Posts Tagged ‘lessons’

Not A God Damn

January 2, 2015



I’m not even in pants.

Haven’t gotten dressed.

Haven’t gone outside.

I looked.

It looked nice.


Spent most of today in bed, in boyfriendlandia, doing a whole lot of nothing but snuggling, sleeping, and watching East Bound and Down.

Happy New Year.

I slept in until past one p.m.

I am not prone to that much sleep, but a comfortable crook of arm, and a cold nip to the air outside the warmth of the comforter, a day off from work and a late’ish night last night, and I was not inclined to get up and get out.


I had my moments.

I always do.

When I think I should be going, doing, being, faster, quicker, go, go.

But really, there is nowhere to go, not today, not much to do, just be mellow, drink some tea, roll around in bed.

I did accomplish a shower.

So, there’s that.

I could review the year, but WordPress already did that for me and in such a way that I felt a smidgen guilty for not being as on point with my blogging as I have been prior to the whole I got a boyfriend thing happened.

Although I have been told by one friend, at least, that my writing has not suffered, that the blog post I have been putting out are decent, if not good, I can go for that.

I do want and need, pretty much to be writing every day, and that has not stopped, I’m still writing all the time, it just doesn’t always show up as a blog.

But believe you me, it’s still going on.

I felt compelled to blog tonight, partially because it’s fun to do it with no pants on, and because I did not do my morning long hand–I was in bed doing the snuggle and sleep thing.

Then there was that other thing.

Then there was making breakfast at 2 p.m.

And then back to bed and like that.

The day is gone.

But it’s not gone and I still have a few things that got to fly out of my fingers and into the ether and I don’t think a moment of reflection on the past year is so out of the question that I couldn’t write about it.


I don’t want to focus on the past, even the near past, I have today and that’s what’s important.

As I look into 2015 there are a few things that I want to accomplish and perhaps that’s what I can look at.

I have a date to keep on the 13th of this month I might be rolling a special day of commemoration.

I also will be getting a new tattoo that same week.

But not until¬†after the 17th, I don’t like jumping the gun.

No fronts man.

I am certain to have some more contact with my family.

Despite the pain and the mingled horror of seeing my father the way he was when I went up to Anchorage, there was also the resolution of an old idea of a relationship that never was and some grief that came out of it was really cathartic.

I grieved a relationship that I never had.

Not just with my father.

But with my reality and with my previous relationships.

I vowed to be more available and open and stand up for intimacy and be needy in ways that make me want to slap that word out of the dictionary.

I have asked for help in places I have balked at for so long that now seeing the things that have come out of them, renewed relationships with my father’s side of the family, a new ability to show up for a romantic relationship (and no it’s not all snuggles and butterflies and rainbows falling out of unicorn butts, but it is real and wonderful for all its humanity), for a new job, and for what I hope will be eventually a new career.

I have graduate school to be applying myself towards and furthering my commitment to myself by continuing to write.

I have places I want to travel too, some near, some far, most in the states, I don’t currently see any out of the states travel, not for another year, I think.

But Yosemite.

Half Dome.

The Grand Canyon.

Big Sur.

I want to see more.

I want to open myself up more to what is in my area and really explore it.

I wouldn’t mind seeing the redwoods again, it’s been a hot second, like over ten years, since I drove up north and saw the big old trees.

I want to see a friend get married.

I want to see a friend have a baby.

Both are in the works.

I want to continue to grow and maybe ride my scooter a little more and my bike and do a good job and be of service to my fellowship and community.

Standard stuff.

My New Year’s Resolutions are not really resolutions.

I already live a day-to-day existence.

That’s not to say that I am living hand to mouth, but rather that each day is a new day, full of possibility, each day is day to give and to give some more and to be of service.

It doesn’t have to be the holiday season, which, really, I am fine with it being over with, it was lovely, now let’s move the fuck on, to do estimable acts.

I have so much to be grateful for.

It doesn’t have to Thanksgiving for me to express gratitude.

It doesn’t have to be Christmas for me to give something to someone.

It doesn’t have to be New Years for me to make the decision to live a better day, a better moment, a better way of life.

I have to constantly enlarge my spiritual life.

And I am ok with that.


I am crazy.

And I know it.

And the things that I do don’t negate the crazy, but they offset it and normalize me and make me useful and that is fabulous.

It’s not to say that the crazy doesn’t surface, it certainly does, but for the most part I feel pretty serene and loved and taken care of and I want to continue to live that kind of life.

I don’t have to resolve to do anything.

I get to do something every day.

Well, except for maybe today, since I really just lounged around all day.

But even that is a kind a growth.

I can hurry up and not do anything.

That can be just as rewarding as all the busy work I do.

And with that.

I’m out and officially into the new year.



May this be your best year yet.

I’m certain it will be mine.

Turn Around

October 31, 2013

To come back home.

I find synchronicity interesting.

Devastating at times.

Seasonal senses on high alert, emotions, tied to the falling leaves that I scuffle through on the way to the park, the smell of burning smoke, the delicious burnt black singed scent of the  tops of pumpkins whose lids have been cradled too close to the licking flames of paraffin candles, the endless blue that caps the sky, reminding me of all the things I said goodbye to.

To say hello again.

I am back home.

In a new home.

With a heart that still aches and wonders what happened and how and why, but why, well, I could spend my whole life trying to figure out why and then what a shame, no?

To lay upon death’s door and realize that the whys and the whereofs do not matter.

To have wasted precious time sequestering myself away to attempt to ferret out meaning, when it is of no consequence.

In a hundred years will my name be on any lips?

May I never live to live for that.

“Your blogs make me cry,” he said to me.

They make me cry too, sometimes, or that feeling, that elixir of emotions that bubbles up inside me that makes me notice, almost relentlessly so, those things that are magic in my life.

I was walking the boys to the park today, oh my boys, my darling boys, and a mom and her daughter were asking directions at the head of the Golden Gate Park area at the bottom of Haight Street.

She was looking for the Koret Children’s Area.

“Follow me,” I said, “I am heading that way.”

The girl, four, five, long brown curly hair, spirals of chestnut-brown nicked with golden blonde highlights, danced around her mother’s legs and peered out at me now and again with a shy smile and inquisitive eyes.

She wore purple tights with pink polka dots.

I showed them the way and we parted just past the bridge that runs under Lincoln Avenue.

The frame of the arch spanning over the mother and daughter, the playground with its turrets of towers in the back round, the skittering of leaves, and the squirrel that ducked and leapt across the pathway made my heart just stop.


My heart boomed, and without meaning to, without thinking, I said, “Oh God, I want one of those.”

The little girl with the long brown hair clinging to her mother’s hand as she bent over and pushed the hair from her childs face.



I am 40, there are those that suggest I could have a biological clock happening, there is that.

I don’t argue, I don’t agree or disagree, I am just stating the facts.

It was like being bowled over.

Then I thought, is it me, do I just want to be that little girl, do I still have a clamouring for polka dots and pink and sashes and mary janes, carousel rides, furry collars on coats, Paige boy bangs on a haircut, woolen tights, and pigtails, slides, and bubbles and princess trappings and dreams.

Who knows.

I am just here reporting what happened.

It did give me pause though.

There was no having baby, family, or relationships in Paris.

Despite the fantasy that just that would happen.

Oh, come now, like you didn’t see that happening?

Well, you could always get married to a Frenchman and get your papers that way.


But I seemed to have come full circle, back to these places and faces and friends and lovers that I wonder, what did I miss that first go round.

Here is this person and that person and here are what our relationships looked like when I was leaving for Paris: the friend, the lover, the Mister.

Now, could I roll them all up into one, I would have the perfect person.

But there is no perfect person and I am no perfect person.

Perfectly fine with that, at least for the moment, who knows what five minutes from now will look like, but let’s not quite go there yet, shall we?

My sensitive dear friend who would stop by the bicycle shop and ask me about my plans for Paris, my lover who I wondered, what if, but hey, don’t go there heart, you are leaving, the Mister who was dressed in love’s trappings, but did not seem to have the sensitive life inquisitiveness that I was desiring, just all the romantic accoutrement of courting at his fingers, nor the passion and ardor I had with the lover.

Six months of distance.

Six months of interactions with all of them.

Some more than others.

Some in surprising tender ways that still cause me pause.

Of course, my filter is slanted, it is all me, it is all one-sided.

I never asked what I could bring, was I more than a pretty face driving away in a convertible.

“You look hot driving my car,” the Mister texted me after I pulled away in his black convertible he was loaning me for the week before I flew off to the land of Once upon a time and far, far away.

I never asked my lover what he wanted, I was too scared to say what I wanted.

“Use your words,” he said to me with a smile, rosy, blown open, skin flush with desire.

I never asked my friend what was it about my writing that made you cry?

What service did I bring?

What lesson am I back here again learning as I re-engage with each one of them.

Some who have traded places the lover to friend the friend to lover?

The leaves today, crisp under my heels, the sun-bright on my cheeks.

I went to the farmers market as the afternoon was winding down and the baby snuggled to my chest was consistently confused as mine and for the first time in some time I didn’t correct those folks who made the assumption that the child was mine.

No, he is just on loan, but I am here, too, repeating this relationship, the nanny.

“You will keep having the same relationships until you learn what you need to learn,” she said to me over cafe cremes in the upstairs loft of the Lizard Lounge in the Marais.

I am willing to learn and I am willing to not shut the door on this past year, I am too, a little misty eyed to think of myself at this time last year, one night away from my last tryst with the lover, the last date with the Mister, the last hug with my friend.

Fly, I think to that brave girl, fly little girl, go find yourself.

Woman returned.

I turned around and found that I am grown.

Girl no more.


Soft roar.

Strong walk.

Tender heart.

The child has been subsumed and the woman emerges.

From the hollowed hearts of persimmons and the capped lids of pumpkins.

Turned out topsy-turvy into another new moment.

At the edge of the world.

The foot of the ocean.

I find myself.

And stand anew.


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