Posts Tagged ‘moving on’

In The Quiet

August 13, 2018

In between the sound of the ocean coming through the back door of the studio, the sonorous bellow of the fog horn and the running trains along Judah Street, I fell into the grief.

I knew I would.

I knew it would happen when there was down time, low time, time to allow the feelings to move and pass.

I was reminded tonight, as I sobbed with my head on the table at a cafe in the Castro, that the grief would come and it would go and I was not going to always know what would trigger it to happen.

I mean.

Some of it was obvious, that Stevie Wonder song playing in the grocery store with the refrain, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” crooning out of the speakers.

Great.

Tearing up as I get my bulk oatmeal and brown rice.

The sappy love songs at Firewood Cafe tonight, I don’t even know who they were by, I didn’t recognize the singers, I don’t listen to much contemporary pop music, they were just cheesy love songs, but they left a tender spot on my heart.

Some things were less obvious.

The Mason jars.

They were a surprise.

The grief overwhelmed me when I was putting away dishes from my dish rack this afternoon.

Mason jars.

I don’t have vases, so I use wide mouth Mason jars as vases for flowers.

I threw away the flowers he gave me last week.

He gave me flowers on Tuesday and again on Wednesday.

My room was a bower.

They were beautiful.

I thought about pressing some of them, but it felt too sappy and mopey and when they started to wilt I decided it would be better to compost them.

I tossed out one of the bouquets that was fading faster than the other and contemplated letting the other stay in residence in my kitchen for another day.

After all the trash and compost don’t go out until Monday evening, I could keep them around for another day.

But there was something about not wanting to see them wilt further and needing to let them go.

So I threw them out too.

Pretty flowers in the compost bin.

And yes.

I did feel a ping of sadness when I closed the lid to the bin, but it wasn’t so bad and I was happy to keep on with my day.

A day that was a lot of chores and cooking, laundry, and tidying up.

A day with a lot of writing as well.

I wrote a tome this morning.

Then I wrote to him.

I have a journal that I bought and I have been writing him love letters in.

It helps to let him know how I feel even if they are not being read by him.

Writing helps me process.

And it help me find the grief, locate it, and allow a little more out.

So I was completely taken aback when I fell to pieces putting away the Mason jars.

I took the first one and something popped in my chest.

I realized that I was never going to be putting flowers from him in the jar again.

I literally burst into tears and started sobbing.

Retelling the incident to my person is what led me to having my head down on the table at the cafe tonight.

“You don’t know that,” he said to me.

He was right.

I don’t know that.

I hope so much that one day he will give me flowers again.

Then my person made a nod to my wrist.

“Did you give that to yourself, or….”he paused.

I panicked.

“NO, it’s from him, I can’t take it off, I don’t want to take it off, 3/4s of my jewelry is from him,” I said tearing up again and shaking my head.

It’s a beautiful silver infinity bracelet from Tiffany’s that he gave me for graduating with my Master’s Degree.

The infinity symbol was meant for us, that we, our love is infinite and never-ending.

It hadn’t even crossed my mind to not wear it.

I have worn it every day since he gave it to me.

What would it be like to not wear it?

Heartbreaking.

Just stomp on my crushed heart a little more why don’t you?

I love the jewelry he has given me.

He knows my heart well and has given me such precious things.

And yes.

He is the first man to ever give me anything from Tiffany’s.

I have a few blue boxes in my cupboard tucked inside sweet little blue bags, with thick white ribbons wrapping them all up.

I don’t want to think about giving those up or putting away my jewelry.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Just, well, just not tonight.

I was able to let go of some things that don’t need to be in my house though.

Sugar and flour.

I have baked him a birthday cake and I have baked him cookies and made him nice pasta, imported from Italy, and cooked him lovely things.

I love to cook for someone I love.

He was the best person ever to cook for.

Ever.

But I don’t eat pasta and I don’t eat sugar or flour and I don’t foresee baking for a while.

Plus, I reasoned, I’m moving, best to clean out some of the cupboards.

So I put that in the compost too.

Maybe I should compost my heart.

Perhaps some flowers will grow from it.

I will water them with my tears.

Cut them when they bloom.

Put them in a Mason jar.

And.

There I will keep them very well.

 

Growing Up

February 8, 2017

Moving on.

Letting go of the things that don’t serve me.

Letting go of ways and means of being that I have been.

Shedding.

Fuck.

It feels really good.

I had to have a little hand holding tonight as I took some suggestions regarding my personal life and relationships.

“No body treats you like that,” he said to me, “and I will not stand here and let you be treated like that, now unfriend.”

BAM.

I sent a message and let go of the results.

I changed.

Like that.

It has taken years to get to this point and to let go, of this old idea that I somehow need to give you more than me, that I am not enough, that I have to buy your love, respect, or that I need to give you something for you to be my friend, lover, partner.

Nope.

I am enough and I deserve to be treated well.

I stood up for myself.

Not by myself, though, I had to have some hand holding.

I had gotten the suggestion this evening and it matched up with how I was feeling, even though I was afraid to take the action required, I knew, deep within me, that it was the thing to do.

And.

I realized that I can’t do it alone.

I needed his help.

“Wait, can I just do this now, with you here, I don’t know if I can do it when I get home,” I said.  I mean.  I knew I would, but I knew it would be easier for me to do it with my person there sitting across the table, warm, supporting, holding me through the process of letting go and moving on.

There is no there there.

“I expect to get blow back from this,” I said as I sent out the message and then took the next suggestion and cleaned some house.

“Doesn’t matter, you did your part, you cleaned your side of the street, how the other person responds doesn’t matter,” he said.

He took my hands and held them as I shed a few tears, took a deep breath and did the next action in front of me.

The relief of standing up for myself, asking for what I want, and really I do not have any expectations that the want will be met at all, none, nada, in fact, and that somehow made it easier and harder at the same time.

But let go I did.

And I realized I just made a huge amount of room for what will work in my life, for friendships, relationships, jobs, school, for letting in the love and going where the love is and being happier in my person and with myself.

Such stunning relief.

Let go.

Move on.

With love.

With unconditional regard for others and what they need to do to grow and be.

It’s not my business.

 

My business.

Is.

Me.

 

What works best, how will I grow, how may I serve, what does that look like.

I left my person with such deep gratitude and love.

I have grown so much since working with him and I have such respect for the work.

It awes me.

And I change.

It is good.

It is so good.

I am so excited for what this year is going to bring.

The travel I get to do.

I’m planning a trip to Puerto Rico.

Another to Anchorage.

One to Portland.

And.

Of course.

Burning Man.

Yes.

I know.

I am working full-time and going to school full time and I will be interning.

How the hell am I going to pull it off?

I don’t know.

But get pulled off it will.

I am thinking that I may camp somewhere new this year, my dear friend from my first camp that split off and started his own invited me to camp with them this year.

Go where the love is.

Go where I am wanted and appreciated.

And.

Don’t go to work.

I have worked every year.

I have paid my dues.

Maybe.

Just maybe go this year and don’t work, oh, I know, I’ll help out, wherever I am camped, that is what I do, but on my terms and not tied to anyone, not tied to a scheduled, not leashed to a job.

Just a camp.

Just a spot to put up my tent and be.

Just me.

Just the playa.

Just Burning Man.

That’s such a lovely thought.

A goal.

My year is already so littered with love and goodness, travel, art, school, friends, getting to be in San Francisco, getting my practicum placement, getting to be an intern, getting to start helping clients and accruing the hours toward my license.

And it’s just the beginning of February.

And.

It is just the beginning.

This thirteenth year of being in recovery is going to blow the top off.

I can feel it.

I am expanding.

My heart growing.

I am shedding old skin and stepping out new.

It feels extraordinary and freeing and magical.

Alive.

And let me not forget.

I am also going to Paris in May.

I mean.

My life is extraordinary.

I am so grateful I keep showing up, suiting up, doing the damn deal, living by spiritual principles.

I’m not a saint.

I’m going to fuck up.

But that too is a gift and an opportunity to grow more.

All this growth.

I am graced to get to do it.

It can be a struggle.

Or it can be a surrender.

Today.

It was melting surrender, a washing away, a saying goodbye, a letting go, with the rain sluicing down the gutters and the fog prowling on soft cat feet, as I listened to Bon Entendeur streaming from my headphones as the N-Judah barreled its way down towards Ocean Beach, I looked at my reflection across the way in the mirrored window of the train.

I smiled.

So much joy.

Such simple shifts.

And boom.

A giant leap forward in my life and in my recovery.

I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Seriously.

It’s going to be fucking amazing.

AMAZING.

Everything Is All Right

October 4, 2016

I mean.

I woke up this morning at 6 a.m.

Rested.

Relaxed.

And fucking fine.

Dare I say?

Right as rain.

I have no clue why, well, actually I do, I did some inventory last night before bed and sent it off to my person and that feels really good and I’ll probably do another bit of it tonight.

And fuck.

This shit works.

So grateful for a solution.

And that I have people I can bounce things off of when I am in a funky place in my head.

The sads passed.

I have no real idea, still, what I was sad about, sad happens.

Now.

The 20 month old today was SAD.

And loud and upset and had a huge melt down and there was no reading school books in Who Ville.

There was only calming down the baby who was having some big time abandonment stuff around the mom leaving.

She figured out that when I show up the mom is going to leave.

It is always heartbreaking and depending on the age it can be a bee line right into a temper tantrum.

And that’s what happened today.

Not the longest one I have ever experienced, but the poor little mite wore herself out with it and was sleeping on my chest by 9:45 a.m.

Hours.

I mean, HOURS, before her scheduled nap time.

And.

When I put her down in her crib she got really upset all over again, so I just took her out and let her sleep on my chest.

At times it was restful and lovely, in fact, for most the time it was restful and lovely.

The view was of Twin Peaks–they are at a high point in Noe Valley–and it was swathed in grey and the light rain and mist and fog swirling around were relaxing to watch and meditate to.

I got some quite time and though there were minutes of being annoyed, they passed quickly, that I wasn’t getting a fat juicy nap to do my reading for school, most of it was serene and soft and nice.

I mean.

Really nice.

She is a super sweet and very smart girl and it was a pleasure to work with her.

Tomorrow back with my regular family, plus an interview with a mom that was referred to me.

Then Wednesday, back to Noe Valley.

Thursday and Friday in the Mission.

And though I’m not a 100% behind all the moving around it feels like it’s a temporary thing and I am enjoying having some extra cash in my pocket as well as connecting to a very sweet family and their adorable brood.

Plus I am enjoying, immensely, being able to get out to the that thing I do in church basements every day this week.

That feels huge and really nice to get plugged in.

It always takes a week to get re-oriented after a weekend of grad school work.

I have a lot of stuff coming up on my plate around that, when won’t I?

But.

I am just doing what I can every day this week and letting go of the results.

I will have to write a paper this weekend, probably Saturday afternoon as my person is going to be out of town and we won’t be meeting and doing our normal Tart to Tart routine.

I was also thinking about how I heard a gentleman tonight talk about the stresses of school and I was like, brother, I hear you, and hmm, you are cute and want to start a make out group?

Er.

Hahahaha.

A study group.

Yeah that.

Sometimes the door opens right next to the door that shuts and as I walked past the shut door tonight I realized, wow, there is no there there.

And I had so much compassion.

For myself.

For the shut door and I got to let it go.

Oh.

Granted I got to talk it out a little tonight on the phone too, “oh, ho, I think there’s something still there, your voice sounds like a hammer every time you say his name.”

Oops.

“Men know when you are angry at them,” she concluded.

“Do some inventory and the next time you see him, give him a big hug and say, ‘it’s nice to see you’ and walk away.”

Yes.

I like that.

And hey, walk toward the open door.

Or stop looking for the open door and just do your homework.

Which is really what I’m all about.

That and seeing what happens regarding work.

I’m actually really starting to contemplate what it would look like if I took the position that I’m interviewing for tomorrow.

Granted.

Yes.

It’s only 30 hours.

But if my current employers want to keep me, and they do, two shifts a week, it could work.

I’m just going to show up and see and not have expectations.

Expectation leads to resentment.

I do have any more need for that today.

Really.

l am just relieved to feel so much easier in my skin, lighter, looser, like I am actually wearing life like a loose garment.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I know.

Cliche.

But sometimes there is a valid reason for the cliche, there’s a nugget of truth in it.

I could sense it when I was scootering up Lincoln Avenue on my way to work, the grey sky sprinkled rain down and the earth smelled so good, so alive, the pine needles in groves, the freshness of the morning.

I couldn’t believe my mood had lifted that much.

But it had.

And for that I am grateful.

Grateful that I know to show up and suit up, hey more cliches!

And to do that thing, whatever it is, that action, that is right in front of me and not get hung up on outcomes.

So much easier said than done.

Fuck me.

I can’t stop now.

Ha.

Anyway.

I’m feeling happy, joyous, free.

And it’s fucking right on.

Seriously.

 

File Under

September 11, 2016

Make your own damn dinner.

And.

Buy your own damn flowers.

And.

Always.

ALWAYS.

Have a back up plan.

Especially when you realize, hmm, it’s 4:30 p.m. and nary a text regarding the dinner date I was supposed to be on tonight.

Especially since said date didn’t text me this morning like he said in his last message.

I sort of chalked that up to whatever and went about my day.

I did yoga.

God damn I like my Saturday teacher.

I wish he was teaching more often at the studio, but he’s committed to another studio.

He is hands down my favorite instructor and though Saturday 9a.m. is going to be a busy day for a yoga class anywhere in San Francisco, I feel like his class is often super packed because he’s just a great teacher.

I definitely got my yoga on this morning.

I left the studio floating, a glow, a beacon of light in the fog.

Fuck you fog.

Over it.

Done.

Give me back that precious San Francisco Indian Summer you so rudely appropriated.

Cold and chilly and foggy all day long.

Hopefully tomorrow that will lift a little.

I have another date, different guy, obviously, tomorrow to go on a hike around Glen Canyon.

I have never hiked around Glen Canyon.

I realized when I was mapping it out that I had been thinking McClaren Park, not Glen Canyon, so a brand new experience to have in the city.

Stoked for it.

I also just texted tomorrow’s date and asked for confirmation.

This lady has things to do and places to be if there’s not a date happening.

Which was exactly what happened today.

I had back up plans in case this evening’s date fell through.

I used to think that was weak, to doubt the date, to make other plans, then I just realized, no, it’s fucking practical and it leaves me not feeling stood up and left out.

I have a busy life and if this dude can’t even make the effort to text and at least say, thanks but no thanks, then fuck, I got things I can attend to.

Which I did.

I got my nails done and my eyebrows.

I met with my person and I did the deal.

I had coffee and checked in.

I went grocery shopping.

And when I got home at 4 p.m. on the nose and saw that tonight’s date hadn’t texted yet I began to set into motion the other things I was going to do today.

Homework.

So thanks dude for not getting back to me.

I got a fuck load of reading done.

The other thing that was nice about today’s date or lack there of, was that its location was advantageous to me.

It was going to be dinner in my hood.

Like a block and a half away.

I could be here at the house reading my homework with no qualms and if dude was tied up and forgot to text or get a hold of me I was fine doing my thing.

If I had been elsewhere or the date was elsewhere I would have texted to confirm.

But.

I had this voice, quiet and assured.

Don’t fucking chase.

He revealed himself.

And.

I didn’t need to send some passive aggressive text wondering about what was happening.

When the clock hit 4:30 p.m. and I was done unpacking my groceries and balancing my check book and had redone my hair, I knew.

It was going to be a solo dinner for this lady.

I just opened up my syllabus for my Family Therapy class and got down to the reading.

And for tomorrow.

If I don’t get a text back from date number two.

Fuck no, will I be scooting over to Glen Canyon.

I feel better about tomorrow’s date though, it’s not really a blind date.

Yes.

We did match on Tinder.

But.

We’ve known each other for years.

So it was a sort of fun surprise.

And no.

I’m not back on Tinder.

This guy just happened to sneak through before I had deleted the app on my phone.

In fact.

Ha.

I just realized that the one person I am planning on for sure seeing, one of the ladies I work with, hasn’t confirmed with me tomorrow.

I may have more time than I thought.

I usually meet with two ladies on Sunday, one already cancelled, for a really legit reason, and the other has not confirmed.

So I may have a little free time tomorrow before the afternoon date at three p.m.

Note to self.

Cook food for the week.

I got my groceries, now they just need the cooking.

I did hold off on cooking dinner tonight in the off-chance that dude came through, but I did make myself a nice dinner before I went out to see some fellows over at Divisadero and Turk Street.

The other thing I had planned in case tonight’s date fell through.

And it was hella good.

So nice to see my people.

So nice to be seen.

I was invited out to Brenda’s for some fellowshipping, but having already made myself a really nice meal, I decided to come back here, do some writing, call it an early night, watch a video and get up early and do a yoga class in the morning.

I signed up for the 9a.m. class again.

It’s with a teacher I have never had before.

Which always makes me a little nervous, but having been to three classes this week after the long absence, I feel pretty good about being able to hold my own in whatever class I end up in.

Plus.

I’m grateful to have time to take yoga.

I am still on the studio’s monthly plan and when I can it just makes sense to go.

Thank God, again, that the studio is on the block I live on.

Funny that.

I was just thinking.

Tonight’s date lives a block and a half away from me and in the three years I have lived here we have never once met.

Looks like we were never intended to.

Oh well.

Grateful for the information.

Now moving on.

But not chasing.

Oh no.

Never that.

Letting myself be pursued maybe the hardest thing about this whole dating thing.

But man.

It feels so much better than chasing.

Be the ball, Martines.

Be the motherfucking ball.

I am so worth being pursued.

Seriously.

I’m Not Going To Kiss

April 25, 2016

You.

I said, direct, emphatic, no holds bar.

He startled back.

Thank God.

I was a little unnerved when he just hopped up, uninvited, be sure there was no come hither flirtations coming from me, and sat right next to me, arms, shoulders, legs brushing.

I know it’s a Tinder date and I suppose there is sex implied in the app, that’s apparent, and there’s a whole lot of fantasy, but I’m pretty up front with what I am or am not looking for.

And making a coffee date for three in the afternoon speaks to me of interviewing, not jumping right off into bed.

I had some nerves about the date, and that’s a good thing to note, I have begun to discern when I am balking at meeting someone or going on a date, versus, nope, you’re guts telling you it’s not a good date.

I’ve had the feeling before and this was the same thing.

Just not an appropriate date.

A mismatch.

Although he was very happy to meet me, said I looked great, was cute, had great style, was definitely intrigued by my tattoos.

However.

The constant interruptions when I was speaking, the jumping around, the distractedness of him, was well distracting.

I sort of felt like I was on a date with someone who was very ADHD.

Or high.

I wondered later after I left if perhaps that was it.

I can only speculate, but I was uncomfortable and also not attracted to the man.

Although his photos were pretty true to person, there was just something not there for me.

Sometimes the chemistry is so obvious for me, I can feel it oozing out of every pore of my body.

There are some I have had such intense chemistry with, it does feel electric and that is some snazziness, let me tell you.

This guy was just super flat for me, there was no juice.

And he ordered a beer and yeah, we hadn’t, as he pointed out later, had the talk about me being sober, I know this is true and I realize that I put it out there pretty quick with most guys on the dating app, but I had not with him.

My bad.

And also, in it’s own way, my recovery gave me the perfect out when the date started to get pretty fresh with me and my space.

I’m still sort of in awe of someone who did not see how completely uninterested I was, how does one miss that?  I mean, I was not giving out a single signal of interest with my bound up body language and crossed arms and legs.

But.

I suppose folks just see what folks want to see.

We did swap a few tales and spent an hour talking.

We each told about some bad dates.

My homeless guy date came up.

His ex-girlfriend he met in rehab for an opiate pain killer addiction after a gnarly accident who was a crystal meth addict, they met in rehab.

All my hackles went up.

I looked at the beer in front of him, empty glass, the packet of cigarettes in his front pocket–um no thanks I don’t smoke, haven’t for nearly 11 years and ain’t about to kiss an ashtray mouth–a shit, this is not good.

So.

When he made a suggestion, implicit again with this idea that because I had been on Tinder I was ready and willing to drop trow and get it on.

Sure.

Maybe.

If there had been some heat or chemistry, that could have been on the menu, even though the menu that was on my mind had to do with all the time I was wasting on the date instead of on my school books.

Not to worry though, once I dropped the “I’m not going to kiss you,” bomb, the date rapidly dissolved.

I took the “easy” way out and said that I didn’t want to taste beer when I kissed someone.

Which is true.

But I have dated normal guys who drink occasionally, how do they do that? And I haven’t had an issue with it, it was just more that I really wasn’t attracted and the beer drinking on top of the story about the ex-girlfriend crazy just sealed the deal.

“You know, you should expect this kind of response if you’re going to keep using Tinder,” he told me as we were parting.

I stopped.

I looked at him.

I apologized.

“You’re right, I should have been upfront,” I said, making the quickest, fastest amends I could, he was right, I did waste his time, he was looking for a good time party girl to come into the city to play with and I wasn’t it.

I had wasted his time and mine.

I did add, though, “it hasn’t been my experience that it’s an issue, that’s why I usually ask to meet in a cafe for tea, but I hear you and you are right.”

“You can go,” he said to me.

Whoa.

“Ok, thanks for coming out, I wish you the best,” I got up, touched his shoulder and walked out.

Ouch.

Well.

Human, Carmen, little mistakes are better than big mistakes, you went you found out, you got to hear a little bit of what you don’t want and perhaps I can be less blunt, I was just getting worried about getting to a place where I could say, I don’t think this is working, I don’t have to blurt it out.

So.

Chalk it up to another dating experience.

Just out there trying to learn how to do this thing that I have no clue how to do very well, but at least I know a little bit more from today than I did yesterday.

It’s all good information.

Not a bat to beat myself up with.

I tried.

It didn’t work.

And.

Now.

I’m just moving on.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Yes.

I have another date.

This time emphatically.

Just for tea.

 

 

You Are Probably Writing

May 8, 2015

No.

I was in the shower.

But you don’t need to know that.

For all intents and purposes, at a certain point in my evening I do neglect all but the most urgent of phone calls and texts and I sit and I give myself this.

This forum.

This love.

This self-expression.

This tender heart of mine needs to see itself reflected back and this is where it happens.

Self-reflection and acceptance and that quiet good spot that I find in the pause between the words, when sometimes the singing of the tea-pot interrupts the words, but more often, it is the magic in that space where I find the grace to get lost in the sound of the keys, the sounds in my heart, the voices in my head stop and the singing starts.

Sometimes most literally, singing.

I do like to crank the music when I write, it’s a way of winding down and also a way of letting go of the world and succumbing to this cozy space of mine here at the edge of the world, the edge of the city, the cusp of the Pacific a soupçon away.

Funny thing though.

I rarely go back and read what happened yesterday, though there is sometimes an imprint of it on my day or about my person and I had that today coalesce in different and surprising ways.

There was the surprise text from my ex this afternoon that sprung something open.

Broke open.

Not broken.

Heart is not broken, he did not break my heart, but it broke open more and there it was this tender, kind, sweet spot, there, just there, deep in my chest and the sun broke throughout the playground as I pushed the little boy in the swing “higher, Carmen, higher,” and the sweet text broke over my face like the sun and tears prickled my eyes.

I was not upset that he reached out and I paused.

Breathed.

Looked at the sky.

Saw the imprint of leaves over the soft clouds, the blue that was trying to break through and the shift happened.

I did not feel anger or upset or hurt.

I felt tender sweet love for him.

And for myself.

I felt fondness.

I felt compassion.

I said a little hello to the Universe, reread the text, and responded.

It felt right and I felt neither manipulated into responding nor did I feel like I was opening up some can of worms.

My god.

I think this is called moving on.

I think this is about compassion, tolerance, patience, and love, oh yes love, in all its various manifestations and convolutions.

I felt stars fall on my heart and the old light lit corners of my heart that I knew were there, but did not suspect the depths therein.

I felt beautiful, and full, and loved back.

By God.

By the child in the swing.

The birds in the air.

By myself.

We had a sweet reconnection and I know that I can be his friend.

And yes, there was some pain there, but like the fingerprints of it, not the devastation of break up and change-up and moving on and the pain of rejection.

Rather.

It was like the pain of a wound that has knit and healed and was just jostled slightly, as though to remind me that I went through the experience and came out full and returned to sanity and something else.

I felt free.

Grateful.

Oh so grateful.

But deeply free.

I have peered so far inside myself and I knew I didn’t have to keep digging through it.

I worked it out.

I did not hide from it, I sat through it, I did my process, I did my cry, I did my surrender, I thought I was ok, I realized I was a “whistling in the dark” and I went through the process some more and did more of this, more writing more work, more and then continued to keep walking toward where ever it was next I had to walk to.

Or ride my bike to.

Or sit in the back yard to.

Sometimes you just have to sit in the back yard and cry when you hear a motorcycle engine roar past.

It feels amazing and sad and good and god damn, god damn, I am so glad I keep showing up for this life and doing the deal.

I get richer reserves of faith and love and compassion and growth and it is astounding.

Small progress that I don’t even know that I am making until I can stand on the other side of the park and not be worried about what anybody thinks about me because I am doing the best I can with what I got.

What I got is good.

Feels, frankly, pretty sexy.

I’m awake.

I’m alive.

And I am sexy.

I don’t have to be dressed sexy to feel sexy.

I just get to do the work, that’s what is sexy.

That’s where the real groove is.

It just means that I am being my authentic self, my real person, this strong, beautiful woman I have grown into.

I suspected all along that she was here and I had some ideas about what “she” looked like.

Nothing like this.

This, pink hair, tattooed, smart aleck, bright, graduate school bound, nanny, with a great big smile and a wide open heart is not at all who I suspected.

It’s far better.

Far sexier.

Far more tender and open and compassionate.

Far less judgmental, intolerant and fearful.

I suspect that it only gets better, deeper, more full, this experience, this sexy, loving, bright, tender, sparkling life.

The best is yet to come.

With it.

All the things.

They too, will follow.

They always have.

Boom

February 8, 2015

And like that.

I’m back.

I’m in it.

I’m Okstupid’ing.

I’m Tinder’ing.

I’m wearing heels.

I’m on fuego.

I don’t know who I’m fooling.

I’m hanging out alone in my room blogging.

But I gots some date offers on the table.

Holy moly batman, Tinder is at once wildly unnerving and aggressive, just because I swiped that way does not mean I’m ready to bend over and be all Clan of the Cave Bear.

Jesus people.

Simmer down.

Then a friend explained to me it’s rather like the straight version of Grinder.

It’s an immediacy app and there’s some up front people out there.

I’m not sure I’m made for it.

However, it’s nice ego feeding, I won’t deny that.

What it is though, is distraction.

Distraction from the present, distraction from the hard work of making relationships work, dating, being human, meeting people, interacting.

That’s so much the thing about social media, it’s all-encompassing and it’s all fantasy.

Just because you’re smiling on a beach in Hawaii doesn’t mean you aren’t sad somewhere else in the world.

I don’t know you until we sit down and engage.

So with that in mind I took some of the other suggestions I received yesterday and I actually reached out to someone in my community who I have always thought was attractive and funny and has some interesting things going on in his life.

And what do you know?

We’re going to go out and grab a coffee in the near future.

He was on the list of ten guys I would be interested in going out with.

I have to say, that list took me a hot second to put together.

I had some difficulty arriving at ten.

I did, however, write it out and I was able to reach out to one of the guys, via Facecrack, I’ve known him for years, but never well enough to have exchanged phone numbers.

That has been rectified.

A few texts.

A few jokes.

A plan to grab some java and hang out.

I also made it clear that I was practicing dating and that I was reaching out in that capacity.

Not as a hang out and have a cup of coffee with a friend.

But a date.

Or rather.

An interview.

Let’s see if something’s there.

We have some really strong common ground and he’s got some awesome tattoos, so there’s that.

He’s also my age, which I really like, actually, I think he’s a couple of years older, which is good, I seem to attract and be attracted to guys a bit younger than me, which is cool, but I want someone who has a little more life experience, I realize that quite well now.

I’m not ruling out dating younger guys, but my track record hasn’t been the best with them.

I also crossed another guy off the list tonight when I saw him up in Noe Valley.

He’s attractive, there’s some chemistry, known him for a few years, he’s sweet, but oh, lord, he’s a smoker.

I mean, heavy.

And I had some reservations when I put him on the top ten list.

I knew as soon as we walked out of the Starbux and headed up the hill that I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.

I can’t date someone who is a heavy smoker.

I just can’t.

And I used to smoke, but I haven’t in 9 1/2 years and I don’t intend to start ever again.

It’s just gross.

Hella gross.

Hecka gross.

Gag.

So, off the list with you.

I thought about reaching out to another guy on the list, and I will, but I think for tonight, for today, I did pretty well.

I took a lot of actions.

I re-opened the OkCupid.

And I deleted all the old messages therein and blocked my ex.

Ayup.

His profile immediately popped up in my matches.

Ack.

I did not look.

But I read a message he had sent me and I realized I was about to fall down the rabbit hole.

Nope.

No.

Don’t go there.

I’ve been cleaning house and making room for the new and I don’t need any of that hanging out in my closet.

I have done my inventory and he’s not in the stock room any longer.

And when I did that.

That last bit, I didn’t even know it was there to be done, it felt right.

Clean.

Clear.

Free.

Moving on.

Thank you God for this experience.

I have grown so very much and learned so much more of love and of myself and I stepped it up today.

I dressed up.

I did my make up.

I wasn’t planning on going anywhere spectacular, but you know, San Francisco.

And just because half to three-quarters of the women here are running around in lululemon yoga pants does not mean I have to wear my sneakers out in the world.

I wore my heels and it felt grand.

I dressed for myself.

I also found myself in a store in Noe Valley buying a super over the top vintage wicker purse for myself that I had absolutely not planned on buying.

But it was so fabulous and I was in heels and I felt like I could just stand on the corner and kick back a foot and dangle that purse from my hand and Vogue would be shooting me with Grace Coddington nodding her head in approval in the back ground.

I mean, it’s stupid cute.

The owner and I fawned over each other and as I ran my fingers longingly over it, knowing I really wanted it, I set it back down.

It was more than half of my clothing allowance for the month.

I wandered over to look at something else, and run my hand across a spectacular black cardigan with large paillettes, my mind clicking the numbers in my head, I am getting a tax refund after all.

The owner of the store came out and said, “you know, I just can not have you leave without that purse, I’ll take $40 off it.”

Hello.

Sold.

A purse does not make the girl, but oh la la, it certainly put some swagger in my walk this evening.

I think I’ll be doing a lot of swaggering around town in the next weeks.

I’m back in the mix.

Bring on the dating.

My heels are out of the closet.

And I am fabulously accesorized.

Go Where the Resistance Is

January 29, 2014

Sheesh.

Why did I call you?

Oh yeah.

Perspective.

Ah.

Go through the difficult stuff, accept that there will be challenges, but I don’t have to allow myself to be hurt and I can get out of my own way.

“Darlin’ you’ve been resisting this for years,” he paused, “you crying yet?”

Affirmative.

I have to stop wearing eye makeup.

Or just surrender to the fact that on the occasion when I connect with certain people in my life I feel safe enough to cry around them.

I was not feeling so safe tonight in my normal spot on Tuesday evenings, there was some disturbances in the force, so to speak, and I felt for the first time what it meant to have some PTSD in my life.

Like I flippantly will acknowledge that I am most comfortable with my back to the wall.

I like to see what the fuck is coming my way.

I like to be prepared for all eventualities.

“Diapers, water, sunblock, sweatshirts, snacks, water bottle, wipes, sand shovel and bucket,” I patted myself down, “phone.”

“Oh yeah,” I said and smile, “babies.”

Or boys.

They are boys really.

I am a good nanny because of that but I forget that just because I am adept at my job that it is an easy job.

It’s not an easy job and I think that I am just some lazy person who has to work really hard to just get by, that struggle means I am doing a good job.

That is such bullshit.

I don’t have to work so hard and I bet if I wasn’t trying so much things would come easier.

I can advocate for myself and as I have been writing about I have some amazing people in my life who are urging me to do just that.

I am the one blocking my way.

Which is why it’s great to have some folks in my corner to give me suggestions and I am, defect of character that still works, a people pleaser.

I don’t want to let my friends down so I will take their suggestions.

Besides I know when I am balking that this is where it’s at.

“You only get hurt when you resist,” he concluded.

And then the tears really did overflow.

I looked up at the tops of the trees brushing the low hanging sky, the fog starting to rumble in like the wet wooly beast it is, weaving through the tops of the trees, obscuring Twin Peaks, a few dense, bright breaks of blue, then grey.

I think that my life is grey.

When that is me resisting.

I am resisting going over to that blue light, that clean, brightness scares me.

You know, I am most comfortable in the dark, hiding behind some clothes.

I used to have nightmares that would keep a therapists in caviar for decades and I remember often in them that I would hide in the closet to escape whatever was coming for me.

I would get in the back of the closet, beneath all the low hanging clothes and burrow under the dirty laundry scattered along the bottom and hope fervently that I just looked like a crumpled bit of laundry in the heap and not the scared child I was trying to still my breath to non-existent.

It wasn’t until recently that I began to wonder if those were really dreams or perhaps memories.

Just because I felt safe did not mean I was.

Hiding in that closet did not save me from being hurt.

It didn’t then and it won’t now.

So, here’s to traveling through the resistance and finding out what is on the other side.

“Honey, I have been doing this for 29 years, and I’m in my sixties, how old are you?  In your forties, you have 40, 50, maybe even 60 years to go, get the fuck out-of-the-way.”

Yes indeed.

Get to living.

“Go to Paris,” he said.

“Paris sucked,” I said, in a hot flash of tenderness that felt like I was poking a canker sore I thought has healed but is still there just below the skin healing slowly.

He laughed.

“No, your perspective sucked,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” I said, “Paris did not suck.”

Sigh.

I know this all sounds vague and nebulous but things are cooking and I am loath to take the cover off the pressure cooker until the meal is done.

Suffice to say I am walking through the resistance, taking the next action in front of me and listening with open ears and an open heart to my advisors, friends, and support network.

It takes a fucking village.

But fortunately I know that my walking through this and all other things that I have gone through, enhances my life and is of great service to others.

I mean I help a lot of people and I don’t do a lot of talking about it.

There’s just no point, it’s just what I do and it keeps me in the mix, in life, showing up, again, so that others will be pleased, but also, because, it saves my life and gives relief from the consistent wah, wah, wah in my brain.

Habits of a life time take some time to break, I have to wear some new grooves into my brain channels.

To that affect I am also going dancing, ecstatic, with one of my best girl friends on Saturday.

Can’t tell you how long I have told to go get my dance on.

Time to suit up and show up and I don’t know, dance, meet new people, spend time with my dear friend.

You know.

Rocking my life.

Because the real resistance is thinking that something needs to happen.

HAPPEN NOW.

To make me better.

I am better, for fuck’s sake, I am great.

I don’t have to always be on this improvement kick–let me stuff yoga, surfing, maybe re-pledge to do the AidsLifcycle ride in 2015, lose some more weight, finish a book, get published, go back to school, take a class in sign language, French, accounting, or make up–the list goes on.

I dont’ have to get up and do a thousand crunches.

Oh yeah, I did that once for about two months.

I was nuts.

Let me stop, pause, look at the resistance and say, go here, rather than go run a marathon, you don’t need to improve.

You just need to take a deep breath and go through.

Going through I am.

Here’s to seeing you on the other side.


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