Not Sure Where The Ride Is Going


But I am staying home.

I have been taking distinct pleasure in my city, my city, my city by the Bay.

Today I got to go down to Ocean Beach with someone who means a lot to me, despite not knowing her last name, I just now realized that, and do some soul-searching, some reading, and some quiet time, followed thereafter by some getting in touch with that big guy up in the sky with a beard.

Not talking about Santa Claus.

Although the conversation I had yesterday with another woman at a meal, speaking of spirituality, was how children see Santa as God.

I liked that interpretation.

So what is Santa putting in my stocking this year?

No coal, methinks, I have been a pretty good girl.

As the sun flashed over the water and the surfers slid down the waves I recounted some things that have been troubling me.

Of course I had my perspective changed.

Thankfull for that.

REALLY thankful.

“Oh, honey, it’s your birthday!” She exclaimed, “then right thereafter your anniversary! Why, of course you are going to be feeling this way, you’re reflecting and we tend to focus on the bad stuff, not so much the good.”

She is entirely correct.

I had related to her that I was not expecting to be here, sitting here, not with her, not on the beach, not, definitely not, in San Francisco, when I was coming up on my birthday last year in Paris.

Nor my anniversary.

I thought I would be celebrating the rest of my life for a good long while in Paris.

Tears broke through my eyes and I realized, yet again, that here I go beating myself up for the expectations I had around the Paris Experiment.

“You’re beating yourself up,” I said to her tonight across the table, over the books, the cups of tea and the Americano steaming on the table, “you don’t have to do that.”

It was like talking to myself.

“Well,” she said to me down at the beach, “it certainly sounds like there’s some inventory to do there with your Paris experience, so let’s go stick our feet int he water and give it up.”

It was a little new agey, but I didn’t mind.

It’s hard for me not to go stick my toes in the ocean when I am down by the sea, anyway, I am compelled to do it, there is something cleansing and bright about putting myself in the water.

In fact, I cannot recall a time when I have not put my feet in the water when I have been down there.

Oh, oops, yes, just did, but that doesn’t count.

“Oh, that’s half-measures, what he said to you,” she said, “you deserve better than that, so let that go too.”

“And be willing to turn toward the person you are supposed to be with, stop beating yourself up (oh, there you are again you subtle minx, forgiveness) about where you think  you should be, and let the Universe know what you want.”

“House, marriage, children,” I said, slight hesitation on the children thing.

That’s hard to say when you are about to be 41 years old and don’t have a boyfriend that could become a partner with whom to have children, but I stuttered it out.

“Good!” She said, “that’s good, that you know what you want, you’re young!”

Glad to know.

Even writing that feels like a challenge, like how dare I hope for the marriage and the partner, the children, the home, but in my heart, yeah, those are things I long for.

Yes I have loads of tattoos and I ride a one speed and I have been called a hipster, although I don’t really feel like I am a hipster, I just drink coffee like one.

Yes, I am bright and brash and bold and I swear a bit.

But I am old-fashioned and that seems to be a part of the make up that I cannot shake, maybe I don’t have to shake it necessarily, there are some things that go well with being old-fashioned.

Like manners.

I like please and thank you and expressing gratitude for the things given you, I believe that being polite is important.

I like being offered a ride home.

I like having the door opened.

I do.

I like flowers.

I like pretty things.

So, yeah, that means, uh, courting?


That’s just funny.

I wrote a blog about kinky sex three days ago?

And now I am thinking about being taken out on a traditional date.

But that is what I love about myself I can be a box full of contradictions, that way I get to have more than one type of experience.

I can be tough, but that’s not the energy I want to express any more.

“You are so sweet and warm and compassionate and  your energy is super gentle,” she said, with bright eyes, “I am not like that, I don’t have anything to offer.”

Oh God.

I just wanted to hug her so bad.

I was like you, you know.


I am still like you.

I just have had enough time and experience to slough off the harder edges and soften me down a bit.

I have been tenderized, so to speak.

To be considered warm and gentle and compassionate, now to turn those thoughts to myself and tender to myself in that way too.

Small things.

Asking for a ride home tonight.

Buying myself a Christmas ornament at a shop in Noe Valley.

Getting persimmons for my oatmeal in the morning.

Having nice tea in the house.

Buying the slightly more expensive candles that I like because, well, they smell better.

And when I die will I remember the 50 cents I saved on the cheap candles or will I get to reflect back on a life wherein I gave to myself in so much that I could, in the same way that people see me give to them.

I sure the fuck hope so.

I have to give it to myself to give it away.

And I hope to be giving it away for years yet to come.








Could be a Christmas list.

Dear Santa,

Please help me to be sweet and gentle and willing to be available, warm and bright, to be loving to myself and to others.

Thank you!

I really have been a good girl this year, even if it didn’t turn out the way I wanted.

It is better this way.

It usually is.

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