My Way

       I don’t do karaoke very often. Even less frequent is my appearance as guest lead singer for a band. When I do either, however, I usually sing the song “My Way”.
       It brings the house down.
       Not because I have a good voice. But because when I sing “My Way”, I do it “my way”. In front of an audience of strangers, I show up for life as myself, just the way I want to. I completely embrace the song’s message by bringing all of myself to it. I quite literally talk the talk and walk the walk.
        Here’s a smidgen of what that looks like.
        My voice is powerful and dynamic, but untrained and sometimes flat. I can’t hit all the notes, no matter what key they put the song in.
        I sing it anyway.
        I use the fact that I miss notes to my advantage by lampooning myself while it’s happening. And I’ll editorialize the lyrics too, adding quick comments or short quips here and there.
        Using lots of over-dramatic movements and poses, I breath my own life into the already poignant, prophetic words. Remember when Elvis would go down on one knee, raise a clenched fist to the sky, and hold it for effect? That’s one of my favorite moves.
        I make lots of what Eddie Murphy calls “fuck faces”: very expressive, exaggerated, evocative, facial contortions.
        By bringing as much of “Clint” into the performance as possible, I connect to the song’s vision. I engage in what I call "precise reckless abandonment". That is, throwing myself completely into the moment, with precious little regard for pretense or outcome, and by doing that, simultaneously communicating a message and making a connection with others. It’s what happens when musicians are in their zone. Actually, it’s usually what happens when anybody is in their zone. It’s a beautiful place to be. It’s where I want to live most of my life.
        Which brings me to a particular passage in “My Way”:

        For what is a man? What has he got?
        If not himself, then he has not
        To say the things he truly feels
        And not the words of one who kneels

        Saying what I truly feel is the essence of MuscleHeart. For many years, just knowing what I felt was a struggle, because I had constructed so many road blocks to my own heart. Getting to what I truly feel is still sometimes a challenge. But now I’m aware that it’s because somewhere inside of me, I’m judging and criticizing what I’m feeling.
       Connecting to my own heart has been the most painful process of my adult life. It’s also been the most absolutely wondrous.
        Part of this connection to my heart is owning the fact that I love a woman who doesn’t love me. This is, without question, the hardest truth I have ever had to accept. It is the nightmare that I’ve avoided since I was a teenager. But I know that whatever pain I’m in carries with it the lessons that I most need to learn. I hate that reality, but I know it’s the truth. Fuck.
        If I examine the aforementioned phrase from “My Way”, it occurs to me that some may interpret my admission of unrequited love as “the words of one who kneels”. To them, this admission is a sign of weakness. I used to believe the same thing. Sometimes, I still do.
        But I more often embrace the idea that, if it’s how I truly feel, no matter what that is, then to own it takes strength. To own it takes courage. And to express it takes even more.
        Because owning how I feel, and letting others know that, through words and actions, is very risky. When I expose my feelings like that, I risk much. I risk rejection. I risk acceptance. I risk shame, and the possible withdrawal of love. When I risk expressing how I feel, I risk my most precious gift: myself. Because who I am is intrinsically bound to how I feel.
        “The words of one who kneels”, therefore, are not the deep, sometimes painful truths that I own and express. “The words of one who kneels” are the lies I tell myself. They are the words of denial. Of how I feel. And therefore, of who I am.
        “To say the things I truly feel” is how I stay connected to my heart. As long as I do that, I have the unique gift of self. That I can give to everyone I love. That I can give to one special woman. That I can give to the rest of humankind.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and my way of Wrongs) Reserved

My Internal Beloved

       Having pulled my finger out of an emotional dam yesterday, and admitted on this website that I still love my ex-girlfriend, I’m now awash in very murky, turbulent water that randomly vacillates between bitter cold and boiling hot. It’s so uncomfortable and frightening, that I’m periodically reverting to an old standby to protect myself: numbness. One moment I’m crying. The next I’m angry. The next I’m joyful. The next I’m numb. I’m all over the fuckin’ place.
        Let me tell you something about this blogging thing. It doesn’t matter how many people read yesterday’s post. It’s out there. The act of posting it was the symbolic removal of my finger from the levee. Unleashing that truth produced a movement and a direction, like a river cutting through a canyon. I initiated that flow, and at the same time have no idea where it’s taking me. I just know how I feel. I know my truth. That’s why I said it. What life gives me after that is out of my hands. And that’s scary.
        Part of me doesn’t want anybody on earth to read what I wrote yesterday, because of the judgment I’ve attached to it. The voice of judgment comes from my inner Judge. And he’s a monster. A brutal monster.
        He’s 400 feet tall and built like The Hulk. He breathes atomic fire like Godzilla, and has a PhD in psychology from Harvard Medical School. His IQ is so high that it can’t be measured by conventional methods, and he’s constantly pissed off. He doesn’t sleep, and I know this because some mornings, he’s on me a few seconds before I even open my eyes. His voice is loud enough to drown out the sound of all life. He can bludgeon me to pieces, or he can subtly undermine me with the skill and precision of a Machiavellian master. And he’s all over me today.
        “What the fuck is wrong with you?”, I hear the Judge say. “You weak, stupid, fool. No wonder you’re alone. Your feelings are WRONG. Never love anybody who doesn’t love you back. In fact, loving anybody at all is a mistake. You are a mistake. Your life is a mistake. All the working out or writing or attention or ANYTHING on earth will not change the fact that YOU ARE A LOSER. Do you hear me? Loser.” I told you he was brutal.
        The Judge hasn’t been this angry in months. He’s been relatively fine as long as I’ve written around the truth of my still loving someone who doesn’t love me back. But I didn’t write around it yesterday. I simply wrote it. I wrote it again today. And he’s going nuts.
        But I know something about the Judge that he doesn’t think I know. As much as he sounds like he hates me, I know he’s just trying to protect me. He honestly believes that assassinating my character actually helps me toughen up. He judges me because he believes that he’s helping me. We all know people like that. They’re called family.
        So how do I deal with this inner maniac who’s convinced that he’s actually helping me by calling me a mistake?
        I used to hate him right back. After all, it sounds like this jackass is trying to kill me. I have every right to defend myself and try to kill him. But I can’t kill him. Because he’s a part of me. So the more I hate him, the more I hate myself. The more I try to destroy him, the more I destroy my own life. I tried that. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t lead to happiness.
        It’s actually easy for me to hate myself. I have lots of practice. What’s insanely difficult for me is to love myself. But that’s the only thing that’s going to save me. I know that. I can’t always do it. But I know it. Somewhere deep inside.
        What if I take all of this love that I want to give to someone else and gave it to myself? What if I look at myself as My Beloved? My Internal Beloved.
        If someone I loved came to me in tears, feeling that their life, that their very being, was a mistake, I would treat them vastly different than I’m treating myself today. I would give them all the love, support, and care that I had in me. I would dig as far into myself as I could go and offer them whatever they needed. I would hold their hand, or hug them into my body, and not let go. I would carry them, on my back or in my arms, until they could walk again. Why can’t I do that for myself?
        That’s my lesson here. One of them anyway. While it’s true that, since my heart opened up, I’ve experienced periods of self-love on levels previously unknown to me, it’s obvious I have a long way to go. All that I want to give to her, she does not want from me. Sounds like a great opportunity to give it to myself. I don’t always know how. In fact, there are times when I don’t have a clue. But I can learn. As my father used to love to say, “When you’re through learning, you’re through.” Right on dad.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a judgmental amount of Wrongs) Reserved.

Pulling Out

       I’ve had writers block for almost a week. It feels as though there’s nothing inside of me that I want to say. But when I go in deeper, that isn’t it at all. It isn’t that there’s nothing inside. I don’t have a block. I have my finger in a levee that I’m afraid to pull out.
        Well I’m pulling out. Now.
        I still love my ex-girlfriend. I still love Principessa.
        I rhetorically ask myself why the hell would I ever admit that. Why can’t I just know it and shut up? Better yet, why can’t I just deny it? I’ve done that before.
        Then I remind myself that my most valuable gift is my self. My self is rooted in my truth. Once I get to that truth, I can either accept it or deny it. I can either embrace it or fight it. I’m choosing to embrace it. I’ve tried life the other way. It didn’t make me very happy. And it took up most of my energy.
        And I remind myself that I want this website to be about sharing my self, my truth, with whoever wants to see, hear, and know me. If I start editing that, I’m not being true to myself or to my vision.
        That sometimes means owning, and writing about, things that are very uncomfortable. Like this.
        The last time I was here, I was about eighteen years old. I spent the next twenty-five years making sure that my heart didn’t get broken again. And the last time I loved somebody I wasn’t with, I was incredibly depressed. My life stopped.
        But this time my life hasn’t stopped. It’s full steam ahead.
        I feel somewhat psychotic. I’m not used to feeling this much. I’m not used to experiencing extreme sadness but not being depressed. I’m not used to crying about not being with the woman I love in the morning and then feeling good enough to go out and flirt with women that night. One night I feel like a rock star. The next like a hopeless romantic.
        In two recent YouTube videos, Salem Night Fever and Clint Carnival, I'm getting lots of attention from, and giving lots of attention to, women. I ask “How can I feel that happy and attractive and special in those moments and then the next night cry my eyes out?”.
        Because I’m finally big enough to hold it all at once. Because I’m open. Like a container that grows along with whatever is put in it. Instead of being of a finite size that eventually doesn’t have any more room, I grow and I expand. Sometimes, like right now, quite painfully. And as my self expands, my feelings, my thoughts, my creativity, my life, expands with me.
        I don’t look at my life as an either/or, polarized dichotomy anymore. I’m big enough to hold the joy, and the sadness. The pleasure, and the pain. The love, and the not love. What is. And what is not.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and wrongs) Reserved.

The Sobchak Channel

       This is just a quick observation, because I want to post something today, but I haven’t had time to edit any of the two dozen pieces that need it before being published.
        I saw a show in the History Channel last night called “The Brain”. I like the History Channel, but there’s a big problem with it. Their programs always seems to find a way to relate to war. They should just call it “The War Channel”. Their message seems to say that history and war are synonymous.
        They find a military angle to everything. I think I remember watching a show about fall foliage in New England, and they found a way to reference the battle of the bulge. Sometimes watching the History Channel is like listening to Walter Sobchak in The Big Lebowski. On second thought, maybe they should call it “The Sobchak Channel”.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved

HallowThanksChritmas

        It has already started.
        The day after Halloween, a radio station started playing Christmas music, twenty-four-seven. Retail giants like Wal-Mart, Stop & Shop, and Home Depot have got their Christmas merchandise out on the shelves. Television commercials, bestowing the almighty glory of spending, are ramping up the hype. They deliver us from the evil of the economy and to the temptation of buying somebody a diamond ring. Make sure you give it to them while its snowing.
        Some people hate this premature cultural barrage of Christmas.
        I am NOT one of those people.
        I love it.
        And not because I approve of the commercialization of Christmas. In fact, I don’t even look at all of the hype that way. It’s not commercialization. It’s celebration. That’s honestly how it feels to me. It really is just a simple matter of perspective.
        It has everything to do with what I bring to the experience. Not what the experience brings to me.
        Christmas is about getting together with people I love. So when I see a television commercial where people greet each other at a holiday party, even if it’s an advertisement for a tire company, what I respond to is the joy of the gathering. I completely focus on that because it makes me feel good. I can’t for the life of me remember what tire they’re hocking.
        Christmas is about bright, colorful lights and beautiful decorations. So when I see all the retail stores displaying their holiday wares, even in early November, I just get excited. I don’t care how far away the day is. I can start looking at all this bright, shiny, sparkly, beautiful stuff NOW. And I can keep looking at it. For months. How cool is that?
        Christmas is about shopping at all the malls and stores that are decorated and lit to the nines, playing a never ending stream of holiday music, as you search out a gift for somebody you really care about. The crowds don’t bother me. The more the merrier. It’s just plain fun to be part of all that mayhem.
        When it comes right down to it, Christmas is about love. So when I hear a holiday song, even if it’s two months before the holiday itself, I feel love. I feel warmth. Happiness. Joy. Peace. How can that be bad?
        The expression on a person’s face, and the warmth I feel from them on Christmas eve or Christmas morning, positively DOES IT for me. Every time. Every year. Every person. Without exception.
        Then there’s Thanksgiving. It could appear that all the Christmas hype absolutely steamrolls over our national day of gratitude. I love Thanksgiving too. So what I do, conceptually at least, is just sort of combine it with Christmas and make it a massive, two month celebration. ThanksChristmas. It starts the day after Halloween and ends on December 26.
        In fact, since I love Halloween so much too, I could combine all three into one big holiday and call it HallowThanksChristmas. That’s how the whole holiday season feels to me. I absolutely love this time of year. A two month celebration of joy. Bright lights. Gifts. Love. Costumes. Shiny things. Food. People. Life.
        I realize that I’m probably in the minority here, but what else is new. I know, however, that there are more out there like me. More people who find all this holiday hullabaloo fun and uplifting and exciting and joyful. Kindred souls who look past the hype, and focus on the message. Merrymakers who look inside, and see what’s real.
        Let me know you’re out there, Two Month Holiday Revelers. If not, I’m still going to feel the same way. But it would be so much more fun if you joined me.

© 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a Positively Festive Amount of Wrongs) Reserved.