change – Brooke Lyn Landon

Six Minutes After My Grandfather’s Death

Six minutes ago I got a message from my father.

At the time, I had my imaginary chefs hat on while preparing breakfast for the dogs I was taking care of for the week. I swear, it takes more time to prepare their meals than my own.

I glanced down when I saw my phone light up.

“Panna left the planet last night. He is free. I’m on phone with Dan now.”

I went from Gordon Ramsey to Forrest Gump as I raced to feed the dogs.

As soon as I could get my hands free, I responded.

“He’s free”

I didn’t know what else to say.

I wanted to keep it positive so my dad didn’t think he just lost his father and his daughters mind in the same morning.

On my way down the stairs I left a voice memo to my friend, Lily, to update her on my ever changing, ridiculous life.

I then sent out a generic but sincere “I love you” text to my mom, dad, Uncle Dan, and sister, while I laid down on the couch. That’s where I am now, processing the last 10 minutes of my life.

I only got emotional towards the end of my voice memo to Lily, while thinking about what an incredible, funny, beautiful soul, just finished his time on Earth.

I’m surprised how I’m feeling, but it’s probably not why you think.

For years now, I was certain that at the news of my grandfathers inevitable passing, I would feel a certain type of way. Guilty.

Not the guilty feeling you get when you see someone has something in their teeth and you watch them walk away as your question your morals. I mean the guilt that stays with you for years.

Guilt for not calling more. Guilt for not making more of an effort to spend time with him. Guilt for not asking more questions about his extraordinary, inspiring life. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

So the fact that I don’t feel that emotion right now is beyond me.

If I could describe how I’m feeling right now, the first thing that would come to mind is tired if I’m being completely honest.

I also feel annoyed, but that’s because of a boy. When are boys not annoying though? They have the emotional intelligence of one of the dogs I’m watching after, that eats its own shit, tries to swallow rocks, and bumps into walls. 72% serious. Maybe I just need to start talking to different men. That’s besides the point.

The main feeling I have in regards to the passing of my grandfather is peace. Peace for his sake. He’s free, and I’m happy for him. His biggest fear was death, but I believe it to be a blessing for him. At 96 years old, he could only do so much more living. In fact, at that point it was more existing than living.

I feel gratitude. He was such a cool dude (my grandfather, not the boy I’m annoyed with) and so many of my talents I give him credit for. He was a standup comedian, voiceover actor, and followed his passions while bringing joy and laughter constantly to those around him.

I hope to follow in his footsteps, not his posture. Too soon to be making jokes? I think he would have laughed.

Lastly I feel relief. Not only for him as I mentioned before, but for myself! I spent so much time abroad worrying about my grandfather leaving this planet and me being swamped with guilt.

How ironic that my last moments by his side, I sang to him “Guilty” by Billy Holiday.

I don’t feel guilt. I feel growth.

I’ve come a long way. I know we all do the best we can and I am no exception to that. Yes, I wish I did do more with him, but there’s no point in feeling guilty. I’m worthy of feeling good and having a good life, guilt free, just as my grandfather would wish. So was he. So are you.

I’m happy that I give myself permission to witness my grandfather transition with ease, not guilt.

Rest in Paradise Leo De Lyon.

With love, always,

Little Lyon

From a Dating App to Apnea

In retrospect, you begin to notice the breadcrumbs you’ve followed to get you to where you are today. Sometimes, it’s more obvious than others. Sometimes, it’s life changing. Sometimes, it starts with a right swipe, and sometimes it’s all of the above.

For those who don’t know, I’ve been having severe sleep issues for the past year. I’m talking an average of three to four hours of sleep a night and I don’t even have a cool night out or event to make up for it. Just me, living like Edward Cullen, but instead of my life being a romantic drama, it’s a comedy freak show.

I work four jobs, have lots of passion projects, and a big social life. My friends don’t understand how I’m still alive, and I’ll be honest, I don’t know either. With barely having enough time to take a piss, I’ve added dating to the mix because go big or go home, right?

I believe I was on the back of a motorbike on my way to work when I came across the dating profile of a Vietnamese American backpacker who got stuck in Vietnam due to the pandemic. 91 counties traveled, nice smile, and didn’t come across as a serial killer, so I swiped right. As a former backpacker, I’ve always appreciated the kind gestures of others, so figured I’d return the favor by letting him stay with me a few nights on his way South.

I told him about my sleeping issues. He actually seemed to care more about my sleep than me. He would make me turn off the lights and go to bed at 10, got me a box of chamomile tea, and literally spent over 30 minutes one night telling me a boring bedtime story to try to help me fall asleep.

It was appreciated, but ultimately didn’t fix much. After he left, he would continue to ask me how I slept every day. He encouraged me to see a doctor to get to the bottom of my sleeping issues. It’s never something I would have done on my own at that time, but he inspired me to take action by making me face the severity of my situation.

I remember the moment it hit me. Curious about my condition, he continued to ask me questions and I continued to make light of it. That is, until he sent me a voice memo saying “You know this is taking years off of your life you can never get back, right? You need to sleep.” Like no shit I need to sleep, but I was so in denial about it being such an issue until I heard those words.

Lo and behold, my nose doesn’t work correctly, my throat doesn’t close properly, and quite frankly, how I’ve managed to function thus far is questionable. This past week has been one doctor visit after the next, but I am so much closer to getting the sleep that will change my life forever. Sometimes, if you follow the breadcrumbs life gives you, you’ll be lead to the right person, in the right place, at the right time, to hear the right thing. I now care way less that he was really messy and sent my OCD through the roof. It was worth the right swipe.

I Just Wanna Be Fuckin’ Happy

photo-1588031710692-25195b092ab1

I was minding my own business, on the back of a motorbike heading out of Tay Ho, Vietnam, when my Spotify shuffled to a random song by Julia Michaels. “What kind of sorcery is this?” I thought to myself as I gazed down to find out the artist and title. The song is called “Happy”, but it’s not about rainbows, butterflies, or drugs. The song is about sadness and heartache. She sang it in a way that touched me in my feels. It’s not often a song will turn me into a total softie while bobbing my head back and forth like I’m preparing for a mosh. However, the reason I was taken aback wasn’t because of that.

Why would a song about heartbreak, and not being happy, resonate with me so much when my life is good? That song essentially put me into a time machine, and flew me back to my cringy yet significantly trimmer and more youthful 16-year-old self. It made me think about times that I didn’t particularly want to go back to, and question many of my life choices. Yet, I still pressed repeat when I knew the song was coming to an end.

The next time I heard her sing the chorus, “I just wanna be fuckin’ happy.”, I asked myself what I had probably been suppressing for a long time. Am I really fucking happy? The fact that I asked that question was enough to know the answer was no. Don’t get me wrong, my life is great. I’m surrounded by an incredible community and wonderful friends. I love my family and have created a beautiful life for myself. I have a good life and I’m happy, but I’m not really fucking happy.

By that I mean, I still have voids I’m trying to fill. I still believe that my life will be better once I start my own business, or once I’m waking up every morning next to the doppelgänger of Leonardo DiCaprio from Titanic. (Yes, specifying Titanic rather than The Revenant makes a big difference in my book.) A part of me feels empty because I’ve created a life where the future, and things outside of myself, hold my conditional happiness. I was and am living a great life, but what’s keeping me from being really fucking happy is complete acceptance and gratitude for what is, regardless of other things I want that have yet to manifest in my life.

I am choosing in this moment to put my value and focus on different things. To bring my attention to the good that I have now rather than what I want in the future. That’s not to say I can’t have dreams and desires, but what I need to do is stop putting so much hype, hope, or worry on the future, that I feel my present is less valuable. Wanting more from life is fine and normal. However, needing something more to feel better, is not a goal we should strive for, yet we seem to have collectively agreed it’s alright.

Many think that in order to change your life, get what you want, and be fucking happy, we have to do something different. Although that’s not wrong, it’s not where to begin. It’s not about doing or having. It’s about being. Who do we have to become? Who do we have to be to change? We have been brought up in a world revolved around doing, but we won’t be taking the right actions if we haven’t become the right person first.

I am choosing to become more grateful and appreciative for what is. I am going to become more present and mindful. I am going to observe my thoughts, feel my feelings, and accept them without resistance. I am going to chill the fuck out and be fucking happy not by changing what I do or have, but who I am. Then, I’ll be truly fucking happy.

Does This Movement Matter?

2B371882-84D4-486C-9CE0-3C12EE967310 Does this movement matter? Um duh, but clickbait is a thing. That said, this may be one of the hardest blog posts I’ve ever written. Mind you, I’ve published blog posts about my biggest fears and insecurities, put people on blast, exposed my sex life and addictions, and posted a blog about my relapse just days after. Then, why is this so difficult?

I’ve always been an open person. When it comes to talking about me, I have no shortage of things to say. However, what’s going on in the US right now, being a white privileged female, living in Vietnam, feels so far from me. I want to know what to say, but I don’t. My heart hurts for the world and the people of color who have so many obstacles in our society, but I could never claim to understand what they’re going through. In the past when riots like this in my country broke out, I stayed silent because I felt my voice wouldn’t make a difference. I hid and took advantage of my white privilege by closing my eyes and ears to the truth that our society was and still is so fucked.

Don’t think so? In 2018, the median income for an African American household was $41,361 U.S. dollars compared to $70,642 for non-Hispanic white households. About 40% of homelessness in the U.S. is African American even though they only make up 13% of the population, and the poverty rate is 20.8%, which is more than double the poverty rate for white people. (8.1%) We haven’t even started talking about racism. 78% of African Americans think they’re being treated unfairly and 15.8% of black students in the US reported experiencing race-based bullying or harassment.

Black lives matter. But why talk about it if what I say won’t really make a difference? Because that’s only what I thought, but what I thought may not be true. That goes for us all. It’s so easy to think we can’t make a difference. “Who am I to make the world better?” “There’s no hope.” “This will end soon enough without my help.” etc. There are millions of copouts as to why we don’t need to speak up or act out. Deep down though, we know it feels wrong to be complacent because we’re lying to ourselves when we say we can’t make a difference. I’m not telling you to go climb the Empire State Building, and cause a scene. Our actions don’t have to be big or acknowledged by the masses to make a difference. More simple acts of kindness can make an impactful change.

I will never forget September 11th for many reasons, but one being what happened to my mother that morning. She was in a grocery store parking lot on 9/11. She noticed a man of color, in torn and worn-out clothes, looking distraught. He looked homeless. She could have easily looked the other way to go about her business and get her shopping done. Instead, she asked if he was okay. He told her that his son worked on the 98th floor of the first tower that fell. He tried contacting him all morning but hadn’t heard back. Needless to say, his son’s life was likely lost that day. For the next ten minutes, my mother and this stranger embraced, crying into each others arms.

Imagine how much that man needed soneone’s support in that moment. Not to mention, how that one act of kindness stuck with me nearly 20 years later. Shit, that made me feel old. Anyways, you get the point. Show up and show your support in whatever way you can because you can make a difference. Black lives matter, and what you do to support their lives matters too.

My Life is a Fucking Shit Show, but I’m Still Happy

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I tell it like it is. My life is a fucking shit show, but I love it.

It only makes sense to start off with some of the reasons why my life is a fucking shit show. My internal clock has been fucked for the past two months. I average about 4 hours of interrupted sleep every night. I can guarantee both of my parents will call me within the next few days about their concerns on the matter. My mom might even book a flight to Vietnam in the hopes she’d miraculously be able to cure my sleeping problems by her mere motherly presence. It’s like Edward Cullen from twilight bit me, and now I never need to sleep to survive. I wish the reason I can’t sleep was because that stud bit me though.

It also looks like I ate my old self from all of the bahn mi and fried rice. I swear, all of the meals here are basically “Would you like some food with that oily, greasy, fattening fried-ness?” I’m going to town anyways, often resembling that Telly Tubby character with a vacuum nose that sucks up food with the intensity and speed of Robert Downey Jr. taking a line back in 1987.

Did I mention I barely drink water? I’m surprised I’m not looking like SpongeBob in the episode where he goes on land and almost dies from drying up. PS I woke up today with tonsillitis and the penicillin makes me feel like a 90 year old cat woman, but instead of cats, I have a sore throat.

Now, let’s get into being in Vietnam. People shoot snot rockets in the middle of the road more nonchalantly than a head nod. The air is as polluted as the mind of my friends psychotic ex boyfriend. Every time you cross the road you feel like you’re in the video game frogger and you are playing the hardest level on your last life.

Believe it or not, I love my life and where I am regardless of those situations. I’m even making changes to create a better life, and to love myself even more. I just signed a lease to have a home base in Vietnam. I’m with friends who I love, and they don’t shoot snot rockets in the road. I started working out again and got a gym membership. Working on the sleep and water, but I think it will change in time. I also started the job of my dreams, although I almost can’t even call it a job. I literally get paid to travel the world and make friends.

All that said, life in general is always a fucking shit show. There will always be shit, but it’s what you make of it. And I’m making me a bomb ass fucking shit show, and it keeps getting better.

What Would Someone Who Loves Themselves Do?

What would someone who loves themselves do? Hustle back to work as though they’re Cruella de Vil’s little bitch because they fear of a coworker thinking less of them? That doesn’t sound like love.

Would they have more disappointment in themselves than most citizens have about the current state of our nation because they’re not some enlightened millionaire yet? That doesn’t sound like love.

Eat a half carton of vegan cherry chocolate chip ice cream, followed by peanut butter pretzels from Trader Joe’s, and a cookie for dinner? I don’t know, I’m still trying to justify that one. Probably not though if I’m being honest with myself.

If we truly questioned if our actions are out of love, we’d find more often than we’d like to admit, they’re not. Before you act, ask… What would someone who loves themselves do?

I almost ended this post with that last paragraph, but then fear rose up like bubbles in a glass of champagne in the hands of a recovering alcoholic. I feared it would not be long enough. I worried someone would take the time to read my work and find it a waste of their time. That’s not love.

Someone who loves themselves would express themselves without fear of judgment or ridicule. Someone who loves themselves knows they are good enough and worthy regardless of the opinion of others. They would be happy that they authentically and creatively put something out into the world to potentially help someone else. That’s what someone who loves themselves would do. So here is my work. Unapologetically, authentically, creatively, lovingly me.

It’s Happening For you

road-man-broken-car-6078-1 The time I crashed my car in Santa Barbara.

The chick who acted like Mother Teresa around everyone else, but was the biggest bitch to me.

The person I had a crush on that I totally thought was a guy until I had already caught the feels.

The text I sent to someone I was dating out of insecurity, causing a ripple effect and ending with my mom referring to him as “The Devil.”

None of it happened to me because nothing does. Life happens for you.

…

Those instances lead to some of my biggest insights. They often come out of your comfort zone, in frustration, or fights.

It’s all happening for you I promise and swear. You’ll be pleasantly pleased when you find the gems hidden there.

Crashing my car lead me to the place of my dreams. It wasn’t at all what the situation had seemed.

I realized the universe will always have my back, even when the process feels like a heart attack.

It’s happening for you, I know this to be true. Before you throw in the towel, ask what it is trying to show you.

Welcome To Hell

pexels-photo-207858 Welcome to Hell. You may be wondering where the hell Hell is. Earth? The White House? The person in the White House? A town? Some mystical fiery land that has a creepy red tenant with hooves? The answer is none of the above.

You’ve been living there your whole life, but let me be the first to welcome you. Welcome to the hell created by non other than you, your mind.

Have you ever heard a little voice in your head bitch about wishing you had done something differently? Or question your self worth? If your answer is no, the little bitch in my head just told me you’re full of shit. That voice is the soundtrack in Hell, and the life you live will match the soundtrack you play. The more we positively change the tune, the happier hell will be.

Whether you consciously know it or not, you’re in Hell. You’ve done it to yourself, but here me out!! because understanding and acknowledging the hell you’ve created is such a critical step to improving your life and making it a little less hellish.

Don’t be afraid of Hell. Make peace with this place. It’s teaching us, and allowing us to grow. Plus, we’re going to be here a while, so might as well get comfortable while we work on our tunes.

The Excellent Choice

Before I get into the nitty gritty of it all, I want to preface that I’m a bit of an Oprah groupie. Not really, but I think she’s the bees knees. Anyways, I was listening to a speech she gave where she told the audience three tips to follow. If you abide by them, you’re basically golden.

The final tip, which may come as no surprise considering the title, was “Always make the excellent choice- Do the right thing.” Now before you say “Duh” and roll your eyes like a conservative talking to a millennial about anything progressive or current, hear me out.

Was it an excellent choice for me to have that entire bottle of prosecco last weekend and say regrettable things?(Knowing very well that I hadn’t had any alcohol for several months prior to that night) Obviously not, if I’m being candid. However, unlike that example, the excellent choice isn’t always clear as day, or as obvious as my drunken shenanigans and hangovers.

The excellent choice may be to lean back and not say anything even though you feel the need to explain or defend yourself. Maybe it’s to not do what everyone else is doing so you can “fit in” or feel good temporarily. Maybe the excellent choice is to sign up for that class or workshop even though it scares you. The excellent choice may be to leave a toxic relationship, even though you still love them…. pexels-photo-236287 The list goes on and on. Keeping that tip in mind has certainly made me think twice in many (though I wish all) situations. Hopefully next time you have a choice to make, this will inspire you to think about if it’s the excellent choice, and perhaps change your plans accordingly.

ATtractive MAN

lachlan-dempsey-344406

Summer 2017

This week, the “OMwork” as they like to say, is to write about how and when I come in contact with my Atman. At first glance, one might think “Atman, what’s that? Is that short for attractive man? If so, where’s the man at?” Well, that’s not exactly what Atman is. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Atman is neither male nor female, person nor thing, rather the energy and space between, it is the eternal witness. Atman translates to “ The divine spark within”, and I’m about to get deep (with a side of sarcasm) and talk about how I connect with the divine spark within me.
One way I come in contact with my Atman/ higher self, is when I do things that light me up, and bring me joy. Since the month prior to embarking on an extreme spiritual journey, I have noticed that the activities and people that made me feel like Squidward around Spongebob, have been leaving my experience, and have been replaced by that which sparks the divine within. I also connect with my Atman daily through physical experiences such as meditation, runs in nature, yoga, and so forth.
Though meditation can connect me with my Atman in a positive way at times, its been more of a sob fest or pity party lately. I’ve realized I’ve got to wipe the dirt off the diamond before I can put a ring on it. Connecting on the deepest level with my Atman, means it’s not going to be all rainbows, butterflies, and fairy dust. (Lets replace butterflies with unicorns or puppies because butterflies are kind of creepy looking up close.) Working through old resistance and detaching from the ego in a healthy way, will help me come in contact with my Atman on a deeper level, and enable my Atman to express itself through my physical body more fully.
On that note, it actually bothers me that I’m writing statements such as “…enable my Atman to express itself” I’m making it sound as though my Atman is something separate from me when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I am Atman and everything else is an illusion of the mind. I’ll save this for another day because this is going to turn in to a novel if I don’t steer this ship around quick. Actually, I take that back, I’m not turning the ship around, we’re about to sail like Captain Jack Sparrow.
In yogi language, or as others say, Sanskrit, the word “maya” is the concept that the world in which we live is an illusion made up of individual and collective judgments. Identifying too much with maya hinders Atman’s ability to express itself fully through me. It’s like when I thought my happiness relied on that guy to like me, or to win a ton of money. (I’m not saying not having either of those things aren’t irking me slightly still) Identifying too much with maya, this illusion called reality, makes one believe that their happiness is in maya, meaning outside of their true self. When looking at maya for satisfaction instead of my Atman, resistance is built, building a thicker wall between me and my higher self, where true happiness and satisfaction is culminated.
All we are and ever will be is Atman. All the rest is temporary and illusive. My mind, thoughts, and body, are simply the vehicle my Atman uses to navigate through life. Getting caught up in maya is like forgetting to put enough gas in your vehicle, or oil in the engine, and leaving empty water bottles and gum wrappers in the back seat. Some people get so caught up in maya, that they slam on the gas peddle, frustrated they’re not going where they want to, all the while they’ve forgotten to start the car. If we don’t learn to tap in to and listen to our Atman, and do what we love, we’ll never be able to be guided to our desired destination.
When I write and my words begin to flow like an Eminem freestyle, when I get on stage and sing like a little white Whitney Houston, or when my friend and I laugh out loud at inappropriate times because of the hilarious memes we send to each other at work, or even simply appreciating the beauty of the Riviera from my window, nothing but that moment and the joy I feel is on my mind. That is my Atman experiencing life through this body and mind that I have identified as mine. That is lila.
No, lila is not related to the yellow Telly Tubby. Lila means “the divine play” which is to say maya is where we lila. I may not be phrasing that correctly because I know sanskrit as well as I know how to cook Indian Tikka Masala (For the record, I had to look up indian dishes on google because I’m the antithesis of Betty Crocker) Anyways, I am essentially the actor, director, and producer, of the show called my reality. If I connect to my higher self in a way my Atman shines through me, I can create a five star romantic comedy. If I do things or stay in situations that hinder my joy and ability to connect with my higher self because I identify so much with my ego mind and maya, I will produce a box office bomb, and I can’t blame the audience for a bad show.
Though I may have steered this ship a little off course, one can’t deny that it lead us to some treasures, or at the very least, this was an avenue for my Atman to lila through maya. Hopefully I kind of sort of answered the “omwork” appropriately. Though if anyone were to judge me, it probably wouldn’t be very yogi like anyways, right?