Change. Transition. Letting go.
How do we let go of what we have, in order to move on to what’s next?
The Pussy Palace is moving downtown.
I have been so happy here in the Uptown Palace.
I mean, this was my dream.
And I got to really live it.
A big beautiful brownstone—to live in, work in, imagine in, and launch my wild-assed dream in. We moved in here 12 years ago. Conceived Maggie, gave birth to her, conceived the SWA, gave birth to her, watched them both toddle, and tumble, heart in mouth, sleepless nights, colic, fever—and I am not speaking of the child, at the moment, although I could. I asked Bruce, without a penny in our pocket, to take this place, for me, to house this awkward, enormous, gorgeous, terrifying dream called the School of Womanly Arts.
Nearly killed me, but the Pleasure Revolution was born.
So, when this house went on the market, over a year ago, I was not pleased.
And I sank my roots in. I was unwilling to let this place, which had been house and home to the greatest creative journey of my life, go.
So, for a year, dozens and dozens and dozens of buyers streamed through, and no contracts were signed.
And what I realized was, this house is filled—every wall, every ceiling, every space in between—with me, my staff, my family, and all our dreams, our desires, and their fulfillment.
It was here that I taught my first class. It was here that Alex Witchell from The New York Times came to take my class, and wrote an article that hit the front page of the Style section which caused 12 publishers to have a bidding war on who was going to buy my first book—which I had always intended to write, but only after first being asked. It was here that I did my first glamour photo shoots for Elle, New York Magazine, and lots of other publications. It was here where the scouts came from Conan, leading to 6 appearances on Late Nite. Where the Today show came, and taped their show, including Katie, who took a class, and laid on my bed with me, like giggling schoolgirls. I have since had countless appearances on Today, including a week-long special. 20/20 ended up doing not one, but two, specials on me because the ratings were so high when I was on the first time. It was here that I taped the second season of my TV show, produced by one of my best friends, Cyndy Cecil. I had extraordinary love affairs in this house. My kid has many of her best friends in the ‘hood.
Who could even conceive of something better than this? Not me.
One day, about 10 days ago, after the realtors brought what seemed like the bazillionth person through the Palace, I found myself in the kitchen with Chica, singing, “I’m Telling You I Am Not Going” from Dreamgirls, while holding on to the wall.
I paused for a moment.
And I decided I might have a problem.
It struck me that I could, perhaps, move into what’s next. If I wasn’t so determined to stay where I was.
So, being the Pleasure Queen, I knew the next step.
In order to let go of what I had, I had to really acknowledge, deeply, all that had transpired.
I had to feel the sadness that lived behind my determination to stay where I was.
I had to grieve this passage. So, I did what my people do—we sit Shiva to mourn the loss of someone who has passed.
So, I scheduled a Shiva for the brownstone so that, surrounded by my friends, I could release this place, and move on to whatever was wanting me, next.
The Shiva was awesome. About 50 – 60 friends and students showed up with deli.
So many people have experienced the most gorgeous reclamation here. Dozens of them came and, through tears and laughter, recounted the love lost, the love gained, the reclamations, the challenges, the confrontations and ownership of the deepest, most sacred parts of themselves.
There were Ru and JJ, falling in love, then out of love, then back in love more deeply than ever. There was Kristen, who conjured her deepest heart’s desires: her man, her marriage, and now, her second baby, from that same spot she always sat, in the living room of the Palace. Carol, who arrived at the SWA an old, dried up piece of dejected crust, from Jersey, who created herself a divorce and a hot young Latin lover, who has since become her partner. Shar, cynical and discouraged when she first came to the Palace, found her joy, her passion, her sass, and her fire in that living room. Sweet, enduring, loyal Bruce, by my side since the beginning, believing in me way before I did, was there to celebrate, too.
We let it all go.
That weekend, the house sold.
A few days later, I found the loft I am about to move into.
Change. Transition. Letting go.
The key to moving forward? Allowing yourself to fall into the grief-soaked joy of the privilege of all that has been. Each sacred day. I think our culture teaches us to be afraid to feel the relevant sadness that accompanies big change, big loss. But, remember, this is the Pleasure Revolution. And it is actually a great pleasure to grieve the relevant tears that accompany loss and big transition. We had the best night of mourning. And crying, together, with friends who lived the journey with you, is a sacred celebration.
Letting go is the only way to surrender to where desire wants to lead you, next.
And pleasure is not just happy, sexy joy.
Pleasure is about relevantly indulging yourself in all the faces of the Goddess, all the faces of being human. Deeply feeling your sacred joy, your sacred sadness, and every face in between.
I am so grateful to each of you that have been a part of my dream, and permitted me to be a part of yours. Thank you for co-creating, with me, this deliciously absurd, enormous, blindingly beautiful school, woven from so many of your escapades, outrageous adventures, and desires made manifest.
It is my deepest desire for you, for every woman on this planet, to have the gift of living her dreams. And the courage to face change, transition, and loss with gusto, with gratitude, and with loud, proud tears as she marches bravely, with a swing in her hips, towards whatever is next.
