A full moon lesson with grief, anger, and astral connections in the snow.
Read MoreGhosts
Native Americans have inhabited New Mexico for more than 2,500 years, with some of the earliest permanent settlements, now known as pueblos, dating back about 1,500 years.
Read MoreHealing Together, Yet For Ourselves
After a few years of fear, my mom and I are just taking a little staycation to help heal ourselves and the ones we hold near and dear to our hearts. This personal essay is a little bit about death, a lot about love and profound importance of positive behavior.
Read MoreSpeed Limits
Last year, a friend told me an interesting fact. The gist of it: humans haven’t evolved enough to be biologically comfortable driving over 30 mph. While airplanes fly at a much faster speed, we don’t see clouds fly past us as we do trees, people and buildings when we are in a car. Basically, regular amounts of high-speed driving triggers primal fear alerts and can cause fatigue, physical tension, and emotional stress.
This made total sense to me, so I didn’t fact check it before believing it.
Just the thought of my weekday commute made my heart race. If I left my house by 7 am and took the quickest route (the 10E to the 110S to the 91E), I would avoid traffic. Awesome. But not really because that would mean that I would start my work day at a ripe 7:28 am. Yet, if I waited until 7:01 am or later and took the same freeways, I would have to deal with brake-gas-brake driving for 45 to 60 minutes.
People love to complain about LA traffic - especially those who don’t live in Los Angeles. Oddly, even after almost 10 years, the traffic has never really been the issue for me. Instead, it’s the drivers that have led me to spin myself into a wild, irrational tizzy.
Drivers who don’t look before they change lanes or use their turn signals. Drivers who tail you even when there’s a mile-long traffic jam. Drivers who cruise at dangerously s-l-o-w speeds…in the carpool lane. Drivers who go 10 miles s l o w e r than the flow of traffic and are STARING AT THIR PHONES while driving in the left lane of a 5-lane freeway!
This fiery rage inspired me to “draft” (aka yell angry voice memos at Siri) a hypothetical OpEd piece for the LA Times that would “educate” these recklessly selfish drivers who needed a few lessons on civilized order and road ettiquette. Pass on the left, go with the flow of traffic, use your turn signals, and don’t touch your brakes unless you absolutely have to stop. To make matters worse, this was also a time that I used to catch up on all the news and commentaries about crime, climate change, politics and everything wrong in our world.
It may come as a surprise, but this problem didn’t actually start with LA motorists. It’s a sad fact, but I’ve had issues with semi-truckers, minivans, mopeds, Uhauls, porsches, priuses, Fords and Hondas from sea to shining sea. There was one time, in my mid-20s when I was driving across country by myself and I come upon a conversion van, full of men. I had been the bigger person, when I didn’t tail them during the 30 minutes they steadily drove the same speed at the other car in our two lanes going one way. When they finally passed, on their own time, I regretfully honked at them as I passed. And, not the “oh-hey-i’m-being-polite” kind of short honk, but rather the “f-you-and-f-everyone-in-a-50-mile-radius-because-i’m-insane-with-rage” kind of long honk. I threw in some hand gestures that were more passive-aggressive than overtly angry, which only made me look crazier. I wish the story stopped here. But, it doesn’t.
The van full of men chased me for 4 miles, going 90-100 mph. Panicked and terrified, I was grateful when we flew past a patrol car. Pulling us both over, we were stuck there for an hour as the county officer took statements from both of cars. While I was grateful he didn’t ticket me, I was much more grateful that he had safely stopped a potentially catastrophic event from happening.
This event was jarring. So jarring it was something I talking about in therapy. I’ve never been an angry or rash person, yet the road was a place that took over my rational thinking. The therapist’s words stuck with me throughout the years, “Can you try to just follow along? Allow yourself the freedom to not have to lead or teach anyone on the road? It may be liberating for you.”
Then I moved back to Los Angeles.
So when my friend shared this scientific “fact” (I’ve had a hard time finding the support material on this), my brain was like, “yes, we already have a gigantic file on that!”
I began asking myself, why am I so tense? Because I was anxious. I wanted to get from point A to B as fast as I could, so I could be done with driving. I was also nervous that I hadn’t checked my emails or responded to a missed call. Additionally, I was resentful that I had accounted for 20 minutes to prep for a meeting, but that slowdown had stolen it from me. And then I was feeling guilty for not prepping yesterday. Ugh. And what about the news? That opioid epidemic story was overwhelming. What about that Michael Cohen interview? All the school shootings, xenophobia, misunderstandings and white men making all the decisions. How am I not having a panic attack?
It was as if I floating outside my body and not in control of anything, a perfect state of mind for someone operating a large weapon.
Then it hit me, just like that 25-year-old driver who allegedly intentionally hit another car because the car had a Donald Trump bumper sticker.
You know that saying, about throwing stones and glass houses? I felt like I was guilty of so much hypocrisy.
I needed to change. ASAP. Obviously, I couldn’t just not drive to work, but what if I changed my route and slowed down?
As an experiment, I told myself that for1 month, I would let go of caring about how much time it took me to get to work. I wanted to treat my morning commute like I treated leisurely road trips, listening to music that made me happy and keeping my eyes peeled for photo ops.
During that month, I calmly coasted past trees, shops, schools, churches and people at a speed that felt innately comfortable. Yielding to bicyclists, eager students and hurried pedestrians, my eyes were met with so many people who were starting their days, just like me. This scenic route, through South Central Los Angeles and Compton, had me hoping for traffic jams and red lights. Not only did I capture ordinary, yet spectacular snapshots of people, but I shared countless smiles and many pleasant greetings.
Sharing a city with more than 4 million people can unfortunately make strangers feel like obstacles, rather than other humans. While it is a very primal instinct for us to be wary, competitive or unforgiving to strangers, that doesn’t mean it’s okay. These strangers, who we have unconsciously labeled as enemies, are experiencing all of life’s challenges. Grieving over the death of a loved one, raising children as single parent, moving to a new state or country where they don’t have anyone to trust, getting diagnosed with a severe health condition or being laid off.
Life is heavy and we are all traveling at biologically unnatural speeds. Perhaps, if we put our mind to it, we can be a bit more evolved than our archaic ancestors.
Driving (and anger) issues come in all shapes and sizes. And they don’t actually get resolved by taking a leisurely drive to work. While meditation, mindfulness and empathy certainly help chill out reactionary behavior, understanding how and why these impulses occur are key to ending meltdowns for good. Here are a few items that I liked:
Invisibilia podcast episodes Entanglement, True You, Future Self, Reality, The Pattern Problem…(and so many others)
HOW NOT TO BE SWEPT UP IN DRIVING ANGER via The Daily Mail
– Watch out for the illusion of control. Remember the old saying, 80 per cent of drivers believe their driving skills are above average – a statistical impossibility
– Remember our common humanity – everyone on the road, ourselves included, are merely human beings with good bits and not so good bits trying to do the best they can. We are all in this traffic together and it can be frustrating for us all
– Consider other drivers might not be malicious – we often jump to conclusions about other drivers and assume they do things on the road to affect us personally. Usually, the person’s actions are caused by benign motivations
– Avoid blame and punishment, and be forgiving – we can accept that negative events happen and that as human beings we all make mistakes. Maybe they were distracted in that moment, maybe they are in a hurry, maybe it was just a case of human error, which we’re all guilty of
– Let go of the struggle – red lights, traffic, delays, inconsiderate drivers – struggling with any of it will only make matters worse for you. We can accept and tolerate the inevitable frustration and provocation
– Breathe – slow it down, find a way to breathe that soothes you such as finding a slow, controlled rhythm, and reduce the physiological arousal associated with anger
– Speak to yourself in a friendly voice, with reassurance and validation. ‘Oh, that was a close call. You’re safe and all is OK. That person made a mistake, and we all make mistakes’
– Focus your attention on safe, calm driving, ensuring you get yourself to your destination safely and without incident
Capturing the Realities of Parenthood + Free Photo Session Offer
If you're a parent, chances are that you've been told to appreciate every moment because kids grow up too quickly.
Depending on where you are, this advice can be hard to swallow. Especially if you’re in the throes of nighttime feedings, sleep schedules, potty training and endless loads of laundry.
This past summer, I took a week off work to help two of my best friends who both needed a little extra help with their families.
I mistakenly confused this as a staycation pour moi. A week away from the office would surely give me the chance to catch up on work, work out every day, prepare healthy food, and live my best "mom" life with coffee in hand.
That slight misunderstanding was corrected on Day 1, when I learned that hot coffee is not baby safe and me is a toddler-only kind of word.
Now I love my friends’ children as if they were my own. They are the sweetest, smartest, most charming and beautiful natural disasters I’ve ever known. That said, these unstoppable tornadoes that swirl through neatly-folded laundry stacks with food-gritty finger and wildfires that jump from furniture are in constant need of emergency support.
Being a constant rescue squad is beyond EXHAUSTING, disgustingly messy and sometimes very dangerous.
Parenting Is Not Pretty. Or Is It?
The reality is that raising children, being a good partner, and showing up for your family in all kinds of ways, EVERY DAY, can feel a bit repetitive and also overwhelming. From preventing crises to being the sanitation crew, it’s probably difficult to see how you and your daily life could be photographically beautiful - without a set designer, stylist, hair and makeup team and a flaw-fixing post-production expert.
Understandably, this may be a reason why the term “candid photography” has gotten a little skewed by the family photo biz. See not many families actually want candid family portraits. Sure, they don’t want a generic studio backdrop or maybe they don’t want to be looking directly at the lens, but they still want to be posed, directed and for their hair flyaways (and double chins) to be “photoshopped.”
After that one week that I spent on the front lines, I completely understand why a photograph of a well-dressed, smiling family in a crisp autumn scene is certainly a fitting trophy to hang on a wall; a reward for all the unsightly duties and hard work. A flawless snapshot to remind one of how beautiful their life is, as they wonder when was the last time they showered?
But what about that flawed, sometimes smelly reality? The yoga pants that you’ve worn for 3 days straight, your toddler’s unbrushed hair that has dried Mac & Cheese in it, and the old couch that you hate, but won’t replace until your kids are older and less prone to spills?
How can we find the reward in that photograph as well?
So Soon You Forget.
Just as your little newborn grows into a baby, then a toddler, then a first-grader and then a…high-schooler right before your eyes, you realize exactly how quick they (and you) grow up. You can hear the irony in your voice as you retell that same phrase to new parents, that had once made you want to scream.
This is when the wisdom really kicks in and you stop yourself from wishing your teenager, who just got suspended for a stupid prank, to grow up faster.
Every stage has its unique nuances, crazy moments and different routines and those all create your family’s history. In fact, there will be so many of these, that one day you won’t even be able to remember all of them.
A kitchen table with kids doing homework as a dad cooks dinner in his boxers, a family packed in the car heading to a soccer tournament, or a mom playing video games on the floor with her son. The overly worn jeans, the favorite baseball hats, the pacifier obsessions, or the lego pieces that are constantly causing foot pain. What about the neighborhood friends who are always over, movie and popcorn nights in bed or lazy Sunday mornings that last until nap-time?
It’s boggling to think that behaviors so ingrained in your regular life today, will eventually become distant memories tomorrow.
The Bigger Picture.
Though time does not stop, it is not impossible to capture those momentary rainbows that quickly pop up, in between all the flash storms. To me, these are the scenes that are most precious, fleeting and deserving of high-quality preservation.
A few years ago, when our political landscape shifted and fake news began to buzz around, I couldn’t help but wonder if something, ever so small, like a perfect family photo could somehow be connected.
While this is just one tiny trend, I still believe that it carries a tremendous amount of influence - both culturally and personally.
I’ve unfortunately witnessed a horrifying amount of bullying, competition, judgements and critical assumptions between from PARENTS.
Even without being a parent, I’ve hypocritically sold my own fake news, while also scoffing at another person’s perfect Instagram feed.
It’s so easy to fall prey to it.
However, I want to try and change that. I want to help parents feel beautiful in their reality and proud of where their family is right now - whether they are in the midst of a severe ice storm or witnessing a rainbow. These are the moments that make a parent and a child who they are and I want to photograph them - for free.
What’s the catch? There’s always a catch.
No catch!
If you are a parent and open to allowing me to photograph your family candidly for a few hours, I would be honored to do this for free in 2019.
You will be given all the final images for free. Though, I will ask you to sign a release, allowing your participation in this photography series on family realities.
So, if you’re interested in taking a stand against fake news and doing something to promote a positive shift within your family AND community, contact me and I would love to chat!
Sifnos, Greece
That one time when you thought you lost all your photos.
Midwest Misunderstandings
When you travel back to the place where you grew up, it can stir up all kinds of feels - to say the least. For me, home is a state of mind. However, when I find myself back in Michigan, a place that I struggled to call home for a long time, it’s not that easy to say goodbye.
I was an angry little 5-year-old when my parents moved our family from a sunny, beachside life in San Diego to the carpeted-basement floors of the metro-Detroit area.
My parents had lost all their money in a bad business venture and were completely broke. In desperate need to find free shelter and a good job, the only option was to turn back to their roots in Michigan. To them, home meant life-long friends, a big Lebanese-American family, and a place where kids ran free until the street lights came on.
I had another plan. My dad had been living and working in Los Angeles during the week, while my mom, baby brother and I lived with my grandma in San Diego. Since we only saw him on the weekends, why couldn’t he move back to Michigan - alone?
Even I knew that he was not welcome to live at my grandma’s, his mother-in-law. My bluestocking, Swedish-American grandma had never been afraid to share her harsh opinions regarding my dad, his background and my parents’ marriage. In fact, she had already told me that I would need to be careful in life because I had “his genes,” and not my mother’s. She also explained to me, ever so kindly, that no matter how much money my father would make, we would never be considered wealthy due history, ethnicity, Catholicism, and education - or lack thereof.
Being only 5, I decided to trust her because I liked how she and her life looked. Plus, she never made me angry. And I liked how she hard she made me work to win her approval. It felt like the kind of challenge that would probably give me a trophy, if I won.
Leading up to the move, I argued, cried and pled with my mom to let me stay with my grandma alone. She tried to be patient, but eventually, she snapped. Curtly, she said, “you belong with us; end of discussion!”
My beady eyes glared with a fresh coat of tears, watching her board the plane back to Michigan with my baby brother. My parents could only afford one plane ticket, so I had to drive across 9 states with my dad in a U-Haul. And, unable to afford motel rooms, we slept in the truck for 3 nights in a row. Thinking of the irony, but unable to name it, I felt angry. So this was where I belonged?
One night while we were on the road, we pulled into a gas station to sleep for the night. I ranted while my dad made a bed for me in the gap between the seats and the truck wall. Hysterical, I told him I was scared, that I wanted to live with my grandma, that I missed my best friend Ilana, that I wanted a hotel, that I wanted to fly on the airplane, and that I hated him and Michigan…
It wasn’t in my dad’s nature to be calm. But without my mother there to do the nurturing, he remained patient and comforting; reassuring me that we were safe, he would never let anything bad happen to us and we would be “home” soon.
That only made me whimper more. Home? We weren’t going to be “home” any time soon, as far as I was concerned.
When we arrived, we stayed at a cousin’s home. A year later, we lived with our good family friends. I liked their home, but it wasn’t ours. The next year, they rented an apartment. It was fine, but it didn’t feel like the home I remembered feeling in San Diego. The next year, they rented a house with a pool, but compared to all of my private school peers’ homes, it was shitty. At 10 years old, and 13 moves, my parents bought a house and finally unpacked all of their boxes.
Finding home, for me, has been a long, winding, pot-hole-ridden, dirt road ride without any rest stops.
Eventually, and due to the many privileges my parents provided, I was able to learn that home was much more than a place. Home has been whatever I’ve needed it to be - my career, a home cooked meal, a loving a boyfriend, or the feeling that you get when the plane lifts from the ground.
Had my parents not moved us back to Michigan, or into so many other people’s homes, perhaps I wouldn’t have learned that lesson.
There are loads of reasons to criticize places like Grosse Pointe, Detroit and Michigan. From the Flint water crisis and the poverty-porn of Detroit’s streets to systemic issues like historic racism and unequal distribution of wealth, the state is full of easy-to-vilify targets. As a person who dedicated their entire childhood to judging all of the things, all of the places and all of the people, I get it.
Yet I cannot deny my positive experiences and overall outcome. It was a place that gave me an exceptional education with rare opportunities, surrounded by a well-intentioned, trustworthy community. I had early exposure to history, renowned art collections, dramatically-contrasting economies, racial tension, and differing societal nuances. I was able to witness the beauty that came with every season and experience the small character shifts that they inspire within a person. And, the biggest privilege of all, I was never far from my ever-loving, overly generous, multi-generational family who never made me feel like I had to do anything to win their approval. Well, except for maybe a few of the uncles who didn’t believe daughters should leave home, unmarried…but, that’s beside the point.
All I can say is that I’m sorry for my sweet, hateful grandma who clung to so many misunderstandings. As much as I love her, my parents have always been wealthier than she ever could have been.
An Ignorant, Yet Curious Documentary
For the past year and a half, I’ve knocked around the idea of doing a documentary on Lebanon.
My curiosity was peaked when a Lebanese-American friend began teasing me. Telling me that I was a fake Lebanese-American who had never visited my grandparents’ country.
“Why haven’t you been to Lebanon?”
“Because isn’t it dangerous? Especially as a woman alone?”
“Amelia. Who told you that?”
“For starters, the news and the U.S. government. But, also my relatives…who haven’t actually travelled there, either.”
After losing the debate, I did some “research” - aka watched YouTube videos and began to follow beautiful Lebanese people on Instagram (kidding, partially). Reading about progressive initiatives, historic achievements and personal stories made me feel…so many things.
My biggest takeaway was shame over my offensively ignorant perspective. Who knew that I was actually the basic white girl that I had always wanted to be? Luckily, I am very comfortable with ignorance and shame as long as there are a few dashes of curiosity and motivation.
Since overthinking is one of my best talents, I sat with my ignorance for a little while. I also sat with my anger over other Americans’ ignorances. While the details may be different, I realized I was in the same boat as them. Perhaps, my boat was even more dangerous than their’s as I was discriminating against my own genetic history.
Feeling charged to do something positive for the current state of multiculturalism as a whole, I decided that I needed to go to Lebanon and share that story.
My initial idea: a feature that would address the misunderstandings that people, specifically Americans, have about traveling to the “Paris of the Middle East” and examine the reality behind their fears. I figured I could easily make that documentary with a very modest budget, 1 DP, 1 sound person, 1 fixer and 10 days traveling in the country with my dad (a first-generation Lebanese-American who has never been to Lebanon and is definitely scared to travel there).
However, that modest budget would still require financing and producing such an ambitious project on top of my all-consuming day job, it could not be a short-term reality.
I lied to myself and promised to be diligent with pitching the idea to media outlets and see if any interest or support would come from that. Unfortunately, I got stuck in a dark hole of discouragement.
#I haven’t produced a film in 4 years.
#2 I haven’t written a screenplay in 4 years.
#3 It’s been 5 years since I’ve steadily worked journalism.
#4 I have 0 connections and no representation.
#5 No one is going to hand me money to tell my little story.
Don’t feel sorry for me. It’s a trick!
The reality was that my grandiose dream was just a big, cozy excuse for me to hide behind. And I LOVE hiding because I am terrified of everything - like traveling alone throughout Lebanon.
Fear and anxiety have kept me from doing many things. When I share this with people I know, they laugh and think I’m joking.
“But, you go backpacking by yourself.”
“Only to places I know and feel comfortable.”
“But, you do stand-up comedy.”
“Because I’m not afraid of speaking; I’m afraid of engaging.”
“But, you’re a 36-year-old single woman and you don’t seem desperate to get married.”
“Was that a back-handed compliment?”
This whole fear thing has really affected me in ways that I didn’t understand until a few years ago.
From owning my own home and dating men I actually love to pitching myself for bigger jobs and taking career risks, I haven’t just avoided these scary milestones, I have run away from them at full speed.
Oddly enough, worry and fear also run rampant in my Lebanese-American family. Perhaps there’s a connection.
All I know is that after 13 years of hiding behind my work where I create other people’s visions, I am finally ready to take the plunge and create my own. Btw - I promise not to use the "word” vision (often) from here on out.
There isn’t any financing or a crew, so I’ve had to change some bits and come to terms with the fact that it’s not going to be a cinematic gem. And since I’m not doing this for my career, that’s perfectly okay and production will be as simple as possible.
This week, I’m heading to Michigan where I will interview a few relatives about their knowledge of Lebanon, my grandparents, Maronite history and the ways in which the Lebanese culture has been passed down through our American family.
As of now, this is the story plan:
Story A: My grandparents’ emigration and assimilation, along with their 11 children (loss of language, historic and regional misunderstandings, cultural-identity, etc.)
Story B: Making the documentary and why
Story C: Addressing the misunderstandings and fears of Lebanon by traveling there
(Heavy sigh). Yes, this is a very large undertaking, especially, on top of a very hands-on job.
This why I am making myself write about it, every step of the way. If you are interested or no someone who would be interested in participating (interviewees, sharing info, travel tips, contacts in Lebanon, etc.), I would love to connect!
Thanks for reading and stay tuned for some video clips!
An Unconventional Cleanse for 2019
I am alive and well, world.
After a very unsexy mé·nage à trois with a sinus infection and a stomach flu, I feel like 2018 really had its way with me until it harshly slammed the door on December 31.
Although this kept me from getting a lot of things I needed to get done, I’ve learned that sometimes it’s best to not fight the resistance and allow yourself to just go with the tumultuous flow. And when it gets too choppy, hold your breath and swim beneath surface until the storm passes.
In the end, it was a great way to start the new year. Between work overload and holiday madness, I took it as an unconventional and inexpensive sort of staycation retreat. Not only did I lose 7 pounds and detach from unhealthy habits (yeah, I’m looking at to you Instagram and Netflix), but I had the chance to truly unplug from everything, everyone and reset.
Most miraculously, I was even able to hone my mental surge of motivation and use it for my own work, as opposed to my work, work.
From the solace of my eucalyptus-scented room, I began making plans for my biggest project of 2019 - a video documentary. From figuring out logistics and travel details to researching, writing and creating the structure, I’m proud to report that the groundwork is off to a productive start.
Truth be told, even though I’ve been thinking about doing this project for over a year, up until this point I had been quite anxious and unsure about it. How? What’s the real story? Do I try to get financing so I can hire a crew? Can I tell the story myself?
Yet thanks to a few nudges from people around and a very perfect Christmas gift (given by someone who had no clue this would be such an important piece to the film), I have decided to step up to the plate and start swinging.
Even with the small amount of work that I’ve done, I already feel much more focused and capable to accomplish such an ambitious feat all by myself. And if I miss a hit (or, more likely, get hit by the pitch), so what? That’s life and I’ll figure out…
Maybe.
The most intimidating part, and the reason why I chose the above image for this blog post, is that I decided to have Story A’s plot center on the actually making the documentary. This means it’s going to be a long journey of filming, scanning, editing and, most nerve-wracking, recording myself (insert: a very wry grimace).
That’s all I will say for now about that, but keep a lookout for more info; I’m excited to share.
Feeling such a dramatic shift in my attitude and energy, I wondered if I wasn’t alone in this new surge of ambition. So, why not check 2019’s numerology forecast? I’m not sure how much I really believe in it all, but I was surprised to learn that my initial feelings of the new year were inline with a variety of projections from numerologists like Felicia Bender.
The most intriguing part: 2019 is a “3” which just so happens to be my favorite number and coincidentally the Life Path Number of four of my best pals.
Who knows if any of that is true, but the boost of optimism can’t hurt. All I know is that 2019 has already earned my trust.
I hope everyone is also feeling a positive shift in this new year and if you have an interesting story you’d like to share, I would love to hear it!
Happy 2019!