Posts Tagged ‘compare and despair’

I Missed You!

July 6, 2016

He leaped into my lap and curled up into a little ball, stuffed cat in the center of it all, his small, soft, warm limbs entangled with me.

“I missed you too, bug,” I said and wrapped my arms around him.

It’s nice to be missed.

Even the dog seemed extra special friendly when I came to work today.

It’s always nice to get a warm greeting from an animal.

From a child.

From my employers.

I am grateful for my job.

Very much so and it was nice to be back in the mix.

It was cold and foggy most of the day, even in the Mission, but we did manage to get out for a little while and I felt happy to be home in San Francisco doing what I do.

Even with Sutro Tower obscured by the fog, I knew it was there and my city had me.

“What does ‘obscured’ mean?” Asked the six year old when I pointed out that Sutro Tower had disappeared from the city scape.

Then I told him that the name of the fog was called Karl.

This led to much yelling at Karl to go away.

I had to laugh.

He wasn’t the first person I heard today yell about the fog.

The thing is, I’m used to it, sweatshirts and layers and turning on the heat in July rather than the opposite.

Although it can damn straight get cold here during the winter too, wet, splashy, soak the bones cold.

I am not thinking much about the cold.

I’m thinking about the messages I received earlier from a Tinder date I went on months ago.

He and I hit it off, really, really, really well.

Ahem.

However.

We have not managed to get back together and it’s been a funny game of text tag.

“Nope, in Ohio,” from him.

“Nope, I’m in New Orleans, or New York, or working,” from me.

“I’m in Europe,” from him.

It’s kind of silly.

However.

It is awful flattering to have someone remember you with much fondness and ask after you and there’s nothing like a handsome man telling me that I am beautiful.

Thanks man.

Even should we not manage to hang out again, I always appreciate a sincere compliment.

I appreciate dating.

I’m getting a mite better at it.

I think I’m also taking it much less seriously.

I remember, more and more often, to have fun.

I realized the other day as I was happily surprised to see a friend of mine post her engagement ring picture, that there was no compare and despair, rather just a very honest assessment of her journey to this relationship.

She’s dated.

I have not dated so much.

It takes practice and finding out what works and what doesn’t.

It takes asking for what you want.

Sometimes I can do that.

Most often I am not so successful, but I am seeing areas where I can improve.

And.

Also, my confidence is higher.

In myself, in my choices, in my life.

I just see a lot of work slowly paying dividends.

I was thinking, in particular, about a couple that I witnessed having a fight in a restaurant at the table next to me on Friday night in New Orleans.

The man wanted to be right versus happy.

And the woman, who had the better logic of the argument, couldn’t get him to drop the conversation from the table, the loud, angry, I’m rightness of his voice banging up against her protests.

She was also obnoxious, I’m not going to lie, both parties at the table were idiotic at one point or other in the discussion, but the man was a jackass and loud.

And she cried.

It was sad.

At one point the busser cleared a dish and managed to intervene a little.

A server asked them to bring it down a little.

And the woman fled the table, wet faced and mottled red with shame and anger.

I sat at my table happily people watching, enjoying the fuck out of my awesome company, me, being nice to the server, eating an amazing crab and avocado salad and I almost, but did not, although it was tempting, turned to ask the man a question.

“Do you want to be right, or be happy?”

But.

I already knew the answer.

He wanted to be right.

The break up wasn’t imminent, both the man and the woman seemed oddly resigned that they were going to be together, yet, I felt it, the leaving of one person or the other, the despair and the wash of ugliness that a person can have even with a person they care about.

It did not seem a relationship, or marriage, or love, more one of convenience and desperation, there wasn’t going to be anyone better and I better get it while I can.

I wanted to stand up.

Say, “be brave! Change! ¬†Eat some humble pie and let the other person be happy.”

Not that it would have made any difference.

I just felt compelled.

And.

I realized, this is not my experience to have and I am grateful for it.

I had someone reach out and ask me some questions regarding my paramours and my dating activity and I was more than happy to share.

I divulged a bit and it was fun to talk about it.

And.

I realize how many people are jealous of my lifestyle.

I am free to go and do what I please.

I have no one to be accountable to.

Just me, myself and I.

I am happy.

“My spiritual principle today is happy,” I expressed to my person on the phone when I called and checked in with her.

Why shouldn’t I be happy?

I got laid last night.

I had a lovely company and was a spoiled princess.

I have a home in San Francisco.

I have a healthy, able body.

I have recovery.

I have myself and my love for my challenges and all the twists and turns on my journey.

I am a part of a community.

And.

I got the most beautiful gift in the mail today.

My grandmother crocheted me an afghan.

It was delivered when I was away, so I took the USPS slip to the post office before work today and picked it up.

It is gorgeous.

Stunning really.

And it fits so well into my little studio’s color schematic, it’s just perfect.

I am loved.

I am taken care of.

There is beauty everywhere.

And I get to be a part of it.

Divinity.

Grace.

Joy.

Happy.

All of it.

All the things.

All of them.

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Cold, Grey, Foggy

May 23, 2015

But not lonely.

Alone.

But alright with it.

Not whistling in the dark.

Whistling through the dark.

The buffalo paddock was glowing with mist as I rode my bicycle through the depths of Golden Gate Park on my ride home this evening, the bounced back light from the underbelly of the low-lying clouds and the thick fog swirling in from the ocean, made the meadow look as though it was laced with snow.

And it felt cold enough on my ride home for me, for just a moment, to actually think that the field was full of snow.

I did a bit of a double take and then chuckled at my misperception.

I should always chuckle at my poor perspective, my inability to ever see anything quite clearly.

It does seem like so much is shrouded in fog and mist.

I can be magical though.

The ride home, especially the stretch from the waterfall through to the buffalo paddock always does it to me, especially when there is little or nor traffic on the road and the glimmer of the lamp posts marching stolid through the dark makes me feel like I am on the cusp of the wilds, that I am in that in between land.

Could be fantasy.

Could be reality.

Sometimes I call it Narnia.

I am reminded of the Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, the lamp-post in the woods, the snow flurries around the halo of light, I feel like that when I ride through the mists and fog and head home to my small spot by the sea.

“You’re all the way out there,” my friend said to me as we caught up hanging out on the side-walk across from the SafeWay in the Church and Market neighborhood.

Three more blocks and I would be at the sea.

There’s a special kind of absence of light when I turn off Chain of Lakes and make my final descent down Lincoln Avenue to 46th, cornering like I’m still riding my bicycle in fixed gear, there is a blackness, a lack of light, that even should I not know the sea was there, is indicative of the ocean being there.

The edge of the world.

I could just drop right off the edge.

Not that I plan on anytime soon.

I could become morose, I could wish for more than what I have, but that is just a misty shroud of self-pity that doesn’t serve me or my fellows.

It’s really just selfishness masquerading around in fancy pants clothes.

I love my warm little space.

It is exactly as it should be.

Pretty and quaint.

My life is exactly as it should be as well.

And I have a three-day weekend.

That is nice.

I did have a moment when I was in the middle of the day, a stretch that is not always relaxing, but heralds that it is closer to the end of the day then the beginning, and I thought, I am just not going to make it all the way to the weekend.

And what do you know.

I did.

And it’s here.

And yup.

No plans.

Get excited.

I remind myself.

Things are going to happen.

Stuff is happening things are brewing.

There is not a single reason in the world to be troubled.

Just because I can’t see through the fog doesn’t mean that something fabulous.

Amazing.

Astounding.

Miraculous.

Out of the ordinary.

May happen.

I have a confession to make, now that I am through a good chunk of the blog and have lost a number of readers, I mean, how long can you wax poetic about fog and mist before someone decides to go watch some down loaded porn?

FYI.

I write about working for love and being a nanny and I get like zip reads.

I write anything about sex.

I get reads.

I know what you all want.

I know my audience.

But do I know myself?

Here’s one.

I need to stop looking at my ex-boyfriends FaceBook page.

I’m about to unfriend the man again.

It’s just about to start taking too much time of mine.

It’s just about to start.

Ha!

I make myself fucking laugh.

It is taking up too much of my attention.

He posted something and I found myself reacting and I was like, no, no, no.

It’s not my business where he is or what he’s doing or who he’s hanging out with, but, dude, we’re supposed to be doing that together–fucking jealousy.

Didn’t I already work through this?

And then I knew I have not, not completely, ¬†there’s always a little more work I get to do.

I have to stay away.

When I go down that road it isn’t shrouded in mist.

It’s a bright fucking light that says, you’re not good enough, he didn’t want you, nobody wants you, might as well go cry in my tea.

And then I focus on all the things that are lacking in my life.

Which is nothing.

Once I get disgusted with myself and tear my eyes away from the stream of posts, that are.

NONE OF MY BUSINESS TO BE READING.

Ugh.

So.

Maybe I’ll try that this weekend.

I won’t check his Facebook feed for the rest of the weekend.

That will probably help me see what is actually happening in front of me.

Maybe I’ll actually be available to the man I’m supposed to be with instead of focusing on the one who didn’t want me.

Good rule of thumb.

Focus on what’s in front of me, rather than focusing on what I do not have.

That whole compare and despair thing.

Because I am enough.

There’s not a thing wrong with me and my ex and I aren’t together because we’re not suppose to be.

That’s all.

It’s not some big mystery.

It’s just life.

It’s just an experience.

And the nice thing about coming in from the fog and the chill, with my fingers stiff from riding in the misty weather, I can always warm up, change my perspective, get cozy, and be happy that I’m not having a mystical experience.

I’m just having an experience.

It’s called living.

And it’s pretty damn good.

Especially when I mind my own business.

It’s good then.

REALLY.

REALLY.

REALLY.

Good.

Yearning

May 17, 2015

This is not a post I am interested in posting.

It steers a little too close to self-pity land.

And nothing, truly, nothing, do I find more objectionable and heinous.

I had an ex in my twenties who was amazing at self-pity and I remember realizing one day how very selfish it was.

I don’t like it when my selfish tendencies arise.

Yet.

They do and when they do I just get to roll with them.

I had hoped I would be feeling a bit more sprightly today and that is not the case, the cold lingers and with it comes those feelings, oh feelings, of not being enough or doing enough or whatever it is that wants to get under my skin and rub the wrong way.

What I want is a snuggle.

Someone to rub my back and my shoulders.

Someone to cuddle with.

That’s something that I long for when I get sick and well, being a single gal, that’s nowhere in the offing.

It does not help that I have had some contact with my recent ex, nothing in person, but some lengthy texting and my fondness for him knows no bounds, but we agreed that it’s too close to the bone, too close to discomfort, too much potential for creating unnecessary wreckage that neither one of us wants to create.

I mean.

Sort of.

I know that road.

Once broken up with an ex I have stayed broken up with an ex.

With the exception of a near black out late night emotional booty call to my ex-boyfriend in my twenties a year and a half after we broke up.

I think I knew I had to see him one last time (ended up being one more time after that, which was sweet and tender and it was the last time and weird enough we went to Monty’s Blue Plate Diner the next morning for breakfast and the waitress remembered us even though we hadn’t been in together in almost two years at that point) and wanted to say a proper goodbye before moving back to the state of my birth, California.

But the tendency does tend to be no contact after a break up.

Not that there have been a whole lot of relationships since I moved to San Francisco, let me be frank, I’m a loner.

I didn’t intend it that way, but somewhere down the line, it happened, despite the longing or yearning for it to be otherwise I have just marched, bicycled, briefly scooter’ed (and with a little help from a friend I may well soon again), and danced to my own personal drummer.

I have rarely been partnered up in my adult life and I am not complaining.

It’s not on my time.

I have tried to make it on my time.

I have written reams of blogs and I used to write just the worst sappy ass poetry about it.

I mean, whatever to get it off my chest, but I know this is more a symptom of being slightly under the weather than anything else.

So.

I can weather this one out.

This too shall pass they say.

I realized I was being a bit moribund when I hopped in the shower to rinse out a freshening up of my hair dye, I picked up a pot of Manic Panic Cotton Candy Pink at the salon today when I got my nails done (the color I had in my hair was Cleo Rose, that’s what I got at the salon when I went to get it done, but I wanted to see what the Cotton Candy Pink would look like, so I picked it up, I mean if I’m going to have clown curl explosion on my head, may as well be cotton candy) and my thought was, “I wish I was going to see my grandmother with my boyfriend.”

Uh oh.

I am feeling “not enough.”

I am feeling the “another person completes” me baloney happening here.

My grandmother doesn’t care if I’m single or dating, or at least she has never said anything to the effect and I can’t imagine she cares one way or the other.

It’s me who cares.

I’m “less than” for not being in a relationship.

Nope.

I’m just me.

And me is pretty cool.

I called my grandmother today to check in about my upcoming visit to Chula Vista at the end of the month.

I had some concerns about putting any one out, she is 87 after all.

But she would not hear of me staying anywhere else.

My favorite uncle is going to be coming into town too from Nevada City and I’m super excited to see him (although we do usually have a family reunion out at Burning Man) and get to hear about his newest projects for the playa.

He’ll be staying with my grandma as well.

“You’re Uncle Boy can stay in the garage if we need to make space,” she said.

I laughed.

“Don’t tell him that!”

It felt good to laugh.

I’ve been nervous to reconnect.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s just family.

And I love my grandmother.

Despite not having had much direct face to face contact we have stayed in touch all of my life and she is my last living grandparent.

I want to make the effort and I am delighted to get to stay with her.

I have no idea exactly what we’re going to do, but she did say that one night there would be a big family dinner at her home and I just had this sudden and overwhelming joy fill me with the thought of being surrounded by this family, that I know so little of, but care so much for.

I think that’s what they mean when they say blood is thicker than water.

I have made my own family out here in the big bad world.

Amongst my friends and fellows and there are people in my life, some in Wisconsin, some here, that I could not, nor will not do without.

“Yo.”

The messenger read on my phone this morning, pinging me awake, “are you planning on coming out this way, the middle part, this year?”

I want to.

I realized that I may not be able to until Christmas though.

And there it was again, that longing for a person to be with me.

The longing for someone to go with me to Burning Man, to travel with me.

I am sick.

Not sick in the head, or wrong for having these feelings, they just don’t usually get to me unless I’m not feeling 100% myself.

I can and have ridden out the feelings before and as my hair dries, it’s still just pink, the difference in colors is too subtle, but it’s fresh pink pink pink, so that’s fun, I know that I’m ok and that yearning for something is a part of life.

I don’t have to get what I want to enjoy what I have.

And I can snuggle with myself tonight and roll out my shoulders with my roller and make some tea and be cozy and rest.

Nothing wrong with that.

And be grateful that I get to see my family in two weeks.

Grateful I have family to travel to see.

I belong to these people and they to me and I am yearning, really, to be connected to as much humanity as I can be.

That’s the good stuff.

That’s the jelly in the donut.

The bees knees.

The cat’s pajamas.

The stuff of life.

I suppose you could say.

Oh.

Yeah.

It’s love.

Sweet, tender, vulnerable.

Love.

It’s A Different Kind

December 29, 2014

Of cold.

I find myself arguing with people who live outside of San Francisco when they snark at me that 50 degrees is not cold.

But it is.

There’s no insulation in my studio.

The wind off the ocean is not a breeze.

And it will cut you.

No playing.

Wet cold is so different from dry.

When I was up in Anchorage, the temperatures were drastically different from here, yet I found myself “freezing” on a number of occasions this past weekend.

I cannot believe the weekend is past tense already.

Aside from some cold extremities, which come in handy if one so chooses to use them as weapons of mass destruction on your boyfriend.

“ARGH! How are you’re feet so cold!?” He yelped when I stuck them on his warm leg under the covers in bed.

I felt justified.

The punk is not ticklish, so how am I to get my revenge?

Cold feet are awesome for that–revenge, a dish best served cold.

Not that I really have any thing to seek revenge upon my boyfriend, he is a peach, a pumpkin, a bunny, a darling, a sweetheart, as was often and amply demonstrated over the five-day weekend, which encompassed Christmas and all the crazy family baggage that entails.

For me.

Not him.

His baggage?

None of my business.

To write about or otherwise.

Something that being in a romantic relationship with this person is teaching me, I get to keep learning about myself, not him, myself.

Keep the focus on myself.

Which can be challenging for someone who grew up the way I did.

It’s easier to focus on others, whether it is their perceived wrong doings, or their right doings, when I compare, I despair.

And when I am focused on another person exclusively I am not seeing what I need to do to take care of myself.

It is a dance that I am clumsy at, but have a had a few moments of grace with; my two left, cold, feet, straighten out here and there and I manage to do a pretty pirouette and gracefully navigate a situation or feeling.

I just paused for a moment, to sip my tea and look about my clean space, it got deep cleaned today, and my pretty Christmas tree, to listen to the jazz on my player, to feel the warm dinner in my stomach, to hear the laundry drying in the next room over, to be so grateful for this place, this home, I just wanted to acknowledge a deep contentment for my space.

For that matter.

Let me acknowledge a deep contentment for my life.

I really have a blessed life.

Yesterday, for example, my guy and I went on a little road trip down the coast on Highway One to Santa Cruz.

We went to the Natural Bridges State Park and went on the Monarch hike.

Unfortunately, we got a later start then we had anticipated and there was not much monarch action to be seen.

Oh.

The monarchs were there, in the hundreds, if not thousands, they were just difficult to see.

The bower of eucalyptus trees that they were nestled in were already deep in afternoon shadows when we arrived.

The butterflies had thus already settled down into the bunches twined around the branches and leaves.

There were a few scant flyers in the top part of the tree canopy and I was able to spot a few fluttering around in the last of the suns rays when I strained my eyes all the way up to the sky.

Monarchs

Monarch Butterflies

The monarchs blend so well into the leaves when they are still that it took much searching to finally see the bundles laced throughout the boughs.

Monarchs

Monarchs

In this photograph I pulled as much out as I could and used my filters in Iphoto to somewhat capture a bundle. The gigantic mass is a horde of monarchs, most of them have their wings closed, so it makes it further challenging to observe them without their distinctive orange and black markings showing.

My boyfriend and I walked holding hands and climbed around the trees and paths and listed in the sun when it dappled down through the canopy.

I was already cold and ready for the car.

I joke with him that I am only dating him for the car seat warmer in his car.

In a way, I was disappointed, but in another, I was not at all.

We had gone on an adventure.

Sure it wasn’t the spectacle I had expected and I, of course, self-centered in the extreme, had envisioned the entire thing alone, with my boyfriend, the sunshine, the thousands of butterflies, and the trees.

Not the loud families having arguments about where to park or the tourists taking photographs or grumping to themselves that what was the point, you couldn’t really see the butterflies.

Damn you nature for not complying with our so human and prideful demands.

Rather, I was grateful for the experience.

I had gotten to take a road trip down the coast with my honey, listen to good music, hold hands, stop at roadside coffee shops and berry farms, I had gotten to see the waves unfurl and smash on the beaches of the shoreline on the drive, if I had only done this and nothing more, it was a successful adventure.

A grand experience.

And then as we were winding our way out along the elevated boardwalk, the last of the sun streaming in

Monarch Trail

Monarch Trail

I saw a monarch flutter in the trees and I whipped out the camera and caught them.

Not to take or steal or keep.

But to cherish and remember that moment, with my boyfriend next to me and the sun shining it’s last beams on our faces with boundless love.

Monarch Bundle

Monarch Bundle

Granted.

It’s not the best photograph I have ever taken, but it struck me, how often I can not see the beauty of the moment because I am too caught up in how I think it should be.

The present is full of gifts and they are simple, the most alluring, and beautiful, when they open their wings and remind you that love is here.

You just have to look with an open heart.

Love.

Is in fact.

Everywhere.

Which was then further smashed home when we exited the trees and saw the escaty of the setting sun.

My feet may have been cold.

But my heart.

Oh.

My heart was on fire.

Pacific Ocean Sunset

Sunset, Santa Cruz, Natural Bridges State Park


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