I have written 12.5 novels. (The thirteenth one is a work in progress). This is the space where I share my stories with the world. There is so much to say in this life, and so little time...



Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Light, God & Beauty


People say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. I do it anyway.

If a book has a weird title, neon colors or a cartoon zombie/monster/alien on the cover, I'm probably going to purchase it. Fact: I almost bought a book printed in German (which I don't speak) because the cover artwork was so mesmerizing.

Anyway, I recently purchased "Through Painted Deserts" at Goodwill because:
1) I loved the title
2) the cover photo was very vintage
3) it cost a dollar.

The book's subtitle is "Light, God and Beauty on the Open Road." As soon as my eyes scanned those words, I was hooked. It felt like a perfect description of my job as a flight attendant...except that I cruise clouds rather than highways. Which seemed like a minor detail.

I didn't read the book immediately.

At first, I was content to simply hold the novel in my hands, admiring its black-and-white photo and riveting title. 253 pages of raw emotion awaited me, I knew. But the mystery, the waiting period was so alluring.

Today, a passenger approached me in the galley. Tears streamed down her face and her lip quivered as she explained the series of tragic events she'd endured recently.

I sat down with her and listened while she poured out her heart. I'm a "stewardess," sure...but I'm also a human being, and when someone comes to me in a state of despair, I can't help empathizing with that person. Whether she's a stranger or an old friend.

Her sniffles eventually slowed, then ceased altogether.

The girl curled up against a window. Soon she was fast asleep, exhausted from the emotional purging she'd just done.

I returned to my jumpseat in the back of the plane, and "Through Painted Deserts" stared up at me from my duffel bag.

Today was just another day on another airplane bound for a big, Southern city. But there was surely "light, God, and beauty" here on this open road.

The colors of my life are vibrant and, at times, completely overwhelming. Often the panorama is so surreal that I can't find the proper words to describe it. But I will keep trying anyway.

I will keep listening to strangers' stories and admiring their offbeat cover artwork, because it's all part of a bigger tapestry that involves love, empathy and a deep appreciation for this multi-faceted world of ours.

Whatever it is that you're doing today, I promise you're marching through a dazzling "painted desert." I also promise there is light, God and beauty along the way. Just keep your eyes open. You'll see what I'm talking about.

Love,
Lisa

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Don't Forget to be Awesome



To the little boy writing poetry in seat 17C:

I’m sorry your brothers made fun of you.

 I’m sorry your mom warned you to “stop that, it’s embarrassing.”

Adults aren’t supposed to say this, but it’s cool because I’m not actually an adult (I just look like one; I’m about 15 years old, on the inside): sometimes grown-ups invent stupid rules because they’re blinded by their own insecurities.

Yep. That’s a mouthful. But let me break it down.

Grown-ups don’t know everything.

So when your mother says that you’re doing something wrong or drawing negative attention to yourself, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.

Of course, there are times when she might be right. Now and then, your heart might lead you down a dangerous path. Foolish decisions can be so appealing; occasionally it’s tempting to do something that you know is going to hurt others.

But there are also times when your heart is going to speak so loudly and so eloquently that even you will be surprised.

Look, I’m just here to serve pretzels and make sure everyone arrives in Raleigh safely.

Nobody asked for my advice. In fact, nobody even batted an eye when I walked past (except for the guy in the exit row, but he’s been reading Maxim the whole flight and hasn’t turned the page once. He’s stuck on one particular “article,” if you know what I mean…).

So feel free to dismiss my dime-store psychology.

But, if you choose to hear the words I’m whispering into the universe, please remember this: you are allowed to express yourself in ways that others might not understand.

Poetry is not “girly.”

It’s not embarrassing, or pointless, or weird.

It doesn’t mean that you’re gay (although if you are, that’s perfectly fine).

It doesn’t mean you’re anything less than awesome.

In fact, I am inspired by your hand-written poem. I write poems too, although mine are often scribbled on paper towels and napkins. Yours looks so neat, inside that green notebook. You’ve got impressive handwriting, my friend.

Keep being you.

Keep doing your thing; you’re good at it.

And if people can’t handle your awesome quirks, it’s their loss.

 
Love,
Lisa
(a.k.a. the flight attendant wearing the huge zombie pin)

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

One Addict to Another



If you are a world-famous rockstar with millions of dollars to burn and a toxic love for heroin, then you can easily relate to the story I’m about to tell.   

Otherwise, you might be shocked. At first.

I’ve been reading “The Heroin Diaries,” which chronicles Nikki Sixx’s (the lead singer and bassist for Motley Crue) journey into the dark, twisted world of narcotics. He compares heroin to a mistress who captured his attention and then demanded everything from him. Music, friends, hygiene and sanity fell by the wayside.  Nikki’s life morphed into a quest for more drugs, stronger drugs. The high always wore off. His thirst for pleasure and fulfillment could never be quenched.

In the mid-80’s, Nikki’s heart stopped after a show in London. He died in a filthy alley. Alone and half-naked.

But he was revived.

You’d think this would set him straight, right? Give him a new appreciation for life…and maybe convince him to return to rehab?

Nope.

About a year later, Nikki died again. And was revived once more. The fact that Nikki died twice isn’t even the most baffling part; I’m more surprised that he lived to tell the tale. And that he managed to get sober, after committing so many years of his life to what is arguably the most addicting substance on earth.

“The Heroin Diaries” is, without a doubt, the toughest book I’ve ever read.

On several occasions, I had to pause and take a ten-minute break. Because it was too intense, too terrifying. Heroin caused acute paranoia for Nikki, so he often hid in his closet. He believed men in combat boots were hovering outside his front door, waiting to slice him to pieces. He also believed that his friends were spies, and his life would end prematurely. He was certain that it was his destiny to die young.

Every chapter describes an instance where Nikki lashed out at people. Usually, those people were simply trying to help him.

Every chapter also includes references to Nikki’s childhood. His main reason for using was to “numb the pain” from his past, but the drugs actually forced all those memories to resurface. Nikki’s greatest escape proved to be the most constricting force in his life. He sought freedom but wound up in chains.

Isn’t it funny how that works?

You don’t have to be an iconic singer to know that life’s biggest aches can’t be remedied by a bottle, pipe or syringe. You don’t have to be a famous rockstar to realize the things which promise relief often end up doing more harm than good.

A good friend of mine struggles with heroin addiction.

I’ve had my share of unhealthy vices, sure. My past includes plenty of shameful moments, moments I don't like to discuss. I’ve misused and abused many things, including (but certainly not limited to): my body, my mind, others’ bodies and others’ minds.  I’m a human being and therefore subject to certain disgusting habits/rituals.

But heroin has never been one of them, thank God.

No, literally…THANK GOD.

As I watched my friend fight his heroin addiction, I remember thinking: this is the hell I’ve read about, heard about, and imagined. This is misery, personified.

In fact, the reason I initially picked up “The Heroin Diaries” was to gain a better understanding of what my friend went through.

And here’s my general conclusion: none of us is “above” addiction. Nikki Sixx had a more *glamorous* life than the average person, but his struggle is no different from ours. Furthermore, his desire to banish deep-seated pain seems pretty standard.

We hate our sordid pasts. We are drawn to quick fixes and promises for a brighter future…or, at least, a brighter “right now.” We are constantly searching for utopia and a sense of importance/value/belonging. Even when that search leads us to destructive places, we linger there. We make ourselves at home. We hope that things will get better…someday.

Nikki’s former lover, an artist called “Vanity,” sobered up and found God. Nikki took a little longer to get clean, but eventually he did. Which is nothing short of a miracle.

The book reminded me how fragile we all are. Abandonment in childhood can lead us to habits so destructive they nearly kill us. Our biggest dream becomes our biggest enemy, but often we are so committed to it that taking a step back seems impossible. We just want to be loved, appreciated, respected. But we make fools of ourselves in an attempt to attain that admiration. We try to destroy the bad parts of our lives, but end up destroying the good parts too.

Grace is not to be taken lightly.

Hurt, loss, pain…it’s all real. But so are second chances.

And forgiveness.

And redemption.

Nikki Sixx was 29 years old when he wrote “The Heroin Diaries.” My age.

Though our lives are very different, there are some striking similarities. You want control, Nikki. You want the beauty but not the pain. You want love and admiration and to stay young without actually confronting your youth.

I hear ya. Trust me, I know what that’s like.

You chose to self-destruct because it was easier than actually facing your demons.

Been there. Done that. We’re on the same page, my friend.

But then something amazing happened. You found the strength to turn away from those dirty syringes. You admitted you needed help. You sought it, wholeheartedly. And shared your harrowing tale with millions of strangers.

Nikki, you turned it around. Your private hell is now public, which took a LOT of guts.

2014 is my year of being brave. Yours began the moment you decided to share your excruciating, nauseating, surprisingly relatable story with the world. There is no shame. Only acceptance and, more importantly, hope.

Love,
Lisa

Saturday, February 1, 2014

LOVE FREELY


Life is meant to be this way-
One city to another
In the span of half a day
Twelve hundred miles to cover.

To the tune of morning rain
The passengers start boarding.
Island laughter fills the plane,
Illuminates the morning…

“To Montego Bay!” we cry-
“Island life awaits you!”
We pick up speed, then start to fly
With grayish clouds to soar through.

A yawn, a stretch, then time to work
I shimmy toward the last row
Inquiries escape the lips
Of strangers in the shadows

“Do you do always work this route?”
A woman blinks up at me.
“Does it wear ever wear you down?”
Her counterpart asks lightly.

I smile, shrug, and wave my hand
“It’s nothing but adventure.
I had a dream, I took a chance-
And, in the end, found treasure.”

The woman reaches for my arm
Her eyes are wide with wonder.
She tells me she’s afraid to fly
Afraid of diving under…

Afraid of living to the max
And staring straight at danger.
Afraid to look ahead or back
Or in the eyes of strangers.

I point out, that cannot be right:
She’s heading someplace foreign-
She booked a flight and held on tight
Then waved goodbye to boring.

She broke the barriers of fear,
And apathy, and panic.
She had the guts to make it here
Above the blue Atlantic.

She had the guts to talk to me
Which seems a bit courageous.
She’d shown a lot more bravery
Than I had seen in ages...

She seems to be so shocked by this,
Like I’ve made quite a statement.
And soon the plane begins to dip
Toward the island pavement.

Passengers get up to leave
Their smiles tell a story:
Vacation at their fingertips,
Freedom, beauty, glory.

That woman is the last to go.
Her actions then surprise me-
With tears about to overflow
She hugs me pretty tightly.

“I don’t know you,” she explains,
“But you have really changed me.
You had nothing here to gain,
Yet you loved me freely.”

I cannot find words to say,
Which doesn’t happen often…
I smile and watch her walk away-
Gone, but not forgotten.