The title was going to be “It’s Hard To Be Me” but that just sounded way too pathetic.

Although it made my husband laugh.

I awoke feeling so abandoned and alone that when I asked my Amazon Alexa for the weather report and she responded, I almost burst into tears.

Let’s take a look at last week.

I had a great week.

I took my vitamins everyday except one. (See Blog Post #3) I had a green drink almost everyday. I wrote Morning Pages everyday. I worked out 3 days, I think. I didn’t meditate at all. (But we will get back to that.)

I began this blog. I was accountable. I started. I even excelled. (See Blog Post #4).

I got great response to the blog, too. Thank you to all who expressed support and enjoyment. I even heard from strangers. My hope is that blogs function under the Cockroach Theory. ‘If you see one….’

But anyway, I began.

Then came Saturday.

Gear change: After spending the better part of Friday writing, (See Blog Posts #3 & #4) I was in this truly remarkable – no, let me call it what it was – Beautiful Headspace.
The headspace of ‘Kelley as Artist.’

I know this headspace because it is where I live when I am hired to go out of town to work on a play or shoot a movie. The gift of out-of-town acting is the direct shift from the intellectual to the intuitive. One is allowed to travel away from the burdens of everyday life into an insulated cocoon where all one has to think about moment-to-moment, is care of self and realization of character (imaginary not actual, although one could argue that point). 24/7. No two-a-day dog walks, no bills, no noise, no should’s or have to’s. Nothing that isn’t exactly right for that moment, chosen exactly in that moment. My friend and counselor, Terran Lovewave, calls it ‘being true to one’s nature’.

I call it The Enchanted Land of the Intuitive.

I have worked out of town on several occasions. At those times, I have effortlessly lost weight, seamlessly given self-care, and creatively done my very best work as an artist.

And this is the thing: I always believed it was all about geography. The demands of daily life would not allow me to enter that headspace at home. I had to go away. Sequester myself. Work out of town.

Yet that was exactly what I was doing by end of Friday. AND I had done it writing. Not acting.

Arguably, I had done it…(wait for it)


I was home with my dogs and my husband and moving through the world from an entirely intuitive perspective; I was living in The Enchanted Land of the Intuitive. Everything became creative. I was intoxicated by expression. I was looking at every single choice (dogwalks, bills, should’s, have to’s) from an artistic, ecstatic point of view. I wasn’t ‘being’ an artist. Or even playing one on TV.

I just was an artist.

Back to Saturday.
No vitamins.
No Morning Pages.
No green drink.
No exercise.
No meditation. (But we will get back to that.)

The angels stopped dancing on the head of the pin. In fact, the angels were A.O.C. smoking a Kool.

Sunday? The same.

Monday, too.

Tuesday, I tried to put it back together. Took my vitamins, did Morning Pages, exercised, drank green drink.

I didn’t write.

Tuesday, I meditated. (And now we get to that.)

Gear change: The year after my father passed, when I was living in abject terror that I too would die from complications from Alzheimer’s, I was introduced to Holosync.  Holosync is an aural experience – a mixture of alpha waves, beta waves, theta waves, chimes, chords, prayer bowl, rain. No mantras or ohms. Just listening. The research tells us Holosync is an exceptional conduit for the benefits of meditation, as well as a highly-regarded regimen for brain health. I’ve engaged in this system half dozen times since 2013, all to great effect – an abiding calm, deep sleep, clearer vision.  But I did not form a habit. Too many distractions (see Blog Post #1).

So back to Tuesday, I said “Screw it. Let’s meditate.” I went outside where I write Morning Pages – dusk’s cool breeze, birds’ evensong, mountain shadows. The whisper of life all around me. Put the earbuds in, hit the button.

It was sublime. I have never had such a profound meditative experience. I was taken to such a deep state of being that when I opened my eyes I could not move. The sense of presence, of ecstatic connection to the world around me was beyond expression. Just as The Wizard of Oz goes from black and white to color, I opened the door to The Enchanted Land of the Intuitive. I couldn’t walk. I lay down and let myself breathe it in. I slept briefly.


I drank. Vodka and kombucha, squeeze o’ lime, oh don’t cha know.

Not all day. Just at night.

But, Wednesday:
No vitamins.
No Morning Pages.
No green drink.
No exercise.
No meditation. (Why didn’t I get back to that?)

Which brings me to this morning’s self-loathing and crying on Alexa’s shoulder.

Why did I not protect that fledgling artistic headspace? Why did I not take a second tour of the most mind-bending-without-substance-assistance experience I have ever had? Why did I abandon the things that brought me self-confidence, self-worth, well-being?

Why do I step back when I am at the brink of bliss?

And you know, truth be told, this has been going on a while now.

A few years ago, as part of job #32, I was contributing to Edutopia, a comprehensive website and online community created by the George Lucas Educational Foundation. It’s purpose: “to increase knowledge, sharing, and adoption of what works in K-12 education.” Almost immediately I was recognized. I was named a Featured Contributor. I was asked if I was interested in becoming some special something-or-other that would write for them regularly.

I never even returned the email.

Why do I flinch when the authenticity of my life begins to present itself? Why do I opt out on joy?

The dream I do allow myself belongs to someone else. I followed in my sister’s footsteps in high school, college, grad school.

I have pursued an obvious dream, easily defined: Success = TV show + Movie + Oscar/Tony/Emmy. Dream in a kit. But, intuitively, I do not feel acting is what I was put on this earth to do.

If I ask myself what I want, what is my answer? “I don’t know.”

Why don’t I know? Why can I not frame the dream of ‘Me’?

Perhaps it is a dream that cannot be intellectualized, it must be intuited.

Why do I fear to dream?


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