Victory
Welcome to Biddy Sounds Off, a place for episodic writing and music I love. I'm Betty. When I saw the ocean for the first time, it changed my life. The word perspective appeared hanging in the sky above the water in like neon pink and orange cloud fluff letters. My subconscious can be pretty literal at times.
Biddy:My dreams are like this, the message is hard to miss. Not that a bitch pays attention all the time, and in that case the dreamer peeps until I eventually catch on. I was standing on a dark beach back then, 17 years old, and I had just been moved to Salinas, California. Leaving school hadn't been a problem. I'd been jumping between different high schools and what we called junior high schools back then.
Biddy:I marveled at walking on beach at night in early winter. A Colorado girl, it was the 1st year I missed out on the snow. It was incredible and soothing to stare out at the waves, to witness the power of the ocean, the wildness of nature. My 17 year old problems suddenly seemed so insignificant. My old life was far away now and the world ahead of me seemed limitless.
Biddy:Staring out at the ocean seemed like glimpsing the eternal universe and for the first time I could close my eyes and listen to the roar it made. I still love to watch the ocean, just the sight of it and my shoulders relax. My neck begins to loosen and if I can hear it too, more healing and the loosening of my jaw. It may seem bleak to take comfort in the understanding of my own insignificance, but this awareness takes the pressure off. I wasn't able to control what happened to me.
Biddy:Events rise and fall and the suffering is washed away. This is why I've always been drawn back to the beach. It started in Northern California and brought me to Mexico now. I still feel my spirit awaken when I stare out at the endless ocean. It almost overloads my senses.
Biddy:The sight, the sound, the surrounding air and the way it feels and smells, it strips everything away so that I simply bear witness. I'm simply observing this awesome power that is so much greater than myself. My ego surrenders, and I feel peace. It wasn't difficult for me to adapt to living in California. I adored rural area and on the way to school in the morning, I'd see cows huddled around big piles, mountains of feed.
Biddy:I felt uneasy watching them because the feed looked radioactive. It was neon pink and orange in color, which is why those letters rising in my mind had been tinged with those unnatural hues. I mentioned it to my new mates, but they just shrugged. I was already averse to eating meat at that time, but it seemed like the whole scheme just kept getting sketchier. This was the early nineties, and so we were allowed to spend our breaks between classes in our school's own smoking section.
Biddy:We wore black and looked morose, went to coffee shops after school, or sat for hours in the evenings at Golden West. That was our diner. In Colorado Springs, we had Perkins. They had a smoking section too and we took full advantage of it. I remember blowing smoke from my camels back then under the inadequate partition, a piece of floating plexiglass into the nonsmoking side.
Biddy:On purpose. No doubt upsetting the good people who'd come out to eat and would spend way more money than us. What an asshole move that had been on my part. A pathetic attempt to look cool. Here's another.
Biddy:I threw a homemade cinnamon roll that my mom had made. She frequently made these for holidays or special occasions. I chucked it out the window while riding in a car at some poor person minding their own business at a bus stop while my friend and I sped by in the car laughing. What a total dick I was. I threw it as hard as I could, but it just thunked somewhere near the curb, trying to show off again.
Biddy:I'm sure I yelled something at them too. Always trying to look like tough stuff, even though my sister had already given me the name of Goody Two Shoes. That Adam Ants song had been big in the early eighties. And she could see that it cut me up somehow. It worked.
Biddy:And I got upset. She had her hooks in, and so it stuck. The insult lasted much longer than the song's popularity. I tried to overcompensate, to appear cooler or tougher than I was. My sister was the coolest badass around, so she could easily call me out as a fake.
Biddy:And I guess she would do that when I was getting a little too big for my britches. Sibling stuff. When you lose a sibling, it is a unique loss. And, obviously, we want to minister to the parents first. Right?
Biddy:The parents of a dead child. So from the get, sibling loss starts off lonely. You feel selfish, at least I did, bringing it up out of respect for my mother, who grieved loudly, taking up all the air in the room. But my sister was like a savage roast comedian, hilariously funny with barbs that impaled the tender bits of anyone who stumbled onto her stage. She called my mom the goose and squawked and strutted around the room with her tail feathers puffed out, wagging a finger in our faces whenever mom got upset, which made her more angry, obviously, brilliantly funny, savage, and a rare beauty she was.
Biddy:I fell as deeply as I'd ever fallen in love that year in California. It was the happiest I've ever been. And when my mom and stepdad at the time abruptly moved us back to Colorado when he lost his job, I turned my anger inward, perhaps unsurprisingly. Started using drugs and drinking without the false bravado that I may have had before. There was nothing performative in this.
Biddy:I was truly lost. Fortunately, I escaped addiction and the horrific consequences that come along with severe alcohol addiction. Let's take a break. That was a phenomenal team dress to start. An album that came out in 1995.
Biddy:Okay? You okay with that? Then I played Work, w o r c. Band name and album name is the same. Keeping it simple.
Biddy:I appreciate that very much. Fucking love that song, 'Make the Wait' from their 2023 release. Work. The kids today are alright, sounding great. My my first drink was also my first blackout.
Biddy:Age 11, my mom had a friend over. An extremely rare occasion with an almost formal feel to it. Maybe she was a friend from high school or something? The bank, maybe? I didn't know.
Biddy:But she brought Bartles Bartles and James, the brand of the day. They had these, like, down home commercials back then. Old timey, I think. My older sister had been unusually quiet that evening, watching the entire night unfold with a Cheshire smile. Once the ladies moved into the living room, my sister stole the massive jug and motioned for me to follow her downstairs, where she dared me to drink it all.
Biddy:I thought this was definitely it. This is definitely my chance to prove I wasn't a goody 2 shoe, so I jumped on it. Chugged it. I'd seen her drinking with her friends before. Smoking, too.
Biddy:My sister once threw a party at our house that resulted in bloody walls going downstairs into her room. Fights on the front lawn, loud music, and our neighbors calling the cops. I don't know where mom was because she rarely went out, But I found myself trapped in my upstairs bedroom with someone's friend, presumably, who was doing rails of coke and explaining something stupid, very seriously, for hours. Nothing untoward, fortunately. But I knew mistakes when she handed me that bottle of old timey wine, and I would have done anything to impress her.
Biddy:After I got all goofy, she commanded that I sing and dance like Tina Turner, in front of mom and her friend from the bank, who who were still upstairs none the wiser. I did, and maybe it was Cyndi Lauper. I can't remember. But I sang my heart out and my frenetic dancing featured lots of high kicks and maybe some floor work. Even though I don't drink anymore, I still love to dance.
Biddy:I definitely tried to prove my mettle to my sister without success, trying to live up to an ideal that didn't actually exist. Bullies will always find something to hate on. It isn't because you're inherently defective or unworthy of love. Whether you're drunkenly performing sheebop in front of mom and her respectable friend, without knowing it as a song about getting off, or whether you're pulling the strings behind the curtain and you're the coolest cat around, a bully will make you feel small, because their self esteem depends on it. It isn't personal, despite the personal thrashings we give ourselves for existing insufficiently in their presence, because bullies can't help themselves.
Biddy:Bullying you gives them a break from lost somewhere out in the ocean, being lost somewhere out in the ocean, being tossed around by emotions, a ragdoll. Perspective, the word rising up in my mind, again, neon radioactive cloud fluff letters hanging above the ocean. When the ego surrenders, I feel peace. Let's surrender our wits to these beats now, gentle listener. Started off with a total banger from Major Lazer featuring Peaches and Timberly and the song Scare Me.
Biddy:Vicious beat, followed by the infectious groove in that song Stabilize from a talented artist out of the UK, Nilafer Yanya. I love to listen to that song while I'm on the treadmill. Before the break, I shared the feeling of pressure to measure up to the impossible standard of coolness set by my sister, 5 years older. She stayed in Colorado when we moved to California. She'd already been out of the house for years by then, living with her friends, boyfriends.
Biddy:We didn't see much of her anymore at all. And I was beginning to form my own identity, not just some cheap knock off personality. As much as I loved the beach, I was content to observe it. A couple of friends surfed, but I didn't know how to swim and was happy to stay on shore. I'm still more comfortable on dry land and my rush to get myself to the beach didn't actually make much sense, practically speaking.
Biddy:After Mazatlan, myself and the pets settled in Lucerias this last summer. I still wore black and looked as morose as I tried to do in our high school smoking section, but now I like to keep my skin out of the sun. Sunscreen isn't something we gave much thought to in the eighties nineties. Now, I wear big hats and massive shades, I use the highest SPF I can find. The beach was a mess of sand and I marveled at how oblivious I've been to the practical logistical side of my beach going.
Biddy:Back then when we made love on a blanket in the sand, Surely, it would have gotten in my hair, and my mouth, and my crevices. I hadn't noticed, of course, back then when I'd been in the throes of my first romance, my first big love. No discomfort would have even registered back then, but now my rickety spine and joints were complaining about being draped over a towel, on the actual ground. The sand, as white and soft as postcard, crept under my bra and stuck in the torrents of sweat. It was a shoes off or flip flop situation, and of course there is no way to avoid the resultant mud, which dries to scratchy dirt by the time I trudged back.
Biddy:The sand slides around as I trudge through and is deeper in some parts than others, with a heavily panting 16 pound Pekingese in tow, strapped to my body in a frontal carrier like a toddler. Overexertion in the heat is a concern. I carry him in all weather though because his legs are 3 inches tall after all. He likes to walk and even run-in short spells, bouncing and tottering about jovially and with great vigor for about 15 minutes or so at a time before total collapse. Back in the US, I had dreams of pulling up to the shore with a deluxe wagon in tow.
Biddy:Now, I imagine pulling that thing through the sand, wheels spewing sand in my direction, in the direction of my face, sticking to my sunscreen and between my teeth. What's more as I had to abandon flip flops entirely, the premier footwear for beach goers everywhere. The constant grinding of filthy sand between my toes actually caused a flare up of athlete's foot, one of the more enduring gifts from my ex husband. Apparently, athlete's foot is quite contagious and it can become horrific the longer it goes untreated. It took me a few days to realize what the foul itching sensation would bring.
Biddy:The beach, of course, is very popular and many of its followers are devoted to the tropical heat. They're not all on 2 legs. We battled flying insects and crawling ones in our various beachside Air BNBs. The worst were the cockroaches. I had been lucky enough to have had limited interaction with them prior to this, and I am ashamed to admit I was easily defeated by them.
Biddy:I forfeited my entire deposit to escape them. I admonished myself for behaving like an extravagant American princess, spending money I didn't have. In my defense, I'd had some prior experience with cockroaches while on holiday in New York City, where they are also ubiquitous, but these tropical sons of bitches were as long as my middle finger and had no fear climbing around in the silverware drawer like it's a ball pit at McDonald's or just steady chilling on the kitchen counter, just watching me make coffee with my Milka pot on the stove. Gentle listener, I did the best I could. I accepted the financial consequences.
Biddy:Still, my stubborn ass was determined to settle on the beach. And I made one more attempt in Manzanillo, further south, before eventually deciding to drive inland, where, as it turns out, we are all much happier. Beyond the beach, Mexico has much to offer. I'm excited to share more with you as this podcast progresses, but I will let it be known in advance that while travel is part of my narrative, your baby is not out here hiking volcanoes. This is not that podcast.
Biddy:I know my limitations. Now, I'm learning to find my strengths. I spent the first part of my life trying to find my identity through the approval of others, tried to fulfill their expectations of me, tried to please others and this is because a strength of mine is empathy. Learning to have empathy for myself first is where I have finally learned to find my inner strength, my personal power. This shift is owed to one word, perspective.
Biddy:What perspective has taught me after first appearing in those little fluffy clouds above the ocean? Is it trying to impress or appease the bully in my brain is a fool's errand that will leave me humiliated, hungover, or most likely both. I cannot control other people. The false belief that I can, or that I could, or that I would even want to, is my ego. This futile exertion leads me personally, owing to my people pleasing pathology, to take shit, to allow my narrative to be defined by forces outside of my control.
Biddy:I'll do too much. I'll always be doing too much, exert too much of my life force and I'll take all the shit to make them like me. What happens next is this, I'll start worrying too much, giving too many fucks about things outside of my control. I will worry endlessly. My anxiety kicks up.
Biddy:What if this? What if that? What if? And it's like thrashing about in the waves of the ocean as the ancient and uncontrollable tide carries us deeper and further from land, all while we continue flailing about wrestling with our egos despite the obvious futility. The spiritual communion I felt when I first looked out over the ocean didn't come from the realization that I am insignificant.
Biddy:Natural cycles. And even when the storm does rage out there or in here, It will also quell and become calm again. And when the ego surrenders, I float and feel peace. I thought it was appropriate to end with my queen, PJ Harvey, the second queen of my life who occupies a great deal of my heart with the song Victory. This has been Biddy Sounds Off.
Biddy:Thank you for listening.
