Posts Tagged ‘old ideas’

Oops

May 26, 2015

I did it again.

Sigh.

I un-friended the ex once more on Facebook.

It was just taking up too much headspace.

And I really have more important things to do than look at any one’s news feed on Facebook.

So.

Bye bye friend.

I won’t be calling, texting, or Facebook messaging you anytime soon.

Have a great life, you’re a great guy.

I don’t want to know anymore.

Lesson learned and really, not too badly done at that.

I never saw him, we never met back up, there was no break up make up sex.

Just two ships passing, very closely, but never together, in the night.

Fare thee well my friend and should we see each other out and about I know it will be with no animosity.

Moving on.

I dealt with the things that needed to be dealt with today, some clothes shopping for basics–bras, socks, etc. and a visit to the Genius Bar at the Apple store down town to migrate all my old files from my previous laptop to my new MacBook Air.

Done and done.

Although it still took two and a half hours to do it.

I was grateful to have a library book with me!

Even though I finished the book an hour before the migration of files was finished, I wasn’t upset about the situation.

It was far faster than the 46+ hours the system had told me prior to going into the store and having them do it.

The WIFI here has never been great, although I am grateful to have it, yes, yes I am.  And at one time when I was attempting to migrate the files myself the wait to do so was 96 hours.  I gave up.

I left the house, I went to work, I came back from work, I slept on it over night, it still was not done.

So.

Better to do the direct to direct there in the store.

And it was good people watching.

Especially the young man who came in experiencing problems with his new Apple Watch.

You just settle down Mister Sexy Watch and stay awhile.

There was also a famous musician there, who sat across the table from me and kept catching my eye.

Not super famous, not like Kanye or something, but somebody Indy and just slightly older, maybe in his early 50s, but known.

I should have just said something, then I thought I may just know him from around, then I thought, maybe he was in Paris?  I met a few famous folks in Paris.

And when I next looked up, he was gone.

Bye bye mystery famous guy.

It made me think though, as everyone was bent over their laptop, MacBook, iPod, iPad, iPhone, and various other Apple devices, how much we all want to be connected and yet how separate everyone seemed.

It didn’t feel like two and a half hours.

And for that I am glad and I didn’t do much internet browsing, the little I did was only nettling my spiritual condition and when I gave it a thought, when I paused to flick a piece of hot pink hair out of my eye, I knew, life was too short for boring hair color and to obsess with anyone who has so obviously moved on.

So.

Move on.

I don’t know what that looks like.

Or how that works, although I do know how it works.

The actions I take will create space for what comes next.

When I think about all the things I have gotten to recently let go of I know that I am having my fingers gently pulled off the things that don’t work for me so that I could be free-handed to accept the things that will work for me.

Bye bye scooter (recycled to scooter heaven).

Bye bye old laptop (recycled to the store).

Bye bye ex-boyfriend and old ideas about dating.

I am going to recycle those too.

My experience will be used again, I am sure of it, to help another woman walk through whatever she needs to walk through.

For that, too, I am grateful.

And as I did some inventory this morning before setting out on my shopping and laptop adventures, I also realized, hey, self, forgive yourself.

You’re human.

So what you called to have a coffee with your ex?

Who hasn’t thought or done the same.

Rejection.

God’s protection.

I got the final rejection and it didn’t sting the way it did the first time around and I can be easy in my self again.

Just let it go.

It can be easy if you just let it.

Give me all your lovin/and I’ll give you all of mine.

I even thought about starting another profile on-line.

But I held off there too.

Ah.

Another thing I let go of that I forgot, online dating websites.

That’s right.

Ok.

So.

Free, clear, moving on.

I like it.

I got lost in the weird of my head and it’s not really a great place to be lost in, bad neighborhood you know, but fortunately there are lampposts that light the way back out as long as I remember to look for them and follow the light to the source.

It is only dark when I am inside my head.

Even when it’s grey outside, and believe me, it’s grey, it’s really a San Francisco summer.

Seeing all the stores down town with their summer seasonal displays of sheer dresses and light tops, shorts, and swim suits, sun hats and capris made me laugh as I wandered past in my layers and hand warmers.

There were more winter scarves on than summer shorts, I tell you what.

Even when it’s grey outside.

I bring my own color of love to the mix.

“OH MY GOD!!! I love her hair, did you see her hair, look!” the young teenage girl in the mall excitedly chattered to her friend.

Well.

At least I’m a hit with the kids.

And myself.

For reals.

This journey, this part of the path, has been a little rockier than expected, and although I have stumbled a bit, I’m picking myself up, dusting myself off, and letting go of the unnecessary garbage I thought had some value to it.

Obsession with and validation from an outside source does not bring my happy.

Only I bring me happy.

Happy.

To be.

Once again.

In the pink.

Ask

December 10, 2014

And ye shall receive.

Ask and you won’t get what you want is the lesson I learned and up until this evening I don’t believe I knew exactly how deep this erroneous way of thinking lived in me.

Humbly asked to have all these defects of character removed.

Sure.

Yeah.

Take that shit.

I can and have been flippant about it.

I joke.

I jest.

I don’t take it serious.

Until there are things that just don’t serve me anymore and I grow tender and achy and rubbed my heart when I heard what was being read this evening.

It struck me hard and it struck my heart.

I don’t ask because asking is a risky business.

I learned a long time ago in a land far, far away, my childhood, that to ask was to only ask for it.

“You want something to cry about, I’ll give it to you,” my mother said to me.

“You ask too much,” my stepfather said to me, “you have too much pride, you need to be humbled.”

I wasn’t humbled, I was humiliated, shamed, shown scorn for my dreams and desires.

What, I ask you, is wrong with asking to play cello, to study privately with a French tutor, to be in advanced placement math, to take the ACT early, to have a ride home from swim practice, to have a warm room at night.

I learned.

You don’t get to ask.

Because asking always leads to heartbreak and disappointment.

Better to not ask, to not desire, to not want, to be safe, to not be hurt, to not have expectations.

Guarding my heart, I didn’t realized how much I wasn’t allowing those things to be taken away from me, root and branch that no longer served me.

I have been stubborn and holding onto so much fear, anger, loneliness, anxiety, without even realizing it.

These things they go deep.

The thing is, there is a solution and there is something I can trust and start leaning into more.

I have faith, I have had it for sometime, it serves me well, but it has become more than apparent that there is a deeper level of belief that I can strive for, that I am allowed to experience.

I am granted that permission to be tender and reveal my heart and ask for what I need and allow room for the Universe to provide it for me.

I don’t know that I knew how deep the hurt runs in me.

This time, when the revelation was revealed, though, it did not feel like layers of skin being slowly peeled off me with hooks, it felt soft and tender and weak, but not weak as in I have no strength, just that I have no power, that of myself I am unable to take away those pains and defenses, I need help.

Of my unaided will, I cannot do anything.

Welcome to being in a relationship, ladybug.

No wonder I panicked when my boyfriend asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I was already unconsciously preparing myself for disappointment.

My heart aches now for myself, for this life, for this experience, but it is a sweet ache an ache of surrender.

I give this up to.

I can ask.

I am allowed.

I am perhaps, not going to have high expectations, but I realize that there is more than one answer to a question; there is more than one way to be supplicant and to receive grace and give away the garbage of poor upbringing and sorrow.

The Universe has two answers for me when I ask, “not right now,” or “not yet, there is something better.”

I am being heard.

I always have been and when I look back I can see so clear and distinct, the patterns in the grass, the wings of a dragon-fly, translucent and fragile, thinnest skeins of crystal cells battering the air under the diamond sun, the rustle of oak tree leaves in the summer wind, the smell of lilies of the valley and thick, juicy lilacs in summer—these strivings for beauty all about me, revealing a deep, full, abiding love of the world I walk through.

Despite myself I can learn to let in the world, the love, the light, the grace, and to ask again and believe that I will be answered.

Which, funny enough, led me to realize what I want from my boyfriend for Christmas.

As much as I like stuff, I mean, who doesn’t, I want an experience.

I want to drive down the coast to Big Sur and see the monarch migration.

I have never seen it and a lady I work with just recently was in Big Sur and said it was incredible and beyond imagination.

That’s what I want for Christmas, an experience beyond my imagination, my imagination is limited and I am afraid too often to ask, to be gentle in my remonstratings to myself when I don’t get what I ask for and know that I can still ask again, perhaps a different question or a different need.

Just because I was disappointed once, or twice or a hundred times, does not mean that it is unreasonable for me to ask again.

Do I know what it is that I am asking for?

No.

But I do know that it is time for me to start all over and make a new beginning.

This life of constant and continual change and awareness is something I am in awe of, not afraid of, not in fear of, awe.

Awestruck.

I fled the lights of the city toward the ocean on my bicycle, the lamps dreamy and smoky yellow in the wavering fog drifting through the park and as I wheeled around a corner and heard the echo of water rushing over the falls in the park, I felt it again, that ache, that tender sweet spot in my heart, not a hole to be filled by fear, but a silken cushion of faith and love, truth, surrender.

And lest you think that my life and my God are some deep mysterious thing, I mean, I don’t fully comprehend that grace that paves the path ahead for me, nor do I want to, but it does have a sense of humor and timing that is pitch perfect.

Note the early birthday/Christmas package from my mom in the entryway to my in-law.

Things do change and gifts fall from the heavens.

Or at least the USPS truck.

When I least expect them.

Filling that achy, empty spot with light and sweetness.

Are You Going Out Tonight?

November 9, 2014

Uh.

No.

I just got in and I am staying in.

Note to Okstupid profile inquiry number six in exchange–yes I am interested in dating.

No.

Not tonight.

No.

I don’t want to meet you and go see a movie on our first date.

Guys.

First dates equal coffee shops, maybe a cup of tea, a chill space, probably afternoon.

If it goes well it can segue into dinner, a stroll, a hang out.

But a movie, at night, for the first time meeting, no.

How the hell do you get to know someone you’ve never met in a dark movie theater?

Unless it’s that kind of dark movie theater.

I am, however, not interested in meeting in that kind of theater either, repeat, coffee shop.

Nice.

Easy.

Simple.

“You have to do the communicating.”

“You have an amends to make.”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooo.

Ugh.

I had an amends to make, and wouldn’t you know, it wasn’t to the person I thought it was to, it was to me.

“How old are you, 42?”

Um.

No, not quite yet, but yes, next month, this lady will be a snappy 42 years old.

“Grow up.” She said it succinctly, to the point, with no meanness or judgement, just, hey, come on, grow up, this is how adults act, this is what women do, learn how to communicate, you are a woman, you can do this.

Just.

Keep it light, easy, uncomplicated and kind.

KIND.

So a script was written out, thank you God for women in my life who are willing to hold my hand while I fumble around writing something in the margins of my grocery list.

Which is when I made the call, on my way to Other Avenues to pick up a few essentials for the weekend.  I also, wow, I might really be growing up here, made the call after I had lunch.

No hungry, angry phone call here.

I almost made the call prior to that, eating of the lunch, and then it hit me, nope.  I have to take care of myself and there is no rush, I am going to take care of the communicating that needs to be done so that I can call up my person and report back that the amends was made.

Still getting to change my behavior, probably I will have to continue in this vein for some time, but at least I don’t balk at it the way I used to, I take direction, I do the action, I get the relief.

And the relief, well it was huge.

It wasn’t me.

I mean, that sounds vague, but I don’t feel like reporting blow-by-blow the gist of the conversation, rather personal and private, suffice to say the gentleman was being mindful of my welfare and it was a sweet, insightful conversation.

I showed up for it, fed, and present, walking to the grocery store with the warm sun on my face and the sea off in the distance shimmering and sparkly in the light.

Clarity.

I got clarity.

Which is fantastic, since, well, I’m not a mind reader, although I have had myself convinced on more than one occasion that I am indeed just that–capable of deciphering how another feels and then manipulating my response to get the desired response from said person.

That my friends is what’s called crazy making.

And man, I can make some crazy.

I used to bake dozens of sugar cookies during the Christmas season, spread them over the table and spend hours frosting them, it took hours and hours and sometimes days of prep as I spread the buying of ingredients out over the course of a week or two so that I could afford all the necessary components.

I can spend just as much time with my kookoo ideas.

Fortunate for me, I don’t run the circus anymore.

As my friend Bruno used to say in Paris, ‘the monkey is off my back, but the circus is still in town.’

I can so relate to that.

In a previous incarnation of my life, I might have jumped at the idea of going out on a movie date last-minute with a guy I’d just met online, especially if he was say 31 and way cute.

However, I know where that goes and I am so not interested.

Even if I was interested, I’m not.

Clarity here too, is great.

I don’t mind going out late, I have, I will again, it’s just the idea of not encouraging the fantasy, and I do mean fantasy, that there is a scarcity issue in my life.

There are more than enough men out there to date without worrying that random guy OkStupid is the last of the line, so I better get gussied up and hustle out to the late show down the street.

Uh.

No.

How do I want to show up?

In abundance and knowing that I am damn worth the effort.

There really are more fish in the sea.

There’s some for you and some for me.

There is no scarcity and when I tell myself that I am just unshelving an old idea that can be retired right now.

Today was also a big day for challenging myself to grow in other ways, some a bit quieter than the dating noise in my head, but none the less quite present for me.

Graduate school.

I worked some more on my application.  I wrote the admissions department an e-mail with a question about the application materials needed for the program I am interested in.  I sent the link for the letter of recommendation to the mom who I used to work with who is in academics here in San Francisco and agreed to write me a letter.  I also called two different numbers at the school to make sure if the e-mail went unanswered I would still get an answer to my question.

I also requested information about how to get my transcripts sent from the University of Wisconsin, Madison, to the California Institute for Integral Studies.

And then.

I had dinner with the family.

It was so nice to catch up and see their daughter, who immediately demanded lip gloss from me.

I laughed, although not nearly as hard as when she climbed into my tennis shoes.

To be so warmly welcomed, fed, and thanked for the time I spent with their daughter and to not only receive the word from the mom that I would get that letter, they also gifted me a thank you for the time I was with their daughter.

I left in tears.

To have the ability to maintain and sustain relationships with people in my life is such an enormous gift.  They said come back and visit again, and soon, and come for Christmas Eve (my current family has invited me to Thanksgiving twice now, but I think I will be spending it in the Castro with Honey and crew), which if I don’t head to Wisconsin, I probably will stop through.

This intimacy I have developed with friends, employers, the children I work with and for, with the woman who I sit with over tea, all lead me to the burgeoning of romance, which will happen, I just have to keep practicing and letting go of the results.

Powerlessness is powerful.

Surrender does mean going over to the winning side, now doesn’t it?

Today I am winning.

 

Hello Again

September 18, 2014

Old friend.

I was sitting in the sunshine, sipping a cup of herbal chai tea, relaxing with a book, flirting with a stranger on 7th and Irving, waiting for the clock to slowly tick its way to 6p.m.

I don’t know why I check my phone.

But some ties are timeless and sometimes you just know.

I didn’t know the number on the caller id.

I don’t know anyone who would be calling me from Minnesota.

I saw I had a voicemail.

I listened.

The call had come in two minutes prior.

Despite having the ring off and not having the vibrate on, something resonated in me and I had looked on the phone, looked to see the message, looked up to listen when the handsome man in his 40s sat down across from me at the cafe, regarding my bare toes with some amusement, I almost expected him to kick off his work shoes and join me in my feckless bare toe extravaganza.

I listened to the voicemail instead and called back the number.

My finger just hit it.

Sort of like a junkie plunging a needle or a rat tripping a lever on a maze.

I got my piece of cheese.

The man sat across from me, handsome, flirtatious, get off the phone I said to myself, too late, too captured already by old habits, old friends, old ideas, and old sentiments.

Pulled almost immediately back into the Midwest and school girl longings and old-fashioned, old-time, old worn out ideas of crushes and first loves.

Yeah.

That was the friend who called.

Two years and out of the blue.

A phone call.

And like it is with some friends, the immediacy of the friendship comes back and there is no pause, there is just the immediate plunge back into the friendship.

Like the panels of a cartoon the ellipses between two panels may denote seconds or days or weeks, perhaps months or years or decades, but the time is gone in a flash. the tether of the space between the two moments is tied and leapt over with nary a thought.

What took you so long to call?

I know why I did not.

I did not have his number.

I lost it right before I went to Paris.

I love my friend.

He is the oldest friend I have, the person who has known me the longest and seen me the most in the bottom of despair as I have ever gotten to, from the young age of fifteen to the not so advanced, but still starting to get up there in age, 41 years old.

Which means he has known me and I him for 26 years.

That’s no small time to sneeze at.

And we probably could regal each other easily with old bawdy tales of high school, or after high school hijinks.

Actually it was the after high school high jinks that probably connected us in a much tighter means than the actual school days.

I love my friend.

I repeat.

But I do not love where my head goes in connection to him.

And I do not love that I chose to return his call when there was a lovely man sitting across from me who wanted to engage, yet, I could not, I was pulled into the conversation.

Why had I picked up the phone?

Why had a returned the call?

And why do you call me to tell me you broke up with the woman you were in a relationship with for so long?

Why is not a spiritual question and I don’t ask it often.

But I did, in rapid succession, watching the man’s interest in me fade, he finished his coffee, raised an eyebrow, stood, smiled at me with a wry look, and sauntered off into the sunset.

Or at least the Inner Sunset.

But out of my line of sight and right on down the road.

I love my friend.

But I do not love the threadbare idea of waiting for him or even looking like I am or that we were ever, ever, ever meant to be anything more than friends.

Let me slay this idea now.

Which is part of why I have not gotten a hold of him.

I know his name, I know his family, I know where his parents are and I have their numbers, I could have called, but I wanted to leave him be.

I wanted to let me be with the history and leave it at that, history, a fond recollection of love and friendship, some longing, and hazy romantic fantasy regret that was already so long ago abandoned.

“Your only amends to him,” she said, leaning over the table in the cafe, “is to leave him alone.”

I was mad you see.

Though my friend was uncertain when we spoke tonight when the last time we had spoken was, I remembered.

I did not until he had mentioned it.

Then.

There.

Valentines Day.

Two years ago.

He called because he was thinking of me.

No fair.

Foul ball.

You don’t get to do that.

Not when you live thousands of miles away and you know our history, I cry, no fair.

No fair to say you were driving through the countryside and thinking of me; not on Valentine’s Day, nope.  I don’t think so.

So, you know, I did some inventory and I took the suggestion and I left it be, I left him be.

Oh.

Yeah.

He popped up.

Now and again, I would want to talk to him and tell him about my adventures.

But now I wonder.

If he’s a fantasy, if the story I told myself for so long was an idealized romantic story that was never going to pan out, no way to change that which is unchangeable, what if I was a fantasy for him too?

What did I bring to him?

Undying affection, adoration, some sort of ego balm?

Does it matter?

I don’t know.

I don’t know what the future will bring, we’ll be friends and maybe some day down the road we’ll hang out again and it will be exactly what it’s always been-a tale of two misfit friends that circumstance threw together.

And nothing more.

The love will always be there.

But the fantasy does not need to be.

I am done with that story.

I allow myself a new chapter.

A new tale.

A different future.

My future is mine.

Not his.

 

Let Go Those Old Ideas

March 9, 2014

Let them the fuck go.

I had a list, she asked me to read them out to her.

Amazing what perspective and a little pen to paper can afford a person.

Well, this person anyway.

Old Ideas List–The Top Ten (I am sure there are others, but these were the ones that popped right out when I did the list)

1. I am not worthy of better

Better what you ask?  Better anything, better lifestyle, better job, better boyfriend (or even a boyfriend period) better clothes, better shoes, fuck, better underwear (I hate to air this one out, but this lady needs to go bra shopping, it is time), better toothbrush, better socks, better food (that one has slowly, significantly changed and I do a lot, uh, better, with that then I have ever had before).

2. I am lazy

Yeah, I know, I am.  But then again, no, no I am not.  What time did I get up this morning, on my day off? 7:39 a.m. I was awake, I was ready to go, but damn it, it’s my day off, loll about a little love, nope.  I was up and going.  By 9a.m. I had showered, made the bed, dried the hair (there’s a lot of it, it does take some time), made a homemade breakfast and fresh ground pour over coffee, written three pages long hand, read from a number of spiritual pieces of literature, and meditated.

By 9 a.m. on my day off.

Yeah, I am a lazy, lazy girl.

Yesterday I did all of that and rode my bicycle to work, 46th and Judah to 19th and Noe.  Worked a 3/4 day, left, rode my bicycle over to 850 Bryant, went to my traffic court deal, then rode back to Fell Street to the DMV, then over to 7th and Irving, did an hour-long commitment there, finally riding home back to my place, made dinner (nothing fancy, just an omelet, but still), then I blogged–even though the internet was down, I still blogged.

I do nothing all day long, I am sooo lazy.

Get you gone old idea.

3. I am a bad writer.

Nope.

Not really.

I mean, I am not the world’s best writer, but I am an ok writer, sometimes  a good writer, and once in a while, I can say I wrote something great.  I have had published authors read my work and say I am talented, I have had a professor tell me that I was the only student he ever had that had the likelihood of winning the Nemerov award (poetry award for best sonnet), there are people who read my blog that aren’t my friends, that I don’t know (consistently read too, for like years now, love you guys and thank you!), I have been thanked in person, over the phone, via text, by e-mail, for what I have written.

Folks would not continue to read if I was a bad writer.

Next.

4. I am always going to be single.

Yeah, pity pot, I am on it.  I hate this one, who cares if you are and you probably will have a boyfriend next week, so shove off old thought.

Somebody out there right now wants to date me, so who’s getting in the way of that?

Probably me and my old crusty thoughts.

5. I am always going to be poor.

Nope.

No, I am not.

I am not poor now.

Oh, I live below what I would like to, but I am not poor, I have many amenities, the least of which is a gorgeous bicycle, a great laptop (hey, I keep saying it’s about to die and it hasn’t yet), I have a wonderful camera, an Iphone (yeah, it’s a four, it’s still an Iphone), I have clothes and toiletries and nice candles.

I am not poor.

Poor people don’t have laptops or organic vanilla almond milk in the fridge.

6. I am alone.

Bahahahaha.

Such a crock.

I am not alone.

Two, no three people today told me point-blank, “I love you.”  I have wonderful, incredible, amazing friends in my life.  I am alone in the sense of the word only at this moment as I sit in my in-law writing, and even then, I am not alone.  I have a relationship with a little, big, something called God and if you don’t care for that, not my problem.

I have a spiritual connection to my world and I do not apologize for it.

Alone I am not.

7. No one loves me.

See above.

Such a bullshit, scared, cowardly old idea.  I am loved, I am lovable, I am worthy of love (yes, I hear you Stuart Smalley, we can do our affirmations in the mirror in just a minute–I forgive you and accept you–just let me finish my blog for the night).   I have so much love in my life, I can just look at all the photographs of amazing little people on my phone that I get to work with every week to prove that.

Then I can extrapolate that out to all the children I have been privileged to have in my life.  Next add in my mom and my dad and my sister and my aunts and my grandparents and uncles.  Then throw in a few best friends and some amazing mentor relationships, even toss in the lovers, the ex-boyfriends, the former employees I have gotten to work with, I mean, my life is a long list of love.

I just don’t always acknowledge it or recognize it, because I am too busy paying attention to an old idea that doesn’t serve me or my way of life.

8. I am not enough.

Not smart enough, not sexy enough, not pretty enough, not fast enough, the list could go on ad infinitum.

Such craziness.

I am not perfect enough, I am not a good enough nanny, I am not, blah, blah, blah.

Even I am tired of listening to this one.

I am enough.

There is no improvements that need to be made.

I do not have to self-improve.

I am just right.

End of story.

9. I have to figure it out.

Ugh.

This one is awful, it means that I have the ultimate responsibility to make everything work, your schedule, my schedule, potty training three different charges, juggling this that and the other to “make things work”.

What fucking things?

And who put me in charge?

And aren’t I just a bit presumptuous?

I don’t have to figure anything out.

In fact, it would be really healthy to not figure it out.

Let’s leave figure it out to someone else, okay?

10. I am not allowed success.

Says who?

Hell, just looking around the place I live I can see that I am successful.

It is my idea of success that is also the old idea–wealth, fame, accolades, notoriety–I have an amazing successful life.

I will continue to have an amazing life.

Just need to let this all go.

Daily.

One hour at a time, sometimes one minute at a time, and then, voila!

A new perspective, a space to breathe, a song catches in my ear and my heart swells, and I am loved, lauded, and held perfect, secure, and taken care of.

And awed.

Once again by this journey.


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