ASH AMBIRGE

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Would We Have Known These Were The Best Moments of Our Lives?

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired

“She's so proud of your traveling. She wants you to live the life she was afraid to live, but always wanted. You were always her greatest work of art.”

Those were the words she said to me.

She was my mom's friend back in the moments of white Mustang convertibles, flirty bell bottoms, heart-filled hopes and dreams laced with determination.

At a time when my mother, a free-spirited artist and renaissance soul, first began to lose who she was.

At a time when her nervous excitement slowly began to transform into debilitating anxiety.

At a time when she was suddenly left broken-hearted and broke.

And at a time when she became a victim of her own self-doubt and self-consciousness, that slowly, but surely, gnawed away at any last bit of nerve she had.

You were always her greatest work of art.

Her anxiety disorder murdered her coldblooded. It murdered her while she was alive, and it murdered her the day she took her last breath.

She later had become sick with a physical ailment that needed treatment, but she was too anxious to fight.

Eventually, she stopped taking her medication.

The medication that was keeping her alive.

She couldn't take the pain anymore.

The physical pain, the mental pain.

She quietly tucked the pills she was given into her mattress, where she lie wishing for a revolver.

I know she wished for a gun because she told me so, through tears of agony and shooting pains in her legs.

You were always her greatest work of art.

They were the same tears I dismissed as being overly dramatic, as I pranced back to my dorm room an hour away, hopelessly naive and foolishly anxious to meet up with a group of fair weather friends–our last night of freedom before the final semester of our college career got started.

I got the call the next morning at 8:17.

“Your mother is unresponsive,” said the unfamiliar voice of authority.

I arrived to our house an hour later, unsure of what I was going to find.

But by then, there was nothing left to find.

Just a hastily written yellow post-it on the door.

“Call me. Signed, The Coroner.”

You were always her greatest work of art._

I wish I had known her when she drove her white Mustang convertible, golden blonde hair waving in the wind, signature neck scarf tied just right. I wish I had known the woman that winked at sailors, sipped on Brandy, breezily splashed paint on canvases, and entertained guests with salami sandwiches made with fresh cut Italian bread.

I didn't know that woman. But I do see playful glimpses of that woman everyday, in everything I do.

Yet I wonder—

Did she know those would be some of the best moments of her life?

And furthermore, if these, right now, are some of the best moments of ours, would we know? Or would we just let them delicately slip through the cracks of time, forever chasing after tomorrow and the promise of nothing?

With our heart-filled hopes and dreams laced with determination…

Her moment was then.

…But our moment is right now.

Your moment is right now.

This very minute.

Wherever you are.

And whoever you're with.

Now is yours.

Because as it turns out, you never know when the moment will arrive, when it won't be.

You were always her greatest work of art.

Nov 22

2012

Lust, Turkey Gizzards + A Ladylike Toast

I blame my bleak and very unpromising cooking skills on Thanksgiving, you know. You’d think I would have gotten better from helping my mom prepare such a yearly feast for me, her and my dad. (Mashed potatoes were my sworn duty. Probably because they’re mashed, requiring heavy amounts of manual mashing child labor. Not to […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired

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Nov 28

2012

Marilyn Monroe Wouldn’t Give a Damn.

Remember earlier this year… …when I sauntered over to Ecuador and had a twelve year old pierce my nose, as well as agreed to having a random Ecuadorian man sit on top of me on the beach to doodle all over my back with a mysterious black, sticky ink? Maybe we didn’t know each other […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired

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Nov 6

2011

It’s Okay If You Suck At This. Otherwise Called, “Permission to Suck.” Otherwise Called, “Longest Blog Post Title Ever Because Obnoxiously Long Blog Post Titles Are Funny.”

It’s okay if…you’re drowning in self-doubt. It’s okay if…you don’t know where to start. It’s okay if…you started, but want to stop. It’s okay if…you sometimes mix up your priorities. It’s okay if…you didn’t say the right thing. It’s okay if…you really fucked up the first time around. It’s okay if…you fucked up the second time […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired

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Mar 25

2012

Why Moderation is for Losers.

Growing up, my dad’s favorite line used to be, “Everything in moderation.” What a riot. One would assume that, after having those particular words-o-wisdom jack-hammered into my brain at least once per week, that I would have turned out, well, moderate. I’d think moderately, I’d travel moderately, I’d love moderately, and I’d live moderately. And […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired

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Nov 13

2013

You Know You Need a Change When…

The year I tried to juggle 1,407 balls in the air and still be nice to strangers in the super market taught me an important lesson: Busy isn’t a synonym for happy. Full doesn’t mean fulfilled. And people are pushy assholes in line at the deli counter. All of us are busying ourselves to death—sometimes […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired

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May 10

2018

WE ARE WASTING OUR BRAINS ON BULLSHIT (And Other Darling Sentiments)

You know those creeps who never drink any water and you’re all, “BUT YOUR CELLS! YOUR CELLS ARE SHRIVELING LIKE LITTLE CALIFORNIA RAISINS!”  (Unless this is the kind of thing that only goes through my brain, in which case, welcome to my inner landscape, ya’ll.) I feel the same way about time. There are so many people who aren’t drinking […]

In: Feeling Dead and Uninspired, Feeling Disillusioned With Life

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