York accumulated walls we build.

God love you New York.  You're the toughest and most rewarding love I've got.

We'll get through.

AudreysThinking: Acknowledgement

AudreysThinking: Acknowledgement: It's time Audrey acknowledge herself. It's an interesting characteristic I see in a number of women I hold very dear. We're true and bold an...

Acknowledgement

It's time Audrey acknowledge herself. It's an interesting characteristic I see in a number of women I hold very dear. We're true and bold and exciting and successful, but we fail to acknowledge these things at the most pertinent of times.
It's interesting being a woman in Manhattan. There's a fine line that breaks a number of us and reduces us to the mere shells we inhabit.
When it comes to relationships, we're in a pool that exists nowhere else.

We wake up in the morning hopeful. We forgive and forget red flags that show us that we won't be able to be ourselves if we want to try and make love work. Then, we realize it doesn't work anyway.

That's not true.

It does.

It's a matter of owning who we are and being ourselves in the most trying of situations.

Professionally, we excel.

We hold our own in a way that astounds our suburban family and friends.
We work tirelessly to gain recognition in a man's world.

And we succeed.

Then we try for love.

We ignore that the men of Manhattan arrived here with the same goals and aspirations. They come here from places where school buses and soccer teams and family dinners are the norm. They come here from families who encourage, but haven't an inkling what it's like in a world where being good at something gets us nowhere.

We have to be great.

Women prove themselves and find solace in the accomplishment.

Men prove themselves and feel an emptiness.

It's a generalization. I know.

But I speak from the next decade. The 30 somethings.

I speak from the lot of us who get resigned to thinking that happiness is a myth.
A figment.
Something only reserved for a select, lucky few.

It isn't.
It's a matter of trust.

It's a matter of realizing that your perfect match is a perfect her. Or him.
It's a matter of understanding that, in the end, it's the person who sees you through the sadest and darkest of times and loves you for who you are.

Simply.

I've dreamt about a dreamy man who's the kind of handsome that Hollywood ignites. Who's the kind of success that Forbes 500 puts on the cover. Who's interests engulf mine. Who's story may be sad and difficult, but has produced an exceptional man.

I also recognize that I sleep 5-6 hours a night and the other 18-19 hours I spend in the world.
Where men are grown up but ever-living little boys. And I, in turn, am just as much a little girl.

He probably won't be able to match a suit.
He probably won't show up confident and sure.
He might have a preoccupation with star wars or batman or some other endearing and genuinely juvenile distraction.
He might pout or get quiet when he doesn't know how to respond.
He might be selfish and silly about things that he really has no control over.

But I'll love him.

For all of that.

And his success.

And his failure.

And his attempts. Just because he tries.

That's what we're missing here.

We miss accepting being human. The one true quality that makes us lovable.

The older we get, the deeper our past. But it's just a past.

It's over.

Again I land at vulnerability.

The key to ever present and powerful being.

And love.

It's what makes us available to connect. It's what makes us refreshing and new.

And the silliest part of it is that it's simply just us, as we are, as we're able to share.

Love.

I believe in love in Manhattan.