Posts Tagged ‘purpose’

You Mean Your 33rd

December 12, 2016

There is no way you’re in your 40s!

Thanks darling.

That was nice to hear.

I was texting with a friend in regard to my birthday brunch next Sunday at Zazie’s in Cole Valley.

One week left of 43.

Not that I’m counting.

I’m grateful for my age, my authenticity, my life, my person, this body of experiences of heart aches and belly laughs, or sorrow and pain and vast oceans of gratitude, love, and happiness.

I get to encompass so much.

For that I am grateful.

I am also grateful for more affirmations of myself, my abilities, and my work, I received some amazing feed back from my Psychopathology professor today.

I got back my mid-term paper from her.

I was actually a bit nervous, she’s the professor I asked for a letter of recommendation from and I want to impress her (hell fire, I want to impress everyone, truth be told) and she’s the professor that’s got the biggest paper yet to do ahead for me to have the semester of work completed.

I got an “A.”

I was blown away.

Especially as she was explaining her grading scale yesterday in class to a student she hasn’t had before in class; who was asking with the same anxiety that I remember having so well when I first started taking classes with this professor (I will also have her next semester for Trauma), how she graded her papers and assigned grades for the class.

The professor explained and basically expressed that a good grade was an A-.

The a decent grade was a B+.

You don’t want to get less than a B in grad school, FYI.

A B- or a C+ you might as well be failing the class.

That an exemplary, you went above and beyond was what it took to warrant an “A” for her class.

That I got an “A” on my mid-term paper boggles my mind.

After her explanation, which I just summarized, there’s a little more behind how she grades, I was sitting in class thinking I definitely had gotten a B+ for the paper and if I was lucky, perhaps an A-.

I got an “A!”

Fuck yes!

And fuck me.

Now the pressure is more on than before to produce a good final last paper for her.

Especially after the end note she left on my paper: “Carmen, this is by far the most heartfelt, touching, and comprehensive psychopathology paper ever!  You show a deep integration between your personal experience and conceptual understanding.  I appreciate the seamless ways in which you wove in the material from McWilliams (one of the text books I referenced in conjunction with the DSM V)–I can see how much you have made this material your own.  Impressive!”

I just about fell out of my chair.

And.

Yes.

I did indeed tear up.

It just feels so god damn good to be on the right track, to finally, after so many years of soul searching, have a way forward, a goal, an identity (although certainly only a small facet of who I am, but one in which I get to use all that I am), a career path, and that I get to use all those things, all that soul suffering that I went through, to gain access to that path.

Such a gift.

All the pain was not for naught.

All the experience I have and all the resilience.

I’m just stupid grateful.

Which is good, tis the season after all.

My heart full and warm as I pause and look at my Christmas tree, at the neat stack of Christmas cards I just addressed prior to getting started on this blog, on the soft candle light in my home, the hot tea in my body, I feel replete.

Not quite relieved.

No.

Like I said, there is still another paper to go.

But.

I am inspired, alight, and yes, a little nervous.

One of my friends from Wisconsin whom I am shortly to be visiting, sent me a weather update about the cold, the snow and the negative temperatures and asked if I was still coming.

I had to laugh, the cold is scary, but not enough to scare me off from my trip.

And.

I am so looking forward to seeing my friends, their sweet boys, the snow, the Christmas lights in the snow, the smell of firewood burning in the cold night air–one of my favorite smells of all time, wood fire smoke on a cold night (only to be super ceded by wood fire smoke from a beach bonfire).

I messaged him back that I was indeed still coming and that I was in fact finishing up my final classes of my last weekend of the semester.

He pinged back that he would send me something to read.

I said, NOOOOO.

Not yet.

Nope.

I have to write this paper and now I have this additional problem of having some big expectations for myself around writing a stellar paper.

I loved his response: “what a good problem!”

He’s right.

If I am going to have “problems” in my life, this is certainly one of the better ones to have.

Heh.

Goodness.

I just realized that two weeks from now I’ll be there, in the snow, cozy in their home, my best friend, her husband, their three boys, and it will be Christmas.

I am such a lucky girl.

Friends.

Travel.

Snow at Christmas.

Wrapping up gift boxes to send to my mom and my sister.

Christmas cards addressed and stamped.

Meaning and purpose and a design to take all the soul suffering and transmute it into the language of love.

How many people get to do that?

I am blessed.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

And.

Loved.

Yes.

Very much so.

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I Don’t Know

June 9, 2016

And I mean that with every ounce of my being.

I don’t know shit.

But.

I’m showing the fuck up anyway.

Doing the deal.

“What are you going to do?” She asked me two years ago this July, we were just pulling into the Caribou Coffee shack on my way to the airport in Minneapolis.

I had been having a rough couple of months.

I had a severe, like ridiculously severe, in an air cast, out of work, in bed, crying like a baby, unable to do anything for myself, except put on funny stripe socks to bolster my mood, ankle injury and I was heading back to precarious work and the not knowing.

The constant not knowing.

It could have killed me.

Or not.

In the end, it didn’t.

I do remember telling her, my friend who doesn’t have my disease but has some sense of it, she’s a smart cookie, that it ultimately doesn’t matter.

I have a purpose.

I have one primary purpose.

And as long as I take care of that I will be alright.

“I just really want to use heroin,” she wept into the phone.

Well fuck that.

We got together.

We sat over tea.

We did the deal.

We hugged it the fuck out.

And I feel like stellar motel in the sky with lucy and diamonds on the soles of my shoes.

I could dance party until dawn and work a full shift with my boys and be absolutely spot on.

It does not matter what I do.

Well.

Ok.

There are some things I need to do, help others, be a good friend, show up, share my experience, strength, hope, the good stuff, the what works for me stuff.

I don’t advise.

I just give some suggestions and let it go.

Sometimes it is heady and intellectual, but tonight, for me, it was all heart and love, unconditional love for a woman who’s name, ha, I just realized, I don’t know her last name.

If this was a lover.

I might, um, a, be you know.

I tiny bit ashamed of myself for not having his last name on the tip of my tongue.

But this?

Fuck no.

It’s not important.

What is important is that I made myself available and I mainly just listened.

I’m not a doctor.

I’m not a therapist.

Yet.

But.

I have a special set of skills and with those and some experiences to share, some working knowledge of a basic text, I have a purpose.

I have a point.

I was just reflecting on this as I was looking over air fare to Wisconsin for July 4th weekend.

Yeah.

I know.

Am I fucking nuts?

The Midwest in July.

Do I want to die?

The mosquitos will be big as rescue helicopters.

The humidity will make my curly hair a wild mess.

I will get some stares.

I have a few tattoos.

And though they are more prolific in the Midwest than they used to be, I guess folks be watching LA Ink or something, there are still few women who have neck tattoos or chest tattoos or partial sleeves, let alone all three.

Plus.

Heh.

My hair will be pink.

Which.

Whatever.

The last time I was there it was half purple and blue.

I got a few looks.

I got proselytized to as well outside of the ice cream store in downtown scenic Hudson on the river.

Nothing like a young girl, a teenager, somewhere between sixteen and eighteen I would guess, talking to me about God.

Oh doll.

I know God.

And I know God well.

Do I understand God?

Fuck no.

Does God understand me?

Yup.

Do I need to know what God is or does or how God works or doesn’t work?

Nope.

I just have this deep, unshakeable belief in this entity that absolutely and completely loves the fuck out of me.

Who also has a wicked sense of humor.

And.

Never, ever, ever.

Ever, ever?

Never.

Has failed to take care of me.

Ever.

I don’t always get what I want.

But I have never not gotten what I needed.

And so often.

All the time really.

I am surprised, blown away, beleaguered by the love I am given.

All I have to do is turn and shine that love on someone else.

And I am taken care of.

Taken care of in the best sense of the world.

Sometimes I imagine, my small, petty, limited mind.

That my God is a gigantic sunken living room with white fur carpet everywhere.

Hella plush.

Big old pillows everywhere.

Warm soft fuzzy

There is a fire pit.

There are big, huge, gigantic floor to ceiling windows with let in oodles of warm gold light.

I am held in this luxurious love.

Sometimes God is a memory.

A sense of flying.

A swimming through the aqua blues and greens of the pool at the high school in DeForest, swimming laps back and forth in the last lane, the one by the windows, when on a quiet Sunday the pool was empty, the parking lot empty, and no one in the pool be me swimming in and out of patches of aquamarine love.

Held.

Perfect.

Serene.

A float.

Sometimes it is the emotional, melodic beat of drums.

The pounding in my heart that echoes a song.

A rhythm.

My body moves without thought and dance.

Dance is God.

Music is God.

Love is God.

All of it.

I am all of it.

Subsumed.

Taken.

Ravished.

Overtaken.

God is art.

God is standing love struck like a bulldozed girl on Valentines day who finally gets the red carnations call over the loud speakers in school from the principal’s office, come get your flowers at lunch break, to find out that it was her secret crush who had a secret crush on her too, in front of Kandinsky’s “Accent en Rose” at the Pompidou when I moved to Paris in my 40th year of life.

Cold.

Wet.

Miserable with the rain and the getting lost and the hungry but not sure for what.

The aching legs from walking lost in the Marais, the wet socks, the squish, so un melodious, of my Converse as I stepped onto the escalator up to the fifth floor.

Sacre Couer in the distance.

The towers of Notre Dame.

Montparnasse.

The sky mottled with grey, purpled, black, silver lined rain clouds, the bent heads scurrying through the courtyard underneath the flimsy arms of tourist stall umbrellas.

Wondering down the hall.

Wonder (ing) in wander.

Wander (ing) in wonder.

Awed and overcome.

Constricted with the pleasure of art unfolding around me.

Then I turn and see the Kandinsky and I am rose flushed.

Flashed out in love.

High on art.

Stranded in the wilderness of my romantic heart.

Bereft and beguiled.

Beatitudes battering my breath.

Caught.

There.

High in my throat.

Tears welling up and sweltering onto my fevered face.

God.

Is in the details.

In the ellipses between the frames.

In the pause before the eruption of fireworks after the rocket has launched into the sky.

God is.

Or God.

Is not.

What is your choice to be?

I already made mine.

Love.

Always there.

Always holding me.

Always this.

Always this.

Always this.

Love.

My love.

Just.

Love.

 

Right Back In It

December 29, 2015

I mean.

I could not believe it.

And.

I chose to ignore it yesterday.

But.

There was no ignoring it today.

Nope.

It was time to start doing my school work.

Not from last semester, I am done, I finished all that work before I went to Paris.

I wanted to not have a thing hanging over my head and I successfully did not think about school for seven days.

Until.

Yesterday when the plane landed and I switched on my phone.

I started picking up internet while in line waiting to go through customs.

And the first thing in my in box?

A note from one of my professors.

Hey there, here’s a little note to say, you have a lot of reading to do and you better get on it.

The reader is ready and for those of you who haven’t picked it up yet, here’s a link to the first three articles I want you to know backwards and forwards and oh, you’ll be graded on how much you participate in class and these readings will set the foundation for the semester, so get on it.

Or.

Something to that affect.

But I couldn’t deal with it yesterday.

The best I could do was tell myself it was going to be ok to take one day to get back to a semblance of a routine with work and life and doing the deal and to let the spooky too cheerful e-mail just sit in the inbox for another day.

That was yesterday.

Today.

I dealt with it.

I dealt with a lot of things today.

I got up earlier than my alarm, but then again, I went to bed super early, at least for me, and I got close to eleven hours of sleep.

I was hoping to negate the jet lag and I think I was pretty successful.

I did find myself being tired at odd times today, and then realized it was jet lag, but not too bad, I was able to adequately cope with it.

Mostly because I pretty much forced myself to sleep on the way home on the plane and then yesterday I did my best to orient myself back into my home.

So.

Today I got up, made the bed, did the deal, had the breakfast, made some coffee, wrote four pages long hand and had about two hours of time that was free to me before I had to leave for work.

I took down the Christmas decorations in my house and stripped the little tree of it’s lights and ornaments.

I put all the Christmas in a box and back into the closet for another year.

Thanking the Christmas gods for an amazing year and wrapping it all back up.

I also looked at the e-mail from my professor and went online and looked at my syllabi and realized that I was going to have to start reading this weekend.

Ugh.

I made a call to Copy Central and found out that they would be closing for the holiday on Thursday at 3p.m. and they would be closed Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

So I will be going over Thursday to buy the readers for my next semester of classes.

I have a four day weekend with the holiday so I should be able to put a nice dent into what I need to have done for the first weekend of school.

Which is still two weeks away.

Thank God.

I feel like I could still use a break from it.

I did not look very far into the syllabi.

I couldn’t quite make it happen.

I had thought I might find the where withal within me to also order any books that I needed to order for classes as well.

But after I read the message from the professor for my Multicultural course I just jumped into getting one of the assignments done for the class.

Yes.

That’s right.

I did homework before work today.

I spent about a half hour reading and then left to run a few errands that I needed to take care of before heading into work.

Work was good.

Busy.

The boys kept me going all day long.

And there is much to do this week too.

Especially as it is a short week for me, the mom wants to make sure I get some cooking in and make some things up before I have another four days off in a row.

Tomorrow I’m going in early to help out and I’ll be working 9:30a.m.-6:30p.m.

Nice nine hour shift.

But I want to help and the extra cash will be nice.

Especially since I will be purchasing a lot of readers and books shortly thereafter.

Wednesday will be back to normal and then Thursday off for the holiday as well as Friday.

So grateful I got to have some vacation time away from all the work and the school work.

It was much needed and won’t soon be forgotten.

It was nice to reconnect with the boys too.

They missed me and I missed them.

Even the dog was happy to see me.

Then again.

The dog usually is.

I do a lot of cooking and she is quite food motivated.

What dog isn’t?

Ah.

Back to the grind.

Back to the work.

Back to the school work.

I am grateful for it all.

I am blessed to be able to do it.

I am happy to have a purpose and a point and to be showing up for my life.

It really is a grand life.

No question about it.

Full.

Purposeful.

Happy.

Joyous.

And.

Oh yes.

Free.

Waiting For Life To Begin

March 12, 2015

I was alone.

You were just around the corner from me.

I am never going to know exactly which corner he is just around, but he is.

I texted back a dear heart who asked someone out on a date tonight how that was amazing and acknowledged, that yeah, it’s a lot harder than you’d think.

But.

Oh.

The freedom that I get when I get that shit out-of-the-way.

I’m free to notice the proliferation of flowers blooming in Golden Gate Park on my ride home from work.

On Wednesday’s I ride straight home and either meet with a lady at my place or take a shower and hit the spot up the street in my pajamas.

Yeah.

Like that.

I am not at all ashamed of the fact that I went up the street to 44th and Judah in my Hello Kitty night-shirt and yoga pants.

If Hello Kitty is good enough for Burning Man, she sure is good enough for the Outer Sunset.

It felt rather freeing.

No make up.

Hair down.

Flip flops.

Sweatshirt.

I’m in my hood, yo’ I can roll out like this.

It made me realize how grateful I am to be out here and also that I really am home.

“I like thinking out you out by the beach,” she said to me this Saturday at the celebration dinner in Oakland at the Lake Merrit Chalet House.

I like thinking of me out by the beach too.

And now that it’s Day light Savings time, I was able to catch the sunset on my ride home to the Sunset.

It was delirious.

And the flowers in the park were going off.

I even saw the buffalo in the paddock.

I don’t often see them as I usually am riding home in the dark.

There is so much to see when I allow myself the space to see it.

The gaggle of frisbee golf players tee’ing off as the dusk settles over the trees for one last round before night arrives.

A robin hopping in the soft dirt of a tree next to Spreckles Lake, the bright orange of his proud chest.

When I realized that I was moving on and pushing forward and making the next decisions on what I need to do now with graduate school, um, nothing, that I could in fact, uh, just you know, enjoy the show for a moment.

I believe I actually relaxed a little.

I mean I have plenty going on in my life, lots of wonderful ladies to hang out with, I’ll be heading to Berkeley this Saturday for a baby shower, spending the Saturday following going out to my inaugural visit to Alcatraz.

However, there is a tendency with me to be onto the next thing right away, that I must have something to shoot forward to.

That is me checking out of the here and now.

It’s not enjoying the song on the stereo, waiting for the next track, which will be better, and then the next after that.

I have been messaging back and forth with a gentleman on OkCupid and though he hasn’t asked me on a date yet, and I’m not concerned if he does or doesn’t, I think he will soon.

He’s French and the French do things slightly different.

There’s this lovely getting to know you period that I am enjoying.

And it doesn’t hurt that he says extraordinarily flattering things to me in French.

I don’t know which is better.

The things he is saying.

Or.

That I understand what he is saying, because my French is good enough to comprehend when a sexy French man is telling me he finds me ravishing.

Either way it feels a little like a courtship and that’s nice.

It’s also a slowing down.

He mentioned that in a message when expressed that although he really likes living in the United States, there’s two things that bother him.

The first is that we all seem to have a fear of each other.

Yup.

I can relate to that.

And that as a culture we are never quite happy with what we have, there is this constant striving for more.

Oh.

Yeah.

I know that too.

What was your favorite drug?

More.

I remember how my perspective shifted the first time I heard someone say, “if you don’t like what you have, why would more make it better?”

That gave me pause.

I love what I have.

My lovely little home by the sea.

My bicycle.

Even my Vespa.

Yeah, it’s not working and I’m not riding it, but I know how to get it fixed, and when I have the time to spare I will.

I have a great job with a family that loves me.

I got kisses galore from the boys today and snuggles and that was really nice, especially the reading time before nap time, oh the cuddles today were just smashing.

I am in great health.

My phone bill is paid.

I have money in savings for when my laptop goes kaput.

And I also realized after checking out the new MacBook Air on-line, that I now qualify for an educational discount through Apple.

Hell yes.

There is so much for me to be grateful for.

I have a purpose.

I have a point.

I am of service.

I have family and friends and love.

Oh love.

So much of that.

I don’t have to wait for my life to start, there’s nowhere I have to get to for it to be better.

It’s the best it’s ever been.

Even if I don’t have all the things I thought I would at this point in my life.

I have something far better.

Peace of mind.

Serenity.

Abundance.

Joy.

Prosperity.

Spiritual richness.

Oh gosh.

I guess that ‘hippy’ school I got into is indeed the right fit for me.

Who knew?

I still need to buy myself some flowers to celebrate that achievement, but I can feel myself being a lot happier about it and sharing it with my fellows has been really gratifying.

If I can do it.

So can you.

“You’re going to love school,” he said to me tonight.

And I will.

But I don’t have to wait for it to get here to enjoy right now.

Right now is pretty fabulous.

Me and Hello Kitty.

We’re just perfect.

What’s Your Higher Purpose

May 20, 2014

Or fear.

Those are my topics.

I will go with the first, although, the more I thought, the less I knew and then I thought some more, maybe that’s the whole point.

Learning.

More and more.

Experiencing more and more.

Being achingly present as much of the time as possible, even when I would rather check out with Netflix, when is Orange is the New Black back?

Never mind.

I actually don’t need to know.

One thought was to be of service in my community by being a kick ass nanny.

I love my boys, even when they are boys and boy oh boy, were they ever today.

And I love my girls.

I love all the little monkeys I have been graced to work with.

“You’re really good with kids,” the mom said to me as she picked up her daughter from swim lessons, over twenty-three years ago when I was teaching Tiny Tot swim lessons and Mom and Tot.

“You should be a teacher,” she concluded.

In a way, that is a big part of my job.

I teach.

Patience.

Sharing.

Love.

Tolerance.

Kindness.

Generosity.

How to laugh, giggle, play, be silly, blow bubbles, communication of needs, I teach daily and without thought.

I also teach numbers and letters, colors, directions, manners, catch, fetch, sand castle digging, fort building, dancing, singing, hand eye co-ordination, sign language.

I am sure I am forgetting something in there.

I don’t have a degree in Education or Early Childhood Training, but I have a knack and I am not going to deny that.

The very act of getting down on the ground and hanging out with a child is not intuitive to all people, tons of adults have no clue how to interact with children.

I do.

That is definitely a higher purpose.

I mean, come on, taking care of children is a looked down upon profession yet, the most successful thing we can do as a society, is just that, take care of our children.

Even if there is not the kind of reward that comes with signing a book deal or making a movie or being a social networking maven.

Which I am good at as well.

That thought crossed my mind, I am good at connecting people.

I am a people person.

I meet people, I get there names, I talk,  smile, I engage.

I welcome.

It’s just something I do.

I suppose that has something to do with being genuine and that attracts people and I am open to new situations and trying new things, wherein, I meet more people.

I like connecting people to each other.

I like that I went to Burning Man and said, hey you and you, and yeah, you too, you need to go.

And they did.

Now, I am not the reason they went, but sharing my experiences with them helped that decision.

“He said I should get a hold of you about moving to Barcelona since you moved to Paris,” the message read.

“Go.”

I didn’t need to send anything else.

Go.

I went.

I did it.

You can to.

To inspire.

That is a higher purpose.

I have asked men on dates, jumped on trampolines, moved to Paris, danced in the dj booth of big name dj’s, I did the AidsLifeCycle ride, I got a black belt in Shaolin, I started a blog and keep writing it every day.

Inspire people to follow their heart.

I dyed my hair.

That is a big deal.

To be my authentic self.

There’s nothing wrong with colorful, insert clothing, tattoo, hair, here.

Be yourself.

Have fucking fun with it.

Wear a tutu to work.

Or your pajamas.

Stick flowers in your hair.

Get a pink jack-a-lope tattoo.

Laugh.

Have loud sex.

Kiss people.

Hug hard and long.

Dream.

Wear your heart on your sleeve and be you, because, no matter how similar we are, there’s only really one you.

Or me.

Perhaps my purpose is to help the still suffering.

To pass on my experience, strength, and hope.

To be happy, joyous, free.

That’s probably my biggest purpose.

And my most precious.

To save my life by helping someone else with similar issues is an amazing gift.

One that I never thought I wanted or needed or had a purpose for.

You want me to what?

Are you high?

OH.

Ok.

Let me try that.

Perhaps my higher purpose is to write.

But not write for accolades, honor, esteem, money.

Just to write for the act of being able to do it, the joy of it, the sound of my fingers flying over the keyboard, a song of life and meaning that means almost nothing to any one else, but me.

Or the feel of a good pen on good paper.

Maybe my higher purpose is to be happy.

Really.

Just that.

As happy as I can be.

Whatever that looks like, however that evolves and to love.

Yeah.

That’s what it is.

My higher purpose is to love.

I get to do that at work.

I love my charges.

That is something.

How many folks can say they love their bosses?

My bosses are fabulous, sometimes a bit moody, or pushy, or bossy, “PUFFFFFS! SNACKS!”

Then again, how many folks have bosses that blow them kisses, hug them, dance with them, and fall asleep in their arms, I get to love and be loved at my job.

That is a higher purpose indeed.

I suppose it’s really to live this life, my life, the only one I have got, to the best of my ability, as full and rich and pulsating with purpose as I can make it.

To get the fuck out the way of my life and let it happen.

To walk through whatever fear I have and live anyway.

If I narrow the field too small, if I find “the higher purpose” for me, perhaps I wouldn’t have so much fun looking and trying things out.

I am still learning.

And if I don’t know what exactly my higher purpose is, I am ok with that.

Besides.

I know I am on the right track.

And that is enough.

 

 

And I’m In

March 14, 2014

Yay.

The interwebs are now accessible to me in my own home.

First world problems.

I had started a blog in my MacWord application on my laptop, as I was not getting in, oh, my computer said I had access, the little doohickey at the top said I had all access, but no, I still couldn’t log into my OkStupid profile.

Just kidding.

It was a bit frustrating, then, bingo, I’m in.

Sigh.

It’s nice to be back home doing my writing, doing my blogging, doing that thing that straightens me out.

I have to do this because I realize that I need a daily reprieve from the idiocy of my thoughts, which last night launched into a litany of “you’re losing your looks and going to be alone forever”.

First off, head full of garbage, anyone who is in it with you solely for your looks is going to be really boring after oh, 30 minutes.  I don’t want someone who is in it only for how I look.

I offer a whole lot more than that.

And my looks, why, yes, they are going to fade and that’s not a bad thing, I could use a little softening, a little wearing down of the edge.

Anyway, what the blog does is help me get it out of my head and when I see it in a straight line, the thinking, the thought patterns, it helps me to break them down and see the fallacy of the thoughts.

I am not my thinking.

I am my actions.

I remind myself of this yet again and thank God that I have this outlet.

Even when no one is reading them.

My blog stats went way down again.

Why of course, it’s been sexy sexy weather in San Francisco, everyone is at the park making out.

It’s spring and it’s nice.

I saw a quartet of hipsters in the park today as I took my little girl Thursday to the playground at Alamo Square, and thought, how cute, one six-pack for four guys.

Hello.

Are you kidding me, where’s the rest?

One six-pack.

Four guys.

Does not compute.

At least for me.

They’re just normal dudes out sunning their well manicured facial hair on the hillsides of San Francisco with their Pacifico six-pack and casual air of nonchalant, what work ma?  We’re just hanging out waiting to inspire folks to buy our app.

Ah San Francisco.

You’re still home to a lot of weirdo’s, I see more than my fair share of them due to circumstances beyond my control, but they seem to be edging out further and further.

“Do you live out here?” She asked me at the cafe.

I nodded affirmatively, “46th between Judah and Irving, inlaw studio I rent from a friend.”

“I can’t afford to live anywhere else,” she said, “I’m afraid to move.”

Aren’t we all?

You got a place that has decent to tolerable rent, you are staying.

I know a lot of folks getting creative about their living situation and I just thank my lucky stars that I get to be here, now with internet, safe and sound, with the sea down the road and the city as my back drop.

I do sometimes think it would be nice to be somewhere that gets more sunshine, there’s not a lot of natural light in here, but it’s not bad and there is some and it’s not the dark little space I had when I was in Paris.

Last night I was waxing a bit nostalgic about my time in Paris, flipping through some photographs on my laptop before bed time, I ran out of reading material, I need to go to the library post-haste or to the book store, and with no internet I was browsing through the photos.

I suddenly forgot the cold, the dreary, the dark, and the wet and was romantically swept away into fantasy about when I move back.

And I might.

You never know.

But I will always, no matter what, keep a home in San Francisco.

I don’t foresee moving anytime soon, either, it was more than thought of, I could see doing some retirement time there, with a long stay visa, and no money worries.

That really is the only way I want to experience Paris again.

I mean, yeah, there’s a certain romance to the starving artist thing, but the reality of living on apples and packets of peanuts is not how I want to go again.

I can say I was a writer in Paris living on a shoe string, hopes, and dreams, and have a plethora of experience to back it up.

And now,  can see how I want to move forward into whatever incarnation of myself is next.

Frankly I would like to make some money.

I would like to not only have a scooter, but, yes, a car.

I want to take road trips–Utah, Wyoming, Montana, camping out under the stars, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, a drive up to Alaska–and one needs a car for that.

Preferably a Jeep Wrangler 4.0 Sport in Midnight Blue.

Just saying.

I am not dissatisfied with what I have at all.

I am just ready for the next move forward.

I see it all around me and despite my disdain of certain attitudes and lifestyles, I do want to partake of the abundance that is here.

I mean if the dudes in the park with their Pacifico can make it work, why the hell not I?

Then again, I have a purpose, and I know what that purpose is and I suspect that as long as I keep that close to my heart and deep in my routine, I won’t be dropped.

I shall always be taken care of.

I will always have wealth, prosperity, love.

Of self.

Of fellows.

This, my true blessing, internet or no, blog or no, money or no money, there’ s a reason for me, I have a purpose.

That’s why I blog.

Right there.

To remember that.

I have purpose.


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