Why I Still Have Hope for America

These days, I wake in the morning weary with sadness. The world, politics, fear for my country has worn me down. But then, this morning as my kid is eating breakfast, I see Ellen Degeneres on the back of his cereal box, and I feel hope. Ten years ago, we couldn't even pass marriage equality in California - the most liberal state. Today it's the law of the land, and Ellen Degeneres, an openly gay woman, is the ambassador for goodness on the back of my kid's Honey Nut Cheerios.
I think about the fact that Barack Obama, already noted by historians as one of the best Presidents in American history, is of mixed race, and that inter-racial marriage was still illegal in many states when he was born. 

I think about the fact that Oprah Winfrey, a black woman, is one of the richest, most influential people in the world, when all her grandmother had advised for her was to "find some nice white people to work for" -- and that it's an American colloquialism to describe an extremely wealthy person as having "Oprah money." I think of her ancestors, women who were enslaved, raped, beaten, forced to work in the fields and do the work of ten men, and hope to god there is an afterlife because if there is they are surely smiling down with pride.

This American dream, to bring people from all over the world, from every culture, race, religion to live together as one democratic nation, is an experiment. It theorizes that every man and woman can achieve greatness, and that we are each only limited by the scope of our own dreams. It's a messy experiment, and we have failed terribly on so many levels. But we've also made great progress, because today I'm looking at Ellen on a cereal box and smiling, and maybe even feeling a twinge of hope in spite of the news cycle. 

I'm going to do my best today to feed the hope, and not the fear. I'm going to believe in us, in progress, in the best of America. I hope you will, too.
#KeepHopeAlive
#ThisTermShallPass

Sifting Through the Rubble

Lately, I've been sifting through the rubble of what was my former optimistic self, trying to figure out what to make of what I'm filled with since the election, which is mostly this: pain and suffering and despair.

Pain is real, and should be acknowledged. Pain tells me to pull my hand out of the fire. Pain tells me to do something...NOW. Pain should be acted upon.

Suffering is self-created: a choice. Suffering happens when I resist what is. Suffering isn't noble. It doesn’t help me, and it doesn’t help anyone around me. Suffering keeps me trapped in pain.
 

Despair is when I search outside myself for hope and, finding none, I believe that hope doesn't exist. Despair isn't real.

So here's what I make of these messy emotions: We are entering a dark era. The only way I get through this is to ditch the suffering and despair, and act on the pain. I can't look for someone else to save me. I've got to find hope inside of myself first, and let it build. I have to connect to every other flicker of hope I find, and create networks of hope. I have to appreciate every tiny beautiful moment; a cat sleeping in my lap, a kind word from a stranger, an extraordinary sunset...and let those tiny moments carry me until the rest of the world reflects light again.


The light will return. Maybe not now, maybe not soon...but it will return. That much I know.
It returns, because we create it. 

DARKNESS DEFINES THE LIGHT

“Darkness defines the light.” That’s what my yoga/meditation teacher Kristen Eykel said, as we engaged in a deep discussion after a group meditation this morning. The darkness that is sweeping the country and the world right now is defining a message for us: RISE.

I woke up today, like every day since the election, with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I've been miserable and short-tempered, and not much fun to live with, even though i meditate and do yoga and I try, really try, to be positive. But today, I think I finally figured out why I can't shake this awful feeling; I am changing. Life is changing me and change is fucking painful -- it just is. I wrote about this in Fire Season. When a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly, it's an ugly affair. Before the butterfly can form, the caterpillar must first completely liquefy inside the chrysalis, becoming what my friend Lyena Strelkoff termed "caterpillar soup." So maybe that's where a lot of us are at right now. We are lying on the floor in a puddle, beat down by life, caterpillar soup -- and that's okay. It's a stage, a step on the ladder of metamorphosis. 

My brilliant friend Lyena had this to say on the subject, "The only way to become more than we were (plus it's the fastest way out of the soup) is to surrender to dissolving. The more we deny how we feel, the more we try to run away from it, cover it up, try to shove ourselves prematurely out of the chrysalis with inauthentic gratitude or positivity, the longer the process will take and the more likely we'll get stuck there. 'Who am I willing to become?' --that's the only question I have to ask. And then let the process of becoming take its (uncomfortable, miserable at times) course. Adversity sucks. But adversity of any kind, personal, professional, communal, global, is always presenting us with the opportunity to become more than we've ever been. The thing is, we have to say yes. And if we don't, then adversity only sucks."

If there’s any silver lining behind these shitstorm clouds, it’s that people are beginning to wake up and answer the call of their higher selves. Human rights, equality, and basic goodness are not granted to us. We are the ones who work to make these things a reality. So how do we do it while the bad news is pummeling us, daily? There is so much: the environment, women's health, defending the marginalized, protecting journalism and the truth. Each of has to decide what our personal activism will be, and then take action. Some of us are warriors who will march, some of us are surgeons who will actively cut the cancer out of this country through legislation, some of us are seamstresses who will stitch the fabric of our society back together, some of us are wordsmiths who will renew the troops with hope and direction, some of us are healers who will hold up the wounded. We all have a role. 

And when we finally pull ourselves out of the soup, when we finally rise, we have to become more than we ever knew we could be. We have to look ourselves in the mirror and say, "I am willing to step into my full potential and own my power."  We have to shine brighter, be bigger, be more than we were before. What other choice is there?

 One thing is certain: the time for hand-wringing is over. All hands on deck. 
 RISE.

Love and Miracles

 

March was the month from hell. It really was. I started to backslide into old negative belief patterns that I was unlucky, that this was my fate – had always been my fate, that bad things just randomly happen to me, etc…But then I stopped myself and said, “No, that is an old story. The new story is that I am open to love and miracles.” Even though I did not really believe this, I wrote it out, and posted it on my bathroom mirror. I looked at it and recited it to myself every day, until I started to feel it. All I can say is that if you make a commitment like this to yourself, buckle up.

April has been my month of dreams coming true. My book release events, both in Phoenix and at Barnes and Noble in L.A., were beautiful and meaningful. That same week I got to sing in a concert for my friend Jeff Jones, standing behind rock legends. I attended/spoke at four fancy gala events including Women Against Gun Violence  and The American Red Cross. My friend Amy said to me yesterday, “I’m exhausted from following you on facebook this month.” I laughed and said, “How do you think I feel? I’ve been in Spanx and heels for a month!”

Recently a facebook friend posted that she wouldn’t post any more pictures from her trip to paradise because she didn’t want to be obnoxious, and I said- PLEASE KEEP POSTING. Yes, there are people suffering terrible losses, losing jobs, reeling from depression. But for me, when I am down and I see people posting about wonderful times, it reminds me what is possible, for all of us. I find it so encouraging.

I posted a lot about my shitty month in March -- the funerals, the flood, the bugs, the ER trip --but I also wanted to post about all the good things, and hopefully it isn’t annoying or obnoxious to anyone, because my intent is to remind myself, and hopefully remind my friends who are suffering, that good times lie ahead, even when you can’t possibly imagine them.

I have lived through my Fire Season. I have walked through my dark night of the soul, and I know when you are there, how hard it is to find even the tiniest spark of light. If you are in a dark valley of your life, I ask you to open yourself to LOVE and MIRACLES. Repeat it to yourself even when you don’t believe it. Look for it every day, and notice the tiniest gifts…a bird on your windowsill, a rainbow, a meaningful song on the radio. Those are your stepping stones out of darkness. Open your heart to love and all the goodness life has to offer. Receive it with open arms when it comes…

Love and miracles beyond your wildest imaginings are in your future. Believe it. 

Here is something I never could have imagined years ago, when I was depressed and suicidal and wondering why I even existed.

Dreams Come True...singing backgrounds with Howard Jones, while raising money for my sick friend Jeff:

That's What Friends Are For

As most of you know, I have a new book out about how we lost everything in a fire. One of my favorite chapters in the book is called “The Harvest.” It’s about how, when we were broke and homeless, our community of musician friends rallied around us and put together a benefit concert to lift us back on our feet. Hundreds of people showed up. When music and love intersect, it is an unbeatable force. It lifted us up financially, yes, but more importantly, it lifted us spiritually. In what was the ultimate “trust-fall,” we were caught, and held up by hundreds of hands. We swore then that once we were stronger, we would return that kindness, with every opportunity we got.

This is why my husband Troy and I are so happy to be part of the Jammin’ for Jones band, raising money to lift our good friend Jeff back onto his feet. Jeff is an incredible singer/songwriter/musician. His songs have been covered by Stephen Bishop, Art Garfunkel, and the band Alabama, to name a few. Jeff is now suffering terribly with both MS and Parkinson’s. Jeff can no longer sing, which crushes my heart. I melt for his singing voice. Listen here:

Just before our house burned down in 1994, Troy and Jeff were part of Stephen Bishop’s band, and had just toured Japan together. All Jeff and Troy did on the road, aside from making great music, was laugh. At home after the tour, the good times continued. Jeff can tell a story like nobody’s business, and had us laughing in our living room until the wee hours of the morning. Jeff is a good man with a huge heart, and so is Stephen. (Stephen has shown up and donated performances for me on countless occasions- to support my work with foster kids.) Stephen and Jeff have shared a close friendship for over 40 years, and were even roommates for 16 years back in the day. It has deeply touched my heart to watch Stephen work so hard to put this benefit concert together to lift his best friend. He has also helped Jeff to release his first and only CD of his own. This is what true friendship looks like.

Stephen Bishop and Jeff Jones on the Midnight Special. I love the shots of their faces singing together. Jeff looks about 16 years old.

This benefit concert for Jeff is one of the greatest labors of love I’ve ever experienced. I so hope you will buy tickets to witness this special evening, and tribute to Jeff. Bring some Kleenex. If you’re sentimental like me, you’ll cry, in a good way.

Tickets start at $50 and all funds go to help Jeff with his medical expenses. Buy your tickets here fast - its going to sell out: http://www.ticketmaster.com/jammin.../event/0B004E57EE4E535E

If you can't attend but would like to contribute to Jeff's medical fund, please click here:

http://www.gofundme.com/JamminForJones

A few of the people who will be there on April 28 to pay tribute to Jeff: Kevin Nealon, Penny Marshall, Piers Morgan, LL Cool J.

Some of our show sponsors: Eric Clapton, Linda Rondstadt, Bette Midler, Art Garfunkel, Penny Marshall and more.

Video Tributes will be shown from: Michael Mc Donald, Jackson Browne, One Direction, and more…

The All-Star Band: 
Troy Dexter - Guitar
Robin DiMaggio - Drums
Debra Dobkin - Percussion
Jon Gilutin - Keyboards
Mark Goldenberg - Lead Guitar
Rob Shirakbari - Keyboards
Lee Sklar - Bass
Jim Wilson - Keyboards

Background Singers:
Leah Kunkel
Robbie Wyckoff
Hollye Dexter
Billy Trudell  

 

Hollye and Troy and The Seven Plagues

It’s Good Friday today, although I seriously doubt Jesus would have called it that. Talk about a bad day. With Passover and Easter upon us, I thought I’d share my own tale of the seven plagues. Or is it ten? I don’t know. I just know that recently Troy and I seemed to have experienced a few of them.

DEATH: Evan said the other day, “Ever since Anita died, everything has gone horribly wrong in our lives. It’s like she took all the happy with her.” He’s right. I was so shaken by Anita’s death, I got sick on the day she died, really sick. Lost my voice for a week, got bronchitis and couldn’t shake it for over a month. And that was just the kickoff to a string of other disasters. Like bugs…

BUGS: Recently Troy woke up covered head to toe in what looked like bug bites. His arms and legs swelled up and were hot to the touch. He went to urgent care, they gave him some meds but didn’t really know what was wrong with him. Last week, Evan woke up the same way and we knew we had a problem. We hired a company that brought a trained dog out to sniff for bed bugs. We didn’t have bed bugs, but in moving and turning over all our furniture we found out we had carpet beetles. I had no idea, as I had never seen one (still haven’t - they are smaller than a grain of rice and hide in your carpet and furniture). They don’t bite, but it turns out some people are highly allergic to them. So that began days of moving furniture and having all carpets and furniture steam cleaned and washing every thing in the house and bagging up all the pillows, etc. Ugh.

FLOOD – Two days after the bugs, the house still torn apart, I come home from yoga and Evan says, “Mom, don’t be upset. The whole house flooded.” Upset? Why would I be upset? Second floor bathroom flooded into first floor bathroom flooded into Troy’s recording studio and our basement. Spent DAYS dealing with that. Days of sweat and filth and throwing away photos and ruined Christmas decorations and trying to dry out an entire trunk full of my soaked journals. Cleaning carpets. AGAIN.

We realized that in the 15 years we’ve owned this house we have had six floods. Two caused by nature, three caused by toilets, and one by a burst pipe in the ceiling. We have purchased three new toilets, including one high-pressure flush toilet that was supposed to ensure that we never had another toilet flood, but THAT toilet spontaneously exploded, porcelain shards flying everywhere, and then flooded the bathroom. Yes, we had an exploding toilet (and are now part of a class action lawsuit against the manufacturer).

BLOOD: Two days after the flood, Troy was on the phone dealing with the IRS (who, on the day Evan was covered in hives, sent us certified letters telling us they decided we owe them more money for 2012) when Troy tripped over something and cut his leg wide open on a piece of broken glass. Blood everywhere. We were in the ER for four hours, three of those waiting to be seen, and one of them stitching his leg back together. 16 stitches. And while we were in the ER, the building inspector emailed us, wanting to know what we plan to do about our building code violations on our deck. SERIOUSLY?

Hail covering California beaches- cause that's "normal."

HAIL: Yep, we had that this month too. Hello, global warming. No one got hurt though.

And here’s a plague we hope we’re done with:

FIRE: Yep. We had that one big time. We thought we’d “burned through that karma.” Since then, we’ve been evacuated from this house twice during fire season, wildfires burning to the edge of our property. Twice. So I wrote this book Fire Season, which will start shipping in a matter of days, and I am praying this exorcises that chapter of our life. And I’m a nervous wreck.

...AND THE REST: I don’t really know what the rest of the plagues are but we’ve decided we’re giving them up for Lent.

So what is the moral of the story here? Are we unlucky? Cursed? Plagued?

I think it’s this. When awful things happen to us, we can choose to shut down and become bitter, or we can rise up again (like Jesus, or Obi Wan Kenobi, whichever works for you). Every one of us has lessons to learn, a cross to bear (sorry, Jesus) so to speak. Faith, courage, compassion…those are muscles that must be worked, or else we become, I don’t know… spiritually flabby. Those painful lessons are what grow our courage, empathy and compassion. Working as a gun violence prevention advocate, I have met and become good friends with many wonderful people who are survivors of gun violence or have lost children to gun violence. They have greater compassion and strength than anyone I know. In the midst of unimaginable loss, they rose up, and became stronger and kinder and more resilient than they ever knew they could. They give hope and encouragement to people like me who are dealing with silly little things like floods and bugs. They give me strength.

In turn, I share with you our crazy little tale of plagues, and I share in my book how we lost everything, including hope, and how there is always a way to turn ruin into redemption, and I think that’s the point of this thing called life.

Recently Evan asked me about that. “What’s the point of life, Mom?”  I told him it was to learn and grow. Distressed, he said, “That’s the WHOLE POINT of life?! That sucks!”

Yeah, I told him, sometimes it sucks, and sometimes it’s a grind and sometimes its so gorgeous it could break your heart wide open. But we’re lucky to have it. All of it.

Today I’m focusing on gratitude and looking forward to Easter Sunday, when I will gather with my family and be happy, count my blessings, my thoughts far away from any plagues.

Wishing you all a happy Easter, Passover, spring …and on Star Wars day, May the  4^th be with you. 

Is it just me, or does anyone else think a solid chocolate "instrument of torture" is a little weird?

Fire Season - My Journey from Ruin to Redemption

As many of you know, in November of 1994, our house burned down. After my husband Troy and I jumped out second story windows with nothing but our pajamas and our kid, our lives began a downward spiral of loss that would continue for four years, leading us into a deep depression and the brink of divorce. We lost three homes in 2 years, lost our cars, lost our friends, I lost my national business, we were bankrupted and we almost lost each other. But we survived. In 1999 we bought our house, things got better and were actually pretty great until 2010.

And then, in 2010, it seemed the cycle was beginning again. We were sued over a little dog named Stitch that we adopted. A three-year court battle followed. We had to get a restraining order against a violent neighbor with a criminal record for assault with a gun, who threatened my husband’s life. My husband’s boss, and great friend, Greg, dropped dead of a heart attack. Our dog Brandy died. Our septic system failed and flooded the yard, leading to a 10,000 repair job and an invasion of flies, not unlike the Amityville Horror (except they had better plumbing). We were busted flat broke from home repairs and court costs. And then, our daughter-in-law took our one-year-old grandson to Japan for a visit... and didn’t return. We thought we’d never see them again. We were overcome with grief.

During this time, I took an eight-week writing course with my friend Amy Friedman, where I wrote and shared, for the first time, the story of our fire. I was shaking so bad I couldn’t read the essay in the group, so Amy read it for me. After class, Amy and I went out for coffee and I confessed to her something I had been secretly fearing in my head. I told her, “My life is spinning wildly out of control, and I am terrified that I am in the beginning of a life pattern where I’m going to repeat another four years of hell.” And this is basically what she said. “You are still afraid of what happened to you, because you didn’t get the lesson in it. If you don’t write your way through this, you’re going to repeat the pattern. This fire story is not an essay. This is a book you need to write.” And only out of sheer terror and because I am slightly superstitious did I begin to write this book.

Four years later, Fire Season is about to be published with She Writes Press this spring (and you can pre-order it now for a discount on Amazon).

What I learned in writing my book was that I am stronger than I knew. That every time I let fear control my life, everything fell to shit. I saw, through my writing process, as I mapped out and wrote those years down, that it wasn’t until I chose love over fear that my life began to turn around. Through these past four years of intense challenges that began again in 2010, I learned to choose love over fear, and instead of losing everything, like we did in 1994, this time the outcome was very different.

After a year of praying and sending nothing but love to our daughter-in-law in Japan, many miracles lined up to bring our grandson home, and he now lives with his mother in L.A. After our three-year court battle, we still have our dog Stitch. The violent, criminal neighbors were evicted (the day after Christmas – best Christmas gift ever). We still have our home 15 years later and the new septic system works perfectly. This time, we didn’t lose everything. This time, yes, life knocked us on our asses – but we got back up faster. This time, when it seemed everything was falling apart, Troy and I turned toward each other in our grief and sadness (love), and not against each other (fear).

So, like Amy Friedman advised, I wrote my way through these four years, and now, after a summer from hell, I hope to God I’m coming out the other side. It’s not that I don’t have my challenges still. We’ve got a building inspector trying to wreak havoc with our house, and some trouble with termites…but I know better now than to let fear get the best of me.

Back in 1995, when I was spiraling down, I felt so alone, like there wasn’t a single person who got what I was going through. Books were what saved me. Books about hope, about endurance, about surviving. I wrote Fire Season because I don’t want anyone to feel alone like I did. I want to share my experience of finding hope on the other side of darkness.

I know that you, like me, have endured some difficult losses and challenges. I hope you’ll share your stories in the comments below…