Inspiration Returns

For the past few weeks, I’ve felt a lack of inspiration in my life. School seems to have taken every bit of life out of me, which has resulted in putting the magic of my mind aside to make room for the brain power needed in completing intense academic tasks (such as the fifteen page Media Law exam that I’m still trying to recover from). For those of you who have been reading my blog, I apologize for the lack of updates and will try to get back in to the flow of consistently updating.

Fortunately, my inspiration returned last Monday night.  I had been listening to classical music for hours before I finally decided to go to sleep. It was around 1am and I was so tired that I honestly thought something was wrong with me. “What is this strange sensation that has come over me? Why do my eyelids want to keep closing? Am I sick? Am I experiencing the odd effects of allergies again? Am I having some sort of supernatural experience? Have I gone Mad?” After a few minutes of debating with my delusional self, I remembered the whole idea of sleeping and concluded that sleep is what I needed.  I crawled into my more than uncomfortable bed (equipped with springs on the verge of popping out cutting me while I sleep), but was able to drift off into a deep and interesting slumber.

When I had awoken the next morning, I felt as if the dead batteries in my body had been charged and I was finally back to my strange and unusual self.  Although physically I was in my bed that night, my soul was in an entirely different realm of existence. That night I returned to a place I have visited frequently, yet have never been. A place I consider another home, yet have no connections or roots. If you guessed anyplace other than Russia, you obviously don’t know me very well.  That night I was in Russia, a place in which many of my dreams seem to take place. I’ve always had a fascination with Russian culture, and that fascination has only increased as the years progress and the dreams seem to happen more frequently.

This dream took place in Moscow, to be specific. I was overlooking the Moscow skyline through the window of an apartment. I wanted desperately to go into the city, but my mom said no. I would continually check the view out the window and think about how wonderful it would be to wander around the city. But when night had fallen, the entire city disappeared. The disappearance of the city wasn’t replaced by the darkness of the night; instead the view was of pure nothingness-- A view that could only be seen and accepted in dreamland. At that point, I felt the world around me getting much bigger. Perhaps I shrunk a few inches? I’m not sure. I had a feeling of determination, so I did what any girl would do; I put on a blue wig, ate candy, and told ghost stories with the children in my Russian neighborhood.  Just as things started getting interesting, I woke up to the sound of my radio alarm clock yelling at me.

Angelina Jolie looking perfect in Moscow, Russia

Like all dreams, this one is open for interpretation.  Instead of analyzing it myself, I give you permission to draw your own conclusions. Regardless of the deeper meaning, that morning I woke up in a cloud of inspiration. Whenever I feel like I’m slipping into a hole of mundane normalcy, Russia is always there to pull me out. I’m not sure why Russia has chosen to blissfully invade my dreams? Maybe I’m actually a Russian spy and the tactics have become so secretive that the only way I’m able to receive and communicate information is through the alternate world of dreams? Or maybe Italy, my soul mate and homeland, has decided to share me with the rest of Europe and I’m still in the Russian stage? But the theory that makes the most sense is glamour. Although I’ve never physically been to Russia, I’ve always pictured it as a being a glamorous utopia in which women wear heels, lipstick, and fierce coats every day of the week. Awhile back, I stumbled upon a news segment about Russian women and their devotion to glamour. The segment was only a few minutes long, but it gave me a glimpse into the glam culture of Russian women, forcing me to realize why I’ve always been inspired by this magical far-away land.

Maybe Russia’s trying to convince me to visit in order to discover a deeper sense of glamour, or maybe the series of dreams are simply meaningless and I need to stop overanalyzing everything. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from my 21 years, 4 months, and 25 days on this planet, it’s that my soul encompasses strong feelings of wanderlust and strong feelings of glamour. Traveling to every corner of the world in order to experience the beauty of different cultures is one of the most authentic and glamorous things one could do, and my desire to embark on such glamorous adventures is something in which I will never lose sight of.

Wandering Free, Wish I Could Be...

View from the pier in my hometown; Point Arena, Ca.

I spent my spring break in one of the most beautiful places on earth; at home on the Mendocino Coast. Living in Wine Country is nice and all, but as someone who grew up right on the edge of the western world, I will forever have a hard time living in an area where the sea foam does not touch. The lack of coastline in Rohnert Park takes a toll on my soul, making me feel like a fish out of water (literally). The Pacific Ocean runs through the veins of those who have grown up alongside it and has become a necessary force to my very existence. My parents always talk about the time they took me to the beach right after I learned how to walk. My mom was holding me, and the minute she put me down, I sprinted towards the waves as my Dad chased after me because they knew I had no fear of actually going in the ocean. I seem to always run towards the dangers of nature, but that’s only because I thrive on the exhilarating aspects of our planet.

Living in a landlocked environment over these past four years has made it difficult for me to adjust to my surroundings. Like Madison in the film Splash when she gets in the bathtub to nourish her mermaid tail, I find myself in the bathtub each night; nourishing my salt water soul. In a strange way, the bathwater is a way to cope with the fact that I don’t have the sea by my side.

My time off last week allowed me to re-establish my bond with one of my true loves of the world; the ocean. I can sense the emptiness in my heart whenever I’m away from it for too long.  As I walked along the pier in my hometown, I felt my soul recharging and was slowly becoming whole again. With each breath, I was inhaling a magical amount of energy, inspiration, and serenity, thus taking my entire being to the next level of creativity. I began to think about fashion (naturally), and how my intrigue of the waves is similar to my lust for fashion. My desire to surround myself in glamour is the same as my desire to surround myself in the atmosphere of the sea. I consider the entirety of the ocean a necessity in my world of glamour.  The water has shaped me in all walks of life, and fashion is definitely no exception.

"Dead mermaids" 

The ocean played a part in raising me, as it indirectly fed my passion for glamour.  I remember going to the beach as a child and thinking that the washed up pieces of seaweed were dead mermaids. Their shiny dead bodies were thrown ashore by the forceful waves and onto the freshly dampened sand for the strange little children of the land (like myself) to admire. I thought it was such a morbid kind of glamorous, and one of nature’s most primitive acts of fashion. From an early age, I was lucky enough to be surrounded by the highest sense of beauty the world had to offer. The natural wonder of the ocean gave me an appreciation for the true glamour of the world, which set the tone for the rest of my life. I was in awe of the ocean, as it was a haven for all that inspired me in life.

The mystique of the ocean is beyond anything else in the world. It’s the ultimate sense of glamour; the ultimate beauty queen. How can something so perfect be real? Its beauty is not created with makeup or clothes, but a planetary creation that bears the enchantment of what our world is capable of.  The ocean emits a pure and authentic feeling of glamour, as it accomplishes the essence of glam without any assistance or enhancements. In a way, the ocean is a fashion icon. It’s beautiful in more ways than just looks-- its beauty is a feeling. It radiates magic, captivating all those in its presence. The ocean is what personal style should be about. It’s the most vulnerable organ of the Earth, and it’s not afraid to powerfully express that vulnerability. We should all feel free with our fashion choices—as free as the sea. Style is something we all have within us, and it’s just a matter of pulling it out and possessing the confidence to be free with it.

We can all learn from the rhythm of the waves by finding our own rhythm of style. Fashion inspiration and liberation is all around us, we just have to take the time to let it into our lives.

In honor of the ocean and fashion, here are some beach themed pictures of fierce women: