Posts Tagged ‘asking for what I need’

You Look Radiant!

June 13, 2017

My neighbor said to me as I was parking my scooter and securing her for the night.

He’d just open the door to the fenced gate and perhaps it was the sunlight hitting my face, or the big smile on it, but it was sweet to be acknowledged and I smiled harder.

I’m happy.

I feel really good.

Today was a good day.

Most days are, let me be honest, but I had just secured a new person to work with this evening after work and I feel like she and I are going to be a really great fit and I was relieved and happy and felt like I was being carried and taken care of.

“God has not brought me this far to be dropped,” I told myself this past weekend when I was still processing all that had happened, the what’s and whereof’s and why’s of being let go when you have been told that you’re the perfect, well fill in the blank.

When someone tells you you’re doing it perfectly and then let’s you go, it stings a little.

Be that as it may.

I am not perfect.

I fuck up all the time.

I’m human.

I am a spiritual being having a human experience.

And humans are messy and silly and stupid and hard-headed and stubborn and crazy, at least this human is.

I’m grateful for all the messy and the learning, especially learning how to communicate and not to take myself too seriously.

I heard something amazing today.

AMAZING.

From my supervisor while we were in session.

Slight sidebar.

Nothing says starting a busy week at work and internship better than getting up extra early to go to school to get that one piece of paper that the supervisor has to sign so that I can be registered for another class this fall semester.

And I went back to school after meeting with my supervisor to make sure it was filed correctly before I went into work and did my full shift.

Yeah.

Like that.

Anyway.

We were talking about communication and how a client communicates with us and my supervisor quoted Lacan to me.

It just about fell off the couch.

My supervisor quoted, “every time we speak we communicate less than we want and more than we know.”

Holy shit.

Story of my life.

I had never heard that before and it resonated with me on a very deep level.

I am communicating all the time and most of the time I’m not saying what I want.

I have spent years, decades probably, trying to say what I want and so often I am not getting it all out.

I am afraid to say what I want for fear of not getting it, so I’m not going to ask.

That, however, presumes that the person whom I’m engaged with can read my mind and well, that maybe magical thinking, but it’s certainly not logical thinking.

No one can read my mind.

And yet.

There are clues.

There are clues in my voice, in my body, in the way I respond to someone.

It’s pretty obvious if I don’t like you and I want to say it’s very obvious if I do.

There are grey areas and I have found that when I don’t like someone it often times has to do with seeing some characteristic in the person which reminds me of something I don’t like about myself.

Which, I just realized, makes me realize what I do like about myself when I think about people in my life whom I do like, they must represent parts of me that I like.

I have smart, capable, hard-working, brilliant, funny, loving friends.

I must have some of those qualities myself or I wouldn’t be involved with such high-caliber people.

I just wouldn’t.

Like attracts like.

So I was happy, so happy, to get to hear this woman tonight who has what I want and is smart and busy and educated, grateful and full of solution.

I’ll take some of that please.

And then happily pass it on.

That’s what I do best.

Share my experience, strength and hope with another person so that they may do the same and the learning deepens and the love grows and my life expands and grows and it is extraordinary.

I have extraordinary people in my life.

I also have an awesome job.

It was so good to see the family I work for today, I missed them and was grateful that everyone was feeling much better.

I got lots and lots and lots of hugs and I got lots of compliments on the food I cooked and loads of snuggles and it just filled me right up.

So much love.

I am loved.

And I get to love right back.

It’s a pretty amazing job.

So.

Yeah.

Radiant.

Full of light.

Oft times full of bullshit too and perhaps a touch of crazy, but for the most part, I really do feel the grace rather than the drama.

Grace over drama is one of my favorite acronyms for God.

Great out doors is another.

And.

Good orderly direction.

There’s a few more, but those are my tops.

I feel grace.

I feel full of grace.

I feel graced.

And am.

I’ve not been dropped.

I have just been carried somewhere unexpected.

It’s so lovely I don’t always know what to do with it.

But.

I am happy.

And that, in the end, is all that matters.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

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Asking For What

April 4, 2017

I need.

Not always.

But a lot more.

Even when it is uncomfortable.

Like it was today.

My employer left me a check for the work I did over the weekend and it was not correct.

It was much less than I had anticipated and I knew, knew without a doubt, that I would need to address it.

There were years and years when this sort of thing would have thrown me for a loop.

All the things I’m not allowed to say, to ask for, to accept.

That I am enough, that my time is worth my payment, correct payment, that I am allowed to correct a mistake, that I can have conflict.

And resolution.

I knew that there was no malice on my employer’s part and that it was simply a mistake.

But.

For a few minutes, about the first fifteen at work, I was a bit upset.

Then.

I reasoned with my own self, with my stupid, silly, unwarranted fears, and I got the fuck over myself.

So when my employer came home today and handed me the check, I handed it back and said, “I don’t feel this is correct, would you please double-check the math.”

She did, I was correct, and she re-wrote the check and then added, that it had been an accident, which I had known, but still felt good to hear, and then she apologized.

My goodness.

It was a nice moment.

It was uncomfortable, but I did it and I didn’t make a big deal out of it either.

I just acted as if.

Fabulous.

Of course.

I blew my load on that one and when presented with an opportunity to do more of that same negotiating for myself, I couldn’t quite do it.

I was going to kill another fantasy and ask a guy out on an official date, we did that “we should hang out dance” last week when I bumped into him in the neighborhood where I work and I saw him tonight after work, but I couldn’t quite pull the trigger.

I suspect I wasn’t ready to kill the fantasy quite yet.

I will.

To move on would be nice.

Maybe that will be one of my goals in therapy.

I have my second session tomorrow and my therapist, I sort of like saying that, suggested that I think about what some of my therapeutic goals are.

We already agreed that her supporting me through the school program was a big draw for me, especially as she went through the same program.

She also suggested that we look at ways that I could manage my anxiety.

I figure I’d love to work on dating.

Which means I will probably be addressing a lot of family of origin issues.

I will need to address the abuse, trauma, neglect, incest, and emotional violence I grew up with.

No biggie.

REALLY.

Heh.

I can clearly see a number of patterns in my dating life–emotional love affairs with unavailable men, being in love with unavailable or uninterested men, not being in relationships for years, crushing on guys but not saying anything, obsessing, blah, blah, blah.

Not knowing how to date.

All of it, really, goes back to instinct and ways of being that don’t serve me.

I can fucking see it clear as day.

But.

I haven’t a great road map for moving forward.

And really.

I am my own worse navigator.

I had sent out that message a few days ago to a man I have always had a crush on and getting a pretty decent response for yes, let’s do a coffee in the next few weeks.

I sent back my availability and haven’t gotten a response

So of course, last night, as I’m about to drop off to sleep, my diseased brain attacks.

“Psst, you should have paused longer before responding to his message, you came off too eager.”

Fuck you brain.

This was followed up by a brief, thank God, obsessive thought of what should I have messaged instead to get the result I want….

Ooh.

Aha!

There.

That.

What should I have said to get the message I wanted.

Well, duh, lady, that’s manipulation.

And if it’s not meant to be I can’t manipulate it into happening.

And if it’s meant to be, I can’t fuck it up.

Whew.

Also.

I am human.

If I made a “mistake” in my communication that led to this man not responding in the time I wanted, then I made a mistake and I’m allowed to make mistakes.

I can fuck things up.

I don’t like to fuck things up, I want to be perfect.

But I suspect that need for perfection is what really stands in the way of me killing the fantasy with the other guy I saw tonight.

I want to get it perfect so I can control the results.

Again.

That’s manipulation.

So.

I vow here.

Just to get it off my chest, next time I see dude, I’ll just cut to the chase and pin down a time to “hang out.”

I would rather fall flat on my face than try more to figure it out.

I can see that the figuring it out is never going to serve me and it will just drive me nuts over time.

I’m already crazy enough.

Hello.

I’m in therapy.

Hahahahaha.

Sorry.

Not sorry.

I had to.

Anyway.

Seems there’s plenty of fodder for my therapeutic goals.

Ahem.

I’ll be back in school this upcoming weekend, so that will also land on the table, or the couch, as the case may be, plenty of stuff to look at there.  Although I feel quite prepared for the weekend of classes.

I’m actually almost completely finished with my reading for not just this weekend, but the final weekend, for my Couples Therapy class.  We have a fairly big final project/paper that I wanted to have as much reading done for as possible, get all the lectures under my belt and be ready to tackle it right away after the weekend of classes.

I just want to finish so I can go to Paris.

That’s really where my brain is at.

The one fantasy I am not willing to kill.

Paris, my dream, my reward, my carrot to get me through the next two weekends of classwork.

It’s all happening.

And I’m allowed to stand up for it and take it in and accept it.

This life.

Lovely, luscious, and all mine.

I don’t want to waste it on fantasy and unrequited love.

I want to be present for the gift it is.

One moment at a time.

All the things.

They are happening.

Yes.

Yes.

They.

Are.

Almost

September 23, 2015

But.

Not quite.

Bah.

I could not get it together to ask for my raise today.

The balking is fucking killing me.

I know it.

All my friends know it.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

There.

Now that’s out of my system.

It doesn’t even matter at this point if I get the raise, I just need to ask.

That’s it.

ASK.

Martines.

Get it.

It’s not that big a deal and the relief I will get from just doing the foot work, opening up my mouth and saying the words, is going to be worth more than the monetary gains.

Then again.

I could also practice some compassion for myself, I don’t like asking for things I need, never have, probably never will.

But.

If I don’t ask I won’t get what I need and I do need to bring in some more money and I am worth the ask.

Hell.

I’m worth more than I am going to ask for, but that’s another story.

I did, however, ask for a review, a yearly review to be arranged between myself and the parents by the end of the week.

I should get a review.

I also need to get something in writing and that has to be discussed.

My contract expired and I am just going a long on a wing and a verbal agreement, a vague one at that.

No good.

I know better.

To give myself a little credit the parents were not readily available to my yesterday or today.

I wanted to talk with both of them and typically both of them are at home in the office working everyday, but that has not been the case either day and it has just felt way too much to just address one parent without the other.

So.

I opened my mouth, just like I did last night, right as I was leaving and said I would like the review for the year to be worked out for the end of the week.

I need to sit down with them and do the ask, I can’t just spring it on the mom in line at Trader Joes.

I can’t.

I did a little foot work and for that I am grateful.

Little bites.

Just a little bit at a time.

Not enough to leave a bruise, but a sharp little nip of teeth to remind me that I am better when I am focused on what is in front of me and distracted by the money.

I have been distracted by my finances for too long.

I just don’t want to think about it anymore.

I suspect that won’t ever be the case.

But.

I don’t have to fret.

I don’t have to be in anxiety.

I suppose it’s just old habit, old hat, old ways of being, the pretending that by worrying about something I am manifesting some sort of control over it.

I don’t have control over anything.

I don’t have control over what you think of me.

(I hope you like me!)

Nope.

No control.

I wish you would make me feel better.

Oh.

You can’t do that either.

Well.

Fuck.

I guess I’m here again, same old song, another day.

I was almost there, almost to self-forgiveness land, but I got a little waylaid and realized after a quick check in with a friend, that I am still actually quite mad at myself.

Would I leave if I don’t get the raise?

I could.

Not that I wouldn’t make it.

I would make it.

Just.

The thing is I don’t want to just make it.

Can you save me?

Come on and save me.

If you could save me.

From.

The rest of the freaks.

That suspect they could never love anyone.

I am sick of just making it.

I am tired of working hard to work harder.

I am being melancholic.

Yes.

Guess who got her period this morning.

Relief.

I knew that lady was about to visit and i know that I am just a touch sensitive, emotionally, and physically, out damn spot, and tired too, of the self-imposed misery of the anxiety.

I don’t want to think about finding other work either.

But.

There are other options.

Hell.

I was offered a place a substantial rent drop of where I am living now.

I turned it down.

I had my reasons.

Ask me in person if you really want to know.

There are 100 and 1 choices to be made.

There are many paths to wander down.

Come on and save me.

Why don’t you save me.

If you could save me.

From ranks of the freaks.

That suspect they could never love anyone.

Except the freaks who could never love anyone.

Let your hair down.

Shake it out.

Let the day go.

She is not all that.

She is just a day.

It is alright little lady, you do the best you can and sometimes sitting in a dim room with the heat and flash of the Castro strobing it’s lights outside the second story window is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

If I have done nothing other than sit for an hour in an uncomfortable chair and resonate with what the person in front of me is saying then it is a good day.

A god damn good day.

I remind myself.

As I look around at what I have.

I have so much.

Do you see me?

I have so much.

So much.

Love.

Kindness.

Joy.

Light.

I don’t have to be maudlin, I’m just human.

I’m just a little spiritual being having a very human experience.

Bless you little heart for being a tender thing.

I am afraid of rejection.

I am afraid that at the end of the day.

(At the end of the bar at the end of the night, another night at the end of the bar)

I am not enough.

That I am not lovable.

That I am not good enough, pretty enough, smart enough.

Not a good enough nanny, student, lover, human.

Not a good enough woman.

(Still such a little girl)

Forgive yourself sweet heart.

You’re doing just fine.

You are perfect.

Imperfectly.

Perfectly.

Perfect.

Getting The Swing of Things

August 13, 2015

I am feeling so much better than yesterday.

Although I have to say, this morning.

Not so much.

I had a moment of, “fuck this.”

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

I did.

But I also knew that moment was fleeting, a feeling, not a reality, an emotion that would go once I gave it some space to move on.

I was emotionally hung over from the night before.

I cried so much yesterday in my last class of the day and the emotions were so high for everyone involved, I was not the only person experiencing that and the flavor of the morning was subdued.

Suffice to say, I got to move through it, although I did find myself in tears again this morning discussing a point of view with the class, articulating how I was feeling and have felt some contempt prior to investigation with the program.

How I really have spent some time talking myself into this.

Is this the right program?

Am I doing this right?

I don’t fit in?

Or do I?

What are my goals, what do I want out of the experience, how do I move forward in a cohesive way, how to balance work and needing to cover my expenses with what is happening and what I have to do and the expectations of the teachers and what they each are looking for.

I leaned over to my class mate after I said my piece and how I felt that it was way too soon to already be crying.

She laughed and said she’d had a big cry before coming to class, so I was right on time.

And I know.

Get used to it kid.

It’s terrifying and awesome and amazing and completely new.

I have never had an experience like this and I am only three days into a three-year process.

When I extrapolate it out it’s going to be a much longer process than that, but from here to the degree is three years.

Three years time is going to pass no matter what I do, might as well get my Masters in Integral Counseling Psychology, I mean what else am I going to do?

And that’s not the full story, it’s just a part of the narrative I tell myself, because I have tried other programs and I have tried getting into other schools and the door was always shut, always blocked.

I have checked out education programs at San Francisco State, I have sat in on open houses, I have gone to City College, I applied to and was turned down by UCSF for their creative writing MFA program, same with a number of other places and spaces and programs.

But this program has opened to me and when ever I was uncertain something would happen, something would shift and I would get clear direction about how to continue to move forward.

Always, every time, every day from the first day that I posited maybe I should do this.

Maybe when he said to me last year at Burning Man, “you’re a child psychologist being paid babysitter wages,” I could have balked at it, turned away from it, not allowed myself to hear it.

But I was so open and hurting from the conflict with my boss, which was really just a conflict with myself and how I have to find the words to ask for what I need and if the job, whatever job, is one in which those needs can’t be met, I find another.

There are absolutely no scarcity of jobs for me.

In fact, I was offered a job today at lunch.

At least, I was felt out for a possible job and that felt good.

Not to say I have any plans on leaving the family I work for, but if they can’t provide me with what I need and I am going to have to ask for a raise, I should have already, but should have doesn’t serve, I just get to look at what i have been given, acknowledge that I have job security, that I have financial security.

Whether it comes from the family I am with or another.

I will be taken care of.

The more I learn these lessons the more I am going to be of service to my future clients.

I like saying that.

Clients.

I am going to be a therapist and I can tell I am going to be a good one.

Perhaps that feeling of knowing is where I find the most fear and also the most freedom, to acknowledge a set and defined career goal.

Not that I necessarily know where that path leads, or what divergence it may take, just that I am on it, I am on it for a reason, and I am going to be good at it.

I am good already.

Meaning.

I showed up.

I have not left.

I have not dropped.

I am on time.

i have been doing my best to keep up with the readings and I take notes like a motherfucker.

In fact, I can see I will be investing in a lot of pens, I am a note taker and a underliner and I like that, it helps me to assimilate the knowledge in my head.

I am learning more than I know as well.

Not just about the coursework, but about myself and these small revelations are just as worth note as the bigger ones, the “I made it into graduate school ma” kinds of epiphanies, I am learning about myself, my way of being in the world and showing up the way I do has been noted.

I am seen.

I am heard.

I am getting into it.

I am grateful for this.

And that I have a fucking awesome professor for my Therapeutic Communications course.

I’m excited by working with him.

Anxious too, but happy, and enthralled and he makes me sit up and pay attention.

I was in his class six hours today and it whipped by.

I was almost surprised when it was time to go and I look forward, very much, to working with him more and I am over the moon to feel the connection to the class and to the professor and to myself.

I can do this.

I am doing this.

I am a graduate school student.

Holy shit.

I’m doing this!

It’s a nice feeling.

I have trepidations still, but, I also have faith.

And that is where I will plant myself.

Secure in the knowledge that it’s all happening and as long as I show up with integrity and kindness for myself today.

The rest will follow.

It always does.

Not My Day Today

July 10, 2014

But not altogether not, not my day.

If that makes sense.

It was a long day and I realize that it’s also been an emotional thing, going back to work, showing up, being present for the boys, and they are such lovely boys, that and the pain that accompanies me while at work.

And the fact that the little guy is teething.

Hard.

Really hard.

Worst teething reaction I have experienced with a charge, worst.

Poor baby is cutting molars that look like gigantic Lego pieces in his gum line.

He can’t sleep.

He doesn’t want to eat much.

He’s fractious because he can’t sleep, the pain of the teething wakes him up.

I can only give him so much Tylenol or risk him getting ill from that.

So, I wore the fuzzy pink sweater and he spent a lot of time nuzzled into that today.

My other little guy was awesome and sweet and a good little egg and helped by playing with his toys and not demanding a lot of extra attention.

It was loud and noisy at the house too as the construction continues and the door opens and shuts and the workers come and go and I am just out of my element with the whole thing.

So yeah, when I asked for a raise for working the Burning Man event this year and it did not go over so well, I felt like the last nail in the coffin of my week was hammered home.

I won’t get what I asked for but I will get a raise.

I have to.

My cost of living is just higher than it’s ever been before and not having asked for a raise ever needs to change.

Of course I am all invested in the outcome.

Of course I have already figured out I can do the event without getting a raise, should it come to that, I can eke it out for the month of September.  But why?  Work really hard, harder than I do now, and make less.

Yeah.

I know, I am at Burning Man, yay.

But the fact is I am tied to my job and I like working hard and so there’s that, and I know that there are a lot of privileges I receive from working the even the way I have, I am not inured to those things, nope.

But its work.

Hard work.

Long hours.

Hot days.

Dirty work.

Rewarding work.

But emotionally, physically, spiritually exhausting.

Sometimes I wonder if I go through with it all so that I get to have the classic playa meltdown and thereafter allow myself to indulge in some spiritual intoxication when it is all resolved.

If, perhaps, I am getting high off the anxiety and the stress of doing my job so that I can get an adrenalin fix through the drama of it.

What ever it is I have to trust that a. I will go to Burning Man and b. I will get paid what I need to make it by.

I love being a nanny at Burning Man.

There is something special and unique in the service that I give by going out there and taking care of a child.  I get some ego hits off that too, I am aware of it, I like being special and unique.

I do.

I love being Mary Fucking Poppins.

I love the look on people’s faces when I tell them what I do while I am there.

I love that I am good at what I do.

I take pride in it.

I hate, however, asking for what I need.

It is hard and I already have this idea that I am privileged by getting the experience that I get to have, staying where I stay, seeing the people I see, having a sort of all access pass to the back stage working of one of the greatest, if not the greatest show, on earth.

But this lady has to pay the rent too.

So.

Yeah.

It didn’t quite go as I wanted, but I know what I am worth, so I asked.

I thought I wasn’t attached to the results, and it turns out, shocker, that I am.

That’s ok too.

Burning Man is about art and creation and lest we all forget, hoping and wishing that the playa will provide, it is also about radical self-reliance.

I find that has to stretch past the event into my daily life, I have to be fully self-supporting to the best of my abilities, I have to take care of the home fires while sitting around the fires at the event.

I think I am now off into rambling land with this blog.

But I know I have some inventory to write, some patterns to change, some letting go of defects, and a whole lot of acceptance to work through.

Yippee.

Pause for a moment, must flip the bag of peas on my ankle.

Yup.

Still needing to rest, ice, compress, and elevate the ankle.

And this to shall pass.

Everything is alright.

I just had a day.

They happen.

I have made it half way through the week, two more days to go.

It’s all going to be just fine.

I know it.

Grateful for inventory and other people’s perspective and that I still get to learn something about myself and what an awesome way to learn.

I get to go to the best classroom on Earth.

Black Rock City.

I’ll be seeing you in the dust soon.

With or without a pay raise.

But definitely in with some glitter.

If You’re Uncomfortable

February 20, 2014

Then you know you’re doing the right thing.

She told me this earlier this evening as I was gearing up to head out to the Motorcycle Saftey Course on Folsom and 18th at the San Francisco Motorcycle Club.

Discomfort means I am growing, she continued, you’re doing just fine.

Grr.

Well, there’s that then.

I guess that a nicer way to say discomfort is to say growth.

I grew a bit today then.

Actually, over the last week, a lot.

Asking for things that make me uncomfortable, growing toward a richer life, a more abundant and prosperous one in which I take care of myself and do the necessary, uncomfortable, holy shit, actions to do so.

Finding out that I don’t have work on Friday.

Which precipitated me asking to be paid for this week and also outlining that should I be asked to work Friday’s in the future I have to be compensated if I hold them and they are not used.

If I am going to really embrace being a professional, career nanny, if I am going to stop looking for the next wunderkind career that is going to make me (can anyone spell fantasy?) I need to act like a professional.

A therapist will charge for a cancelled appointment, so to a doctor, even restaurants ask for a credit card to hold a reservation.

I need to do the same.

And after some writing.

I did.

It was fine, of course, all the crap, just crap in my head.

Still uncomfortable with having Friday off, as I have been uncomfortable having most of this week off.

Of course, ironic, I am working tomorrow after having a late night out in the city.

“The class will go until 10 p.m. tonight, or there about, depending on how quickly we get through the material,” said the instructor this evening.

Shit.

I was expecting a few hours, but I was not expecting  four hours of class time.

Ugh.

It was all necessary, I can see that, and I learned a lot, I did, I did.

I also learned that I am more nervous about taking the class then I thought I was and that it too will be something to walk through, that is, the actual skills portion.

I know about street awareness from being on my bicycle, but all the other stuff about a motorcycle threw me into a little bit of a panic.

I like the idea of learning it, but I don’t like the idea of failing it.

Then I think.

What if I did?

So what?

I just go get the permit and I take the skills test at the DMV.

Passing the class will insure that I don’t have to take the riding test and completion of it will also allow me to skip getting a permit.

Seven to ten business days after I finish the skill class on Sunday, I will receive my certificate of completion.  At that point then I go to the DMV and take the written test.

I have to also get insurance and then I am on the road.

So, I am still looking at a bit of time on my bicycle.

Which, truth be told, thrilled me with its simplicity tonight.

Granted I was not thrilled to be riding from Folsom and 18th out to 46th and Irving, but I didn’t need to think about shifting and down shifting and clutch and brake and swerving and curves and…

I also realize that I did have to learn a lot of things on my bicycle and those things were not always comfortable to learn.

The first time getting on a bicycle in San Francisco.

The first time I rode clipless on a touring bike.

The first time I rode fixed gear.

I had to learn to get through the discomfort.

I never fell in my clipless, but I had more than a few close calls when I was almost unable to unclip my shoes from my pedals before dismounting.

I never fell from my bike riding in fixed gear, but I felt out of control for a while and I don’t believe I shall ever forget how scared I was the first time I went down a big hill in fixed gear, that was an experience.

But I showed up, walked, or as the case may be, rode, through the experience, learned, grew.

Discomfort=growth.

That is what I have to remind myself of again and again.

If I am uncomfortable I am having a growth spurt.

I will be a little uncomfortable getting up early tomorrow after all the days of sleeping in, but up I shall get, and it will be nice to have a day of work, to know where to show up and how.

I realized today that I really like routine, it makes me feel like I am in control.

But that is a false idea, I am aware more so than, I believe, I ever have been, that though routine provides comfort, in my experience, that comfort can lull me into a false sense of well-being.

I will get used to things being a certain way.

Being single.

Not earning enough to thrive, but just enough to survive.

Over packing my schedule so that I don’t have time to have feelings.

Or isolating through being busy.

If I am busy working I am too busy to see you.

Or you.

Or you.

It’s uncomfortable putting myself out there to date.

It’s uncomfortable asking for what I need.

Shit.

Most times I don’t even allow myself to see what I need, to let myself become aware of my needs as been a journey of discomfort.

See six months in Paris.

I was looking at the photograph of me and the Vespa from yesterday, which has not failed to thrill me every time I view it, and I realized, again, that my life is so much fuller and more realized than when I was in Paris.

That it can and will become even more so here.

I had to go to see what I can become here.

I allow myself to be uncomfortable.

I am teachable.

I am growing.

Thus allowing myself a more fully realized life.

Bringing joy to myself and others.

That’s the whole point of growth anyhow.

Uncomfortable or not.

I have to do it.

ALL THE TIME.

But hey, I’m not complaining.

Just pointing out the obvious need.

For me anyhow.

I don’t speak for anyone else.

I have enough on my plate with myself.

Thanks, I will have the growth with a side of humility, mashed discomfort, and change.

Got that?

Great!

Pass the salt please.

What?

Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?

Discomfort tastes so much better if lightly salted.

Everything does, really.

Life Is A Beach

November 28, 2013

And a vale of tears.

But I’ll get to that in a moment.

Day two of the six-day staycation.

I did not get out so much today.

Rather I stayed in the hood.

I relaxed in the bed a little longer.

Awakening at 8a.m. I thought, nah, I am allowed a few more minutes, and I just drifted off in the warm soft sheets and dozed for another twenty minutes.

It could have been two hours, it felt so good when I woke back up.

I got up without even consulting the clock.

I was shocked to see that I had only slept another twenty minutes, I really was prepared for it to be noon and not 8:21 a.m.

Up was up, however, and up I stayed.

A text from the housemate upstairs and a confirmation that she was around and was I around and that and we should go get into some Trouble.

Trouble Coffee and Coconut Club, that is.

Trouble Coffee

Trouble Coffee

I had some breakfast, made my bed, did some writing and when that was complete I opened the door to my studio and met her and her daughter in the entryway and off we went.

Trouble was delicious, I had an Americano and it was dreamy.

After some coffee and catching up with her we went over to The General Store where her daughter explored the back yard and the succulents in the green house.

Cacti

General Store

I had no intentions of buying anything and happily wandered around the back yard with her.

Then I had to, well, you have a bunch of coffee and you would too.

The bathroom was by the clothes rack.

And on the clothes rack there they were.

My bib overalls.

I have been looking for a pair of bib overalls for the last year and a half.

I actually found some at a Brocante in Paris, but the woman would not barter with me and was more than exceptionally French, Parisian, and rude (I actually only had one other interaction with a French person that was the cliché, in all the six months of being there really, two nasty “French” people.), she was also enjoying a cocktail brunch at the cafe with her girlfriends and had no intent on selling anything from her stall.

It was like a front to sit in the sun and get schnockered on a Sunday.

Which is cool, but I did not succeed in trying on or purchasing the vintage coveralls.

I did, however, today.

Man, oh man, they are cute.

I will be wearing them to all my holiday parties.

Why?

Because they make me happy.

Some clothes just do that.

They made me happy when I tried them on and I almost wore them out the store.

Holidays should be dressed in happy clothes.

And for me that is a pair of bibs.

Doesn’t matter that it is not traditional holiday garb, holidays are already a challenge for me, what ever I can do to make them less so is something I am going to embrace.

As I found myself crying over a pint of ice cream this afternoon.

No.

I did not eat a pint of ice cream.

But I did lose it over a text requesting that I pick some up.

I mean I lost my shit.

I went from being a fairly calm, rational, just went down to the beach and watched the surfers and listened to the waves boom on the shore, and hula hooped and eaten a kale and spinach salad and, what!

Napped.

Oh yeah, did that too, twenty-minute knock out in the full sun after my salad and banana.

Did any of that matter when my friend sent a text asking me to be a dear and grab some ice cream to accompany the pies he was bringing to the event?

No.

I, as I said, lost it.

I sat down.

I cried.

Then I got angry.

Fuck you God.

Fuck you.

I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, it’s Thanksgiving and I ain’t gonna eat get to eat any fucking pumpkin pie or whipped cream or strudel or gravy or cranberry sauce.

I hopped the self-pity train and rode it the fuck out-of-town.

I knew better than to respond to my friends message as the response was way out of proportion to the event.

So far out of proportion that I knew it had nothing to do with the request and was just the sign pointing the way to a deeper disturbance in the force, Luke.

The restraint of pen and tongue and text paid off.

I had to make some phone calls and follow through with meeting up some of the ladies this evening and I did both.

When that was finished, when I had a modicum of perspective I made the phone call and joked to my friend that it was sort of like asking me to bring a couple of grams of coke to the party.

I asked if there was anything else I could bring.

He was such a sweetheart I felt bad for even making a deal about it.

Asking for what I need is still so damn hard and it’s not the big stuff that gets me, I can handle the big stuff.

Births.

Deaths.

Accidents.

Evictions.

Getting fired from a job.

No problem.

Bring a pint of ice cream to an event and my entire world falls apart.

“Honey, it’s always the mouse in the room,” John Ater said to me, “it’s never the big things, the elephants are easy, it’s the mice.”

No kidding.

Holidays are challenging and feeling out of my league is standard for me.

What is not is saying yes to a new experience and going somewhere new to be with new people.

And an old friend.

A friend that I don’t get to see for long stretches of time and who will be away for a lot of time for the holidays, kind of gift, you know, to actually get to meet his friends and be invited to his high holy holiday.

He’s getting all my pie.

And the ice cream.

Knowing myself too, it’s the being vulnerable part, I want to be perfect and be capable and be on top of things, but sometimes I have a hard enough time just getting to the point where I know what it is that is troubling me.

Having open time to spend with people and develop intimacy is one of the things that I want the most, yet shy from when it’s presented.

I have been gifted with some perspective around this and when I can sit still and allow the feelings to come and go, I am better for it.

Much better.

Here’s to not sabotaging my abstinence or my holiday.

Here’s to showing up with my authentic self.

Shy, scared, a little anxious, but happy to be included and grateful to have a place to be this holiday.

Grateful to have friends who want me to spend time with them.

Thankful beyond words.

And happy I get to do it dressed in bib overalls.

Not the bottom of an empty ice cream container.

 

 


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