I have tried to write this post twice and each time Tumblr has deleted it. I am trying one final time.
I am 37 yrs old. Do I want to have a baby or not? This is a question I ask myself time and time again.
I am an artist. I am independent and creative and intelligent and I love making things. It is what moves me and makes me happy. I could do what I do for the rest of my life and be totally happy if…
…every time I saw a baby or small child, I didn’t get horrible pangs in my ovaries.
I adore children and I feel a physical pull toward them. I have a strong, physical need to fulfill my biological imperative. BUT I don’t want to give up being me. I am selfish. I am an artist. In ten years, I’ll probably be ready to settle down, but right now I am not. In ten years, I will not be able to have a baby.
There in is the rub.
My dad sent me a very thick manila envelope filled with stuff about egg freezing that he’d printed off the internet. I know at least a dozen women who have gone this route, but it’s expensive and, in the end, not completely full proof. I am just not sure it’s for me.
Often I wish I was a man. Men seem to be able to have careers and a family. They are able to do it late in life, too. I know a number of men in their fifties with toddlers. This is not an option for me.
Yes, I can adopt - I think about this, too, and I haven’t ruled it out. But the ability to have a biological child is going away fast and soon the choice will be made for me.
It’s a non-choice choice this just waiting to see what will happen - but right now it’s all I’ve got.
What say you, Ladies? You picking up what I’m putting down? I’m curious to see if someone out there, based on their own experiences, can allay my mind and help me get some perspective.
So I got a very excited email from my mom this morning. She is moving and the email was to let me know that she is sick of all the Buffy/Amber stuff she has been hoarding in storage for me for years and finally wants to say Hasta La Vista to it.
She has a few unsigned Triangle Tara dolls ($15 + shipping), some Buffy pictures ($10 + shipping), and copies of my first two films, Chance and Lovers, Liars and Lunatics ($20 each + shipping).
So, if you’re interested…contact my mom at: firstname.lastname@example.org & help her clear out her storage unit!
As part of our Comic-Con International coverage this year, Hero Complex reached out to a select group of actors and writers, asking them to document their experiences in San Diego. Amber Benson — …
We repeat patterns. We get those old neural pathways ingrained in our grey matter and the synapses just keep firing over and over again, sending us down the same roads, inflicting us with the same feelings and habits until they’re all we know.
That’s why change frightens us. It resets those neural pathways, creates more of them, restructures how we think and feel. Change can often be a good thing, but Fear that change won’t be good, well, that’s why we hold on to the bad things, repeat bad habits. Plus treading those old neural pathways feels good, is pleasurable, even. The familiar just feels ‘right’.
Even when it’s not.
Sometimes we’re no different from those poor carriage horses who have blinders on––they just move forward without thought or context, someone/something else guiding their path. That’s what happens to us when we get set in our ways and take the easy road that feels familiar––when we should take the hard road, the one that will make us grow.
Robert Frost had it right in The Road Not Taken.
Today I had one of those neural pathway moments. It was not good. My expectations were such that I went right to that bad place in my mind––a place created by years of one, particular kind of experience. When I realized where I had gone, and how my brain had craved the bad, suspicious feelings…it made me cry.
I don’t want to be the person who has those thoughts anymore––and besides, no one deserves to wear a yoke placed in your hands by the actions of someone else.
Yesterday was a bleh day. Sometimes you just have days like that. I did some work - hated everything I did and have already started re-writing it - and tried to spend some time with my lady friends I’m producing this short film, Uggs For Gaza, with, but I wasn’t great company. I blame my horoscope entirely. It predicted I would be impotent and unable to express myself.
I don’t like being impotent. Yesterday I needed Viagra for the soul.
Do they make that? And if they do, does it cause heart palpitations and cardiac arrest in exchange for a soul boner?
Because maybe I don’t want a soul boner that badly.
Soul boners aside (or astride), today was better. I got more work done and I had a real laughing jag over my coining of the term ‘soul boner’ - although I’m sure someone else has already coined it and I’m just riding coattails.
Still, today is a minor bleh day, as well. Not that I blame my horoscope. Today it said I would have peace of mind. So, there’s that, at least.
I didn’t stay in bed all day like I planned. I got up, took a shower, brushed my teeth…well, you get the picture. Now I’m sitting here writing. I’m supposed to be writing book stuff, but instead I am writing this blog while I listen to Billy Bragg and Wilco doing ‘California Stars’.
Being creative for a living is a blessing, but sometimes - like today - I look at the guy sitting next to me and wish I was the one holding a little box of tools, that I went from job to job, fixing things, having a finite time to my work, so that when I was done for the day, I was done.
I am never done. I am always at work.
I used to feel terribly guilty whenever I goofed off - I SHOULD BE WORKING! - but this has subsided some as I’ve gotten older and realized that work is not everything. Work does not define me (yes, it does) and it’s okay to have a life (no, it’s not).
You can’t write things, act things, make things…if all you do is work. You have to experience life. You have to laugh like an idiot, you have to sob like your soul is pouring out your eyes, you have to listen to the silence and revel in the noise…all of this is integral to creating.
I forget this sometimes. I get caught up in the work.
Alcohol (in moderation), good friends, food, music, movies, books…these are the things that remind me work is not everything. Life is fleeting. It is here and then gone so quickly we are idiots if we don’t enjoy at least a little bit of it.
Tomorrow I will think about staying in bed all day. I will maybe luxuriate in being under my brown comforter that leaks feathers. I will maybe stay in my PJ’s until it gets dark outside.
Today I am working. I swear it.
I am working.
I believe in it. Or maybe I should say that I am open to it.
I know that when I start thinking about somebody, I am either going to run into them or get a phone call from them. It’s been like that my whole life. I’ve tried to manifest this experience, but forcing it never works. It happens when it happens, totally autonomously from what I want.
I’m in the process of writing a new series of books - witches are the theme - and the more stuff I read as I research the topic, the more interested I become in the idea that magic or miraculous happenings are somehow tied into the concept of Synchronicity. When something magical/miraculous happens, it’s easy to be in awe of it, to credit some supernatural force to its occurrence - which may well be the case, I can’t discount it - but maybe another way of looking at it is that it’s just a synchronous event. Maybe it’s only a confluence of cause and effect from a thousand different smaller moments, leading up to this one larger miraculous/magical experience. All of this happens behind the scenes, out of our direct line of view, so that the event appears magical/miraculous.
I don’t know. I like the idea of living in a world where magic exists…but I’ve never really been privy to it. So in these new books I wanted to create a world where magic is like quantum physics: A whole bunch of molecular events happening on a subatomic level so they can’t be witnessed by the naked eye. It’s still magic, but it’s a magic that’s a little more tangible.
I’m hoping that my research adventures into the world of Magic, Witches, Wicca, and the Occult will open up new avenues of thought. Or maybe something magical/miraculous will happen and I will then have first hand proof that the supernatural is alive and well in this world.
I’m keeping my mind open and my curiosity intact.
I am not a game player. It puts me at a disadvantage. Especially when it comes to dating. With my friends, it’s a different bag. I am not counted out for being honest about who I am or what I want - but when it comes to dating and romantic stuff…jeeza-louisa.
Is there some rule book that I didn’t get? Because it feels like there’s this rigid framework in place that I totally have not been clued into.
It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t make me sad or angry…more like confused and uncertain.
So many dudes talk about how difficult women are, how they can’t get laid, they can’t get a girlfriend or even a date…well, I’m here to tell you that it’s not limited to men. Women deal with the same stuff. We’re just quiet about it.
Scratch that. We’re not quiet about it, we talk ad nauseum about it to our girlfriends, but we don’t write blog posts about it (well, maybe a few) or put it out there in the pop culture medium (well, a few do - to their credit). I think finding a partner - or, Hell, just someone to go see a movie with - is difficult all the way around. For everyone.
But it’s the game playing that kills me. I just can’t do it.
There’s this whole weird thing where you’re supposed to pretend like you’re not interested in someone so that they work really hard to get your attention.
For example, there’s like some archaic rule that if you don’t reply to some dude’s texts, he will - I swear to God - literally text you non-stop a whole, one-sided conversation that you never once have to reply to and by the end of it he’s like begging you to go out with him. But if you make the mistake of even once replying back during his frenzy…then he immediately stops texting you.
So what am I supposed to do? Be a pretend texting fisherman? Trying to hook some poor guy with my disinterest and then coming in for the kill after letting him text himself into oblivion?
I like you. You like me. Seems like a really simple concept, right?
Makes me want to get myself to a nunnery. At least you’re safe from all the bullshit there.
Because God doesn’t text.