Kind of.
I mean.
I feel like there is no much to write about, including having seen my ex at a meeting this morning and be absolutely stunned that I felt neutral.
Net neutral.
Like I don’t care, you do you.
No power to give to it, him, any of the men I have dated this past year.
This year was a good, interesting, at times intense, and odd year for dating.
It was probably the year I have dated the most and got out of the most ‘potential’ relationships, I say potential, because really, that was what they were, I was dating to find out, is this a work?
I mean my first long term relationship was a one night stand that became a five year partnership–it should have ended after the first month, but I hey, I was young and not aware of the replication of attachment trauma I was playing.
Anyway. Dating now seems to be is it working?
Or.
Is it not?
All of them turned out to be not, except one exceptional being.
Some of them in spectacular ways–like one blew up on me and got too rather intense and stalked me across media platforms and banned/blocked me, but like, let me know they were doing it while they were doing it.
Ok.
Some of them in quiet, ways, the text I got from early in the year after five dates and letting the guy know we were not a good fit and hey, best of luck–I can’t date someone who shows up high/drunk for a date–and he responded, “I fucked up.”
That was nice, not the fuck up per se, but the admittance that he had made a mistake and understood why I couldn’t move forward in dating him, although he really wanted me to be his girlfriend despite the difference in age–he was just about to turn 37 and I was 52 at the time.
And I’ve fucked up too.
I did.
I hurt someone this past year, but, and for this I am really fucking grateful, I made an amends and we made a repair and that means so, so much. I love and care for him way too much to lose the connection.
Some were just sweet make out sessions on the dance floor, under a strobe light, a disco ball and the influence of a good dj.
Some were not even dates or dating, they were potentials, a look, a smile, a nod, a movement in time and then onwards with a sweet hug, that one happened over the course of a weekend at Harbin.
One relationship, potential I should say, blew up right before Burning Man and that was tender.
Nothing like thinking I was going to have a partner at the burn and then that didn’t happen.
In fact.
The burn last year was pretty hard. I camped in a new camp that sort of imploded and I learned a lot about what works for me and what does not.
Although, I had my moments.
Sherpa’ing four virgins boys at Burning Man on their bicycles and the vastness of the playa and the lights, the drama, the music, the stars, one night. Standing in the middle of four men who had never been to Burning Man, all of us on bicycles, me in the middle, ready to set off on the grandest of adventures.
I’m a good tour guide.
Or, oh, finding a young French man at the trash fence one afternoon lying on his back crying, when I was out riding my bike–having gone super deep playa and actually taken a nap at an art piece that was shaded and had mattresses underneath it. What a delightful discovery, to lay in the heat, be shaded, pop open my big pink solar umbrella and snooze listening to the wind in the chimes. Then finding that young Parisian boy at his first burn, mourning his break up and speaking to each other in a mixture of French and English about love and relationships and Burning Man and poetry.
I’ll go back.
I always do.
Especially since I cancelled my trip to Paris this upcoming May.
Money has been a little tight.
My therapy practice took a hit this year.
The industry, the economy, people in scarcity, losing jobs, moving, moving out of the country.
It was an intense year to be a therapist and I’m coming into the new year with fewer clients and sessions than I have in years.
I’ve been brainstorming and talking to colleagues and my own therapist and they’ve all agreed–time to do some marketing.
I got a ring light.
I’m going to start doing some videos.
I have time blocked out on my calendar for tomorrow.
A sort of new year resolution.
Marketing, get vulnerable, share my PhD work, post some videos and some photos and see what happens.
I think that’s what this year is going to be, see what happens.
Love who I love without arguing it, know that I can be outside the box, try new things.
Travel with my trailer.
I figure the money I would have spent in France for two weeks I can probably do weekend trips and long weekends for the entire year in my trailer.
She, Betty, my sweet pink and white trailer, is nicely settled in the Delta and safe there.
Close enough that I can drive a little over an hour and be there to take care of her, also, the Delta is beautiful and I can just go hang out there too.
Birds and sun and water and joy in the long grass, art, mischief, adventures.
I’m also starting to run a list in my head of where to go–Big Sur, Sea Ranch, Pismo Beach, Joshua Tree, maybe Death Valley, Yosemite, the Red Woods, the Grand Canyon–travel about and get some use out of her.
I’ve only taken her out twice since I got her back from being restored down in LA at Wanderlust Vintage Trailers.
That was a big part of this past year–Betty, the trailer, my little 1984 U-Haul CT-13.
Getting her renovated, updated, painted.
There’s still some stuff to do, I’d like to rig her with solar and/or get a generator for some trips where I’m not able to plug into electricity.
I don’t want to be dependent on others at the burn this year, that was not great for me last year, the power source was an issue where I stayed.
I took the trailer to Harbin for a weekend too and that was lovely, albeit cold, end of the season and at night it was really cold, the fiberglass does not hold heat. The space where the trailers are allowed to camp does not have access to electricity. I have the trailer wired for electric, but it doesn’t matter if I’m off grid.
I laughed thinking about a conversation I had with a lover who said, all you need is a candle and you’ll be warm in it, I lit a candle and it did not keep it warm.
Although it smelled nice and once I was under the covers I was toasty and fine.
I also upgraded the mattress in the trailer, the one that came with it was not great and after two trips–Burning Man and Harbin, I knew I had to get a better mattress.
Costco to the rescue.
I had a friend help me with it and it’s all nicely set up in the trailer.
I haven’t slept on it yet, but it is easily twice as thick and so much better a mattress than the one I replaced, it’s a princess alcove for sure, it’s elevated pretty high for a bed, but it will last a long time and I will be much, much, much happier sleeping on it.
I do need a cover for the trailer though, she’s getting dirty nestled under the willow tree at the park.
It makes me a little crazy seeing her get dirty.
That paint job cost me a pretty fucking penny.
All the renovations did.
I pretty much blew my savings on it, but I have it and sometimes when I get fearful, I think, well, if it all goes to shit, I hitch her up to my Jeep and I work remote.
God only knows what I would do with my cats, but I feel like I have an escape hatch if I need one.
That being said.
I love my loft.
And I have officially been here for a year.
It’s perfectly dialed in.
I had it set up pretty quick upon moving in and over this past year have slowly fleshed things out and with the addition of the pink velvet and chrome bar stool for the kitchen island and a few plants that I was recently gifted, I do not need to do anything more with the space.
It is pretty, cozy, full of art, and when it’s not raining, full of light.
I love being able to park in a garage and not worry about my car getting broken into on the street.
I have moved around my recovery meetings to fit my new location in the city, the SOMA–I’ve lived in so many neighborhoods in San Francisco–the Mission (loads of places in the Mission), Bernal Heights, Potrero, the Outer Sunset, the Outer Richmond, Nob Hill, the Bayview.
SOMA/Mission Bay is where I am at now and it works well.
It’s not always the most scenic part of town, but I like that it’s flat, the downtown skyline is amazing, I have amenities close at hand–grocery stores, Rainbow Co-op, a few cafes and resto’s, found a good sushi place, I can walk to the Bay, which is lovely, I can drive pretty quickly over the bridge, which is optimal for going out to the Delta to see my trailer.
I like it.
I like it a lot.
Sure.
There’s a part of me that is still very much a Mission girl and I will likely always be that girl, but SOMA is adjacent, so it works and when the big work/live lost in the Mission becomes possible, I will have had my time here to be ready for that.
I don’t foresee moving anytime soon, though, not unless something tremendous changes with my financial situation.
And, ideally, I don’t want to move for a bit.
I love my loft, the interior courtyard view of the palm trees and greenery, the blue sky, my little balcony with plants and a cafe table and chairs, the cats get bird tv all day long and I get a lot of sun.
I also love my work out nook up stairs in the loft next to my bedroom space.
Ah.
The Peloton.
My most enduring of relationships this past year.
I started riding January 19th of 2025, so it’s not yet been a year, but oh, what a year it has been.
It’s a bit addicting.
The changes in my body, the way I feel after a good work out, how it washes out the anxiety and stress of doing therapy work.
The weight loss.
So far, and I don’t have an exact weight to report yet, but sort of since I did have a physical last month on December 4th with my GP.
Who said, “you are in near perfect health!”
Fucking nice news to hear weeks before my 53rd birthday.
On December 4th I got on a scale for the first time in about a year and the results were that since the previous December, 2024, I had lost 30.5 lbs!
Holy shit.
I mean, I knew I had lost a decent bit, I’ve dropped a couple of dress sizes and basically culled out most of my clothes.
Someone at my holiday party asked me if I’d “kept any of my ‘fat’ clothes.”
A. I was not fat.
B. No.
I don’t plan on gaining that weight back.
I really like being this size.
I like feeling lighter and healthier and fucking strong and also flexible.
I ride a lot, so I stretch a lot.
I do want to see what a full year of riding does, clock my weight, dress size, etc on January 19th, but I gotta say, I am not mad at the results.
Although, I will say, I do need one more skin reduction surgery.
All told, when I got on the scale in December, that number is 106 lbs less than what I was at my “top” weight, I don’t actually know what the heaviest I got to was, that time at 282 lbs, a year in a half into recovery and eating all the sugar I could cram into my face, I was working at a vet office and got on the dog scale and nearly ran crying into the bathroom.
I probably was a little heavier when I finally gave up sugar and processed flour six months later, but I wasn’t going near a scale again and didn’t for some time.
I also know that having a scale wreaks havoc with my esteem.
I am not my weight, my esteem cannot nor should not rest on the number on a scale.
My value does not lie in my pants size or in my bank account.
When I look at my year in review I think, I wrote some good poetry, I met some amazing people, I traveled to Portland, Oregon; Madison, Wisconsin, New York, Washington D.C., Burning Man, Los Angeles; I dated, I danced, I tried new things–Harbin Hot Springs–I grew into my loft, I lost a bunch of dress sizes and feel healthier than I have ever and I have kept loving myself, stayed sober, and connected to community.
2025 was a year.
Grateful for it all.
Ready for 2026.
Let’s get messy and love hard.
Auntiebubba 