Creativity Comes In Waves

Experience told me to shun my uniqueness and try to be like everybody else. I was unconscious when I arrived at the emergency room, but soon the police showed up asking questions. I didn’t answer any of them truthfully. We all lived in the same neighborhood after all. The ramifications of this party left me with random but chronic and debilitating panic attacks. As a child I was unapologetically vocal and confident, but as a teen, I became insecure, unable to control my emotions, and I was unable to speak up. I didn’t fit any common molds. I was familiar with the world of addiction. When people rose to the podium, they shared their stories. The truth just sounds different, doesn’t it? It was unfortunate that after these meetings, my family members would come home with a newfound determination to get sober only to be seduced by our small, enabling tribe. It was reported to my school that I had been hospitalized and needed special attention. Basically, that meant since they didn’t know what I would do, I needed to be monitored.

Ignorance Deprives People Of Freedom

For the rest of the school year, I had to spend lunchtime in the school library, aka detention. My friend Tommy was my library detention buddy, and we talked a lot about death and dying. He was Filipino and his parents were practicing Buddhists. Tommy told me that Buddhists believe in the cycle of death and rebirth called samsara. Buddhists believe they can change their lives through good karma to escape samsara, achieve nirvana, and end suffering. Good karma. I understood the basic principle of karma as similar to do unto others as you would want them to do unto you. I asked him, What if you keep doing good things and bad things still happen? You just have to keep doing it, he said. I thought that was too much work for zero payoff. Good karma didn’t sound like it was for me. We were called back into court after recess, and the judge began to read my sentence. He asked what had happened, and my public defender told me to explain everything.

Down The Line

The flashback in my mind put me where I’d been that day, in front of Sierra Vista Park, where I relived my arrest. I was walking home from school with my ditch buddy, about two blocks from our high school. Get in the cop car! I thought that sounded like good advice, and I hopped right into the front seat, unaware that the park was crawling with undercover cops. A couple of seconds later, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw three more police cars closing in. I jumped out of the car and was surrounded by six officers, guns drawn. My public defender began to make a plea to the judge. She said, Your Honor, I assure you that this young lady has potential. She has been influenced by her surroundings, but I know she doesn’t deserve to go to jail. The judge looked at me and read my verdict. Probation for six months to one year. Depending on the defendant’s progress, we will reconvene in six months. This was a miracle.

Say What You Say

Every single person in the courtroom was surprised, including me. This sentence was critical, and I needed to think long and hard about what I wanted to do to change my life. So, the next day, I ditched school and went to my favorite place to think. I took the city bus to Venice Beach. I listened to music and looked out the window onto Sunset Boulevard, past the line of palm trees. The bus route ran through Beverly Hills, with its lavish mansions and expansive green landscapes, manicured lawns, manicured streets, and manicured people. It was idyllic and organized. Martens and fidgeted with my Walkman. Venice has always been gritty. I walked past the head shops and beach squatters lounging in the sun. I found a spot near the shore and sat down, away from people but close to the waves that gently bubbled up to my toes before they made their way back to sea. I stared into the ocean, looking toward the horizon. My Walkman batteries died, so I was left with my thoughts and just enough spare change to get home. A woman in the distance was walking along the water, holding her shoes in one hand and pulling up her pants with the other. Her shirt read, Best Grandma on the Planet, with balloon letters and a big cartoon planet. She got closer and greeted me with a genuine smile. She stopped, and we chatted for a bit. She had a Midwest accent that sounded like Kitty Forman from That ’70s Show. Shouldn’t you be in school? she asked, and I told her the truth. Well, I bet there’s no problem that’s bigger than that ocean, so you came to the right place. She continued talking about how we make situations in our minds bigger than they are, that’s why she loved her community garden. She added that if we are overwhelmed, we need to stop and be kind to ourselves. I wondered if she would feel the same way if I told her I had just tried to steal a cop car. She said, This is life, and whatever the situation, it will build character. What I understood from this grandma was that there is no situation that is as big as the massive body of water before us. Community gardens thrive with kind attention. The waves went from being gentle and soft to a hard tumble that submerged my legs. Waves are always changing, always adapting to the tide. Each wave is unique, like us. They had instilled in them, young, a certain discipline, the sense that one lives by doing things one does not particularly want to do, by putting fears and doubts to one side, by weighing immediate comforts against the possibility of larger, even intangible, comforts. Nature is your teacher.