Hello, Blog

It's been a while.

Fuck it. I hate everyone and my haters are right and I'm a big ball of failure and all I want to do is sleep.

Fuck you.

Rick Ochoa

(taken from my tumblr and put here, which seems more appropriate)

--

You know what haunts me that I’d really like to get off my chest? It’s something that I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on, that I’ve had a very hard time putting to words…

Rick Ochoa.

Now that winter’s come, I wear the wool zip-up hooded sweatshirt he got in Iceland when we went, almost every day. He got it for himself but I kept stealing it from him. It looked so good on him, too, with his black hair and dark skin and the hood’s pointed hood. It was adorable. So I took it, because I wanted to look adorable, too. He let me, and he let me have it. 

Now he’s gone.

One of the last things I told him in person was that I was sorry for the way things happened, and that I love him, and that I want to work on our relationship -we both cried, and hugged, and promised to have another heart-to-heart again soon. Because our relationship was complicated. I was mean. I let him rake his heart through my burning chaos and I told myself that it was his choice to keep me around, to put himself through it- and it wasn’t my responsibility. I loved him, but I was not in love with him. He knew this. I knew this. Everyone knew this. 

I should have been more responsible. I should have taken that burden. The hard choice of being delicate with a heart so bare and open like Rick’s was. It’s easy to put ourselves before others. Even when we believe ourselves to be good and loving. I was selfish. I didn’t want to lose Rick. He accepted me and my faults and he loved me anyway, he forgave me. Because that’s the way he was. 

The day he died was the day him and I were to get together to begin mending, a new beginning in our friendship. We planned on shooting some, but mostly we wanted to hang out. It was a Saturday. He had been in the hospital all week. When I found out he was in the the hospital and staying, I kept up with him and after a few days one of my texts were “you’re not allowed to die”, and he was discharged Thursday. I text him on Friday night and got no answer - but I figured he may have fallen asleep and it was no big deal. 

Saturday morning rolled around and when he didn’t respond I knew something was wrong. He always answered. Because that was the kind of guy he was. 

I should have gone over on Friday when he didn’t answer. I was wrong, he wasallowed to die… Much to a lot of people’s sorrow, which I wish he knew, because I really don’t think he did know how many people truly loved him, including me. 

I’m sorry.

Since Rick’s passing I’ve decided to try to be more like him. More accepting, more forgiving, and more freely loving and understanding. 

I’d like to extend a hand of friendship to any of Rick’s friends. You can take it, or not. I just have this idea that he’d want us all to be friendly, and I’m sorry to those of you I lashed out on when it happened. I was angry and hurt and guilty but I shouldn’t have taken it out on others.

i miss you, Rick

I'm tired. 

I've been hanging around a lot of people - couples, kinky minded people, friends old and new. You know, the norm. I fight with my sister, I take some pictures, hop on a bus or train, go out, keep going, it's all good, I'm fine.

"The word 'fine' is banned in this house" he said, "because no one who says, 'I'm fine' ever actually means it." 

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. 

It's a mantra I say to myself. 

Her red hair is fire like the burning in my soul. They touch. I miss touch. The soft kind when no one is watching and you wish your eyes were cameras or that you could burn a moment in a touch through your memory to never forget. Never forget.

And I am torn up with longing. Not a longing for a person, but a longing to be known, understood, loved... Touched. 

I try not to let anyone touch me. I'm convinced I can feel all your desires in touch. The knowledge of it hurts me, I want to make you happy. Everyone deserves to be happy. It is not my responsibility. 

hypocrite

when I see you naked on the internet, my brain screams no - I want to cover you up, close my eyes, make it disappear. You are better than that, and I am a hypocrite.

unfinished

When I was younger I used to say “only boring people get bored!” and believed it for years. But I was young and nieve and now I am older, and have been through some hell, peeking out from the dark at the light between the leaves here and there and knowing there is more to life, more to a simple existence. I stepped of the marked path and started into the thick of the woods with my head held high and now I’m trekking on, alone with wild determination and thick soles, waiting to cross paths with other travelers, adventurers and general fuck-you’ers. I want the dirt and sweat and the tears, I want the hidden waterfalls and the mythical Great Valley, Neverland, Home Tree. There is more to life than beauty, skinny, fame and riches. I am a fucking explorer; a nomad, looking for my tribe.

Dear Emma,

(A letter I wrote my friend, that I'd like to share)


Hey Emma,

I'm sitting here in this house, day after day, staring at my screen - at Facebook and Tumblr, mostly - trying to find connection, motivation, meaning. You told me you hoped I would be able to figure out my self destructive behavior. This is where it all stems from, this tendency to sink into my mind and find nothing but the searching, a buzz, a static, looking for a channel. I look at photos that inspire me. I bring in the trash can from the back street. I pick up the kitchen that looks like a dude lives here more than a girl. Beer bottles and dirty dishes. Clothes scatter the livingroom, bedroom, bathroom. I should clean the bathroom, I tell myself. I have so much to do, I remind myself yet again. I make lists, I write in my journal, I force myself to type on my typewriter. But none of it is valid, it's just random thoughts, or what I did yesterday, or the argument I got into with my sister. Some such bullshit. None of it feels meaningful. Some days I give up and go back to bed, staring at the ceiling waiting for something to come to mind. I drift off to sleep and dream that my teeth crumble, and unlike other dreams of the same subject, this time I encourage them to break, crunching them into pieces until my mouth is full. When I spit them into my palm, they're semi-precious stones, and I pocket them, toothless. I wake up slightly horrified, but glad it wasn't as terrifying as other nightmares I have. Which happens often, as you know.

Yesterday I decide to stop spending money on anything that I don't need. My money is running out quicker than I planned and I worry about being able to feed myself for another month. While wasting time online, I stumble upon a raw amethyst ring. In the description it tells of a myth about where amethyst comes from. Something about the greek god of wine being heartbroken and drunk, his tears mixing with wine to form this stone, which became a talisman of sobriety and to break addictive patterns. "Amethyst is said to grant a deep understanding, and has been called the stone of spirituality and contentment. They're thought to have a soothing and relaxing effect on people, promoting healthy sleep habits and in some cases apparently curing insomnia. Known as a stone of change, amethyst can bring about any type of change needed to shift your life and awareness. It's also thought to break up old emotional processes and assist in opening to new chapters of life." Perfect. This will be my gift to myself, a parting gift of giving up things I don't need so I can get the things I do need. It'll be a daily reminder. 

When I came here, I was under the thought that I'd leave in June, giving me a good chunk of time to set some things straight, to organize photos and to write. I started thinking about what I wanted to do. Well, I obviously want to go back to sailing. I quickly decided I wanted to cross the Atlantic, which I'd been thinking on for a while now. A couple of days ago, I was talking to a photographer who contacted me on Facebook, and he tells me there is a race called the Bermuda Race that leaves from RI, and it starts on June 20th. Things are starting to take shape, a plan has emerged. I go on the site and find that they have a page dedicated to those who want to crew for boats entering, and I sign up. Today, I talk to another photographer (who's also a sailor) who says he may know someone who needs crew. Perfect. I have faith that I will find a boat, regardless. After Bermuda, I aim to find a boat going to the Azores, and from there to Europe. Even as I say this, I feel something right, some eager and full of light feeling fills me. And this is something that I've known since I started sailing: I've found what truly makes me happy. 

But I do fear this destructive thing I have going on and have always had to battle. I don't want to fuck it up. So I plug away at putting everything in order, day by day trying to find that inner peace. I know the answer lies on the water. I know sailing will bring me to great things.

Miss you so much,
Meagan

ps- because this is the most valid thing I've written in ages, I'll be posting it to my blog. I hope you don't mind. 

There is so much I want to say, so much going on in my head. But I never have time to write lately. I will soon, though.

I post on social sites only the good stuff. I appear to be happy and excited.

Note to self:
-Lonely vs Alone, the growth of being independent
-Yard work and learning curve challenges (ie: fears (heights, failure, judgement and *gasp* commitment)
-Monogamy... What's that? A view into today's dating.
-Big Bad Ocean- the ultimate in dangerous and beautiful
-Deliveries: From fat checks to boat hitch hiking, we all sail for the same reason. Exploring! (Or was it freedom?)
-(non)Communication Nation - struggling for connection

Quick story.

I'm in Key West craving NY pizza but I can't get much further away without leaving the country. So I stop by Mr Z's pizza. Decent but a far cry from NY. I walk in and get served immediately at a counter that does have a New York feel to it- complete with loud noises and a fast pace. I fall right into it and throw out my order to a short Italian guy. I love Italians. Anyway, dude next to me was like, "oh City of Bones (I'd italicize but my stupid phone won't let me)" indicating to my big book. Oh, I say, you've read them? "Yeah, they're great!" Oh, cool, yeah it's an interesting read (it's stupid brain candy). "Oh, yeah, I haven't actually read the book haha" then he tries a couple other things and I just look at him. Fail.

I really should go back to the whole goth death stare. Works out way better for me, I think.

And start running cause I'm a fat ass.

It is almost nine in the morning. I've been up a while but moving slow. I'm ready to walk out the door but not ready to move... I've been taking some pole dancing classes, and am supposed to be at one in an hour, but it's an upper level class that I'm sorta crashing but I've grown scared and decided not to go. I want someone from the studio to call me and assure me that I will be fine, but it's not happened and grown almost past the time where if I left now I could make it. Fear, what an interesting concept and feeling. So much fear is based off of nothing. Fear of judgement. I face that one a lot. Fear of failure... fear of sexuality... The studio, called S Factor, is equal parts workout, dance and sex therapy. You are guided to touch your body, to freely move without fear or consequence. There are no mirrors, it is dark, and no men are allowed in the studio at all. 

Through this and not smoking anymore, taking a break from drinking, living a life sailing... I'm completely separate from this other life I was living just months ago. I feel so good about myself and what I'm doing, yet I am completely alone. There are so many people I wish to know better, who I miss, who I wish to love and love me. 

Update

So. The boat Appledore didn't exactly work out so well for me. So I've moved onto another boat called the Grace Bailey, who goes out on long multiple day/night trips (3-5 days). I'll be on a five day trip, as a volunteer and photographer. Pretty neat and I'm looking forward to it. I have my own little cabin with a fairly big bed, which is pretty sweet. We return on Friday and then Saturday I'll be flying out to NYC to get on a catamaran to crew on it up to Chicago via the Hudson, which I hear is a great trip and also, I am very much looking forward to learning how to navigate. Transits are the best, and it'll land me in Chicago in three weeks. It would seem it's all fit together better this way, anyway, and I'm looking forward to it all. I've been taking a lot of photos with my medium format because there's something wrong with my Olympus, which sucks, but thankfully I have more than one camera and currently much more 120 film than 35. Whatever, I am happy to be on boats and have film, period.

I am getting a great tan.... on about half of my body. Good thing I don't plan to model anytime soon cause it's a little ridiculous.

merp. this is a boring update.

people sometimes ask me where I want to be, if I were to settle down for a while. I have no answer. I want to be away from everything I know, everyone I know. I want to have no history, no future, no dreams. I want to live in today, in the now, and I want that to be the only thing that matters. People accuse me of running away. I say, I'm running to. Searching something, even if I'm not entirely sure what it is. I feel like I've started to lose my words. I don't want to talk to many people because I don't want to be misunderstood by one more person... 

Ugh

I hate that feeling of not feeling good enough. Sitting there thinking what you could do differently, who you could be to be more wanted company. I feel extremely alone.

I'm losing my mind.

Bravery

Many people have called me brave. But I never feel brave. I am comfortable roaming from place to place doing what I've been doing. I know I have something and someone to rely on on the other side of  that plane or train ride. I have someone picking me up, a place to stay, a job to take.

What I'm about to do is in the face of all that. I'm scared. I'm alone. And that's what bravery is about. Facing your fears.

All I know is that I'm tired of traveling on the backs of modeling and men who want to photograph me naked. I want something more. Not that I hate modeling, I just don't want to do it for a living anymore. I want to find something else...

Wel, I've found something else. I have found sailing.

First things first: Find my way to the ocean...

Musings on Musing

I guess I understand why a number of my friends have spoken up against the desire to be a muse. What a thing full of pressure, Musing. It is love, it is desire, it is pain and suffering. Ultimately a muse is inspiring because she is ever elusive, taunting you further than you were before- a mirage, a handful of water, a side glanced ghost. I, who have always aspired to being a muse, may have found myself among those who step away from such a title. Do not chase me, do not want me... For I am unavailable, and I am cruel. I will leave. I will always leave.

Sailing

I'm in Chicago. There is a festival nearby here in Lincoln Park, I hear music and the dull din of a crowd. People drinking, dancing. Having fun. A part of me wishes to be a part of it, but then I realize that I never have fun at those things. I don't care about music enough to go to loud festivals and I don't like people enough to carry on a conversation with strangers. I realize that drinking is dulling me, is making me less capable. 

I say this even as I'm about to dip into my bottle of whiskey.  

At what point is enough enough? At what point do I wake up and say, it's time. Time to get my shit together and not in any other way but my own. I don't want to be the wild, rebellious, loud, outspoken girl anymore. I feel like that's not really me. Does that mean I've changed or does that mean I've been trying to be someone I'm not? Or is this what growing up feels like?

I do know that sailing is the answer to it all, to all of my dreams. I want to sail around the world. I am not sure how I'll make that happen, but I know it's something that I want. I want it bad. My own boat, eventually. I don't even know how to sail and I want my own boat, like now. 

I guess for now I will press on, looking for a boat to work on for the next month and a half. 

I wish my plans to join the Hawaiian Chieftain hadn't fallen through. Shit, or the following replacement plan, either. I feel like I'm sitting here with the rug yanked out from under me and now I'm scrambling. Quite unpleasant. Especially being nearly dead broke. 

Sigh. 

Wings and Roots

So yesterday I decided to do nothing with my day, and a part of me felt pretty bummed and guilty about it. First of all, I had a model cancel a shoot on me, and another girl who I just met who I am so dying to photograph doesn't have time for me, and my friends are out of town or unmotivated or whatever. These are the same people who tell me how they love my work... How am I supposed to believe it when I can't get anyone to commit to shooting with me? Don't take it personally, Chip says, You'll be fine.

Okay, Okay. So I sorta take the day off. I spent a lot of time thinking about what it is about NYC that is so disenchanting to me this trip (besides all of that). I watched lost and cried over Jack telling Kate about how he deals with fear by letting it wash over him, take over, but only for five seconds. But the problem is, is that I'm afraid of pretty much everything. A part of me is, at least. I took a nap, I watched Silver Linings Playbook and then the Hunger Games while drinking a bottle of wine and then slept great.

But I wake up at noon. I swear the only place I ever wake up at noon is in NYC. Why is this? Why when I love the city so much, and there is so much to do, do I find myself hiding away in apartments here? It's not just this apartment, it's any apartment I've ever stayed in. But then I started thinking and I realized it's not just NYC, although it is worse here.

But it's not like that when I was living on the boat. Why?

I think on freedom and energy and happiness. My singularly and regularly happiest moments are when I'm driving in my car, the sun is out, the windows are down and I'm going somewhere new, or I don't have a destination, or whatever it may be. When I had my car I had a lot of those moments, and in my head I would imagine wings - which were my whole being and self - stretched out and soaring. Underneath me and my car, were my roots, searching out and springing forward, content on just touching the ground but not planting. Searching.

And then it came to me - on the boat I can have both my wings and my roots.

I also have structure, discipline, responsibility. I actually enjoy being told what to do. I'm learning something, I'm a part of something.

We'll find out what I'm actually made of for this boat stuff in June, looks like I'll be there for a good three weeks or more. The coolest part is that I can come and go. But I really want to know what I'm doing. So much to learn.

I really wanted to go to Europe for a couple weeks for my birthday, but traveling with the boat for a month isn't a bad replacement.

Now for my boat wardrobe.... ;)

the Hawaiian Chieftain

Here I sit in the aft cabin, looking at my computer wanting to tell my blog all about my last week and a half and it's hard because there's just so much. Shit, a week and a half ago I didn't know what an aft cabin was.

I've enrolled in a two week program called "two weeks before the mast" in which you are given a bunk and thrown into a trial by fire process of adjusting to this lifestyle. Waking on average at eight am to the voice of Knuckles, the cook, hollering out to us "o-eight-hundred, coffee and breakfast!" and within 15 minutes 11 of us crowd the galley to snatch our portion of breakfast. Me and one other sailor lazily smoke a cigarette first (coffee in hand, naturally) before eating. Afterwards, "muster" is called and we are told what the day looks like. Next, chores.

The Hawaiian Chieftain is owned by a non profit organization who works and sails up and down the northwest coast teaching 4th and 5th graders about sailing, particularly around the Revolutionary war. During the week there are two programs for the kids; "Dockside tours" and "Education sails" (or "ed" sails). Dockside tours are where they are split into groups and in three different station learn about things like trading, navigation and hauling on lines. Ed sails we actually take the kids out sailing and, once again, in three groups are led to helping to actually put the sails up.

 Which, I suppose I should mention, is no small feet. The Chieftain is 103 feet from tip to tip, a square topsail ketch, with something ridiculous like 15 sails she can fly with - though mostly we stick it to about 6. The sails are heavy and solely raised by our dedicated strength. I'm a week into the program and I still barely know what I'm doing on each sail, learning so much every day and still feel like I haven't scratched the surface.

None the less, the weekends are public sails. We take them on two hour "Adventure" sails where the crew sings shanties and tells the passengers anything about sailing that they want to know about, and also encourage them to join in on the hauling of lines when raising the sails or tacking. The more fun sails are the "Battle" sails, where Hawaiian Chieftain and her sister ship, the Lady Washington have an exciting mock battle with cannons with blanks (though no less boom) and a point system to rate hypothetical damage. The fun comes in the jibes and calls back and forth when we get close, and in the hussle of being a deckhand when so much action and dancing of circles around eachother (the boats, not the crew, though in the chaos I find myself running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to figure out where it is I'm supposed to be).

 Now, all of this is the shell of the experience. The meat and bones is living on the boat; making the rest of your crew a second family, the ship a home and the skill of sailing filling your lungs and soul with the essence of adventure and freedom. Every burning muscle is a trophy and everything from food and drink to sleep feels better to me, out here, exploring a whole new way of existing.

New Year Thoughts

These past days I've been sitting around reading or thrifting or playing with my kid cousins or reading or watching movies and when I get a chance to express myself all I can think is how much I'm going to get done, and what I'm going to get done, in 2013. And it's not like, "oh here is my new years resolutions" it's more like "PREPARE FOR WAR, 2013, CAUSE 2014 IS GOIN DOWN" I don't know whether it's like building the ultimate tree fort in the back yard or what, cause it definitely feels like I'm a kid in D-Z who just discovered how to sneak attack my little brother and shove my sister safely down the slides when no one was looking. It's a childish sort of victory I feel, plotting and planning my route to success... perhaps because it feels so doable, I feel so capable and so sure-footed. I am happy and excited and inspired, every day. So many of these days I say to myself, okay okay, well it's not going to last so you best enjoy it while it does. But then it keeps happening. And I'm like, shit I must be doing something fuckin right because this feels GREAT. The only thing I remember from Sunday School was when they talked about our paths that God has set in front of us, and that when bad shit starts happening, it means we're straying from our path. First of all, before any of you gets weird about anything, I was very conflicted about all that, myself. So I have spent many years returning to this idea. What is God? And who is he to choose what I will do with my life? I have come to the conclusion that while many Christians might want to believe there is a man in the sky, or some singular higher power, I don't think that's what ever was to be. I think God is the collective higher power, whatever that might be. The Universe and it's workings. That being said, since I was a child I have dreamed of being great. I have wanted to be a writer, a traveler, a model and a photographer. I have been a dreamer and desired to be nothing short of Great since I can remember. I want to make a difference, I want to help change the world, I want to see as much of our world as I can and understand as much of it as I can. I want to share beauty and pain, life and death, nature and nurture. And through this desire I have laid my path already. Through this *God* has seen fit to help me on my journey, in my passion and dedication. It is long laid and long strayed, shit has happened and people have helped me where they can. And now, having rolled in the dirt of my own stupidity and rebellion, I can say I see my path clearly. Maybe not too far down it, and certainly not straight or level... But I see it. I fuckin see it.

Cafe Thoughts

I could sit at this cafe for hours longer, even though I've been here for hours and I am frustrated with how much I have to do and how little I really have gotten done. I look at this list and it doesn't seem so hard, yet I sit here and I find it difficult... I suppose when you've let things get quite out of hand it takes a long time to sort it all out and put everything in place. I almost said "back" in place, but I don't think it was ever quite right. Indeed, I've thrived in being chaotic. I've wanted to disrupt, destroy, upset the balance- and grin, standing in the middle of it all. But I don't desire that anymore. I want to pick it all up, examine every piece and place it neatly where it belongs. I don't mind taking my time. I want to know every part of my world that I've created and built and collected. I want those entering my world to not be wild eyed and crazed, excited to see what I will do to lead them into some insane adventure- but to enter confident and comforted and powerful, building on creativity and inspiration. I want to be a muse in every way, to help people find their strength, art, love, passion. I want to save the world of mediocracy.

An Amazing Day with Horses (and Cameras)

And yes, it's quarter after seven at night and I'm about ready to hit the sack. That's what happens when you get up at three am to go to the track in order to help with the daily runs (and walks of the sick) race horses. It's freezing cold and the sun wont be up for hours but most people there are happy to be - I am not the only one enchanted by these animals. Though that isn't what brings all these people here. If not love of horses, then love of being a jockey- or, simply the love of the gamble and thrill. Though I don't think many of those people are at the stables at 4am.

R was thrilled when I actually got up in the morning to go with him, I think he doubted how much I really do love horses. It's a childish love, one that I was rarely indulged growing up (though my grandmparents did take us to ride a few times on trails where you could pay $20 for an hour, at your own risk). I shake with excitement whenever I'm around them, truly believing that horses are a part of the perfect existence.

I told R that I would be happy to brush horses, I love them so. He says, "They say what's good for the inside of a man, is good for the outside of a horse."

In my mind, dogs might be man's best friend but horses are a link to something spiritual. When you ride a horse, you're becoming part of them, moving with them, feeling with them. The are extremely empathetic and obviously ridiculously large and strong. I have never felt the overwhelming thrill and accomplishment like I have with moments of experience with a horse.

Today I sat bareback on a horse again. I was lead, like I was last time, but still, I sat. I got up via the fence and getting down R asks if I want the fence or if I can jump down myself. Pff, of course I can.

When I was about 12 I went riding with my sister and grandfather, in a group that was lead for the first half of the hour and the second half you could roam the trails on your own, though you were supposed to stay in pairs. Of course, I didn't. We got pretty deep into the woods and then turned back towards the barn, where the horse knew we were headed back and started going fast. Grinning, I held on, bent over it's neck while it jumped a log and ducking under branches. I had no business doing these things, but had no concept of what I was doing- just that it was fun. We came up on the stables pretty quickly and I was scolded for not letting the horse cool down and made to turn around and do it right.

Now I am older and have more concept that I can be hurt, but not enough to keep me from loving all up on as many horses as I can get around. My hands tremble with nerves every time I am around them, though how much of that is fear and how much excitement, I have no idea.

Afterwards we had a great shoot, to top it off. Naturally, I had my camera with me all day.

Silent Goodbye

I thought of you yesterday, while I took down my show. You're there, in everything that I printed. It felt like celebrating you, it felt like celebrating us- or what I thought we were. I pulled the photos off the walls and said goodbye, to the person I was the day before, to the person I was last year. To the person I was a minute ago, even. I said goodbye to you, looking in your eyes as I peeled you away and I apologized to you, silently, for all the things I did wrong. I forgave both myself and you for our mistakes. I didn't even bother to think about them all, or point fingers. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I let you go, and I forgive myself. That I move forward with the person I want to be.

I spent a lot of time thinking you were the best thing I'd ever found, the most amazing person in the world - that if I couldn't keep you in my life, I wasn't anything. Something in me put you on a pedestal, above me, above everything. I was wrong. Not that you aren't amazing, but that I am any less amazing. I told you once that I will love you forever, and I will. I told you that I wanted you in my life always, and you will be- even if we don't talk. You are a sister to me, a heart sister. My soul will always recognize you as the lovely being you are. I will cary you within my work, a part of me, a part of my experiences.