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Avenues Not Taken
Aug. 13th, 2018 12:25 pm The other day I was thinking about the different points in my life where I might have changed my trajectory forever. I supposed one might say that we make choices every day that change "what could have been" into "what will be." However, there are some moments that, in retrospect, could have been very, very good choices or very, very bad choices. For instance, I left the Air Force and got married to the man who became my abuser. If I had remained in the service, my life might have been much better in many ways. Later, when I was serving in the Air National Guard, I considered returning to the regular Air Force. My husband wouldn't allow it. What if, when I decided to leave him, I had taken that step instead of just running? Where would I be today?
There were opportunities for divergent paths during what I call my "Kerouacian" or "Rock-n -Roll" days, as well. These are the two I was really thinking about a few days ago. I was pretty much partying out the eight years of abuse I had lived with during that first marriage, and was pursuing a perhaps poorly thought out dream of working in the Rock-n-Roll business in Phoenix.
The first of these two opportunities arose one night at a club called The Impulse at Indian School and 24th Street, just across the street from the once-famous Mason Jar. I was working as a kind of clean up person while also helping book bands into the club. At night, I got to attend the shows for free, and pretty much had as much alcohol as I wanted, which seems, in retrospect, to have been far too much. One night, there was a band booked into the club that played a kind of World Beat music. The group was comprised of a couple and a few other members, who played all kinds of instruments. I don't remember the name of the band. I recall that I was impressed with their talent and I loved the "hippie-ness" of their attitudes and their clothing. They traveled in a van, which I remember as being painted in psychedelic colors and patterns. This may be one of those "fill in" memories, where I think the van should have been psychedelic. After all, it's been a very long time, and honestly, it's not integral to the experience. I thought these were really cool people, so I found myself chatting with the woman who fronted the group after the show. We talked for some time, as the van was being loaded with their instruments. Just before they left, the woman invited me to join them. I remember that I laughed and said I couldn't play any instruments or sing or anything. She said, "We could teach you! Come along! It will be a great experience, and you'll love it!" I didn't think she was serious, but she started to pull me toward the van. I laughed again and told her it did sound like fun, but I wasn't ready to take that kind of leap into the unknown. At that, she got in the van, they headed out, and I went in search of some friends to end the night with.
The second of these "opportunities" came while I was living at 11 East Ashland, an alternative art gallery in Phoenix just off Central and Virginia on, of course, Ashland. I've written about this experience in my book Phoenix from the Ashes. While I lived at the gallery, I helped out by organizing poetry readings for art opening nights. While wine and cheese were served inside the gallery with the art works, I hosted the reading on the stage in the back yard. I was writing some angry works in those days, and had created a persona I called "Elf Witch." One night, as Elf Witch, I was onstage reading a speech I had written about the importance of art and anger in a post-nuclear world. After my reading, I introduced other poets as they came up to read. It was a good night, all around. After the reading, I was approached by a couple who told me they wanted to film me performing for a video they were making about hardcore poets of Phoenix. I was taken aback. I had never thought of myself as hardcore. They told me I was to be the only female poet featured on the video. I took this to be a great compliment. After talking to them for awhile, I agreed to come to the place where the said they were filming. I never went. I don't know exactly why, but after they had gone, I got a strange feeling about it, and chose to forget about it.
I was in my late twenties when these two incidents occurred. I was a vulnerable young adult who had survived eight years of abuse and the loss of a child because of that abuse. For years, I thought I chose not to follow up on these invitations because I was afraid. Perhaps I was, but perhaps it was less fear and more an intuitive awareness that things were not right. In those days, I had not heard of human trafficking, really. There was this illusory shadowy thing I had heard someone mention in my teens called "white slavery," where women were kidnapped and forced into prostitution by criminals. It seemed a far away thing that happened to only a handful of people.
Today, more of us are aware of the danger of being duped into going places with dangerous people and ending up in the life. Were these incidents the innocent invitations they seemed to be at the time, or was there a darker purpose behind them? Was I just a frightened little girl afraid to take chances, or was I unwittingly wise in following an intuitive awareness? I am unlikely to ever know the truth. I know I've never seen a video of hardcore poets in Phoenix. Perhaps it does exist, and I haven't come across it. Perhaps they were just nice people who really did like my work enough to invite me to read. In that case, I am proud to have been invited. Perhaps the girl in the band really did think I would be a fun addition to their group of hippie musicians, and her invitation was as innocent as I took it to be at the time. Again, I am flattered by the offer.
There are many points in our lives where we can take wrong turns, and many where we can take turns that will make our lives better. We never take a straight line from birth to death, for at each juncture we choose, even if we think we have made no choice. I sometimes wonder what life might have been like if I had, say, gone back into the regular Air Force, chosen a new field, and stayed in until retirement. Then I wonder, who would I have become? Would I be the same as I am today? Probably not. What if I had chosen to jump into the van with the musical strangers who seemed so cool? Where are they now? Or, what if I had shown up alone at some warehouse in Phoenix to shoot a video dressed up as Elf Witch? When I imagine it today, I image myself walking into a dark place, with no escape.
I have no regrets.
*Note: I would like to think that both of the Phoenix invitations were legitimate opportunities that I passed up, because I don't want to think ill of anyone I've encountered. If the people involved recognize themselves in this story and want to touch base with me and tell me I missed a couple of fantastic opportunities and my imagination has run away from me, I'd be pleased.
There were opportunities for divergent paths during what I call my "Kerouacian" or "Rock-n -Roll" days, as well. These are the two I was really thinking about a few days ago. I was pretty much partying out the eight years of abuse I had lived with during that first marriage, and was pursuing a perhaps poorly thought out dream of working in the Rock-n-Roll business in Phoenix.
The first of these two opportunities arose one night at a club called The Impulse at Indian School and 24th Street, just across the street from the once-famous Mason Jar. I was working as a kind of clean up person while also helping book bands into the club. At night, I got to attend the shows for free, and pretty much had as much alcohol as I wanted, which seems, in retrospect, to have been far too much. One night, there was a band booked into the club that played a kind of World Beat music. The group was comprised of a couple and a few other members, who played all kinds of instruments. I don't remember the name of the band. I recall that I was impressed with their talent and I loved the "hippie-ness" of their attitudes and their clothing. They traveled in a van, which I remember as being painted in psychedelic colors and patterns. This may be one of those "fill in" memories, where I think the van should have been psychedelic. After all, it's been a very long time, and honestly, it's not integral to the experience. I thought these were really cool people, so I found myself chatting with the woman who fronted the group after the show. We talked for some time, as the van was being loaded with their instruments. Just before they left, the woman invited me to join them. I remember that I laughed and said I couldn't play any instruments or sing or anything. She said, "We could teach you! Come along! It will be a great experience, and you'll love it!" I didn't think she was serious, but she started to pull me toward the van. I laughed again and told her it did sound like fun, but I wasn't ready to take that kind of leap into the unknown. At that, she got in the van, they headed out, and I went in search of some friends to end the night with.
The second of these "opportunities" came while I was living at 11 East Ashland, an alternative art gallery in Phoenix just off Central and Virginia on, of course, Ashland. I've written about this experience in my book Phoenix from the Ashes. While I lived at the gallery, I helped out by organizing poetry readings for art opening nights. While wine and cheese were served inside the gallery with the art works, I hosted the reading on the stage in the back yard. I was writing some angry works in those days, and had created a persona I called "Elf Witch." One night, as Elf Witch, I was onstage reading a speech I had written about the importance of art and anger in a post-nuclear world. After my reading, I introduced other poets as they came up to read. It was a good night, all around. After the reading, I was approached by a couple who told me they wanted to film me performing for a video they were making about hardcore poets of Phoenix. I was taken aback. I had never thought of myself as hardcore. They told me I was to be the only female poet featured on the video. I took this to be a great compliment. After talking to them for awhile, I agreed to come to the place where the said they were filming. I never went. I don't know exactly why, but after they had gone, I got a strange feeling about it, and chose to forget about it.
I was in my late twenties when these two incidents occurred. I was a vulnerable young adult who had survived eight years of abuse and the loss of a child because of that abuse. For years, I thought I chose not to follow up on these invitations because I was afraid. Perhaps I was, but perhaps it was less fear and more an intuitive awareness that things were not right. In those days, I had not heard of human trafficking, really. There was this illusory shadowy thing I had heard someone mention in my teens called "white slavery," where women were kidnapped and forced into prostitution by criminals. It seemed a far away thing that happened to only a handful of people.
Today, more of us are aware of the danger of being duped into going places with dangerous people and ending up in the life. Were these incidents the innocent invitations they seemed to be at the time, or was there a darker purpose behind them? Was I just a frightened little girl afraid to take chances, or was I unwittingly wise in following an intuitive awareness? I am unlikely to ever know the truth. I know I've never seen a video of hardcore poets in Phoenix. Perhaps it does exist, and I haven't come across it. Perhaps they were just nice people who really did like my work enough to invite me to read. In that case, I am proud to have been invited. Perhaps the girl in the band really did think I would be a fun addition to their group of hippie musicians, and her invitation was as innocent as I took it to be at the time. Again, I am flattered by the offer.
There are many points in our lives where we can take wrong turns, and many where we can take turns that will make our lives better. We never take a straight line from birth to death, for at each juncture we choose, even if we think we have made no choice. I sometimes wonder what life might have been like if I had, say, gone back into the regular Air Force, chosen a new field, and stayed in until retirement. Then I wonder, who would I have become? Would I be the same as I am today? Probably not. What if I had chosen to jump into the van with the musical strangers who seemed so cool? Where are they now? Or, what if I had shown up alone at some warehouse in Phoenix to shoot a video dressed up as Elf Witch? When I imagine it today, I image myself walking into a dark place, with no escape.
I have no regrets.
*Note: I would like to think that both of the Phoenix invitations were legitimate opportunities that I passed up, because I don't want to think ill of anyone I've encountered. If the people involved recognize themselves in this story and want to touch base with me and tell me I missed a couple of fantastic opportunities and my imagination has run away from me, I'd be pleased.
