I Did It!

I walked through some fucking fear.

I took some action.

I let go of the results.

I am still a little in fear of what is going to happen.

However.

I know that I will be taken care of.

What the fuck am I talking about?

I asked for more money from my future job.

Yup.

I took a huge, for me, leap of faith.

I have been sitting, quietly stewing in my own juices with a nagging resentment against myself that I finally addressed last night when I did some inventory at the end of the night and e-mailed my person what was up for me.

Granted.

I was a little sensitive yesterday.

It was a day full of anxiety and grandiose fear writ large on the face of my fellows and community and for so many people I have love for.

I had a hard time falling asleep.

I prayed a lot.

I let go of what was happening out in the world.

And I focused on what was going on for me, in my life, in the only place where I can change.

I did that writing last night.

I did some more writing this morning.

Then I got on the phone and I sent text messages out to a few friends.

And.

I made the phone calls I needed to make.

I got some awesome feed back and a lot of support.

I saw my part and I decided to walk through the fear.

See.

When I interviewed for this next job I didn’t ask for what I needed.

I blurted out what I make now.

I didn’t pause.

I didn’t respond.

I just reacted.

I then didn’t say anything to anyone because I was ashamed of myself for not being more proactive on my own part.

I have such a hard time asking for what I want.

I have a hard time asking for help.

I have a hard time accepting anything from anyone.

Gifts?

Jesus, really, why would anyone want to give me anything?

But that is old thinking and doesn’t serve, and I am deserving of love and joy and abundance.

I am.

God damn it.

And I deserve to be paid my worth.

“You do what for you family?” I have heard that statement a few times.

“Do they pay you more for that?” Another question I get frequently.

And.

“OH, my God!  You should be getting more than you’re making for that.”

Yes.

Thank you I know.

And yet.

There it is in the back of my head.

You’re not worthy.

You’re not enough.

Might as well go eat worms.

But I have done enough work, I have enough recovery, and I have so many people who love me and support me and want what’s best for me.

Well.

It tends to rub off.

And I have enough recovery to know that when I am shorting myself, I don’t like myself and feelings of martyrdom, self-pity, and victimhood that are being played out.

A scenario that I have often happily walked my way into.

See I used to be comfortable being miserable.

There was such a familiarity about it that I didn’t have any problem with it, was used to it, and kept perpetuating behaviors that would perpetuate the misery.

Then I got sober.

Then I got some recovery.

Then I started to re-wire my brain.

Not without an astounding amount of work, time, and help from others.

Oh.

And FYI.

I didn’t ask for that much of a pay increase.

I simply asked for a cost of living adjustment.

My rent went up this year as did my health insurance and it’s probably going to go up again when I transfer over to Covered California at the beginning of the year.

But back to the process of getting to the ask.

I owned up to my behavior and I saw that it was not serving my best self, not the self that I purport to love and want to take care of.

This is, just a quick aside, going to be something that I have to address as I move forward with my new career–you can bet your ass I won’t be making nanny wages when I’m a licenced therapist.  I might as well get used to asking for what I deserve now.

The owning up, the self-honesty was the biggest step.

Then telling on myself.

Then reaching out.

So that by the time my person did get back to me I had already made the decision I would be contacting my future employer and letting her know that I had made a mistake.

Before we sign a contract.

Before I am committed to working for them.

Before I start a job resentful that I’m not being compensated my due.

When I told my person what was up, she was like, of course!  You absolutely must, you just let her know that you blurted it out, you’re embarrassed, but you address it, and you do it now without shame.  You get a cost of living raise every year and that’s the end of the discussion.

Whew.

But not the end of the story.

I still had to come home and do it.

I just did right before I started my blog.

I knew I would not feel good going to bed without taking the action.

I apologized, I owned up to being embarrassed, I stated I needed to adjust my ask to incorporate a cost a living increase that I would have been negotiating with my current employers anyhow.

I asked for $.75 more an hour and additional $25 a month toward my health insurance.

It’s not a lot.

It’s more the principle than anything.

And I’m proud of myself for doing it.

Uncomfortable?

Sure as shit.

Scared?

Maybe a little.

But I know if this is not the right fit, I will be taken care of regardless.

There are other jobs.

And I really feel like it will work out.

What ever happens.

The results are not up to me.

I am just very happy that I took the actions.

That’s really all I can ever do anyway.

Take action.

Let go of the results.

Grateful for stepping up to the task.

Grateful I know that I am showing myself that I love myself.

Grateful to walk through the fear.

And I know.

That (wo)men of faith have courage.

Today I was courageous.

I bet I wasn’t the only one.

Time Off Request Granted

I’m going to Burning Man!

Fuck yes.

Hell yes.

Whoopee!

My family gave me the time off.

Time off for my school retreat (paid vacation, although it’s called a retreat it did not feel like one last year, I hear it’s not as bad as the first year, but whatever, it’s still school, ain’t no vacation) the week in August that I need.

August 7th-14th I’ll be in Petaluma.

And like a complete repeat of last year I will leave the retreat and head straight to Glen Ellen to nanny for the family from August 15th-24th.

Then I will leave there, head back to San Francisco, pack my shit, and head up to Placerville with one of my new camp mates, as yet unknown, to join the new playa family I will be working for this Burning Man, 2016.

On 8/25 I’ll care pool with some one in the crew to Placerville.

8/26 I’ll help the mom with the kids, yes, I’ll be nannying two this year, which is a first, but there is also grandma at camp, the eldest will be 3 1/2 by time of playa and has already been there three times, no four.

The baby will be 9 months, which is actually a great time, and means lots of snuggling and holding a baby, um, something I quite love and miss even though I get lots of love and snuggles from my boys, baby snuggles are something so delicious and I rather miss them.

Plus, both will be napping still and I am not going to be alone in the work.  So I feel quite comfortable with the set up.

8/27 we’ll depart to the playa!

8/28-9/5 nanny on playa

9/6 depart back to Placerville and carpool back to SF.

It’s going to be a big August!

And September.

Hell when isn’t my life big?

I am also being well taken care of, the camp, Star Star Roadhouse is located on the last road of the 9 o’clock spoke.

I’ll be out there, but I sort of like that after the experience of being in a similar area, a little ways off from there.

In fact, ha, I was reflecting how funny God is.

I rode my playa bike past them numerous time last year and wondered what the camp was about and although I never made a show there I was hella intrigued and wondered, I mean I really did, what it would be like to camp with an established camp.

Looks like God was listening.

When isn’t he?

Yes, I use the male pronoun, get over it.

She/He/It.

God.

Looking out for me.

Hearing my heart’s desires and responding in kind.

I started writing about going a few weeks ago, maybe a month?

And when I started writing the affirmation I sort of shot the moon.

I thought I was asking for a lot, but figured, hey, ask for it, and see what happens–this was before I had been approached by the family, or gotten the referral from a family I used to work with–I was asking for these things:

A ticket, early arrival pass, a place to camp, A/C, showers, compensation, a ride there and back, food, and my Beloved.

Well.

Ahem.

What the family is providing me with:

A ticket and early arrival pass.

An office trailer room with A/C and access to electricity

Yes!  My electric kettle will be coming again as will my Ipod home player.

Access to shower trailer.

All meals, water and NA beverages

Access to crew shade/lounge and walk-in refrigeration.

HOLY SHIT.

Plus, um, oh, thank you God, the food is pretty much organic, the people I am working for do big time catering–I am so taken care of.

And.

Yes.

Compensation.

I will be covered for the money I’m losing at work, since it’s not paid time off.

As for my Beloved.

I don’t know who that is.

But I hazard to say, it’s happening, he’s happening, love is happening, everywhere I am blessed and graced and given what is in my heart.

It helps that I am willing to do the work.

Even when I want to run away from it and go grocery shopping at Rainbow for kale.

I know, crazy right?

I had another yoga class today and after wards I was thinking I could run to Rainbow and pick up some kale and make a big salad for lunch and dinner.

I got home, threw myself in the shower, changed clothes, dried my hair, put some makeup on and realized that I was rushing to do something that I did not need to do.

I was making busy when I could actually sit down for a half an hour and relax, maybe do some school reading, I read before yoga too, and not go run off across town before work when I had done food prep yesterday.

And.

Further more if I wanted to get kale that bad I could just walk up to Other Avenues and buy some.

I realized I was running away from doing the work.

So.

I sat down and I wrote the rest of my inventory.

The concept really got me and I did a lot of writing on that, then the four people on my list.

Four.

God that is just awesome.

I still have a few things to write, an ideal, but that’s it.

And in the writing I got to see how damaging I am to myself when I act like I am not worthy.

I am worthy.

I am enough.

I am lovable and worthy of love.

I mean.

I have said these things for years, but still felt, underneath it all that somehow, I was still unworthy, not enough, something broken in me.

I just saw how it was thrust upon me and not in a way that was done consciously despite the damage done, I don’t excuse the behavior or the abuse I went through.

However.

I am not living in that place any longer.

The healing continues.

And then when I was done.

I rode my scooter to work and I had forgotten, I mean, completely, that I had sent off the request to the parents for Burning Man.

Half way through chatting with the mom about the week and cooking and school schedules for the boys, she just suddenly interjected, “Oh, and all your time off requests are fine, you can have the time off you asked for.”

OMG.

What?

I tried hard to not burst out hollering in joy.

“Of course, we’d rather have you than not, but yes, you can have it off.”

Thank you God.

So not knowing who my Beloved is?

What ever.

It’s obvious I’m being so taken care of.

I’m not going worry about this.

God’s got it.

And I’m going to Burning Man.

Burning Man.

Burning Man!

Mary Fucking Poppins rides again.

I just hope my Beloved’s name is not Bert.

Now.

Wouldn’t that be funny?

Bwahahahahaha.

Sorry, just gleeful, it’s sort of spilling out here.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

Free.

Free.

And.

Oh.

So.

Very.

Loved.

 

It’s Almost Friday

It’s almost time to dance.

Oh Jesus.

I am ready.

I am ready.

I need to shake it out and shake it hard and let my hair down, and probably put it back up because I will get hot, then let it all go.

I am going to tear it up.

At least that’s what it feels like right now.  Tomorrow, well tomorrow, I could be punked out and my energy may be low and maybe, it’s been known to happen, I won’t be feeling it.

But I will go anyway.

Because I bought tickets.

I was ruminating earlier that sometimes I have to purchase something to go and the guilt of having paid for it will be the motivation.

What?

I paid $18.05 to go dancing (tax, etc.) online.

I better go.

I want to go and that should be enough impetus, but sometimes it is not.

I was talking about not riding my bicycle as much when I get my licence and how that has played out in my head as an anxiety producing thing about not getting enough exercise and the person I was checking in with asked what kind of exercising I like and  I said swimming.

Then she told me about a friend of hers who pays to be in a league and shows up for swim practise.

Swim practise!

Can you imagine at the age of 41?

Maybe.

I am a good swimmer and I do enjoy it and that’s an option, especially with having a vehicle to get me there and back.

Sometimes I am loath to go do something physical because I know afterward I am going to be on my bicycle and I am not up for the commute.

Though, truth be told, I have noticed that I am faster, quicker, and more agile on my bike of late.

I have dropped a pound or two and I can feel the lightness in my body and I can see more muscle tone in my legs and in my upper waist, my lower waist is never going to be what I want it to be, unless I get surgery, which should the money ever happen I might.

I will always, as long as I do what I am doing today, just for today, have loose skin on my body.

And instead of wishing it away I can be profoundly grateful for the visual evidence of what I used to weigh and how hard it was to get through the day.

How stressful it was to hike up Bascom Hill in Madison.

I hike up a great deal of hills in San Francisco, once a week a really steep one, pushing my bicycle up ahead of me–why I will get to climb it tomorrow–up Noe to 19th, and I don’t need to pause for breath three or four times.

I had an old friend tag me in some photographs from days gone by when I used to work at the Angelic Brewing Company, where I hit my top weight, maybe 282 lbs, maybe more.  I didn’t get on a scale for a long time after that and I believe I could have been heavier, but I wasn’t about to find out.

I know that a few years later I had dropped down to 250 lbs.

I know that because I weighed myself at my black belt test.

I was a 250 lb 29-year-old woman getting her black belt in Shaolin.

No wonder I wasn’t fucked with.

Well not much, I remember one of the bartenders, Kurt, joking about how we should turn off all the lights and jump out at me to see how I responded in the dark brewery.

Ah, no thanks, friend, no one needs to die.

Then I managed to get down to 214/215 lbs when I moved here to San Francisco.

Courtesy of a little dietary aid.

Er, I mean, a little bag, or two, of cocaine.

I remember a dear, dear friend asking me if I was using coke to lose weight.

Well, sort of, I admitted, I loved that I wasn’t hungry, but I couldn’t, at that time, admit that I was just plain old addicted to the shit.

Then I stopped.

And wow did the weight come back.

I ate to stuff all those feelings and stuff myself I did.

I bounced back up to 275 lbs, maybe more.

After that I did a lot of restricting and white knuckling, then one day someone suggested I try something else and after a couple of false starts I found a solution that works for me.

And I got right sized.

Which is not to say that I got to the size that I want to be at.

Nope.

Not at all.

What I got was a certain kind of freedom from obsessing about what that certain size should be.  I got a perspective that allowed me to see that every day, no matter how heavy or light, I was exactly how I should be and that change was going to happen and I might get bigger or smaller depending.

But I would always be right sized.

I believe that’s called humility.

So, when the brain beats me up and says my body is not as attractive as it could be, I get grateful for all the evidence to the contrary, I worked really hard to be the woman I am today and I am gorgeous.

I am not photoshopped, I have wrinkles, I have laugh lines, I have saggy upper arm skin and loose skin on my tummy, but I also have that as evidence I can look at every day and see what an amazing woman I am, how much effort I have put in, in small little steps, to be where I am at.

And where I am at is wearing a sleeveless size medium dress to go dancing in tomorrow night with a pair of leggings and some Converse.

Because although you might not think that my upper arms are sexy.

I do.

And flaunt them I shall while I get my groove on the dance floor.

Because being content in my body is the sexiest statement I can make.

And I am hella sexy.

Just watch me break it off tomorrow.

Because, it’s on.

I Want To See More Of You

I told the Mister tonight.

“But I am not going to chase,” I finished.

No.

I am not.

Because, this woman is worthy of pursuit.

We went to Ebisu tonight and I made the “sushi face”.

This is the face my friend said that I must look like when I have sex, although we had never slept together and we will never as far as I am concerned, it was an apt observation.

The sushi was good tonight.

I couldn’t help making the sushi face and rubbing my knee when I got happy.

I have no idea where this comes from, I’ve mentioned it before in previous blogs, but yeah, when extremely happy eating something I have noticed myself rubbing my leg, usually my upper thigh, in small concentric circles, a soothing self-caress of luxuriousness.

It’s like eating velvet, good sushi, and my hand wants to pet something.

When I think of good sushi I do as well think of textures, soft, creamy, lush, rich, succulent, there’s a transportation that occurs.

Good sex is like that too.

“What do you want?” I asked him over the second course of the meal.

It all came out at different little moments, orchestrated it seemed to just pique the appetite onto the next place.

I had closed my menu, I was too distracted to eat, I had been thinking and talking about this conversation with myself and a couple of my good girl friends, for a day or two.

Or week.

Shhh.

I realized that I just had to bite it today or be in that ambivalent space and I am sick of the vagueness.  I have so much clarity around other things, my job, where I am living, being back in San Francisco, that I don’t want to be vague about my dating life right now.

I know what I want.

I want a committed relationship.

“I want freedom,” he said, “to work, to play, to hear music and go out to see art, to eat good food, to do yoga, to be of service and help out in my community, to spend time with beautiful attractive women,” he paused.

The crab rolls had arrived.

Crab hand rolls in nori with roe.

So good.

I mixed my wasabi in my soy sauce and watched how he ate the roll, it was not something I had experience with, not a traditional roll that I could eat with chop sticks.

I picked it up, dipped it in the wasabi spiked soy sauce and revelled in the juicy sweet crab and the pop of roe in my mouth, the nori a delicate delivery device, almost more so than the seaweed taste, a crumbling sheet that melted across my tongue just as it was subsumed by rich, savory crab meat.

Divine.

“Like this, now,” he finished, gesturing across to the restaurant and to me.

Ok.

Well, you are not looking for commitment or a girlfriend.

Gotcha.

But you are looking to spend more time with me.

That was obvious.

We walked around the Inner Sunset chatting and catching up before going to sushi and so much of the conversation had to do with things that were upcoming and finding time to see more of each other.

He paid attention, ordered me food he knew I liked, I just put down the menu and acquiesced to be taken care of, it’s a nice feeling to let go of trying to figure out what to eat at a new restaurant.  And he knows my dietary restrictions, and has always been conscious of it, which I find utterly endearing.

Besides, when you are out with someone who is as grounded in the San Francisco food scene as he is, there is no need to worry.

He has never taken me out to a bad restaurant.

I have never had a bad dining experience with him.

I just have not had as much time with him as I would like.

“What would spending more time with you look like?”  I asked him.

“Well, like this, except you would call me, ____________(his nickname amongst friends), and you would probably carry a tissue on you, everyone who I spend time with does (he has allergies and what he doesn’t know is that I bought a fancy box of kleenex last week when I thought he was going to have some time to see me and stashed it in my bathroom. ), he laughed and gently blew his nose to the side.

“I can do that,” I smiled and we continued enjoying the sushi, the company, and the green tea.

After the meal we walked over to 7th and Irving and spent a little time in those environs.  Then homeward toward the ocean.

“You were really brave,” he said as we crossed back over to the car after our time in the Inner Sunset concluded.

He was referring to when I went to Paris.

“I really admired that you did it, it really took a lot of balls, you have to respect that,” he said and looked at me as I stepped off the curb to cross the street.

“Thank you,” I said and smiled, “I am really proud of myself, for going, for trying, I don’t regret it, I never will, and I don’t know that I am moving back, but I will be going back.”

I can continue to be brave and ask for what I want, I thought to myself as we drove through the bustling early evening traffic.

We drove back along the crowded Irving Avenue blocks, past the busy pho shops and tea houses, the Asian five and dimes, and lotto stores, past the Giant Super Market at Irving and 22nd, over the Sunset Avenue, toward the ocean, the crescent moon a beacon over the water.

“Friday, I want to go,” I said.

Some mutual friends are having a bonfire down at Ocean Beach.

“Yeah, and I want to go see the Bulgari exhibit at the DeYoung, maybe I’ll get us tickets,” he said as he pulled up in front of the house.

My little house, all decorated with Halloween ghosties and cackling witches, spider webs and pumpkins–my housemates daughter is 7–and I giggled a little as he took my hand, without meaning too, thinking about how startled I had been coming home the night before and the ghost in the door way “boo’ed” at me.

“We’ll figure out time,” he said and kissed the side of my cheek.

Then my mouth.

The kisses soft, sweet, firm, ardent.

“Good,” I said after, smiling at him, “I want to see more of you, but I am not going to chase you.”

“I know, I have a responsibility here,” he said smiling.

“I like your tights,” he said out of nowhere.

(Good, I wore them with you in mind)

“I like you, _____________” I said, using his nickname.

“Hey!” He smiled at me as I climbed out of the car.

“Call me when you want to see more of me,” I finished and waved as I pulled the gate shut behind me.

I want you, but you have to want me too.

I am worth it, Mister.

But I won’t chase you.

I am the ball.

The man who wants me will come for me.

Until that time, I am free, available for dating, and oh yeah.

Surfing.

Administrative Duties

Yes, I do them in my own life as well as at work.

I paid the bills today.  Went to the bank, pulled out cash to pay the rent (yes, I pay rent early, when I know I won’t get paid again until after the first, it makes better sense for me to do now and be proactive), balanced the check book, put money in my savings account (the one called Paris), and wrote out the check to renew my passport.

Now all I have to do tomorrow is drop all the paperwork in the mail.  It was a touch surreal to write a check to the Department of State.

Fact, is this whole thing has been surreal.  Wonderful yes, but surreal none the less.

Maybe hyper-real is better.

I find myself spinning out in my brain at times about the hows and the whys and the whens and the what ifs….then I take a big breath and some small little action.

It keeps working.

I also upped my meditation again.

I am now at fourteen minutes.

There is a serenity party going on in my house.  Get on board. Whew, the big fifteen minutes might even happen this week.

I did laundry, took out the recycling, went grocery shopping and almost fell into the Henry Hall trap again.

Damn you man, how come you are all about calling me right now?  Ah, friend, old friend, old flame, just die off hey, now, wouldn’t you?

Don’t call me on Valentines Day and wish me a happy Valentines Day and tell me about driving through the country and thinking about me.  Please don’t.

Then, I too must not pry.  It is so not my business to enquire after your relationship with your partner, the mother of your children.  Not my business.

And yet, the words just flew out of my mouth like swallows out of a barn at dusk.

Ugh.

I get to keep re-learning.

Thanks God.  I did retract my offer to go to the High Sierra Music Festival with him and his friend Mark.  Who I have not seen since he dropped me off at my old house on Potrero and 25th after we had been all out drinking and I was loaded on coke and oh yeah, I am fairly certain I made a complete inappropriate pass on.

Because if you can’t seem to manage to land the love of your life, it’s a great idea to fuck his best friend.

Ack.

Quite glad Mark turned down my offer.

Man was I a hot mess.

Henry and Mark and a music fest in the High Sierra’s.  Pot, beer, partying.  No thanks, I know better.  Henry is going to want to hang with his friend and let loose since he won’t have his kids and I don’t want to be around my friend when he’s had a few.

I love him, but now I know that I love me more.

I also love the idea of having a cup of coffee with him when he flies into San Francisco to meet Mark and then waving fair well to them as they hit the road for their weekend of music and debauchery guy friend thing.

I have better things to spend my time and money on.

I also deserve to have a relationship with someone who is available.  I heard Henry’s hesitation when I proposed coming along, I mean, hey, I’m not going to Burning Man, might as well make a trip of some sort, but I steam rolled over it.

Fortunately, Henry was honest with me about the fact he was uncomfortable with it.  Not from the stand point of spending time with me, but he was frank, he wanted to party with Mark.  And I am sober.

Nothing really puts a kibosh on a good old-fashioned let’s get shit faced weekend with the boys, then a sober friend.

I totally got it.  Thank God for perspective too, I don’t want to go.  I don’t want to waste another precious minute of my life pining after something that is not real and I don’t want to see my friend drunk or high.

I don’t care if he does or if you do or if the President does, it’s none of my business.

However, it’s not fun for me to hang out around.  I have absolutely no desire to imbibe, in fact, the thought rather grosses me out.  It smells bad, it looks bad, and I don’t need to check out.

Even when reality is intense and I think I am being overwhelmed with all the things going on.

Really, there is nothing going on.  I am sitting at my desk writing and listening to the Beetles.  I wrote a few checks today and did errands.  I took the next action toward fulfilling a life long dream, no biggie.

And it was no biggie.

That is the magic of how it happens.  Just one tiny bit of action and it all adds up.

You really can do anything you want.

You just have to do it.

You also don’t have to do those things that you don’t like because you, I have an old out dated idea of love.

I am worth more.

I have acted as if for long enough now to actually believe that and now it seems that all that work is really, really paying off.

I have been stripped down, cleaned up, and inwardly re-organized.  I have a little more inventory to write and some other acts of personal house cleaning to do in the next couple of days, but for the moment, all the actions I needed to do today have been done.

The big one was the to not do something and just sit still.

Helped me focus on cutting that check to the State Department instead of funneling money to a music festival I don’t want to go to in the first place.

I know what I want today and it is not a music festival.

I want Paris.

The Eiffel Tower as seen from the Left Bank, Paris.