Britt Skrabanek

My Thoughts in the Wind

I had a romantic notion about Twitter the other day.

Come on now, hear me out.

I was watching one of my favorite movies that I hadn’t seen in ages. Stealing Beauty.

This is my coming-of-age movie I’ve seen about a billion times. Bernardo Bertolucci directed it, and though it’s in English, it has all of the things that I love about foreign films.

Nakedness is celebrated, not shunned or exploited. It’s slow-paced, not action-packed. It’s peaceful, not violent. It’s artistic, not shallow.

The soundtrack is awesome—Billie Holiday, Portishead, Stevie Wonder, Nina Simone, and Hole somehow work seamlessly together.

The main character, a young American woman named Lucy, is on a journey of self-discovery. Liv Tyler plays the part masterfully, with depth and a quiet beauty.

She travels to Italy in the summer to stay in the countryside with some family friends, to wander around and have her portrait painted.

All of it’s gorgeous—the scenery, the people, the food and wine. There’s also some regular napping and weed smoking.

Sounds rough, I know.

Her deceased mother was a poet and Lucy is a writer as well. Being that I idolized this character a bit, I wonder if it influenced me to become a writer in some way. Perhaps.

She keeps a journal with her at all times, scribbling her youthful angst and woes. I even copied her journal, with an envelope glued inside of the cover to harbor pictures.

But Lucy doesn’t keep what she writes.

She tears the piece of paper out of her journal and either burns her thoughts over a candle or releases them into the wind.

It’s a lot of what I do now in this online writing world I live in, especially on Twitter. I write my thoughts and set them free, often forgetting they ever happened.

Sometimes my thoughts are caught by another and read. I am reminded of that thought, whether it was meaningful or not.

But I smile, because someone connected with a little piece of me.

Then, they let my thoughts go in the wind. They travel on to others, caught and read once more, or they disappear, never to be seen again.

I don’t know why I thought this, but I’m kind of in love with the idea.

My Awakening City

I’m a sucker for cities on a weekend morning. With nobody rushing off to work, the restless streets are hushed and vacant.

I started a new Saturday morning tradition.

I drag my ass out of bed, then get dressed in mismatched Yoga clothes. I wander over to the boulangerie right when they open, before the line goes out the door.

I grab a fresh chocolate hazelnut croissant and a latte. Their comforting smells warm me.

This morning I felt inspired to capture my awakening city.

I took the kind of photos I could never take during the day, without people thinking I’m Crazy Stalker Lady.

If any of the local businesses in my neighborhood look at their security cameras, they’ll either think I’m planning a heist or just another starry-eyed tourist.

Let them think what they want. I had to share this beautiful secret.

Sleepy bakers are preparing for the pandemonium, not yet cloaked in flour or sweating beneath their aprons. Though that will all change soon enough.

A couple shares a quiet cup of coffee together, enjoying the empty cafe before they begin their day.

The library on the corner awaits the invasion of eager minds. The chairs sit still, watching over the books as they sleep.

Cutlery echoes from the restaurant opening for brunch. The sandwich board sign is set out, directing crowds inside for hot food and cozy conversation.

The tavern is unusually silent and clean. Liquor bottles rest against one another behind the bar. The old fireplace is cool, but you can still catch a hint of wood in the air.

Slowly, darkness succumbs to morning light. A runner flies past me, more cars ease down the street, and doors swing open to welcome the day.

My city is awake.

Thursday Night

Something interesting happens on Thursday nights. I’m usually wiped out from the workweek, ready for the weekend.

But the self-doubt never fails. I ask myself…how in the hell will I be me again?

You know what I’m talking about, right?

That little bit of sacred time when you get to do whatever you want. Whatever that may be.

No deadlines. No meetings. No schedules.

And, cue panic.

The panic to live. To try to get everything done in a couple of days—the laundry, the grocery store, the exercise, the relaxing, the creativity, the lovemaking.

Thursday nights always happen the same way for me. I’m tired and moody, but after a couple of necessary beers and some laughs, I unlock myself. I remember what it’s like to be me again.

We never talk about Thursdays. We talk about Monday blues and Friday fun.

I don’t know why, but on Thursdays, a couple of hours before I go to bed, I become me again. Thinking about things that mean something, looking at my husband like I haven’t seen him in ages, realizing how damn beautiful he is.

A couple of months ago I started a new job and I remember thinking on a Thursday night—how am I going to keep up with it all? My marriage, my cats, my apartment, my family, my friends, my Yoga, my running, my blog, my novels, my “me”.

That night I wrote the opening scene to my next novel. Crazy as that sounds, after three books and no fame, I’m going to write another.

Because I have to. Because I can’t help myself. Because this is me.

This novel will be a departure from the historical fiction novelista many of you know me to be.

I’ve decided to go forward, just a little, to a time just beyond now when we haven’t learned from the mistakes of history, when we’ve become a world where the people in charge (the government, the dictator, the tyrant) forbid love.

Because love is the one thing THEY can’t control. And the funny thing is, if we all just loved more…the world could be so much better, perhaps peaceful even.

Hell, wouldn’t that be something?

The working title for my next novel is Virasana. It’s a Sanskrit word for one of the few Yoga poses I just cannot do, but an amazing one nonetheless.

For those who practice Yoga, you’ll smile at my choice. The English translation is pretty awesome.

The main character is a reluctant heroine with the power to command nature at her will—something she doesn’t understand, something she learns is her greatest power.

In the opening scene the main character is on the edge of a cliff, alone in a familiar place where her and her man used to be together, side by side. Everything is fragrant and green, the newness that comes with spring.

I can’t make any promises on a release timeframe, because I have very little time to write.

I haven’t touched this since I first wrote it that Thursday night, but I’ve looked at it many times and knew that it was right. I don’t have time to continue with it right now, but I hope to soon.

For some reason this particular Thursday night I decided it was time to share it.

This is what I have so far…

I got so used to you sitting beside me.
It was all a routine…like breakfast.
But you were better than breakfast. You nourished me like nothing else.
For a good while there—um—I guess I felt full. Maybe even stuffed.
Can you believe that?
Me.
Stuffed on love, on you.
Well, not anymore.
I’m always hungry for you.
Actually, I’m starving.
But, hey. You’re not here anymore, are you?
Come on.
Pretty please.
Say something, release me.
Really?
You’ve got nothing?
Alright, fine. So, where was I?
Oh, yeah. You’re not here anymore, are you?
No.
The grass and the dandelions have reclaimed your space. My tears have watered them, helped them grow. My lips have made them tender and alive.
How in the hell did I do that? I’m so dead.
No.
That would be too easy.
Under the earth where nobody can see me.
I’m dried out, alone.
Above the earth where everyone can see me. Everyone.
Yes.
That’s more like it. That’s hard.
Real hard.
Hey—um—I have a question for you.
Yeah, you. You’re the only one I know that can answer it, so listen up.
What’s this excuse for a world without you by my side?
Come on.
Pretty please.
Say something, release me.

The Life Enthusiast Chronicles with Dannie

Last month Kath from Minuscule Moments reminded us that we should build on our dreams to create the life that we wish for. Because Kath is right—life truly is a gift. In my monthly series, The Life Enthusiast Chronicles, marvelous humans from around the globe explain why life is so awe-inspiring to them.

Today I’m super excited to spotlight the fine words of a good friend in Florida, who has solid roots in Thailand, Mr. Dannie Hill. I can’t remember when I first started following Dannie’s blog, but I knew instantly that I connected with his depth and vulnerability. Dannie writes in such a beautiful way, showcasing the ups and downs of life with a strong spirit.

Recently I was blown away with one of his early works, In Search of a Soul, a unique and emotional adventure which follows a former Navy SEAL who hits rock bottom and sails off to find himself. I recommend Dannie all the way.

Even though he was humble to be offered a Life Enthusiast spot, I knew he would rock it out…and he did.

Connect with Dannie on Twitter. Get ’em, Dannie!

Britt asked me to be her Life Enthusiast for January and thankfully she gave me extra time to compose my thoughts.

Like so many of the others she has given this honor to I asked her and myself, “Who, me? Do you know what my life is like? Enthusiast…?”

And then I started to worry.

Could I write something real? I’m a fiction writer after all. I doubted of my ability to articulate real feelings. Next came purpose, doubt (again), and finally resolve.

For something that seems so innocent, my mind is finding it hard to wrap around the fact that I actually am happy about life.

Who knew?

Life has dealt me blows, shown me love, astounded me, and always made me wonder why. This little exercise has brought all that back to me.

Britt. I give you a tear and a smile for asking such a difficult task of me.

I’ve done things in my life. Lived many places in the States, spent time in Budapest, lived two years in the Marshall Islands, fought in a war, helped build a church in Brazil, met the love of my life who gave us three wonderful children.

I came close to death several times and lived in Thailand for ten years, which I think of as my second home.

All of these happenings have given me an enthusiasm for the wonders of nature, the hard realities of life and, as of late, the compassion of humans.

I often wonder what is next, but know in my heart I will enjoy the next step.

My first thought about this post was I would write about my love of nature, the sea, the forest, the wild places and its myriad of life. But now after pondering for days I see life (enthusiastic) has much to do with people I’ve come to know and family.

I see myself as inadequate in interacting with people, but so many won’t give up on me.

I’m humbled at the actions of people I’ve come to know—many I’ve never met in person. Their enthusiasm feeds me and so in lies my Enthusiastic Life.

I would ask you all to take a few moments to open yourselves to the wonders of nature, to smile at people you pass on the street, to misplace the faults of your family (along with your own) and most importantly: Don’t find yourself being the one that always says, “I love you, too.”

Give and you will receive so much more in your enthusiastic life.

Try these simple, difficult, soothing, healing and important things and you too will feel some of my enthusiasm for life.

Britt. Thank you for putting this burden on me—the burden that turned into a blessing.

I know or know of all the great people you’ve selected before and it is an honor to be counted among them.

Across the Sound

There’s something so awesomely crazy about driving, transporting your car on water, then driving away again. I mean, how often do you get to do that?

Okay, some get to do it often. The people of Seattle sure do.

For the rest of us, it’s kind of a miraculous feeling.

It was a few minutes before 8am last Saturday when me, Mr. H, and our car, Uschi, loaded onto the Edmonds-Kingston ferry in Washington.

We stepped out of the car to stretch our legs and watched the serene world go by through the big windows inside.

I love the inside of ferries, don’t you? They’re always so retro and battered, a great backdrop for some impromptu modeling shots.

I had been on a ferry once, maybe twice before, when I was a pup back in Southern California. But nothing could prepare me for taking a ferry across the Puget Sound on a January morning.

We scurried onto the freezing deck like a couple of kids.

It reminded me of running into the living room on Christmas morning, sneaking around at the crack of dawn so I could check out the pretty presents under the tree before Dad woke up.

Every possible shade of blue, purple, and grey surrounded me. Like I had opened a box of crayons with only a few options.

But I wasn’t disappointed. It was just too beautiful.

Where does the water end? Where does the sky begin? I wanted to cry—my eyes barely knew how to handle visions like this…

Others on the boat were just as hypnotized as we were. Bundled up couples strolled the deck, physically attached to each other in some way, their bodies begging for warmth.

A man who has probably taken this route every single day for years couldn’t resist the temptation to step outside in the biting cold.

To marvel at all of it—the majesty, the simplicity.

Even with all of this power, somehow the Sound was soundless. Here was a welcoming haven from the boisterous world we knew all too well.

The water danced, only because it wanted to. The wind whispered poetry. The birds played it cool.

It was a foreign land, an exquisite secret. Nobody gets to stay here…you can only pass through.

We felt honored to be here, to breathe in this unexpected bliss as we glided across the Sound.