Liz Huston

“Self Help as a Competitive Sport” Original Art by Liz Huston

On paper, I have a pretty lovely life.
I’m a full-time artist, operating a little shoppe which sells my art inside the best bookstore ever.
My daughter is incredible, our cat is fat and happy, and the guest house I rent is just big enough for a little garden and an upright piano of my very own. I have not missed a single daily meditation in over two years, visit the gym nearly every morning, and am surrounded by the kindest, fiercest, most brilliant and loving women around.
So why did I fall into the worst depression of my life recently?
Burnout? Un-fulfillment? Loneliness? Lack of love? All of the above?
I have a lifetime history of depression, as I’ve already mentioned ad nauseum, but this was different. This was bigger. Possibly exacerbated by the intense energy of our world right now (the litany of which I will spare you).
From where I am today, I see now that it had been creeping up on me slowly; stalking me for months. Once panic attacks became the norm, then the tears couldn’t stop. Surrendering to the sadness I let myself fall into despair, which is not a recommended path.

However, I am clearly a survivor, and did emerge, thanks to friends and shamans. I learned something big in the process that wants to be shared.

What we have.
I began this blog with an inventory of the things I “have” in life.
Small accomplishments worked at daily to create a life I like and sometimes, I love. It’s important to look around at all the miracles, gifts, blessings we do have. Mindfulness is helpful for this – it keeps us present. Also helpful to remember is that mindfulness is a practice. Not a perfection. Practice.

What we want.
It’s hard to measure the elusive happiness by what we have. We spend our time chasing something for happiness or fulfillment, and once we get ‘there’ we learn that ‘there’ has moved. We want something more. Something else. I think that perhaps wanting, in its essence, is a good thing that keeps us growing and expanding. In its negative sense, it keeps us from ever feeling the pleasure of where we are.
We want a good relationship. We want money in the bank. We want a certain kind of lifestyle. We want world peace. We want to learn, to travel, to love. Wanting so many things…

What we believe.
This is the kicker. What do we really believe about what we have? What do we really believe about what we want?

Getting into the nitty gritty of what we actually believe isn’t as easy as you’d think. We have a lot of internal defenses protecting our precious beliefs. If you doubt this, just think about the last time you questioned someone else about their beliefs. Pretty hard to change their mind, huh? The same goes for us, on the inside.

One of my teachers once said, “A belief is just a thought you keep thinking”. That stuck with me, and has taken years to unwrap. It spontaneously unwrapped today at the gym. I wasn’t looking for it. In the rhythm of my run when BAM! An internal belief suddenly revealed itself.

That belief was rooted in a desire: I want to be an artist.
Which is good, because I am an artist. Yay. But…

What do I believe about being an artist?
Oh, well, artists paint *this* way with oil paints. And they live in this place (which just happens to be Paris in the 1890’s). And they have lots of painter friends that they get together with and share secrets at the local cafe. They smoke a pack a day and drink exotic booze. They rarely sleep as they’re up all night painting. Oh, and they’re men.

Ummmmm…
Deep down inside, THIS is what I believe about being an artist?
Is this why no matter how many pieces I create, no matter how many pieces I sell or where I exhibit – I never really feel like a ‘real’ artist?
Because deep down inside I believe real artists are men.
Deep down, I believe they paint exclusively with oils. In Paris. In the 1890’s.

Logically, these beliefs are absurd! I’ll never, ever achieve these things without a time machine – except maybe the oil painting part (which I’m diligently working towards, I might add). But I digress.
I’m a woman who lives in Los Angeles in 2017, who tends to be a bit of an introvert, who is primarily a digital artist that also paints. I quit smoking and don’t drink very much anymore at all. Hm. Not at all like what I ‘believe’ an artist looks like.

It occurs to me that what I believe about being an artist is rooted in a very shallow lifestyle. I don’t really consider myself a shallow person, so this revelation was disturbing – and sharing it in public, even more so. Examining this, the truth about what I want is revealed. I want a life, THE ART LIFE, not a lifestyle. Why is what I want in direct opposition with what I believe?

Where did I get such an idea? How did it become such a deeply held belief? What do I do about it now that I’ve realized it? Well, if it’s true that a ‘belief is just a thought you keep thinking’ then, maybe I could cultivate a new belief. A new picture of what I believe an artist looks like. I don’t know that it’s as easy as all that – but it’s worth the consideration and definitely worth the practice.

Gotta tell ya, now that I’ve seen this so clearly, am looking around in my internal house at all those beliefs which are covered in thick cobwebs and wondering, “what else is in here?”

But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, I’ll tackle one big belief at a time. I mean, it is a really big one…

* * * *

Here’s to unearthing our beliefs, one at a time.
xo,
Liz

Today I recognized the miracle of being alive. The miracle of being in a healthy body.

It was a remarkable sensation.
But let me back up first.

Yesterday was a low day for me. A very, very low day. My tendency towards melancholia crept in, and I was listless, devoid of energy or inspiration. It hurt. Physically. It hurt. I spent much of the day crying and trying to make art of out of the sadness which I could not name. But, in the end, had little to show for it.

Needing to get out of my house, needing to get out of my head, and into my body, I took myself on a hike. It was a late enough in the day where the sun was mild, and the shade abundant.

I walked.
I hopped across the stream multiple times, and for the first time in 8 years, I fell. I slipped, slid, caught air, and landed firmly on my butt. Knocked the wind right out of me! (I’m okay, just some minor scrapes). But I realized my punishing thoughts were consuming me and distracting me. After the fall, with each step, I practiced being completely present and wouldn’t ya know it? Gained a certain clarity.

In that clarity, a dare came to me. A dare to commit to a specific set of goals for the next 100 days. It seems like a lot to commit to; but I’ve already been doing it more often than not, so it’s really a fine tuning of the practices I’ve come to love. This 100 day personal challenges includes the gym, meditation, drawing practice, journaling, social media, practicing the piano, and of course, eating well.

When I got home, I plotted my challenge, arranged my goals and counted from July 6 (day one) to 100 days in the future. I was shocked at the date. October 13, 2017, is 100 days from today, July 6. October 13 would have been my 13th wedding anniversary.

wow.

Now that I realize the personal significance of the date, this challenge means more than ever. I’ve come to think of it as: who do I want to be on that day? Do I still want to be suffering? No. I don’t. The tricky part is that I do have a problem with depression, and I have my whole life. So it’s not just lifestyle adjustments and positive thinking – there is medication, too. I take Sam-e every day, because I must. Finally I realize that taking Sam-e serves essentially the same function (metaphorically speaking) as wearing glasses to correct a vision impairment. No shame in that anymore. (small, but important victory)

So, this morning, I got up promptly. (yay! No snooze button for me today!) Went to the gym and ran my best time yet; 3 miles in under 30 minutes. Not bad for someone who smoked for 20 years, only quitting 4 months ago (and joining the gym then, too!)

While I was running, I started to really tune in to my body. It was amazing. I felt the muscles, I imagined what they looked like. I imagined my lungs pumping air through my body, my brain all lit up with the oxygen…
I started to realize that all my years of berating my body for not be thin “enough”, for those times I was made that I wasn’t pretty “enough”, or good “enough” were all bullshit. Total, complete bullshit.

For the first time in my life, I came to recognize the incredible gift of just being alive and in a body. A body that can run and jump. A body that can learn to play the piano, that can draw and paint. A mind that can dream, and the body that can make that dream tangible. My body is utterly imperfect, I have no delusions about that. But it is MY imperfect body. And it has been my most faithful companion for 4 decades. Today I recognize the gift of being alive, of being Embodied. And the gratitude, the real, true, deep gratitude, brings me to my knees. I am very happy to be in a body, right here, right now. And my body, if it could talk would say, “Thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

I wrote that line, “Depression is a thief” in my journal one bright day. It was a rare day of clarity, when the sadness had lifted just enough for me to realize all the joy, love, creation, even achievements depression had stolen from me in this life.

I’ve written about my depression before, but never when I was in the grips of it. I’m in deep today, and I write this because I desperately want out of it.

It’s a hard day, emotionally. Another in a long line of difficult days – and I can’t even tell you why. It’s my day off, so to speak, I should be enjoying it. This is a day I am not expected in my shoppe, a day where I can be in the studio sun-up to sun-down if I so chose. Or I could hike all day, or clean my house, or just read a book, or run errands or see friends. But it’s afternoon now, and I haven’t so much as left my bed.

I have been thinking of my childhood a lot lately – not because I want to blame anyone, but because I am looking for the original wound. I am looking for the injury that caused this sad, skewed view of life and of myself. I am looking for the brain injury so I can heal it. But…maybe there isn’t one. Maybe my brain is broken and all I can do is try and work with it.

The way I remember it – I grew up deeply frightened, abused, neglected, misunderstood and isolated. Trauma after trauma visited me, and already being a sensitive creature, I didn’t have the tools to deal with any of it. So I isolated myself further and tended to hurt myself. I hated myself, I was ashamed of myself and I just wanted to vanish. Which I did. Not wanting to bring anyone down, not wanting to burden anyone with my nameless pain, I suffered alone, always.

Somehow I found a way out of that darkness. Part of it was an official bipolar diagnosis when I was 20. Outside of that, I had to learn to save my own life. A lot of my healing had to do with finding a creative outlet – first in writing, then singing, then filmmaking, then photography, then mixed media and looking forward, painting. There were a handful of spiritual teachers over the last twenty years who taught me meditation and mindfulness. They modeled loving behaviors and taught me shamanic journeys. My spiritual path healed me in ways I still marvel at. A lot of it had to do with the birth of my daughter, too, who still brings the greatest joy to my life.

Wow, that’s interesting. I already feel better. I already feel like I want to get up and out of this house – feel the sunshine on my face, the earth under my feet. Maybe sometimes the depression comes when there’s a kink the prevents output. Like a hose that can’t shoot water because of a kink somewhere.  Maybe depression isn’t a thief, maybe it’s just a kink.

****
Addendum
I nearly edited all the real time shifts out. But I have decided to leave this blog as it is. A record of my downs and ups. I think maybe if we saw less polish and more authenticity, we’d be a healthier society. I know that if I stumbled upon similar words, I would relate and appreciate. So I leave it as is.

May you be well.
May you be happy.
May you be free from suffering.

~Liz, June 6, 2017

(original art by Liz Huston)

Introducing my latest piece, “Never Not Broken”

I read about this Hindu Goddess in my studies, Akhilandeshvari, who is one of the main forms of Parvati. Her name translated means, “She who is Never Not Broken”.

It was August of 2016 when I first learned of her, and She has been beckoning me to make a piece about her ever since. Her creation was a long 10 months, full of resistance and doubt. She tested me energetically, emotionally, spiritually like no other piece. She brought me to my knees and in sharing her with you today, I feel as if I have never been more vulnerable.

Looking at her with fresh eyes, I think she is what happens after The Tower. After everything falls apart, we are never not broken. But we are never not whole, either. There is a strange paradox at work here, as we often encounter when pondering our essential natures.

Today, she is telling me to be careful not to fall in love with one static version of yourself – either the idea of being whole or the idea of broken. There is a natural flow in our identities, personalities, beliefs. When we become too rigid in who we believe ourselves to be, we deny the other parts and the multitude of potentials. When we insist on being broken, we ignore the ways in which we are whole. Perhaps in embracing the paradox, or at least viewing it, we may come closer to who we truly are in our core.

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