Last Tuesday I had a conversation with my creativity coach Sara and it came to how creativity operates in an entirely different way than regular economic exchange.
As a creative you create what you feel called to do.
And then you sell it, or you don’t.
In regular businesses, you create what you can sell.
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Being creative is a blessing, it is fulfilling, satisfying.
Sexy!
But it is also a curse, addictive and in all likeliness an economic sin. Your art not just exists outside of existing economic structures:
It also has the power to disrupt it.
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And if you’re any good at what you do: It will.
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A great artist is someone who immediately wakes you up. Or their work is. But it’s not a place where you feel all comfortable and fuzzy.
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So there is that: The realization that my purpose work takes place outside of society. And that in all likeliness, it will always place me outside of it as well.
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But there was also another lesson I learned, and it was something that I think many clients (of Sara) would have found an uncomfortable observation by her. Yet I totally loved it….
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We were talking about personal branding, a topic that rarely comes up because I no longer see my creativity as something I necessarily sell. But we touched on personal branding because I confessed to Sara that I would love to pick up coaching and teaching yoga again; But was held back so much by this realization that there is something vastly different about me, compared to what someone expects from a coach or a yoga teacher.
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This something within me kept getting in the way of being able to offer my services. I wasn’t able to communicate what it was I had to offer, and kept getting stuck in the standard image of a coach or yoga teacher. That’s when Sara talked about personal branding. And she spoke the words: “I think your personal brand is INTENSE and UNSETTLING.”
. Wow. Yes! YES IT IS! . I once had someone tell me how people immediately felt better when they saw them. That a calm and peaceful mood struck them, where everything was okay, just from being in the presence of this person. . I immediately shot back: “I have THE EXACT OPPOSITE effect on people!”.
Deep fears, coming back to haunt. Dreams that were lost, suddenly resurfacing. Insecurities, which were carefully contained for years, suddenly omnipresent. . But also: Big and powerful breakthroughs happening in seconds. . But also: For the first time seeing their own strength mirrored. . But also: A meeting of souls. . But also: Receiving clarity and ownership over your life. . It wasn’t that I couldn’t see what I had to offer the world, it was that I kept getting stuck in not being able to word it. . INTENSE and UNSETTLING
1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020 2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW 3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020
The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right. . Nederlands blog: https://zegmaarlauren.com/
This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.
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Dear Sara,
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It’s hard to say when I decided to pull myself up by my bootstraps, get back on the field, which I seemed to have given up to former and potential lovers, professions, employers and a variety of financial and sexual saviors to, I don’t know, take a fucking dump or something? I mean for FUCK’S SAKE what was I thinking Sara?!
What were all these people still doing on my field? Why were they invited or why did I even allow them on?
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But dating problems aside as to when it started, I do think the moment of having a next level fuck-that-shit-moment, putting my cap back on, wiping the snot out of my eyes and the blood off my face, spitting on the home base and giving the pitcher a determined look that regardless of what he was gonna throw at me, I was going to knock this thing out of the park;
That moment had been brewing for a while.
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That I had actually been very aware, right from that lousy 10th of December, of how difficult it had been for me.
Not just to see my lover leave. But the why. It had been a genuine choice by him, and a big leap forward from a moral perspective (and who does not wish for their loved ones to have a clear conscience?). But there had been circumstances which caused me to think this was not entirely voluntarily. This was a man doing what he had to do because life had been so cruel, he could no longer allow for his own cruelty to coexist.
The only way to do the right thing, was to become the angel he had never been.
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Now I m the first one to admit my perception is terribly biased. And it’s certainly not as if he sat me down and explained himself or defended himself.
But then again:
If he had left me for a badass girl half my age, who filled his penthouse with the smoke of pot, and considered out loud if she’d take a pet hyena – I would have known that.
It’s not an ego thing, that I frame my ex-lover’s departure into him taking a step back to take responsibility over his life.
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And it’s not even an ego thing that I unconsciously waited for him, for two months and 19 days. It’s not even because I thought he would not get by without my company, my love, my sex. In fact I believed it to be a huge relief, to finally not have this “mistress thing” haunting you at night.
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I don’t know, I don’t know…. Maybe it was because I did respect him so much and did not take this breakup personally, that I wanted to wait to make sure he didn’t come back.
Or maybe the past few months of waiting were my own personal mourning time.
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All I knew, and this is the strange part, was that I couldn’t cut ties, nor recognized how powerless I was making myself, until I applied for what I unabashedly labeled “my dream job”. It was an organization that I love, my favorite department, the location is smashing and it buzzes with energy and worldly excitement. (no it’s not a brothel! lol)
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To say “I applied” would be an understatement.
I energetically aligned with them, and wrote a letter from the heart yet it referred to universal principles and could have passed as their 2020 mission statement.
I think it cost me half a workweek, but afterwards it was no longer a question if they were going to give me the job;
It was only a question if they could afford not to.
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I know it must sound arrogant but just like I had been convinced I was an extremely good mistress, who had offered a unique and extremely valuable arrangement (and her heart!) to the man she loved;
I knew what I offered this company, was beyond their wildest dreams.
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And then: Nothing.
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Turns out nothingness is pretty killing when you can’t wait to start having the amazing kickass relationship you saw in your mind’s eye. Until it finally hits you.
If someone takes THAT amount of time? It’s not a match.
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Sure: you could play the game out. Keep your cool. Pretend you didn’t even notice their response took ages, and be like:
“Oh! Now I remember, yes! That application! Jeez, I d forgotten about that, but yeah, I d love to meet up!”
And if this organization had been anyone but my dream employer, I would have had no problem playing this game out, bluffing my way through as if it was poker.
And I would have won.
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But that hard to get strategy, is not how you win the game of love. This can only be won by showing your heart. Just like I ve never been shy towards my lover that I was crazy about him. In the beginning, when my lover just like this employer, slowed things down by cold shouldering me, I was very vocal and broke up with him. I said I was crazy about him, and since he seemed to insist on being irritated over how “difficult” I was, I was apparently alone in those feelings. So bye then.
It was an incident that he would bring up, whenever we brushed on the subject of choosing for each other and get a “real” relationship. His “You just walked out of me” versus mine “Only because you didn’t want me there”. But it worked. And he learned that I would support him, always. That I stood by him, even if he didn’t contact me. I had full faith in his ability to manage his own life, and plan when he wanted to see me and when he didn’t. But he knew I was crazy about him, and that he wasn’t allowed to treat me as someone who didn’t care.
He had to acknowledge how special he was to me.
That was all I asked.
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And that’s what happened after waiting for them for two weeks to respond to my letter: I broke up with them, by withdrawing my application. .
Because I finally saw that it was not their responsibility to explain or excuse themselves or to be a good future employer.
It was my responsibility to get the fuck out of there.
It was never my path to fit into a neatly crafted position, something my application had overdelivered on from the start.
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My application and the weeks of silence had been equal to falling in love with someone who has not made up his mind, and who has no interest in acknowledging your feelings. Meanwhile leaving you with your heart all open and out in the streets. Maybe they’ll pick it up for you, once they’ve made up their mind. Or maybe they’ll trammel it.
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Which leaves you with only two healthy choices:
Quit (if it’s real love) or turn the game around and treat them the way they treat you. Pretend it leaves you completely neutral that they ignore you for weeks, and start dating their biggest competitor.
And in all likeliness it has to be a two-puncher:
First quit.
Then if he wins you back, you still have to keep your cool.
This is how I played my cards with my lover, and it’s why I got to be his mistress for five years, and I regret none of it.
Not playing the game, he was used to winning.
Not investing so much time and energy into someone who I have never been able to call “mine”.
It was all worth it.
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If the object of your affection is your number one priority, you should take your chances.
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However, before you do, a moment of contemplation is in order. And in my case that moment came as soon as I started Googling my other options. Searching LinkedIn for the people who ran similar organizations where I could offer my services and make a serious impact.
When suddenly I realized:
“Wait a minute! This is not MY path! This is not my job. No job is.”
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Once again, AGAIN (!! I can’t stress the stupidity I felt) I had bought into the fantasy that next to my purpose work as an independent, there was a job for me. A warm and fuzzy place where I was a normal person, and people expected normal things that were not about me.
Where I was part of a team.
Where I belonged.
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There is no such place, Sara.
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Just like my relationships with men can be better than they ever had, and I do make sure that they are; They will always choose someone more relatable and more presentable to settle down with.
Just like my entrepreneurial skills will outdo those of any other employee in terms of making money and making an impact:
They will always choose someone less outspoken and easier to be around with, to take within their walls.
UNLESS!
Unless you make it your number one priority.
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Any game can be won, if you insist on it.
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I could have won the heart and become the woman at the side of my lover. Just as I could have gotten this job. If I had made it my sole focus of attention and dropped anything else. My writing. My publishing. My speaking. And my entire new life and career which I m currently crafting under my other name. Everything.
It’s almost as if the other people instinctively know me better than I know myself. That my lover knew I would never stop writing (about us) not even if my life or our love depended on it. And that any employer will understand that ultimately I don’t live for them. I live for me.
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There are no fuzzy office corners with friends for me, Sara. No job where I ll not be haunted by the idea that the real work is waiting for me at home.
There is no bed for me, where I’m always welcome.
Those were all things that I thought I would get, in return for allowing all those people on the field. I was so, so wrong. I need tattoos to remember this, I need high level boundaries, I need to stop giving fucks and I definitely need to get real about whose game this is.
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There is a movie with Madonna from 1990, Dick Tracey. She plays a nightclub singer Breathless Mahony.
Confused by all the crime cartels in his city, Dick Tracey tries to figure out who Madonna is playing for.
Dick Tracey: “Whose side are you one?”
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Breathless Mahony: “The side I m always on. Mine.”
1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020 2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW 3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020
The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right. . Nederlands blog: https://zegmaarlauren.com/
myth and modern popular culture tells the truth about sexual relations..
About male fear of woman, not male hatred of woman.
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The femme fatale shows that in her supernatural kind of power,
that woman is ultimately unknowable.. Not only to man, but to herself.
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Camille Paglia
audio commentary to Basic Instinct
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This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.
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Dear Sara,
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There is only one part of my 1994 project that is actually taking flight. Just one part of my life, that easily transcends 25 years back, and I would be able to write about in my 1994 series.
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Everything else that happened is just untranslatable.
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I can’t share that I ve decided to go out into the world under my real name, starting with an entirely new Bon Jovi YouTube series. The only filming we did in 1994, was with a camera that had videotapes in them. And we were unlikely to share it with anyone we did not already know.
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I also cannot tell how I found the bestest job in the history of being LS Harteveld. A job opening which has excited me to the level of Jon Bon Jovi funding my life on the condition that I only do whatever the fuck I want, every day, for the rest of my life. And if that means I will do him, that would be great. But if not he’ll still be my biggest fan. That would be like the Next Best Thing, to finding this job. But it is so tied to modern culture that I have not found a way to translate it to 1994.
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And in this 1994 series, which really feels like ages since last time I wrote for it, I also cannot tell that in order to apply for this job I am supposed to clean up all my blogs at least to some degree, in order to apply. And also, the absolute daunting task awaited me, of going through both of the YouTube channels (the description boxes) to clean them up, take out any cross-referencing from my secret pen name to my real name, take out all services that I no longer offer, websites that I no longer support and social media accounts that have changed. And remove everything that I don’t want biting me in the ass, when I m visible or famous under my real name. Nor did I want anything online which I did not 100% stood by, the moment I was sending out the most important application of my life.
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And – and! – Sara, you are not going to believe this; I can also not work into my 1994 series that YouTube then did the stuff nightmares are made of: It.
Unedited.
My.
Videos.
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Five years of work, trimmed endings, cut monologues, ringing doorbells and bare bellies from tops that exposed me; All online. And that’s just the stuff under my real name. God knows what I edited from my more candid LS Harteveld channel. That channel could have an atomic bomb of bloopers, that could blow up any career, let alone the carefully crafted public image I was creating under my real name.
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But the good news is that the unexpected YouTube fail left me no choice but to simply take down all 500 videos on my two channels, only leaving a goodbye video on my LS Harteveld channel, and the three videos I had shot for my new series under my real name. It cost me four hours of intense anxiety and full-blown panic on a Monday night. It saved me days and days of editing description boxes and a guilt trip towards my audience for every video I removed. A simple apology on both my channels, explaining what had happened and why I removed the videos, was all it took. I think I owe YouTube a big Thank You.
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So all these major life events, the decision to become known under my real name, starting a new video series, finding the perfect job opening, and my adventures with my YouTube channel and the blessing that turned out to be, colored the past two weeks. Yet I did not write anything for the only series that I hold in the highest regard, and that I consider the most pure version of me: 1994. Where I translate my life into a fictionalized past.
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22 Year old Lauren had not moved a finger, in the area of work nor her writing.
And there was really only one aspect where I knew what she had been up to: She had fallen in love with Michael Douglas.
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She had no idea why she had managed to miss him, when she had seen Basic Instinct at the theater, but she had. And now that she owned a videotape of Basic Instinct, she just couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She was spellbound by his strong, macho on-screen presence. And she was sure the magic was in his voice. The way he said: “What the fuck do you want from me Catherine?” while looking straight into Sharon Stone’s eyes, up close, sparked a deep longing in her to be with a man again.
To have a man asking her that question, in an almost bored, definitely not impressed with her, way.
. Maybe her ex-lover Bear would?
She still thought almost exclusively about him. Even though he seemed to have really left.
But maybe it would be someone else, someone new who would come into her life and possess that same kind of distant cool, that made her feel safe.
Whoever it was, she would recognize him if she saw him.
She was sure of it.
1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020 2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW 3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020
The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right. . Nederlands blog: https://zegmaarlauren.com/
I ll admit it: Technically, this is not the YouTube channel that I should be cancelling. Not the one under this name.
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Just like technically it are not the posts on this blog, that I should be clearing out. Nor my original blog. Nor my Dutch blog. And yet, that is exactly what I will do.
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I will basically decimate my online presence as LS Harteveld, because I have chosen to become known/ active under my real name. I m finally speaking my truth there.
Don’t get me wrong, it is far from the transparency I have had as LS Harteveld, from 2006 and up; But that is exactly why it is manageable. Why I don’t break into a cold sweat at the idea of someone asking me questions about it, having to explain myself, or even selling my work.
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Under my real name, my work is genuine enough to be a considered a part of me. But it is impersonal and general enough, to not have the same emotional value, as my work as LS Harteveld. At least, it won’t once I ve cleared 80% of my blog and YouTube there as well – because that’s what I will do.
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The past few months, I am noticing that people become obsessed with me way too easily. This doesn’t have anything to do with my blogs nor my YouTube: Often they don’t even know I have those.
It has been that way since I was very young, and I suspect all women experience this. But I find the emotional harassment from men I barely know, unbearable.
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Just tonight I was unlocking my bike, in the city, and someone stopped his bike right behind me, and forced me to have a conversation with him and wanted to get to know me, which of course I refused.
But it WAS the moment when I decided enough was enough.
That I was going to delete my LS Harteveld YouTube channel so that my face would never be known again under that name.
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I started writing as LS Harteveld in 2006, and it has been so nessecary for me, to cope with life this way.
Writing is my sanctuary.
And I m proud of the books I created in 2017, and look forward to curating all the material I still have and create new ones.
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But in the upcoming years my face and my work will also become known under my real name. And that is the moment when it becomes very inconvenient that my candid LS Harteveld videos exist.
Especially because I will be writing here, and needing this place here, more than ever.
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The blog you re reading right now, has my 1994 project on it, where I fictionalize real life events to a 22 year old Lauren, who wants to be a writer. And I also write letters to my creativity coach Sara here. You can follow this blog by subscribing on this page.
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Next to that, I have my original blog. The reason I started using that, is that it doesn’t give out email notifications! This allows me to write things I want to share on social media, but that I don’t consider my core work.
So if you want to read this extra work, you can follow me on Facebook or Twitter
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Like I said I expect to write a lot. More than ever before. I think my adventures in the real world will really stir my creativity, although I will never write about my payroll job/ work environment where I m not a speaker or writer.
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So I can no longer afford the candid conversations I ve been having on YouTube.
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Today I was covering a song/ video in a series I m currently doing on YouTube, and I will make a new final video explaining why this brought me to this decision, but the short version is: The topic I wanted to cover, and which I had actually announced the previous day, suddenly struck me as very unwise to openly discuss.
After a week, rich in drawing unwanted attention to myself, the last thing I wanted to do was put oil to the flame.
And all I did want to do, was pull the plug.
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So I will.
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Just like in 2010 when I first came online, all photos of me, all videos, will be removed. And the LS Harteveld blog you are on right now – will become a sanctuary where I can be myself and share my best work.
For ever.
1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020 2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW 3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020
The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right. . Nederlands blog: https://zegmaarlauren.com/
This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.
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Dear Sara,
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I know our call is over a week away, but I m ready to call it a day.
The upcoming week will not bring any dramatic change, nor a massive production of blog posts, because I m kind of… I don’t know. Done?
I know who I am, I know what I want, and the days of changing direction or wasting time are behind me.
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Another reason I have found myself toying with the idea to write you this weekend already, is because I have no intention of holding on to the ins and outs as to how I got here. And as soon as I try to explain it, it rapidly turns into this boring list of all the blog posts I wrote that shaped my mind. I think I m close to 10 including several written under my real name, all written in the past 2 weeks. I didn’t just write, I also worked and did other things.
And yet all in all, the past two weeks felt intensely alone. Not lonely.
. First I assumed it was my obsession with January 1st, that I just wanted to start the decade off by myself. But then it became the second of January, third. And nothing changed. I would go to the movies, theater, see friends even. But it was almost like I made sure it didn’t impact me as much as it usually does. I could feel that although I wished I had started the year fresh;
I still had things to figure out.
There was still “life clutter”.
2020 Had not started as clear and purposeful as I had hoped.
December with my lover breaking up and almost daily social appointments, had been hard on me. This year solitude and writing were the only thing I longed for. To figure things out, and let go what was no longer needed. The good news was it worked.
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Last week I saw how all the major aspects of my life, and how I want them in the future, had stayed partially clouded (although for many of them I was on the right path for sure!) because I had failed to see one thing. Or maybe I had seen it, but I had failed to see the consequence: THAT I AM A WRITER
Or artist, in a broader sense. I honestly have no idea how I let’s say “managed to miss that”, because the signs have been all over my two author names, five different blogs, ten published books and material for the next ten already done, but I thought that being a writer, publisher, artist, was somehow something that could be: – negotiated – parked – downplayed – bargained And even: – erased – denied – ran away from
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Yet through the lens of:
“Honey, you’re a writer, you need ample time to process all those times you look for the meaning of Life behind every man you meet (that’s not true, just my lover and the man who looks like Slash), every guitar hero whose biography you read (also not true; just Slash) and every movie you see (probably just everything featuring Adam Driver or other gorgeous men with dark hair). You re a writer and it’s going to cost you your life. Get used to it.”
In that light it’s obvious my writing doesn’t budge.
Every time I panicked over something – being someone’s mistress, writing about my sex life to name just a few – it was just because I failed to understand: I AM a writer. That’s what I DO. It’s not a “I m a writer unless I m in love with you, and you don’t want me to write, then I m not a writer.” It’s not: “I m a writer unless you want me to really get my head around this new job and go head first into this new world making new friends and giving me a new identity because then I ll be that.” I m a writer period. It’s not an app that you can remove from your phone.
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The first areas where this fact, obligation, curse and blessing of being a writer started to sink in were my love life and work. I now know that as much as I would agree that it’s not ethical to write about your sex life, it’s not something I can change any more than the color of my eyes. As much as I would love to have my life free to jump head-first into a new career: I am a writer already and I publish my own books. End of story.
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But there was one area where it took a bit longer. And I think it was this epiphany that needed the solitude of the first weeks of 2020 before it could come out. Teaching yoga.
The area I had been on the fence about since summer 2018
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As you know I have unpaid work with male co-workers, and it’s very practical work. And at the same time I ve pretty much called off all my friendships, and currently no longer hold any steady arrangements of seeing people. My preferred method of socializing from this year forward, will be through work in a male-dominated, practical environment.
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Together with the realization that I AM A WRITER this quickly led to the realization that there is no place for teaching yoga in my life. That I want to spend my working hours among men, and my time off behind my desk writing or working on my own publishing business. Ideally I want to make a full income selling my own books, and work a job 3-4 days a week, including my current unpaid work.
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I kept all the other things that had to do with the yoga studio. The space, my class teaching friends, my own yoga practice. I write for my Rock Star Yoga blog. I still see myself as someone who has something to say on yoga, just not teaching it. Becoming an (albeit antagonistic) spokesperson in the yoga world will still happen.
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So after two weeks it’s finally done, all the internal processing and seeing where I will be taking my life. I’m updating all my websites and profiles, and will update my resume so that it reflects that I am a writer and a publisher. No longer a yoga teacher.
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One of the movies that influenced my decision was Words of Love on Leonard Cohen and his muse Marianne Ihlen. It didn’t take long for me to recognize myself in Leonard. In the poor deal he could cut her, where it was practically impossible for him to give even a little bit of himself to her, I recognized the state of affairs in my own love life.
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It’s not that I don’t think a man doesn’t deserve safety, warmth, predictability, stability, monogamy, a future. It’s just that I can’t give those things.
1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020 2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW 3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020
The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right. . Nederlands blog: https://zegmaarlauren.com/
I was archiving my spiral bound diary of 1994. When closing it, the first page fell open and it just broke my heart. It had a quote from Bear. It was from a conversation we had, about our dreams. Or his dreams, which fascinated and inspired me. It may have been why he was so irresistible to me; He just did his own thing and I seemed to have little impact on his life. We only saw each other when it suited him. Which was another thing I liked, no one understood; How could I not take initiative to see each other? And didn’t I want him to be there for me when I wasn’t doing well? How could I give him all the power, controlling everything? That not having a say in whether or not we were going to see each other, was actually one of the most intoxicating things about it, baffled them. I usually added that I would initiate contact sometimes, to ensure he didn’t feel excluded. But he rarely accepted the invitation.
Late 1993, he had taken his physical exercise to the next level. It didn’t seem to take him any effort. He had been training every day since October, November, and he had been keeping it up. I immediately started dreaming what I would be able to achieve if I did that. But Bear reminded me this wasn’t the first time I was inspired by his discipline. He said he would be frustrating rather than inspiring me, since I seemed to be having so much trouble to stick to a regiment.
I denied and ensured him 1994 would be different, starting with quoting him on the frustration thing, at the beginning of my journal. Only to not read it again until January 1995 when archiving the journal. And suddenly I felt so guilty. Not for not keeping my word to Bear – regardless if he would have been more inclined to stay with me and not break up if I had become more successful at my fitness dreams. No. I felt guilty for not backing myself up. It wasn’t just the fitness; I vowed to become a writer in 1994, and then didn’t. It wasn’t all bad, don’t get me wrong. Both Bear and me finished our thesis and got our Masters. We both started our working lives as well. And then a month ago he broke up, and now it’s January 1995, and I’m like: “Where did the time go? Where did my dreams go to workout every day (in my case yoga) and to become a writer?” It was all so very sad.
How full of life I still felt one year ago. Everything Bear and me had been sharing. Our five years of being lovers felt like a heart shaped bubble. A curated experience like something you could put in a museum. The intensity, and the beauty of it just brought tears to my eyes. For the first time I cried, thinking about our years together, and that he had moved on. Wanted a family. Wanted normalcy. Didn’t want me anymore, the girl who had asked him to have her first time sex with. Because her boyfriend had ended it, right before her 17th birthday, and she didn’t want to leave this to chance or let it fall into inexperienced hands. A burden had been lifted from my shoulders, when I had found him.
Just like the past month after the breakup, I had been devoid of emotion, and I had been pragmatic about what needed to be done. I was young but I was determined to find someone skillful to give me my first time. And took all the steps on instinct. Bear immediately sprung to mind, because I knew him from stories from two friends and had seen him on a number of occasions. We had been briefly introduced but never really talked. Bear had been sexually active, and was notorious for not committing. Through the two friends (I can’t remember which one) I got his telephone number, I came up with some kind of excuse for needing it. I rang him up, explained who I was, and that I wanted to ask him something. But that I could only do it in person. We set a date to have coffee together, and I was business-like about what I wanted from him. It wasn’t until he said Yes, that I broke into tears.
Suddenly all the tension of setting this up, the fear of staying a virgin far too long, grief of having lost Jonathan at such an important time; It all came out. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. Bear just smiled and took my hands over the table. Touched my face. I wanted to crawl away, I felt so pathetic. Bear tried to look me in the eye, but the more he tried to stay connected with me, the more I started to cry. “It’s going to be fine, okay?” he finally said when I had calmed down a bit. “You trust me?” I nodded. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. Do you understand?” I didn’t explain that I wasn’t crying because of him doing something. But out of fear of him not doing something. Out of fear of him changing his mind and leaving me hanging. And a virgin.
But just like the daily exercise, Bear did what he promised. The first time we didn’t go all the way, but stuck to the things I was already experienced with. And the second time we had real sex. It was extremely emotional. It had been such a big hangup for me, and at first I really thought it was that stress, why I was crying. But it would stay that way. The fucking brought out so much tension, I cried more often than not. I felt like a baby in his arms, and it was all okay. More than okay. It was wonderful. And now he has ended it and there is this bubble of beautiful memories, that will never go away. Our first date he had ensured me he would never do something I didn’t want; He held true to his word. All the way up to the end.
As soon as he wanted a normal relationship and possibly a family, he asked me for a similar coffee date as I had five years ago. And he left.
Bear had been right. 1994 Was not the year he would inspire me to great heights, and became the source of frustration instead. Not because he had stuck to his exercise regime and I hadn’t. But because our time together had come to an end, and had left me empty handed. Finding the quote in the diary was the first time I cried for our breakup. For not backing myself. For making resolutions I didn’t keep. For not being a writer. Not having a lover. Everything.
After two days I decided enough was enough. I am only 22 years old, and I still have my life ahead of me. I took a piece of paper, and drew out what I wanted this year and also for the upcoming years. Just as Bear had done for his. There were way too many blanks to my liking. With whom was I going to make love? Cry? In whom would I trust? It was an incredibly lonely exercise, and I can’t say that I’m suddenly healed and looking to the future with hope and dreams.
But I will put one foot in front of another, and become a writer. Alone if I have to.
.
~Lauren An unexamined life is not worth living
.
December 2023/ January 2024
This series is currently being updated, and will be published into
A letter from a stranger diary 1994 – 1996 including book 2, Dear Nikki
I finally cracked the code why the sexual tension keeps on building between the Slash-like painter I’m in love with, and me. We both seemed very determined not to throw any fuel on any fire, the last time I saw him was all extremely respectable. So then why can’t I stop thinking about him? Why do I keep having the feeling him raising his hand wishing me a happy new year and good luck with the cats, is not going to be the last time we see each other? And even more so that the tension not just keeps on building despite both of us not acting on it; But because of it. Our “distant” dynamics are like buckets of gasoline thrown straight onto the fire. But why? Now I know why.
And I also know what either one of us would have to do to break the spell; And that neither one of us, is going to do that! But before I get into that, I want to first explain why things have gotten so heated.
For starters, even though Slash and me seem to be behaving identically, we are both playing a different role. It only looks as if we’re both distant, formal even. But underneath the surface, our roles are different from each other… Very, different.
When Slash holds his distance, sidelines me by letting me know he’s married, tries to hook me up with his colleague even, he does it from a position of taking the lead. His actions say: “I have no room for you in my life.” He keeps it clear that our chance encounter when he painted my balcony was a one-off thing. The click between us might have taken him by surprise at the time, but that he’s going to leave it at that. When he avoids physical contact and proximity for example by choosing to sit at the table instead of next to me on the couch, he’s saying: “I like you, but I’m not going to act on this. And I want to be clear on that.” However, that is not what my distance means.
My distance means: I respect you. I will never initiate. You decide. You don’t owe me an explanation. His distance communicates he’s not available but inadvertently (or intentionally?) makes him dominant. My distance communicates I respect his choices but also that I comply to his wishes. My distance makes me submissive.
His rejection and my cooperative understanding have turned into a highly volatile situation. He’s taking the lead and I’m complying. It’s like mini-sex.
Having said that, it is now blatantly obvious how either one of us can break the spell effectively: By breaking pattern. The moment I try to seduce him or take initiative either sexually but especially verbally, by speaking to him about my feelings; The spell is broken. And vice versa the moment he puts me in the lead, for example by claiming to be overwhelmed by his feelings for me or complaining he does not know what to do: The magic is gone.
The reason I think neither one of us will let the magic die out by talking about it, is because we are both fascinated by it. Even if we don t act on it. Maybe especially then.
.
~Lauren An unexamined life is not worth living
.
December 2023/ January 2024
This series is currently being updated, and will be published into
A letter from a stranger diary 1994 – 1996 including book 2, Dear Nikki
This may be the best January 1st in the history of my entire 22 year old existence. And I am not sure why, because I am in an impossible position. This is not one of those happily ever after stories because even if I would end up happy, others would not. Technically, I could see how everybody could live happily ever after. But since even Bear has set himself up for a life of monogamy and normalcy, I have given up on the idea that men can love multiple women, without blowing it with one of them. Or both of them.
It’s not that I cannot see how a marriage does not have to blow up if your Slash-like husband has fallen in love with a rock chick whose balcony he painted this summer: It’s just that it’s not the most likely scenario. And a hurt, angry wife, a divorce and children caught in the middle, is. Yet I seem unbothered by this horror scenario.
Probably because I’m still under the spell. His spell. Rationally I can see this is going to be a mess but emotionally I’m in way over my head. Because I encountered the Slash-like painter on the last day of 1994 with a bag of oliebollen (a Dutch treat for New Year’s Eve) in our building. He was just on his way out. I came home from shopping for my first New Year’s Eve when I was going to be all by myself. I have my own apartment, so I no longer have housemates. And I have cats now, and didn’t want to leave them alone with all the fireworks. Slash threw me a big smile when he saw me and said: “I left something at your door. I hope you don’t mind.” The company he works for were delivering cards on behalf of the real estate company, thanking us for our cooperation during this year’s renovation. If the tenant was home they would also get a box of oliebollen, but they were not allowed to leave them at the doorstep if no one opened the door. Yet, the painter who looked like Slash, had.
He was wearing a black leather jacket. I had never seen it, because I usually saw him in his work-gear and the two times I had seen him at Warhol’s, he had not been wearing a coat. He was wearing black jeans and black boots. The perfect rock star ensemble. The only thing that revealed he was not entirely casual was a black shirt, instead of a T-shirt or a sweater. I assumed he was already dressed for a New Year’s Eve with his family, perhaps with an extra family or friends coming over. Luckily enough, I was also decently dressed. Since I didn’t have anybody to dress up for, I knew that if I didn’t make a conscious decision, New Year’s Eve would end up without make-up and without beautiful clothes. A questionable way to start the new year. So instead of waiting until later in the day, I was already wearing my festive outfit, and wearing makeup. I considered myself so lucky that I ran into him. He would be the last person I saw in 1994!
And I was looking amazing and he was looking amazing and we had just bumped into each other on a day neither of us were pressed for time. He had an excuse not to be home, because technically he was working, delivering cards. I asked him, if he wanted to come up and eat the oliebollen with me. And to my unspeakable joy, which I hoped I kept a bit hidden, he accepted.
He carried my heavy bags up, and indeed, there was a box of oliebollen with a card on my doorstep. Slash seemed a little embarrassed that I was going to read it, with him being present. But there was nothing to be ashamed of, really. All he had done, was put his own name on the card that had been pre-printed by the company. He had signed it: Happy New Year “Slash” And he had drawn the little bald man with the big nose and big hands, looking over a ridge. The one he had pointed out to me on the Iron Maiden album cover. There was no phone number or anything like that. It was really respectable, and I liked seeing the card before we went up. I interpreted it as a sweet goodbye note. Something like: “You were not crazy. We did have a moment together and I’m sorry I’m married and I never told you.” But his way of saying it was better.
Regardless of me thinking his message was neutral, he felt embarrassed for a moment. Almost as if he had not realized that if he would go up with me, it would include me seeing the card. So we went in, he took the groceries to the kitchen and I took the box and the card. We put our coats on the hooks, and just seeing his jacket in my hallway, covering my other coats, made me so happy. It was as if it belonged there. Like he was already my boyfriend, when I knew very well that he was not.
We went to the kitchen, where I simultaneously made coffee, heated our oliebollen in the oven (he originally wanted only one oliebol, but I told him that equaled zero and that they always came in pairs.) and I unpacked all the groceries. He had to move around all the time, because he was always in the way of the fridge, the cabinet, the stove. And it was all very funny. I don’t even remember what our topic of conversation was. But I do know that it got interrupted all the time by me saying: “I’m sorry but,” or him saying: “Oh, I need to move again.” We were both, very deliberately, not touching the other person. We even tried to stay as far away from each other as we could. And not just in the kitchen, in my living as well. I sat on the couch, but he sat at the table. No kidding. He even asked: “Do you mind if I sit at the table?” No, I don’t. I didn’t.
It was obvious that we were both sensing things. It was as if the air between us was on fire, I have never felt anything like it. And yet neither of us mentioned it, and we both did our utmost best not to add fuel to the fire. And in a way we succeeded. Because nothing was said, no phone numbers were exchanged. No promises were made and we just parted raising our hand in the air: “Goodbye! Have a great new year!” “Good luck with the cats,” were his final words, before I saw him descend from the stairs.
We did well. Yet now all I can think of is everything about him. It was as if I finally understood that I should enjoy him being there. The first weeks after our balcony day this summer, and even the times I saw him at Warhol, I forgot to notice what he looked like. I didn’t know the color of his eyes, how tall he was or how he was built. But now I tried to absorb everything about him. The deep brown of his eyes. The soft childlike features of his face. His strong hands. The tone of his voice, it was like a warm blanket. Although he did not have a very low voice but a friendly one. Just like his body; It wasn’t threatening in any way. I couldn’t sense his sexuality, and I still don’t know if we would be a match. After 5 years with Bear, I’ve gotten so used to a man being dominant and I have promised myself I never have to be dominant in bed, or even seductive. I don’t want that. But I do know our great sex life was because Bear was sensitive to my needs. That although I usually say it was his dominance, that I could surrender to, it wasn’t. It was his sensitivity to what it was I needed, and he understood that most of the time this meant for him to be dominant. To push me. To take me. But he would always look into my eyes, and never lose connection with me. He immediately picked up if my mood had shifted. Often before I did.
I don’t know if I will ever see Slash again.
But I do know that when I felt so attracted to him, without sensing his sexuality or without knowing if he would be dominant, that it was because those things really do not matter.
That the first thing I look for, when I’m in love and wonder if we’re a good match, really isn’t if someone is dominant in bed.
It’s if someone is warm and feels safe.
And he did.
.
~Lauren An unexamined life is not worth living
December 2023/ January 2024
This series is currently being updated, and will be published into
A letter from a stranger diary 1994 – 1996 including book 2, Dear Nikki
5 Years ago, on New Year’s Day, I sent a similar photo to a lover; A man with whom things were not working out and he had already started letting go. For a long time I didn’t have a reason to push it or ask him what our status was. But late 2014 a new man had come into my life.
Someone who was involved. At the time I had no reason to believe we would act on our interest for each other. And I knew he was cherishing the holidays to tighten bonds with his family; Something that would continue to be a pattern, during the 5 years the man who would be known as Mr.Big, would be in my life. December would always be our most distant month. Until ultimately, December became when it stranded. But I didn’t know all that. Not 5 years ago. All I knew was that I had a lover who had been extracting himself out of my life, because we had difficulties to overcome. Practicalities, mostly. But I had really been into him. Maybe he saw things clearer than I did. Maybe what he wanted was not possible with me. Who knows. All I remember, with great clarity, is taking a picture on January 1 2015 asking him to let me go, if he didn’t want to continue. I don t know if I told the whole truth, but I can’t imagine I didn’t; That I had fallen in love with someone else. And that although I could not see us getting romantically involved, I wanted to know where we, the distant lover and me, stood. I remember being incredibly sad. That I could not believe our summer affair had lead to nothing, and that I d now fallen in love with someone who was spending the holidays with a family. His family. To whom I was a threat. To whom our love, would be a threat. I took many pictures and ultimately saved 2 or 3. One of which I sent to the man with whom I had a summer affair and who had now become distant. He replied and he let me go. Before January 1st was over, I was all alone. It took until late January for Mr.Big to make his move. And for the first 6 months I believed he would choose me. They were incredibly frustrating. But then everything changed. I got used to being a secret mistress, and was genuinely happy he had never made “me” a reason to get a divorce. Mr.Big never talked to me about guilt, nor blamed me for complicating his life. When we saw each other it was incredibly loving, light, exciting. It was even emotionally safe: we trusted each other, we d never hurt one another. But with every year that passed, things became more difficult for him I think. He contacted me less frequently. Until this December he ended what we had. And here I am. 5 Years later. And there is something I did not tell. I m in love with someone else. We don’t talk about it. We rarely see each other and to the untrained eye, nothing can be seen. And even to the trained eye, nothing can be seen. Not a word… not a word ever spoken about what I have felt from the first moment I saw him, although it took over a month to sink in. But I never want to be a secret mistress ever again. I don’t want to be the villain in your story. So 2020 will not be the year I recreate what I had with Mr. Big, with another man. But then what will it lead to? This unseen, unspoken, tension, as if the air between us is on fire. All I know is that I took picture after picture at the bridge. And that they all came out radiating.
1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020 2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW 3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020
The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right. . Nederlands blog: https://zegmaarlauren.com/
Maybe I waited too long. My melancholic moments, my saddest moments, and certainly something that resembled tears (I only vaguely remember them…. it was all so strange) must have been the first days after Bear broke up with me. That although I did not feel like I was feeling it, that was all that was gonna come, making it the best moment to write about the breakup when I was still emotionally involved. That there wouldn’t come a better time, when I had more meaningful things to say. But I didn’t believe that. Bear had meant so much to me and therefor I was convinced I would eventually break to pieces and lose my mind. That “this” could not be it. But nothing came… And now I’m on the verge of 1995 and I just want to have the breakup with the most important man of my life in my diary, especially since we no longer seem to be friends. He didn’t show up at a party we had both been invited to and that he had been looking forward to. We had said our goodbyes with a big hug and actually saying: “See you there.” That had been another possible reason for keeping it together: I still had something to look forward to. Either way, the party came and no Bear. No explanation either and instead of being devastated I just interpreted it as a sign that he could be having more difficulty with the new situation than me. Our breakup had not brought the peace of mind he had hoped for, and now he was cutting ties. Yet, I was still okay. And with that another good moment to reflect and to write, passed.
So I had already missed the first days or the first week, when my feelings had been the strongest. Then I missed out on the second opportunity, which was experiencing that he didn’t want to see me anymore. And then the third trigger happened, which didn’t have anything to do with my Bear, but with the second man I am in love with. A Slash like painter who did my balcony, and whom I later went to see at Warhol’s because he had told me he usually went there on Saturday’s. In Warhol he let the woman behind the bar in Andy’s room hijack our conversation, and almost pretended he had no idea who I was. Afterwards I had seen him only once, when I was going out and we ended up at Warhol’s. I now considered it my time to pretend we had no memorable connection. He took it well, which I on my turn, found extremely sexy. “Well played!” I thought.
Then just this month he started working on the building with a colleague. The scaffolding slowly moved up the street, alongside the building. After two weeks it was on our side, the final apartments that needed work. Probably because I had been impressed with his relaxed attitude the second time at Warhol’s, and also because he had kept his cool every time I cycled by and casually said hi, I offered them coffee. I didn’t invite them in, or anything. And I treated him and his colleague entirely equal, nothing flirtatious. I was business-like even. Which in turn, seemed to fascinate him. As if he started to wonder if his imagination had been playing tricks on him. “I thought she had come to the Warhol to see me, but now I’m not so sure!” Something like that, I don’t know. Like I said, I wasn’t overthinking it. I was just normalizing whatever it was that had happened this summer, with strategic use of coffee and cookies. I wasn’t bending over backwards to win his heart.
On my way out I passed them again. It was the end of the day, I had been working from home and was now going to a Christmas drink at the publisher’s. They were breaking down the scaffolding, and as I was taking my bike out of the basement, putting my handbag at my steering wheel and getting ready to leave, the most peculiar conversation arose. Something in the lines of my Slash-like painter making jokes to the other one, that he (the other one) was single. But that he (the Slash painter) had a family. It was all done in a casual boys will be boys kind of way, and it even included the suggestion that the other painter and me should hook up. Or Slash addressing both his colleague and me in a way that suggested “we” were a group, or the singles or something.
What I also noticed was that the colleague did not seem to notice this was a strange conversation. Or he was too excited to be named in one sentence with me. Like I said, it was not exactly clear what was said or anything, but I did understand that he was telling me he was involved with someone. And I know it’s not with the woman who’s working in Andy’s room, that was super obvious. But if you have a family, and you have a sexy bartender who has the hots for you, it does explain why you’re not following up on the girl with whom you unexpectedly had a wonderful afternoon, when you were sent to paint her balcony. It does explain that.
On my way to the Christmas party I kept thinking why it was that something seemed off with Slash’s remark. Something was… strange. I was too busy trying to get my finger on it, to realize that I had just been rejected. That after Bear breaking up with me, and then Bear not showing up, I now had the other man I was in love with saying No. I now had three reasons to feel lonely and rejected, and yet I still did not feel miserable. I was more like a detective trying to figure out “Whodunnit”. Although in my case, not having sex since July, the answer was obviously not “me”. I had not dunnit for five months and both men were rejecting me.
It took me over a week to crack the puzzle. Everything. From why I wasn’t feeling totally devastated when he broke up, to why I was okay with him not showing up to the party; To why I was unimpressed with Slash telling me he was taken. The reason is one and the same: I’m still in the game.
It is as if these men have come up and said: “I can’t play.” but then expected me to respond with something. To stop doing something. As if I am running around in red lingerie sucking my fingers and winking: “Come here, sailor.” and am supposed to change that. I don’t know. But they are treating me, or talking to me, as if they are expecting something to happen with me. As if I am supposed to do something, as a response. As if they want me to step out of the game when they are the ones who have just announced they are either not playing games or have stopped playing and now they’re looking at me to leave the board. Why would I leave the board? They are the ones who left.
I still like them, both of them. I like Slash and I like Bear. But I’m not stepping off the board because they are not in a position to play anymore.
I said this to a friend last weekend. That I finally understood that these men had expected me to be defeated. And that even I had expected that. My constant waiting, expecting to at one point “feel” the breakup. But I was fine. “It is so strange,” I said to her. “I miss Bear, I really do. And I would have loved Slash, but he doesn’t even let me come near. Yet I still feel excited. But why?”
“Because you’re still in the game,” she laughed. “And you’re a good player!” I sure am.
.
~Lauren An unexamined life is not worth living
December 2023/ January 2024
This series is currently being updated, and will be published into
A letter from a stranger diary 1994 – 1996 including book 2, Dear Nikki
Last Tuesday I had a conversation with my creativity coach Sara and it came to how creativity operates in an entirely different way than regular economic exchange.
But dating problems aside as to when it started, I do think the moment of having a next level fuck-that-shit-moment, putting my cap back on, wiping the snot out of my eyes and the blood off my face, spitting on the home base and giving the pitcher a determined look that regardless of what he was gonna throw at me,
There is a movie with Madonna from 1990, Dick Tracey. She plays a nightclub singer Breathless Mahony.
This is a letter to 
Yet through the lens of:
LS Harteveld 