It Rains Even In Paradise

It rains even in paradise.

What a simple reminder that even beauty needs nourishment.

That there is joy in the rain.

Every droplet a sweet kiss to growth.

A whisper saying, “Let’s cry together, let’s release.”

I’ve been mourning the loss of the old me for the past two years. Not realizing that she is not coming back and maybe she shouldn't.

While living in Bali, my housemate and I would hosted dinner with one of our best Bali friends. The conversations were always super deep and yummy. On one particular night, our friend asked me and my housemate what was our greatest fear, I said I didn't have that many fears anymore. I'm known as the risk taker, the go-getter; so other than physical fears like a fear of heights, I can't think of much.

The conversation went on and the topic of fear of success came up. They shared about being afraid of immense success and having to maintain that level of success. Upon hearing this, I stated that I have no such fear but my biggest worry right now is that the spark I need to get me there won't return.

Everything I've ever wanted in life, I chased wholeheartedly and I got it!  But after years of stress and overworking, I hit a wall. I was burnt out. Ever since then I've resigned to the fact that I am in a resting period and the energy I need (my ambitious spark) will return...eventually.

After listening to me rattle on about something that made complete sense to me my friend looked at me like I was completely nuts. She said, “Why would you want to go back to functioning in a way that made you sick? You are waiting for something that's not going to happen. I'm sorry to tell you but that old you is dead and shouldn't come back.”

She broke it down like this: maybe the reason I'm so tired and have no energy is because my body is protecting me from doing the same harm I did to it last time. You know that every time I got excited about a project, I’d work myself to the bone and I end up mentally drained and most recently physically sick. So instead of going through that cycle, my body says “Oh no team, here she goes again getting herself all worked up. It's time to shut her down!” AKA it's time for rest.

After coming at me with a mega proverbial punch-kick combination, the universe yelled “Finish her!” and she roundhouse kicked me with, “This is the new you and you better learn how to create from this place.”

This place? This place of uncertainty? Sometimes I don't even know how to motivate myself out of bed. What do you mean create from this place?

As searing as her words were a part of me knew she was right. It resonated deeply. I'm not that girl anymore and cannot be that girl anymore. I'm a woman now. I must operate out of the level of compassion and softness that my weary body can understand. I need to make sure that my mind, body, and soul can trust me again.

So I guess it’s time to complete the stages of grief and accept this.

Dear Younger Donalee,  

Thank you for carrying me this far. Thank you for your persistence, determination, and stubbornness. Your strength transformed me from a statistic to a standout. I did things many people from where I'm from can only dream of. I honor your strong will and hard work. Everything I have today is because of you.

But sweetie the time has come for me to take all the lessons but leave the weight. Now I need to be strong and soft. Driven but receptive. Sure but unsure. So today I release you. Thank you for taking me this far but the higher me is calling and I must go to her. I love you, I honor you.

Love,

Donalee Curtis 2.0

Granny's Verandah

from the archives

My entire childhood can be found painted on the walls of my maternal grandmother’s house. I’ve heard that memories start at around age 4 and even though I left Jamaica at 7, most of who I am was built in those short memory years.

It was there I learned that there is a fine line between responsibility and freedom. Waking up every morning and going to catch water from the community pipe for our drums before running off into the bush to play for hours. It was there my curiosity and sense of adventure came alive, creating worlds between trees and embodying different characters among friends. Not only did we dream up towns but we built them too. Using whatever materials we could find, nature and trash included, we built homes and shops. Walking, climbing and picking the feast of the wild. Our bellies were full with laughter and fruit.

On my grandmother’s verandah is where I learned to shell peas, wash naseberries and stockpile almond seeds. It's where my friends gathered to suss (gossip) and where we combed our hair. When the evening came it also became our boundary, God forbid if we got our feet dirty after the night’s bath!

Sleeping in granny’s house is where I learned to hate the dark. After the lights of the kerosene lamps went dim, it was only me, the blackest night, the sounds of my family breathing and the occasional rat scurrying across the roof. One could only pray that sleep would come quickly to save me from my own imagination.

But the same zink roof that amplified a tiny creature’s footsteps into the ugliest beast’s hooves, is the same roof that made the music of a rainy day. The sweetest choir lulling one to rest. Do you know the sound of country rain? From the first drops rushing everyone to take the clothes off the line and open the lids of the drums, to the downpour of heaven persisting on your stillness as you wait for mother nature to complete her lovemaking with the earth. Then there is the pitter patter of the end trail of her joy giving way to the community coming alive again. Oh to know nature in this way, to wait on her, to praise her.

It was my grandmother’s house that taught me about change. When we migrated I expected to come back to everything just as I left it. But nothing stays the same, for better or for worst. My friends changed and so did I. On visits, our conversations became a hungry how are you, hoping to connect again, desperate to find common ground, but the truth is we never really did. I moved from the simplest of life to the complex world of the US. A place with so many layers and intricacies that I was trying to understand and navigate. How do I explain to them that it’s nothing like the movies and things were hard. Not hard in a country life way but in a systematic stressed out way. One is not better than the other they are just different. Different in ways that I couldn’t explain.

Eventually my grandmother’s verandah disappeared, along with a few neighbors and family members. Etched into my memory these oracles and monuments haunt me. Every trip home there is a new change. Even though the physical changes to granny’s house (added rooms, a new patio, indoor kitchen and bathroom, running water and electricity) were all good things, the selfishness inside me cried with each new concrete block. Why did they change the verandah, of all things? It’s too different.

Selfishness aside, every change became a testament of my family’s resilience and hard work. We made it somehow. Fighters, scholars, hard workers, lovers. The only way to get beyond the poverty that rural life can bring is to fight. Fight to earn a living, fight for an education, fight for a better life, even if it means leaving where we love; granny’s house.

Some of the best years of my childhood can be found painted on the walls of my granny’s house. Pass the new front room and step into the heart, the core is the same. This house that taught me about change and love. The house that speaks to my adulthood. My family built a solid foundation but oh do we know how to renovate, decorate and make additions.

Coming home is like hearing the call for dinner after a romp through the bush. Leaving the memories of what was to face the reality of what is, then feeling the warmth of stew peas and rice filling a hunger that you forgot you had.

Mountain Fog

from the archives

The Blue Mountains breathed life back into me. When planning my trip home, I knew I needed the mountains to be first stop and I needed spend a significant period there. I packed books, sweaters (way too many sweaters), palo santo, sage, and notebooks. I had many ideas of what to do when I got there. I wanted to make the best use of my four days. I wanted to return from the mountain changed and clear. It happened, but not the way I planned. 

As we ascended the mountain, full of anticipation and ready to be cleansed of the weight of the “real” world, I was also relinquished of my plan. We arrived at dusk in a cloud of damp fog that held up the belly of the rain just in time for us to pull into the driveway. As if God herself was welcoming us with tears of joy, the sky burst open and bathed us.

After the fire was lit and we brewed our first of many cups of coffee, we sat, drank and marveled at the beautiful rustic setting we would call home. It didn’t take much for me to realize that this was the whole point of the trip - to do nothing. To allow the windows of my soul to study every moment, every tchotchke, every leaf, every star and every dew drop.

I became obsessed with being present. Filling the spiritual void with stillness and gratitude, I no longer craved food. One of my fondest memories was running through the garden in the rain. I’ve never seen lushness like this before - the flowers drooped under the weight of the morning rain and the colors! They shone deep and bright under the giving sky. I felt like a child discovering nature for the first time. And even though I shared this scenery with my travel-mate and a few hundred townspeople a couple miles away, in this moment I felt like it was my special secret. My wonderland.

On one of the nights I dragged my friend to lay under the stars. Armed with blankets and a little bit of fear, we used the lights from our phones to guide us to the perfect patch of grass. Laying back waiting for our eyes to adjust, we giggled. It was pitch black at first and the night's ominous sounds caused us to wonder if this was a good idea. As soon as the doubt arose it was calmed by the magic of the stars. Shining like our hopes and dreams among the black void of space. We instantly understood who we were. The space between earth and sky melted and we became astronauts. 

When there wasn’t silence, there was warm communion. Woman to woman we stripped ourselves bare and unpacked. Offering nothing but honored listening, we took refuge in the dialogue. How did two Queens allow programmed reality to dull the jewels in our crown? Worshiping, witnessing and reuniting, we kissed our reflections, gathered our robes, and descended.

Worshiping, witnessing and reuniting, we kissed our reflections, gathered our robes, and descended.

The fog released us just as it welcomed us, thick, misty and full of hope. 

The Beautiful In-between

from the archives

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the in-between. I feel like no one talks about the in-between. In-between jobs, relationships, passions, careers. Not the transition, I’m talking even in-between that. That weird lull. The panic, the anticipation of what to anticipate. The what the hell. And the silent pain and the searching. The aimless searching. The searching for what to search for. That in-between.

This is where I am. But here is the problem, I didn’t know I was allowed to have an in-between. I thought you get a rest period and then everything picks back up. But after quitting my last job and resting, I still wasn’t ready to face the world. I was starting my in-between.

Lost in the confusion. I’ve searched for articles, read self-help books, spoke to friends, and grasp for any notion that I am not loosing my mind. But the truth is I felt (and in some ways still feel) like I’ve lost my mind. Lost who I am. Lost my breath. I constantly find myself feeling like I CAN NOT BREATHE. Questioning why I am here? If I don’t know who I am then why should I be here. If I were to walk out my door and never return would anyone even notice. and do I have the courage to do that?

You see the mind is a beautiful thing but it’s so dangerous when it’s lost. Even though I am still in this phase I feel like I’m at the tail end. I have questioned enough to figure out that what I am going through should be a topic of conversation. Surely I am not the only person that has felt like this! I think I’m special but I’m not that special.

Yes, this blog post is and not a whoa is me post. But attempting to put how I feel into words is a small inhale. I won’t begin to try and tell anyone how to fix themselves to get through this but I will share what has helped me.

Here is a list because it’s 2016 and it’s not worth reading if lists aren't involved.

1. Self-reflection: For me, self-reflection is part of self love. It’s the alone time you take to sit with yourself and weed through the barnacles of your mind. What’s gong on in there? When I am practicing self care, I question my negative thoughts. I attack them on site. Through journaling, long walks, & praying/meditation. I dig deep into why I feel the way I do, what triggered these emotions and then dig even deeper into that. One thing I’ve learned is that the problem is never what we think it is. Take the WHY six levels deeper and maybe then you will find something new.

2. Patience: The work of yourself is a life long journey. You are not going to get to the best version of yourself overnight so you might as well relax. One of the biggest things that would drive me crazy was the fact that I could not wake up early. I would hit my alarm clock for the umpteenth time and then beat myself up because once again it’s 11am and I am still in bed. That’s when the negative self talk would happen. You’re worthless, you can’t do anything right, if you can’t do a simple thing as wake up on time then no wonder you can’t do anything right. After realizing the pattern, I took note of how it set a terrible tone for the rest of the day. After becoming tired of feeling so worked up over this one thing I decided to be patient with myself. I thought well if my body is unwilling to get up then let me be patient with her. Through my patience I became kind. Now slowly but surely I am waking up earlier and earlier, sometimes without even an alarm.

3. Intuition: One of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made was not listening to my gut. I knew I needed to leave my job earlier, I knew i needed to rest more. 100% of my pain is knowing what I need to do but not listening to myself. There are still things in my life that I am being stubborn over. Fear is the devil.

4. Sleep: As I said earlier I have issues with waking up, in addition to that I feel guilty that I am not sleeping less and grinding more. As I have stated before over sleeping gives me so much guilt. But I also had to learn that under sleeping is not worth my sanity. Allowing myself to rest while I get ready for the next phase of my life is essential. I know for a fact that once I have reconnected with my passions and hit a stride, there won't be a lot of sleep involved. So I might as well take full advantage of this down time.

5. Support system: I talk about a good support system all the time! I have a great team. Even though I have major trust issues, I know exactly who to call for a girls night, who to discuss dreams and motivations with and who to call and cry to. When going through a dark phase, you can’t tell your secrets with just anyone. You have to find people who won’t project their issues onto you, people who have been there and people who you admire. Not everyone is ready or equipped to carry your cross with you. Don’t make the burden heavier than it needs to be by trusting the wrong people.

6. More patience: breathe and forgive yourself. Tell yourself it’s ok that you felt too shitty to workout today and just make sure that you get up and try again tomorrow. Patience is not an excuse for failing, it just makes trying again easier.

7. Solitude and Solidarity: After sitting with myself and understanding the weight I was under I decided to find people OUTSIDE of my support system that I could converse with. I found women only groups in my area, entrepreneurial groups and women only activities to attend. I am a woman on a mission and I wanted to find women like me. Even though I am going through a lot, I know that it’s important to be around women who are actively working on themselves as well. These women have become my low key accountability partners. I’ve received random calls of encouragement, made important business collaborations and friendships. Because we are all on this entrepreneurial journey, we all understand what it takes.

8. Acceptance: Lastly, there is acceptance. I accept where I am on this journey and even though it's hard not to compare where I am to my cohort, I do know that I am headed for greatness. Not every part of my journey will be beautiful but I need to go through all of it because there is a lesson in every chapter.

I still have bad days. Hell, right before I finished writing this I was feeling so low about my situation. But the good news is; with each breath is an opportunity to start over.

exhale.

Did You Breathe Today?

from the archives

Finding the delicate balance between embracing a more relaxed lifestyle, and engaging my skills to achieve my creative and financial goals has been at the top of my mind lately. Even though I am a little over a month into this journey, the pressure of finding discipline is ever present and real. Just because I am on the road living a nomadic life doesn’t mean I don’t have responsibilities. It doesn’t mean I don’t have debt, and it surely doesn’t mean I don’t need to earn an income. But I've come to realize that my “impending doom” is all in my head. I’ve already landed my first freelance contract and, all things considered, I am doing just fine.

Being a stranger everywhere I go limits the amount of outside pressure I feel, the need to compare myself to anyone, and the urge to conform to westernized societal norms. The fear of falling behind doesn’t exist in some ways, but definitely exists in a couple of other ways. Not many people I know are doing what I am doing, so as far as my circle goes, I am in a league of my own. And because of this, I am quickly realizing that finding and TRUSTING my own pace is paramount. I set the tone for each day, leaving me to figure out how to be disciplined but fluid. How to work hard but to find joy in the work. How to approach creating content as a priority but also as therapy. How to be where I am, as I am. Though these things were all important in my old life, disappointment seems heavier now that I am the only person I report to. I gave up everything I know to travel the world and reunite with my higher self while creating soul moving content and manifesting life changing experiences. The thought of not accomplishing any of that because I couldn’t find the discipline is heartbreaking.

In the same breath, how is it possible to feel so present, to feel mesmerized by the seconds in a minute? Everything slows down. Life is more vivid, and more pleasurable. Despite fleeting moments of overthinking, I have not been so present and so content in a long time. Downtown Los Angeles feels like a lifetime ago. This doesn’t feel like a new chapter, but more like a highly anticipated sequel that took so long to create that we need a refresher to remember all the parts that lead us here. There are faces and memories I keep close to my heart but so much of it is a blur. Cleansed like God’s breath after a Nicaraguan rainy day, I am made new in every moment.

A few nights ago while drinking wine and watching the most amazing sunset over Playa Maderas with fellow travelers, the conversation turned to the reasons for the difference between this version of ourselves and the way we are when we are back home. I didn’t add anything to the conversation, but as I listened to others share, this question dug into me. I honestly didn’t have anything to say at the time, but the longer I sat with the question, the more some things came to mind. I know the obvious answer is because in a new place you can be who you are without fear of reprisal from the people who “know” you. But could it be something else? Could it be that we used other people’s perception of us as an excuse not to be who we really are? Did we choose to sit back and become a pool of shallow water, reflecting much and contributing little? Did we suppress our nine year old selves in order to belong?

As a solo traveler, there is little need to belong because I always stick out. The way I act, dress, speak, eat - it's all different. And as a traveler locals accept me as such; different. No one is expecting me to fully conform to their cultural and societal norms and in a few days/weeks I will be gone. As long as I respect traditions and etiquette, I’m good money. Comforting, right? And in terms of other travelers, it’s like a revolving door of people. I am not saying I don’t crave connections or the connections are superficial. I just feel like the connections I am making are coming from a more raw and natural place. In the past few weeks I’ve had some of the realest, deepest conversations with people I will probably never see again and gone on a random adventure with folks that my path would have never crossed otherwise. I guess what I am saying is that we are different while traveling because we are truly present with each interaction. We are open.

I can safely say, I have always been a bit of an odd ball. A risk taker, if you will. But even I have felt the need to do the “right” things. But I also know that you (unlike me) don’t have to be dragged by life or completely get off your path to realize that you must be who you truly are unapologetically. Like a good friend likes to remind me, “Don’t forget to breathe.” When the overthinking starts, I breathe. When the debt back home comes knocking on my door, I breathe. When I taste fear crawling back up my throat, I breathe. I close my eyes and breathe, then I open them and remember that I am on the trip of a lifetime, creating my truth in each moment. My only job is to be present and manifest.

“A woman must be careful to not allow over-responsibility (or over-respectability) to steal her necessary creative rests, riffs, and raptures. She simply must put her foot down and say no to half of what she believes she "should" be doing. Art is not meant to be created in stolen moments only.”

-Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype

Did you breathe today?

Cover Photo by Fabian Møller on Unsplash