“You write about your life on the internet,” he said, “but you don’t really want people to know about your life?” I explained that the image I’m portraying online isn’t fake, but it’s not a full picture either… and I immediately began wondering why I’ve been avoiding putting one particular thing about myself in writing because I haven’t hidden this “secret” from any friends, acquaintances, or even passersby for quite some time. One recent morning, after I spontaneously agreed to be photographed “at my worst” and told my secret to two strangers (including the director of a local nonprofit animal shelter) while explaining how I “trained” my kitten to go on walks and be nice to dogs, I knew I was no longer keeping my cards close to my chest in the game of life and had no good reason to keep from laying all my cards on the table here.

When I play poker, I almost never show my cards unless you’ve paid to see them. I realized that morning as I boldly discussed my life with two strangers on the street in my glasses, bathrobes (I had on three for warmth), and slippers, holding my cat and morning coffee, that my kitten had forced me to lay all my cards on the table in life. Before she came along, I didn’t discuss the fact that I smoke spliffs (rolled marijuana mixed with tobacco) several times per day to manage my anxiety and occasional depression with strangers. When the kitten accompanies me and attracts attention, I can’t help but explain.

I thought the reason I “trained” my kitten was obvious to my veterinarian neighbor who had observed us more than most. Yet, a few days after my no shame moment on the street, she said, “I know you work hard to get her to be like that.” I told her that I didn’t/don’t feel I’m working hard at it – I’m just making the kitten share the free time which I have available – and she looked surprised, which surprised me. The day Harry came into my life (a rescue kitten delivered to me from the streets of Arroyo Grande by an acquaintance) I’d retrieved the bag of cat stuff I had in storage and found a kitten harness inside which I didn’t recall purchasing (but assumed I had planned to try on my box turtle). The kitten was only about 7 weeks old (so tiny) and I only got to spend a few hours with her before heading out to work. I didn’t want her to sit alone any longer once I finished my five hour dinner shift, but I also needed my evening smoke. So, I put her in the harness and carried her out to sit in my parked car with me, doing my best to keep the toxic fumes away from her. The kitten fussed while I snapped it on, but wasn’t bothered by the harness once it was in place. From that day forth, she happily accompanied me anywhere and everywhere I took her to ensure we got enough bonding time in around my busy work schedule, including one karaoke night and a New Year’s Day poker tournament. The only thing I did to train my kitten was to love her with all my heart and make her a real part of my life.

Last Saturday, sometime between running my (now 5 months old) kitten Harry (short for Harriet) to the hospital for emergency stomach surgery and learning that the primary indigestible item filling her tiny six month old stomach was my long blonde hair, I realized the real reason I haven’t wanted to discuss my smoking habit. I’m not sure how I’d live with myself if my hair was the cause of my kitten’s demise… and I realized I’m not so much ashamed of my smoking habit as I am afraid of the fact that it could kill me. I realized I might have issues loving myself as I am… then quickly found myself showered with support which made me wonder why.

My coworkers braced themselves to cover for me on an already understaffed night, just in case I couldn’t get the kitten checked into the hospital fast enough or stop crying. My my dad got the bill paid when my credit card limit was a few hundred short, adding the gigantic sum to an already large personal loan I’d been paying off slower than we all desired for years without question. One friend helped me pick up Harry from the hospital Sunday afternoon, went with us to retrieve the rest of my handmade candle and art display from the pop up shop they’ve been in the past three months and deliver the items to my storage unit, let me do a free emergency load of laundry, then served me a home cooked dinner. Another friend created a Go Fund Me to “Help Harry” just hours after she learned all that I had been through that past week.

“I haven’t seen a light like this in Rachel in years,” she wrote, bringing to mind a song I sang as a toddler at church where you hold a finger up as your symbolic light. “This little light of mine… I’m gonna let it shine…” the song chimes, over and over and over. I loved the part at the end when we remove the cupped hand which we put over our ‘lights’ before singing, “Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine! Let it shine let it shine!” With that childhood memory in mind, I ended the week pledging to love myself despite my habit and trust that God is in control. My last cat lived a long, happy life as an indoor/outdoor cat before the same thing that killed the two cats I had before her at a much younger age (a car) took her too. I know better than some that you never know what cards you’re going to be dealt in life. Sometimes we reflect the odds and sometimes we defy them. The only way to find out what will happen is to brave the risks that surround you and let the cards fall.

Until next time, follow @rachel_hoyt_artist and @pokeyandharry on Instagram to see more.

“You know who it is, don’t you?” a customer asked regarding the dragonflies that I’d admitted visit me regularly. I told her I thought it was my grandpa Hoyt, but really I hadn’t thought about it the way she was – as a soul that has already passed on who has come back to see me. My gut told me that my first dragonfly experience was a sign that my living, breathing Prince, whoever he is, was thinking of me and I’d stuck with the idea because it brought me comfort. A few days later, after summarizing the mess I’ve made of my love life for a friend, a (somewhat) off the wall question got me thinking about how often I bluff in real life: “But where does Dave Grohl stand in all this?” Ever since I had told this particular friend about the day I’d “met” Dave Grohl while playing poker through the WSOP app, he’d teased me by pretending Dave Grohl is my boyfriend. This time it got me thinking that there’s nothing quite like a great bluff, even if you’re bluffing yourself.

He said he was the real Dave Grohl when one of the other players asked and I said, “Hi Dave!” as if I believed him… because the person who asked seemed to believe he was playing poker with a rock legend and my gut reaction was that it would be fun to pretend I did too. Soon after, someone with a Black female avatar named Bubba joined the room and began begging for “[my] milk” and the rest of us stopped chatting. He might have said hi and told me I was cute first but I can’t really remember. The shock of the line he chose to repeat over and over, hand after hand, kept me quiet for quite some time. I rarely say anything in chat screens and didn’t want to encourage his sleazy behavior in any way. Eventually, Bubba typed, “I want your milk Rachel. Give me your milk,” so many times that Dave Grohl broke the silence.

“I’ll give you some milk!” he said just before I broke down and typed something about being sure as fuck I wasn’t giving him any milk, praying our one-two punch would do the trick. Unfortunately, Bubba was like a broken record that wouldn’t stop. He (eventually) held his tongue long enough for Dave to tell me I’ve ‘got snap’ and clumsily ask me to get a drink sometime.

I had no intention of going out with some stranger who pretends to be Dave Grohl online (nor did I desire to date the real Dave because he’s married), so I told him, “If you’re the real Dave Grohl… sure.” The fan who’d inquired if he was the real Dave promptly called me a gold digger, then didn’t respond when I asked if he’d go out with an imposter.

Dave said, “He’s my hero,” (admitting he isn’t the real Dave?) while I defended my actions to his crazed fan. He then tried to get me to join snapchat so we could talk privately. I offered my email or other social media accounts instead but he said he’d just find me in the WSOP app… and perhaps come visit me at one of the restaurants I work for the next time he’s in town. After that we stopped chatting and started buying each other gifts through the app – using our chips to send a virtual rose, drink, or kiss to sit beside the other’s avatar… and Bubba resumed his, “I want your milk,” rant. I smiled as Dave told Bubba to leave his girl alone… and laughed until I cried when they began competing to be the one who’s gift appeared beside my avatar. (Each player can only have one gift showing at a time. So, every time Bubba sent a rose, Dave covered it up with a kiss immediately… no less than a dozen times in a row.)

I decided to quit poker for the day not long after causing those shenanigans, figuring there wasn’t anything that could’ve made that moment more fun. I told Dave I’d see him around… and I did see him online once or twice after that… but I never asked his real identity… nor did I admit I never thought he was the real Dave Grohl.

I asked the first dragonfly that stared me down two questions. It happened about three years ago. He was firey red and perched in a tree at eye level, less than two feet away from where I stood in the garden where I worked at the time. I asked my coworker if she’d ever seen a dragonfly perch like that before. She said no and suggested it could be someone important. “Are you someone important?” I asked. It nodded… twice. “Are you a Prince?” I asked. It nodded twice again. If there hadn’t been a witness present to tell me that she’d also seen that dragonfly nod, I might not have believed what I saw with my own two eyes.

I caught that dragonfly staring at me many, many other times after that day and, since leaving that job, I see dragonflies (mostly fiery red ones) 100x more often than I ever did before. They fly near my windshield when I’m at stop signs, swoop down over my shoulder when I’m out on the street, and circle or hover around me on occasion. One time, when returning to a thrift store to purchase a dragonfly lampshade I’d seen there a few days prior, I looked up to find there was a giant swarm of dragonflies in the tree above me. I can’t help but think that they all mean something.

Because the first one ‘told’ me he was a Prince, I’ve taken the dragonfly appearances as signs that my Prince is watching, but when the stranger asked if I knew who my dragonfly is, I realized I was probably bluffing myself… just like I pretended I believed that Dave Grohl was the real Dave Grohl, just for fun. I hadn’t spent much time pondering what I should think or do in either case. I trusted my gut. That’s what I do. It’s my way. I simply hadn’t pondered until recently how many bluffs I had performed in life.

The very day I began to wonder if I bluff too often, especially in regards to romance, a friend told me they’d spent the prior evening pondering the meaning of the phrase “clouds in my coffee” from the song You’re So Vain by Carlie Simon. He reminded me that the song is about someone who is infatuated with a self-absorbed seducer and said he believed the clouds were her fantasies of what the relationship could be and the coffee was her awareness of what it actually was. I couldn’t help but note a striking similarity between the song and my life (save one or two details) and, after I summarized my personal romance dilemma for him, we had a good laugh about the fact that, according to his metaphor, I’ve had too much coffee… because he’s one who knows precisely how much I actually enjoy drinking java – morning, noon, and night. It reminded me that I was always aware when I was bluffing to some extent. So, deep down, I must’ve believed there was a method to my madness.

Maybe I got myself into my current situation by believing in fantasies – dreams with a low probability of becoming true. Yet, perhaps my life right now isn’t so different from all the times at the felt when I’ve momentarily wondered if my gut was wrong just before the card(s) fell that would prove my instincts spot on. Maybe I have been bluffing too much. Then again, perhaps the hand(s) that are bothering me haven’t finished playing out. It could be there are more cards to come or… perhaps I just need to turn mine over. Maybe it only looks like I’m not winning because I haven’t yet revealed my hand. Maybe it simply wasn’t yet the opportune moment.

Once upon a time, I told myself I might not find my Prince until I became a writer and artist – made my life what I wanted it to be. I’ve come a long way, but there’s one big piece of the puzzle that has been on hold for years because no further inspiration had come: my novel. Six years ago I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time. I completed the 50,000 word goal on the 30th day and called it a first draft though I wasn’t very happy with the content. In 2015, I tried again on a very different draft – one which took place in a fantasy world – and put down over 20,000 words trying to bring the idea to life. A few weeks ago, on October 15, 2019, I started over a third time as I found exciting scenes popping into my head which mimic my reality while taking me to places I’ve never been.

As I began writing and making plans to participate in NaNoWriMo again this November, I couldn’t help but wonder if all the bluffs I’ve performed thus far were my way of practicing for my main event: my novel. The first draft was too close to reality to be intriguing. The second was so far fetched I didn’t know where the story should go. This time, I am using bits of my real life to create a story I wish I could live. I figure since bluffing has brought me happiness thus far, I might as well see where it can take me. Why the bluff not?

NaNoWriMo Project Title: You Betcha

Novel Summary: Five Horsemen and two Madames make one big bet against the Billionaire Boys Club to prove that what you do with your money is far more valuable than the money itself.

Words Written: 1,500 (plus notes)

Words to Go: 50,000 (or more)

“I think maybe I can’t finish them because the story isn’t through,” I said. Like many friends I haven’t seen in a while, one of her first questions when we bumped into each other almost two months ago was if I’d written anything lately. I had started by saying, “No. Not really,” like I’d told nearly everyone else for quite some time, then revealed a truth I wasn’t cognizant of until the moment it came out of my mouth. My friend told me that night she had pondered applying for a job somewhere I once worked. She had her resume and cover letter ready to send when she realized that, if I hadn’t stayed there, something about the place must not be right for her either, and decided not to apply. I nearly burst into tears because I couldn’t remember the last time that I felt another player in the game of life blindly read my moves correctly.

My friend thought I had quit the job in question, but that employer had actually let me go; told me I didn’t fit in at a job where I’d felt right at home. I didn’t realize how much that rejection had hurt me until I told my friend what had happened and found myself fighting tears upon viewing her equal shock and awe. Last week I had a similarly touching moment with a much more dear friend I now rarely see. This time I couldn’t hold back the tears a single second. This time I realized it was time to admit my heart is still too injured for my a-game to come out.

A few months ago, the last time a recent love interest was at my apartment, he asked me something about how often I study the poker books on my shelf and if they are what make me a good player. I told him that, at least for me, there are two things that are much more important to playing a good game of poker than how much I know about what’s in those books: not risking money I can’t afford to lose and not playing when I’m feeling heartbroken. I told him the money part was slowly getting better (meaning I might soon have some money I could afford to risk) and flashed a hopeful smile as I strongly hinted that he was the one currently affecting the heartbreak factor the most. A few weeks later, as we began trying to be “just friends” and found ourselves discussing the idea that pain is growth, I shared a proverb I have kept on my refrigerator (a magnet) for as many years as I can remember: “Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.”

There were countless times since I put that magnet on my fridge when I had wondered if my cocoon phase would soon end and the cards would beigin to fall in my favor. Often it was simply because I longed for it to be over, but sometimes I had reason to hope the end was nigh. One of those times was while working at the previously mentioned job, when a man brought me a few gifts to ensure I would go on a date with him – two pieces of jade (which he’d retrieved from the bottom of the ocean personally) and a chrysalis – a monarch still in it’s cocoon. It was just days after my butterfly hatched and I had the magical experience of holding him/her until he/she felt ready to take that first flight that my employer sent me on my way. A few weeks later that man proved those presents were the most special thing I would get from him and we parted ways as well. It felt like I’d been dealt pocket aces the first hand of the night and lost all my chips to a far inferior hand. Coincidentally, that literally happened one of the nights I decided to risk $20 I couldn’t really afford to lose at a local home game to cheer myself up. Lesson learned.

From the time I left that job until now, life has sometimes felt darker even when I know certain parts are improving. Approximately a year ago, the property where I have rented a studio for the past 15 years went up for sale because my beloved landlord passed away. I could hardly afford my below market rent at the time and felt powerless to do anything to prevent myself from facing disaster. I spent many days and nights worried I would have to move back to Arizona and live with my parents until I came up with a better plan for my life. Then, just when I was sure it was all falling apart, everything came together. I ended up with two new jobs I like, a reasonably priced “temporary” studio next door to my old place, and a new landlord who is remodeling my former/future apartment and wants me to move back in as soon as it’s ready. Having all of those worries work out without much effort on my part had been as surprising as being beat down to a chip and a chair multiple times in a poker tournament then going on to take first place.

The night I burst into tears unexpectedly, I began to wonder when I’ll next have the heart to play poker. I still don’t have a bankroll or all the funds I need to move back into my old place when the remodel is finished, but I was more concerned with what I can do to heal my heart. I mentioned what had made me distraught to a coworker and found my friend saying that women (i.e. me, myself, and I) are crazy. At the time, I focused on convincing him that men’s hearts are equally susceptible to feeling pain over long lost love. It didn’t dawn on me until later that my friend (a man) was probably laughing at me inside because I was forgetting that men think with their loins more often than they follow their hearts.

As this fact dawned on me while I reprocessed years of painful experiences, I realized I might finally know exactly why a girl like me would dream of making it to the final table of the World Series of Poker Main Event before ever having played No Limit Hold’em for real money. If an unknown, relatively inexperienced female could take down the big one (something no woman has ever achieved) it might prove that having heart is just as powerful as having balls. Maybe my heart revealed my desired destiny in a dream so I would find a way to make it come true.

It’s too soon to tell if the fact I’m finally concluding a blog post for the first time in more than a year indicates anything about whether or not my cocoon phase will soon be over. I didn’t even try to come up with a way to attend the World Series of Poker this year. I am too busy working my restaurant jobs, making acrylic collage art with playing cards, and searching for Prince Charming to find time or money for poker… but the burning desire to play still simmers inside… and the belief I can make my WSOP dream come true against all odds is still there. I don’t know when or how it could happen, but I can say that, if I take my seat in that tournament, the men better gird their loins, because my heart will be full and guarded by those who helped me get there. Perhaps now I’m feeling crushed by every hand I play in life so that, when the time comes, I’ll know I have the strength to endure. Maybe there’s nothing I can do to heal my heart but sit in my cocoon and wait until it is time to spread my wings and fly.