Posts Tagged ‘rejection is God’s protection’

Let Go

December 14, 2016

Move the fuck on.

“Block his number,” my person said succinctly and to the point.

HOLY FUCK.

I had not thought of that.

Then I thought.

Shit.

That’s the right thing to do.

I just unfriended as well off social media and each small step was a little moving in the right direction.

There’s nothing wrong with the guy, fyi, in case you’re wondering.

What’s wrong or perhaps not quite right, or perhaps better yet, what wasn’t working for me, is that I was falling into the same stupid trap again.

Better to let go the person and move the fuck on.

I don’t do myself or anyone else a service when I’m up in fantasy land.

And it wasn’t that good, I remind myself.

No.

It wasn’t bad either, it just didn’t serve, it wasn’t good for me, it didn’t fulfill my heart, I was left wanting a lot more and wanting more from a person who is not capable of offering more is something that I do and I have often crumpled in the face of change, when oh, that rut is so comfy and I know it so well.

And.

Didn’t you see?

I just redecorated and got a new couch for the space.

Fuck me.

I expressed to my person today that I was actually relieved that the guy I was supposed to spend time with last night cancelled.

But in a twist I wasn’t expecting my person added, you deserve to be respected, block his number.

What?

You mean I deserve the time of day, the respect of my schedule, that my needs are important.

Stop the fucking presses.

Yes.

Of course.

And if I don’t step up to that it’s my own damn fault.

So rather than fall down that hole again, Alice decided to take the elevator up to the top of the hill and look around.

See what she can see.

I see yoga in my future.

Signed up for a class tomorrow.

Went today.

Hella stiff and sore and snaggle toothed and old, man I just felt stupid and old.

Then, as I relaxed a little, I did think to myself, lady pants you sat in a desk chair at school for 29 hours, of course your body is out of whack, and you didn’t get more than five or six, max, and I do mean max, hours of sleep for the last four nights.

Give yourself a break and be happy you showed up to the mat.

Expectations always do take me down.

They just lead to resentment.

And a life lived on resentment is not one I wish to have.

Nope.

This lady is all about happy and fun.

Let me repeat that.

Happy.

And.

Fun.

Fun does not need to be roller coasters.

Fun can be writing Christmas cards or sending packages in the mail.

I got my oldest niece her gift today, I saw it last week at Rainbow and was quite taken with it, granted it was more expensive than I had planned on spending, art supplies, but, fuck, I just knew it when I saw it, had her name written all over it.

So.

I got it.

And then I mailed her card and my mom’s Christmas package and my sister’s too, which included a few things for my youngest niece.

It really felt so sweet and good to put their packages in the mail.

I feel blessed that I can send them gifts.

It wasn’t always that way and there were years and lapses in time that I didn’t send my family gifts.

It feels right to make up for that now and to continue fostering connections.

Even if it’s just a card in the mail.

It means I love you.

I do you know.

So much.

Breaks my heart.

I’m ok with that, heart break, I’ve had my share, I’ll probably have more before my days here on this plane are done.

And that’s ok too.

It means I’m alive.

What a fucking gift, this, to be alive, to be in this skin.

It’s not perfect, but it’s mine and I’m ever so grateful for it.

Yup.

A beautiful gift that I get to treat well and respect and care for and love.

I’m getting better at that all the time.

And I do deserve respect.

It felt good to remind myself of that this afternoon.

I had made the phone call check in to my person this afternoon while I was at the beginning of my work shift, although certainly not the beginning of my day–that had started hours and hours before I even got to work.

But I did not block the phone number until late in the afternoon.

When.

Ha.

I was wondering vaguely in the back of my head if he was going to text me today and what would I say and.

What the fuck, Martines?!

Ugh.

Block the number now.

It’s like a dangerous default, I don’t even know my brain is going there.

This is why I work with people, this is why I make myself accountable to others, their perspectives are so fucking important.

I walk around with god damn blinders on.

“He’s totally interested in you,” my girlfriend said to me years and years ago.

“No he’s not, he’s gay,” I told my friend.

“Gay?  Are you out of your mind, he’s literally beating your face with his penis, Carmen, he’s so not gay,” my friend said with incredulity, then dipped her french fry into the pool of ranch dressing on her plate.  “Seriously, he has a great big boner for you and it’s a not a gay boner.”

Turns out.

He wasn’t gay.

Once in a while.

I think.

Oh, look, a new perspective, I’ve taken off  the blinders.

But.

You know.

I’m always in my way.

I’m the one thing in my way.

So, pray to God, I’m serious, get the fuck out of your own way.

Go have fun.

Go play pinball.

Go to yoga.

Let go.

Move on.

And don’t worry.

You’re on a collision course with what is supposed to happen.

You just can’t see around the corner.

You’re not blind.

But you’re not a mind reader either.

Just saying.

That’s Not A Shower Curtain

December 13, 2016

Then I burst into tears.

I got an early birthday present.

Two beautiful Claire Fontaine notebooks.

Be still my heart.

My favorite notebooks of all time.

Gorgeous, smooth, silky, satiny, soft, soft, soft, French paper that is the most exquisite thing to write on.

I am a tactile person.

I love textures and things that soothe.

Writing on this paper makes me happy.

Happier than one would think, all things considered, it’s such a small luxury, but not a luxury I allow myself very often.

It’s special, they are special.

And sometimes I have a hard time letting myself have nice things.

I’m working on it.

In the mean time.

There are those out there who love me and that’s what it was like.

Getting a big box of love.

And it was sweet and made me feel tender.

I was already feeling a little tender.

Date cancelled.

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

Shame is on me.

I sort of knew it too.

A pricking in my thumbs.

A feeling like something was up.

And I find it funny since I was planning on approaching the date differently than I have in the past.

No such practice was to be had.

I reminded myself, gently, that “rejection is God’s protection” and there were probably many things that I needed to be doing instead of this date.

Psychopathology paper.

Organizing my books to sell back to the book store at school, although the majority of them I bought online, the store will buy back books that they didn’t sell.

So there’s that.

And I did actually work on my Psychopathology paper today, although there was some push back and it took, what felt like Herculean effort to open up my books and notebooks, I got in there.

The baby took a nice long two-hour nap and yes, I did take my sweet time cracking the books, but once opened, I dove in and I wrote a bit of the paper out.

Not, actually, in my computer, I’d left my laptop at the house.

But rather.

By long hand, in my notebook.

I began the outline and I got my thesis statement written.

I wrote four pages long hand in outline, which should correlate to about seven or eight on my computer once I format the paper.

I know what I am going to write about for the first section of the paper, I have my symptoms outlined, and I have my diagnosis and I have my differential diagnoses, and I have my reasons sketched out as to why the diagnosis that I chose is the “correct” one (there technically is no correct diagnosis, I have to argue my point of view) and I can support my decision quite well.

Doing that work today really felt good, actually.

That means that I have a third of the paper written.

Even though it’s not written formally, having the knowledge of what I’m going to write is huge, and as all the previous papers for this professor have done, I am learning more as I go.

Which is pretty fucking cool when you think about it.

Albeit a little exhausting.

I really did have a hard time getting into the books.

But I knew that I would be more upset with myself if I didn’t, especially since I had a pretty good feeling the baby would sleep for a while.

And now.

Now I feel really good.

I have officially, in my brain anyhow, set aside Saturday afternoon to write the paper formally.

I will do yoga in the morning, meet with my person in the Inner Sunset at noon, then scooter back to the house for lunch and sit my happy ass down and write.

I have a commitment at 7 p.m. and I will be done with it by the time I need to leave.

Guaranteed.

I’m feeling a lot better about it since having done the preliminary work on it last Monday and again another couple of hours on it today.

Including the time reading and re-reading the material I have put in quite a bit of time already on the paper.

But.

I want that “A.”

I’m going to get that grade.

And then.

I’m going to go merrily to my birthday brunch and not give two fucks about school for a week.

No practicum freaking out.

No ordering my books for the next semester, unless the syllabi go up, but I don’t think they will, it usually takes a week.

No reading, except for pleasure.

I will definitely let myself have a least one pleasure book for the holidays.

And perhaps a real date.

I’m ready for some fun.

Which is what I thought tonight was going to be about and I realize that it’s not on the menu, it happens sometimes, the fun runs out, and the next dish doesn’t seem that special.

But having gotten to unexpectedly open a birthday present early I feel quite happy and very loved.

I really didn’t realize.

I’m usually quite the good girl about waiting.

My mom sent my birthday and Christmas present already and I haven’t open those yet.

I’ll open my birthday present on my birthday and my Christmas present on the 23rd, since I’m going to Wisconsin that evening on a red-eye and I don’t plan on carrying that with.

Although I will be traveling with gifts, I got my friends some little things and their boys some stuff, I’m actually quite excited to give them their gifts–Arrrgh maties, I went to ye olde pirate shop–826 Valencia–the only pirate supply store in the world.

At least that I know of.

It’s like the coolest kids store ever.

And got the boys some ridiculous gifts.

So.

Hey.

Look.

It’s ok that my date cancelled.

I had better things to do it turns out.

Like let myself experience love.

That was the better choice, despite my best laid plans.

And truly.

I’m ok with that.

Although I did burst into tears when I got the notebooks.

They were good tears.

Sad.

Sweet.

Bitter.

Sweet.

And happy.

All wrapped up in one beautiful package.

Love.

Love.

It’s all that really matters.

Seriously.

Is It A Little

September 14, 2016

Dusty in here?

Just a mite.

But not too bad.

I got all my Burning Man gear sorted, finally.

I still find it rather amusing that I was back almost a week before my stuff landed back in San Francisco and then it took another week for me to source a vehicle.

It happened last night though.

I got done with work and my friend picked me up from work and we headed over a few blocks to 19th and Valencia.

My friend gave me heaps of shit about the dust and my badge of pride.

I don’t know about that, but it’s amusing.

I always know my friends by the amount of shit I’m willing to take from them.

Some people.

I have absolutely no tolerance for, you want to give me shit, I might beat you.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

My friend gave me a lot of shit over the last day about my gear and that allowed me to gauge our burgeoning friendship pretty well.

He’s a good egg.

Nice to have more friends.

I wasn’t expecting to have this coalesce and it’s been a little bit of whirlwind here at Casa Carmen.

Hmmm.

That looks right, but you know, not quite.

Maison Carmen.

AH.

Yes.

Better that.

Anyway.

I ended hanging out a lot with this person the last few days.

Totally unexpected.

I had a date Sunday who cancelled in the weirdest way yet.

He, the guy who cancelled on me, texted that he’d had a date the night before and they hit it off so well that he wasn’t interested in going on a date with me.

The message I got was that he was super happy (don’t recall asking, but great) and that things had radically changed (I should have known when our date was rescheduled–he’d originally made it for Saturday) and the new set of circumstances being that he wasn’t available to date.

But.

Hey, if you want to hang out as friends we can still meet up.

Um.

No.

Not even going to waste my time doing that.

I don’t need to cultivate more male friends, I need to cultivate the female friends I already have.

Of course, I already mentioned my other male friend, who is a new friend.

Um.

Ha.

Friend with benefits.

Ahem.

Heh.

But.

I, ah, get a head of myself.

The other title to this blog, fyi, was going to be “Hickies at the 7-11 in Sausalito,” but well, it didn’t quite have the same ring to it.

Anyway.

When Sunday’s date cancelled I decided that I would take my own damn self on a date.

I eye-balled the Mike Doughty poster my friends had gotten for me for getting the tickets to the show, the poster Mike signed for me, yes, and decided I would hie over to Cheap Pete’s and get it framed and then in the spirit of more art, go to the MOMA.

I did my Morning Pages, cleaned around the house a little and hopped on my scooter.

Oh.

Small scooter update.

Total wash on the cost of getting the repairs.

Yes.

It does turn out I have a deductible for collision, but it’s $500 and the cost to repair my scooter was $246, so no go.

All out-of-pocket.

Thanks hit and run, hope that karma bites you in the ass.

My insurance agent suggested though that I could probably right it off when I do my taxes this year.

I had no clue.

He told me the deal and I said thanks and got on with my day.

End of aside.

So I hit Cheap Pete’s dropped off the poster–I’m framing it in white with a black mat, it’s going to look hot.

Then I headed down town to the MOMA.

As I approached the museum, I realized that I was going to go right by the Nordie’s Rack on Market street and I had a twenty-dollar gift certificate that was going to expire if I didn’t use it.

I turned right on Mission street and hit the motorcycle parking by the old Mint.

Then a little shopping.

I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize.

I’m still not sure why I answered.

But I did.

New friend on the phone, and we’ve had some social media contact prior, so it wasn’t weird that he had my number, also we have a lot of friends in common, a lot.

He needed a favor and was calling for some help.

I explained that I wasn’t in the position to lend a hand, I was downtown shopping, and I’m not sure how it fell out my mouth, but that I had basically gotten stood up on a date so I was heading to the MOMA.

He thanked me, asked if I might change my mind and I said I might check back in later, depending on how my afternoon went.

I hung up and got to the shopping.

I was in the changing room when I got a series of texts.

Hmm.

Yes.

Actually.

Ok.

The gist being this gentleman wanted to know if he could be my stand in date since I had gotten stood up.

I was flattered and thought for a minute, then a light bulb went off in my head.

He’s pursuing!

Aha.

This has been a thing I have been writing about, being pursued rather than being the person that chases–I tend to chase guys who aren’t interested.

So.

I said yes.

We made plans to meet up at my house.

He picked me up looking dapper as fuck.

He’s a handsome guy.

In a suit, thank you very much.

And we headed out over the bridge to Sausalito.

Dinner at a little Italian restaurant.

Then.

Parking his vehicle over by Fort Baker, we changed up into riding gear and went for a motorcycle ride.

To the 7-11.

It was with some chagrin that he realized that I don’t eat sugar.

He was taking me to get a Slurpee.

Ok.

Now I don’t know about you, but it struck me as so adorable I almost couldn’t stand it.

Fast forward two days and being back at that same 7-11 at 11:30 p.m. at night getting snacks and water and giggling like I’m a sixteen year old.

Because.

Fuck me.

I have had a fucking blast over the last 48 hours and there’s something so 80’s movie perfect about being in a 7-11 with a paramour getting silly shit from the aisles and making out at the cash register.

I am not kidding.

I’m 43 but I was definitely channeling some teenager glee.

And today.

Well.

Back to reality.

I won’t say that I won’t be hanging out in the 7-11 again I probably will but the adult world is calling to both of us and we agreed at the beginning that whatever happened it was going to be light and fun.

It may have gone a bit deeper than that, I’m pretty sure it did, but it circumstances being what they are, he’s not really available.

So.

I get to be super grateful that I let myself be pursued and for 48 hours I had a goofy, sweet, silly, sexy, fun, amazing time with a new person who surprised me in more ways than one.

Here’s to new experiences.

And being hella grateful that my date on Sunday cancelled.

I hear “rejection is God’s protection.”

It wasn’t meant to be, that date, but it was the impetus for the two dates that followed with this new paramour.

Thanks God.

Let me be sure to remember this experience the next time a date cancels.

Seriously.

Fuck Me!

June 5, 2016

That was so good.

I mean so, so, so very, very, very.

Yes.

Oh yes.

Good.

And no, sir, it was not my Tinder date.

Who never confirmed.

Dudes.

Strike two.

However.

As they, the infamous they, like to say, “rejection is God’s protection.”

Um yeah.

And apparently I was supposed to be doing something other than have stupid good sex.

That did bum me out for a minute, oh the plans I lay when I want to get laid, like, um, having a weekend of stupid good sex, that was the plan, God, don’t you know?

Ahem.

Anyway.

So.

I was positive, I acted with positive things in mind.

Well, if God doesn’t want me to be on the aforementioned two day date, which as I said, previous like was cancelled at the same time that another sexy offer came floating in, and, well, yeah, no confirmation on that either, which means, something stellar is going to happen.

I believe.

I have faith.

I woke up, let myself sleep in and take the later yoga class.

Which kicked my fucking ass.

Why did I not start doing yoga years and years ago?

Hindsight.

Fucking 20/20.

I had the most intense moment of diseased thinking that I have had for a minute today in class, which surprised me, brought tears to my eyes and I thought to myself as I was collapsed in a heap in child’s pose (can’t even get this one right, Martines, my head whispered to me, as the teacher adjusted my hips in the pose) I was overcome with a deep, intense, overwhelming wave of self-loathing.

Whoa.

Come on.

You showed up.

This is it.

This is the only body that you have and it didn’t drop dead on you all those years that you beat it to shit, beating your soul down, wearing down your heart, selling yourself so short, abusing it all with as much crap as I could shove in my mouth or up my nose.

Why now?

Why?

Because, that’s the story, that’s the narrative, “you are just not good enough, sexy enough, smart enough, blah, blah, blah, and why are you still single, blah, blah, blah.”

Shut the fuck up.

All that being said, I did move through the poses and some were awkward and painful, but I did it, I showed up, chatted with the teacher after, thanked her, gratefully, I am grateful for this beautiful body that God has given me to walk around in.

Even when I can’t do a stupid vinayasa pose.

So what?

I am able bodied.

How many people wish for a body capable of being able to do yoga?

Yeah, so I don’t look as good doing it as Suzy perfect who is, by the way brain, 20 years younger than you.

I forget that I am 43.

I forget it, then, I smile and whoa, hello, smile lines.

But they are sexy.

I am sexy.

Please.

I know.

I am also not real humble, but hey, I know what I am, even if the body is not 20 year old banging, my brain, well, that’s where the real sexy is at and believe me I am better in bed than I was twenty years ago, and frankly, healthier, both emotionally and physically, not to mention spiritually too.

So.

I got back from yoga, took a hot shower, made a late breakfast and got down to do some writing.

As I was about to launch into my morning pages I checked the social media things and saw that some friends of mine had gone to Paul Simon at the Greek Theater last night.

I was jealous.

Damn it.

That would have been such a good show, I wish I had gotten tickets.

Cue.

Scrolling down the page and what?

WHAT?

No fucking way.

One of my friend’s has posted about having a spare ticket to Paul Simon at the Greek, anyone interested?

Oh hells yes.

Me, me, me, me.

I wrote on his page.

“You, you, you, you,” came the response.

Followed by a rapid number of texts, including the set list from last night show.

Cue listening to Paul Simon all day with a smile smashed on my face.

My heart so on my sleeve, I swear there were little drops of heart shaped blood glowing luminescent in my wake, small moons of joy as the music washed over and through me.

Who cares if both my Tinder dates cancelled?

I’m going to Paul Simon!!

See.

God really did have something better planned.

Thanks God.

I sort of needed that.

Not that I don’t think that I’m the bees knees, the cat’s pajamas, and all that jazz, it was just a little disconcerting to get back to back rejections.

But that’s ok.

Rejection is just getting things out of the way so that I am prepared for what is supposed to happen next.

Like.

Um, oh.

Paul Simon.

Playing an amazing, mind blowing, joyful, serious the joy level was off the chain, energetic, passionate, amazing set.

He played from Rhythm of the Saints, which is one of my favorites of his albums, if not my favorite, songs I have never heard performed live before.

I was in tears.

Really.

A whole bunch.

I was washed with the perspective of decades and thought about all the times I had closed down the bar at the Angelic Brewing Company and depending on who I was working with, mostly one particular bartender, I would turn off all the lights, set up a few globe candles on the bar, tap out a couple of pints of bitter and listen to Paul Simon until the very edges of dawn were pushing through the windows of the bar.

All the narratives I told myself, all the stories, all the melancholy and remorse and the unrequited love, the blue cornflower eyes and the sheaf of blonde hair that beguiled my heart, the dancing to Diamonds on the Soles of My shoes, in the dark, with him.

Oh, be still you silly heart.

Maybe these emotions are as close to love as I will ever be.

All the stories I told myself, the stories that I can spin, but choose not to, I saw them all rising in the fog of the open air theater, adrift on the music spinning out into the night and I was so grateful I could burst.

Then.

Mike Doughty friend requested me on facecrack and my brain broke.

I was taking out my phone to take one of three photos I took tonight, I really just wanted to be present with the music instead of stuck in my phone, and there it was.

I punched my friend in his arm, he’s a Doughty fan too, and I was like, “um, so what do you think should add him?”

I could not handle it.

I was so happy.

I am so happy.

These are all just humans.

But something glorious shines through.

Love.

God.

Music.

I am the luckiest girl.

I am a wanton word woman.

I am delirious with art and music and memory and gratitude.

Because really.

Sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears.

What this is, all is.

Is grace.

I am graced.

And a little hoarse from singing along at the Greek Theater with thousands of other very happy people.

It was a beautiful night.

And I accepted Mike’s request.

Only seemed like the polite thing to do.

Heh.

I mean, God forbid he ever find out I have a tiny crush on him.

Please.

My heart is just happy to have all that I have.

I have so very much.

So very much.

Yes.

Love.

Love.

That and always that.

Truly.

Just.

Love.

 

 

Rejection Is God’s Protection

March 23, 2016

Maybe it’s the full moon.

Who knows.

But the date I was supposed to go on cancelled very last minute and it put an odd taste in my mouth.

Tinder fail number four.

Le sigh.

Full transparency.

I don’t need to be on Tinder.

I’m doing pretty good on my own.

In fact.

I turned off the app again.

My person was right.

There is nothing wrong with the app, but I also know when something doesn’t work for me and this is not working.  It was fun.  It was titillating.  It was and appears to really just to be about fantasy.

And.

Well.

This lady has had enough of fantasy.

I like the real deal.

The smash me into the man deal, the full on kiss, the I want you, you’re sexy.

I can have that.

I am aware of my needs and the TInder and the OkStupid, again, I come back to this again, haven’t cut the mustard with me.

It’s fun.

To a point.

Then it seems.

I don’t know futile.

I was actually a little relieved when he cancelled.

I have had plenty on my plate this week and I’m finally feeling like my cold is passing.

A little lingering cough in the morning.

I figure one more day of sleeping in and I will have the little fucker kicked to the curb.

I’m planning on hitting the yoga studio on Thursday and get back into the flow of that again.

I have missed it.

The being in my body, the stretching, the achey muscles.

Yeah.

Ha.

I’m ready for sore muscles.

Too funny.

Full moon.

Spotting this morning.

Ovulated yesterday.

But not the full on roaring hormonal monster that had me in its clutches last month.

Just a normal cycle.

The moon though.

Have you seen it?

Magic in the sky.

I imagine it descending over the ocean and how it will paint the sand dunes white and silver with its light.

Splendid and alive in the sky.

Or perhaps just in my imagination.

A luminous pearl in the velvet sky.

Yes.

I can feel that I am doing better.

My head feels clear.

My heart feels clear.

A touch sad now and again.

But I have that love of richness, that emotion, deep and true and yes occasionally indigo blue jean blue, but so sweet and tender and alive, that I don’t mind.

I have had so many feelings, tender and vulnerable, strong and flexible.

I do feel that I’m coming out of something.

A little darkness and mourning.

And by perfecting my heart truly/I got lost in the sounds.

The opening of the crocus pushing it’s way through the soil, dark, and at first impenetrable, then, the flower bud plunges up and out and unfurls and yes.

I am like that flower.

Fresh as a daisy.

Silly and sunny.

Sexy.

Back to myself.

Out of the dark.

Into the blue.

The sky blue.

The light of day.

It don’t hurt that the rain stopped falling.

A break in the rain.

A reprieve from the storm.

The orchid on my night stand table has bloomed again.

Five times now since I have been here, I bought it the first week I moved into the studio.

Not bad.

It always seems to bloom at an opportune time for me to self-reflect, to see the purity that comes from the gnarled and twisted roots and the glory that faces into the sun and blossoms there from the ungainly and the knots of green.

I remember to not force the blooms.

To not rip open the petals because I want the full beauty.

There is beauty in every stage of the development.

Just like there is with me, with dating, with romance, with love and loving myself and learning what works and what doesn’t.

And not judging myself when I don’t bloom out as fully as I expected.

Sometimes the flowers on the orchid are six, seven, eight blooms.

This time around there were only two.

Yet.

The simple divine flowers floating in the air are such tender white magical things that I cannot imagine that there needs to be anything more.

I don’t need anything more.

Look at all I have.

My simple life.

My sweet space down by the sea.

My dear friends.

My good job.

My school.

I get to live this life, I get to revel in it.

I get to roll around in it and not take it so seriously and lighten up and go out and put myself out on a limb and take chances and change.

Open the door and meet the welcome face there.

Be swept up into the moment and taken along for the duration of the song, carried away, caught for a moment in the in between moment.

The twixt and the tween and see that here too, is still another way to go.

A softening and letting go.

A sweetness and surrender.

Everything must come and go.

Yes.

That too.

So seize the moment, let the life in front of you be joyous, full, and alive.

Being awake is sometimes a tender place to be, but I’m no good checked out, and I’m not good when I am in fantasy.

I am good here.

In this reality.

With all my vulnerabilities and mistakes and terrors.

The fear it fades.

The sun it warms me as I walk towards it.

And the flowers bloom on their own with out me forcing them to open before their time.

There is no there there.

I am the party.

I am the girl.

No.

I am the woman.

And this is my life.

I’m going to keep having fun and dancing in the hallways and crying on the yoga mat.

I’m going to keep showing up.

Going where I must.

And letting go of thinking I know where it should go.

It’s all the same road anyhow.

Even if I often choose the one less taken.

I bet they all end in the same place.

I don’t need to know my destination.

I just know that I’m on the right path.

Free.

Silly.

Joyous.

Heart on my sleeve.

Happy.

 

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.


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