Beginnings

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers." - M Scott Peck

I have missed writing so much. December has been an impossibly busy month for me. During my last post, I was as sick as I've ever been with a cold and spent 4 days in bed. Immediately after that, the festivities started - there was my Daughter's birthday, Christmas parties, Christmas shoppping, dance recitals (where they sang "Happy Birthday" to Jesus and I wanted to gouge my own eyes out), light viewing, parents, and all sorts of things for the children. I spent lots of time with my ex-husband - we still try to make the holidays "normal" for the kids. In between it all, I still managed to reconnect with two old friends that I hadn't seen in 10 and 20 years respectively, to manage a social life, to assist my ex-lover through a crisis, gather up all sorts of paperwork to try and purchase a home for my kids for Christmas and to work as much overtime as humanly possible. Viewing the list this way makes me realize that it't not at all surprising that I find myself sick (again or still, I can't be sure). This time, I got antibiotics and I think I'll actually be ready for a little fun tonight. I have much to celebrate.

2008 has been a challenging year for me. I'm very ready to say good-bye to it. But, as I reflect back, I'm stronger and smarter and have a much clearer vision for my future. More importantly, I'm optimistic about that future and I'm eager to start living it. I made some good choices, some "eh" choices and some flat out stupid choices. I've learned from them all.

I could write for hours about it all - but there's really not much point in continuing to dwell on the past - the important thing is to consider what I've learned as I go forward.

In early January, I will turn 36 years old. A week later, they will pour the slab on my new house (yes, I got it!). In April, my favorite time of year, I'll move into a home that has countertops that I've selected, flooring that I've selected, rooms for my children that I can paint to suit their whims and a backyard for them to play in. This is so huge for me.

No one gave me this, I worked for it. If you would have told me at this time last year that I'd be here today, I would have either laughed at you or cried with you. I'm so proud that I'm able to provide this for them. I'm a single mother of two young children and I'm buying them a home. Not just any home - but a really nice house, in a nice neighborhood wtih good schools and safety and the stability that everyone tells me is so critical for children. I see it all now. They don't even know and I can't wait to tell them.

Last night, I curled up on the couch with home magazines and looked at pictures, trying to envision what I want and how it will be and it is both exciting and terrifying.

My personal goals for the new year are simple - to be open. To realize that I am in control of my life and that I can make choices that are good for me. It's all an experience, it can all be a joyous experience. As I look forward to the future, I feel more in control of my life than I have in years, I feel more secure in myself than I have in years.

Good-bye 2008. I'll reflect back on it as a year of unbelievable growth and change.

To 2009, I say simply, "Cheers".

Reflection

"I'm in a period of growth and expansion. I'm taking long, hard looks at the world and what's happening in it, analyzing and thinking. I'm trying to become acquainted with the universe -- with the part of it I occupy -- and trying to settle, for myself, what my relationship with it is." - Gene Roddenberry

My thoughts, this time last year(December 29, to be exact), were as follows:

There are periods in a life where one's life changes. Really changes. It's never as noticable as when the change occurs seemingly in the blink of an eye. I will never see life through the same eyes that I once did - as change occurs your viewpoint changes. I've spent time trying to make sense out of why things occur when they do, or why they did not occur sooner. Of course, that line of thinking is completely irrelevant. The reality is that my perspective changed a very long time ago, my consciousness is just now catching up. Something tells me it will be a bit longer before construction is complete on that bridge.

It has been so easy to deny myriad realities about myself. It's time to confess, if only to myself. Living the nomadic life that I did, my life was impossibly easy. Every time life got hard, a new move was right around the corner and with that move, I could leave the old worries behind and simply reinvent myself. I was never forced to actually deal with the arrows that were thrown at me, or the ones I threw. Such a lucky girl.

Now I find myself in a situation where I can't pack up and go (and believe me, it's time). I would love to flee this city, this life and start over somewhere new, reinventing and creating the woman that I wish to be. I can become her, but I can't do it as effortlessly as I've been able to in the past - not only will my actions be noticed now, they will be scrutinized. So it will be a slow change, moreover, it will require a tremendous amount of effort on my part. I can't pretend - I actually have to become.

I have always had a keen awareness of the world around me, and often, I've paid the price for that awareness. Teachers were none-too-pleased when I'd correct their incorrectly spelled words on the chalkboard. My parents never loved when I pointed out their hypocrisy. To have that sort of awareness turned on me forced me to tune out. I've taught myself how to be unaware - it was the only way to live in a marriage where I was so mercilessly and constantly scrutinized. I have to recall that awareness - and focus it inwards.

Fortunately, I am lucky. I have always been lucky and luck will always be on my side. I'm not sure why, but it's a fact. As a child, I used to walk by a clover patch, look down, and instantly pluck a four-leafed clover out of the cluster. It became a joke amongst my family, but more importantly, it became an expectation for me.

I cannot believe that I brought this man into my life. What was I thinking? Part of me thinks that I needed him to force me to leave a situation that became unbearable - that I met him when I did for a very specific reason. At the moment, I simply cannot afford to have him in my life. I see him in black and white, a photo negative. I have to force myself to walk away. Ironically, none of this is about him and it has never been about him.

It's an issue of self-worth. I saw myself as worthless for many years in my marriage. To discover that a man so remarkable found me worth more was heartening and flattering and tremendously revitalizing. But now that we've gotten what we needed from each other, it is time to say good-bye and to realize that the sense of worthlessness was only imposed on me in so much as I allowed it to be. It's a fact that I was told things about myself that were untrue - and I heard them for so long that I began to believe them to be true. It's time to shake that tree.

Self-image is the universal mediator of reality. As I look forward to 2008, I seek to define myself anew. As the woman I am, as the woman I intend to be. Self-awareness, self-worth, self-love. Those are the only avenues by which I will be able to grow and to accept the sort of love that I need. Only once those goals have been accomplished will I have the resources with which to love another as deeply as I intend.

Mirror

"The individual (no matter how well-meaning he might be, no matter how much strength he might have, if only he would use it) does not have the passion to rip himself away from either the coils of Reflection or the seductive ambiguities of Reflection; nor do the surroundings and times have any events or passions, but rather provide a negative setting of a habit of reflection, which plays with some illusory project only to betray him in the end with a way out: it shows him that the most clever thing to do is nothing at all." -Soren Kierkegaard

As the end of the years nears, I plan to spend some time reflecting over the past year, the goals that I laid forth for myself at the end of last year and where I've succeeded and where I've fallen short and to establish some new goals for the upcoming year. At the end of last year, I wrote myself a note. I'll dig that out for the next post, but for now, I need to think about where I was this time last year - simply the events that transpired, with as little commentary as possible (ha!).

From a career standpoint, not much has changed - same place, same time, same gig. That's good - I never intended nor hoped that aspect of life would change at all.

I was preparing for my first Christmas as a single woman, after 13 years of joint holidays. I had to spend so much money - tree, ornaments, stockings - all of it. I was freaking out about how to pay for it all, just kept whipping out the plastic trusting that it would all work out, refusing to allow my newly-single status to effect my children over the holiday. No, that's wrong - to minimize the effect.

I attended wonderful holiday parties and was having a ton of fun.

I sat at my daughter's birthday party - with my family, with my exes family, with my ex who was feeding the family presence with the "attentive husband" role he loved to play in public, with all of our friends who still wanted to see us together, her school friends parents - it was agonizing.

I watched my sullen daughter blossom that day - reveling in being the star, enjoying the attention the party provided her and knew that her life had changed. It certainly did. She has continued to blossom into a charming (albeit strong-willed) and engaging child.

My ex-husband (to whom I was still legally married) was clingy and needy and insisted on having the children for Christmas. I gave in, unwilling to fight and knowing that I'd want them more the following year. So, I worked for much of the holiday. I was sick (it's a theme for me this time of year, apparently) and spent the night on his couch Christmas Eve, while he begged me (snotty nose and all) to sleep in his bed. The thought was as repulsive to me then as it was 6 months earlier when I had left him. The thought would have been equally repulsive to him had he known my secret, and as he begged and pleaded, I toyed with the idea of telling him, just to wound him as much as he had wounded me over the years.

I spent New Year's Eve at home, on call. I did a great deal of writing. I made plans for the following year.

On New Year's Day, I went for a long, long walk on the Greenbelt - alone with my thoughts. What I remember most is the optimism I felt. I knew that the worst was behind me, that I had already done the hard work, paid the price and fought the fight. The future would be easy.

Ah, optimism.

Bitchslap

"Actual happiness looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn’t nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand."
-Aldous Huxley

I've not written a post this long specifically for another person before, but my best friend is hurting and I need to address her. I suppose you're wondering why I didn't just email her or call her. Well, I can't talk because I'm still sick. And rather than send this email to her privately, I thought I'd share it somewhere where I could refer to it when I needed it. I surely will need to heed my own words soon enough. So, my dear....here's the reply to your blog, it's my verbal bitchslap to you. ;-)

There is an expression that says, "You can't go home again." Of course, it's not true - but it's not untrue either. You CAN go home again, but you don't go to the same home. You expect to go to the home you left (and when you visit, it very much feels that way) but you return a different person - changed from your experience, changed from your life. In your absence, life had changed at home too - so while some things never change, other things do - in ways that are so small as to seem invisible at first, but once you move back in, into your old roles, your old ways, you notice the changes. Some good, some bad. The way you respond to those changes has changed too - sometimes good, sometimes bad.

It is what it is - it's life. Time sweeps everything along.

You say you have a hard time remaining true to yourself. You are so very wrong. More than anyone I've EVER known - you remain true to yourself. The problem is in your expectations. Manage your expectations and you'll manage the outcome.

I'll never tell you that seeking the next best thing - the bigger, brighter star - is wrong, because you know as well as I do that we are the same woman in that regard. I don't think either of us have unrealistic expectations about the future, but I do think that it's fundamentally human to want more than what you currently have, to aspire to greater things - the alternative is to aspire to nothing, to be content with the status quo - and that, my dear, is a concession of failure. It's an acceptance of routine, and there is nothing acceptable about that.

So, manage your expectations. Acknowledge that is who you are and accept that. It's OK. Yes, I am envious of those who we know who are happy with the routines in life, because it's a simple and easy existence. But I also look at them and think, "Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously happy?" I couldn't even wait for an answer before I'd scream, "What the hell is wrong with you. Don't you have goals and dreams and aspirations?" I know I'm contradicting myself again, but you know what I mean....Yes, I'd love to be a bit more settled, but not THAT settled. Not settled to the point where it felt like I could die and not miss a thing.

In your blog you refer having once had the perfect life, the bright and shiny. Think back and remember - you didn't. Everything that was bright and shiny about it was your own creation. Your pretense, put on for the benefit of everyone else. That's when you weren't true to yourself. That's when you lied. That's why you couldn't paint. It wasn't the perfection that you are again telling yourself it was - it was the opposite. Why are you telling yourself this?

Fuck him and his new happy life. You already know exactly what that looks like. You HAD it and it wasn't good enough. It will be for him, and that's because he doesn't have the dreams and the goals and the aspirations that you do. It's OK...it's good for him to have what he wants - you are genuinely free now. You share only one thing with him now, and not for much longer. A few more years and he'll be nothing but a distant memory - a shadow sitting on your sofa playing video games. Let it go, wish him well, and say good-bye to him. Embrace the new freedom that his new life has given you - it's a real and rare gift, you just need to frame it that way in your mind.

Now, onto your identity crisis...your blend of cultures and existences is something that you feel is confusing and that other people can't relate to. That's true. Other people can't relate. But you have this expectation that no one is interested in learning about it, and that's wrong. It *IS* you. It's unusual, it's not typical - but those aspects are all part of what make you uniquely you. It's what gives your art the depth that it carries, it's what makes you different and special.

Instead of trying to deny it, or to make sense of it, just accept that you're a blend of different cultures and experiences - some wonderful, some a bit odd - and it's all part of the great big blend of amazing things that make you - you! Instead of thinking of it as something that separates you from everyone else, think of it as opportunities to educate everyone else. Very few people are as fortunate as you are to have so many cultures and experiences housed in one pretty shell - share it. Don't be afraid of it, live in it. It gives you so much more to share with so many more people. There's a world out there that you can relate to in ways that others simply can't.

Now, onto your air-chasing crisis. I think it's funny that your sister said you would never find what you are looking for here. Maybe she is right, maybe she is wrong. It's easy for her to say - look at where she's sitting. Does she want the same "happiness" for you that she has found? It would drown you in 20 minutes. Sometimes I think you feel guilty for having such a good life here, for being so far away - and that the guilt prevents you from allowing yourself to feel content here because you feel like everyone would be better off if you were home. That's a mistake. You can't fix their problems - not from across an ocean and not from the same city.

I agree with one thing, you won't find what you seek right now. But it's not because of your location or because of your culture or because of, well, anything but you. Until you dive into your life genuinely and wholly with both feet, until you're willing to be vulnerable and open to new people, until you're willing to give something of yourself to another - you won't find what you seek ANYWHERE.

You keep telling yourself that the grass is greener somewhere else. Maybe. But I think you're using that as an excuse to prevent you from being open and fully present here. I think it's a safety net that you hang onto. Let it go. There's no safety in shutting yourself off from experience.

Who am I to tell you this? Well, I'm your best friend. But, more than that, we live parallel lives. I recognize it because it's what this whole blog is about. We met when we met for a reason, and that reason is more clear to me at this moment than it's ever been. We met to share this crazy experience - for as long as we share it. We are here to slap a bit of reality into the other when the situation demands it, and now it's my turn to slap you.

It's not a big, bad scary world out to get you. You're not some fucked-up loser that can't manage her own life. You're not sentenced to a life of solitude because you're incapable of loving and being loved.

It can be a confusing world - to those who think and feel. You manage your life in a beautiful way - you do good work in all regards - at work, at home and in your art. You are capable of giving and receiving love, but you won't do it again for someone who is unworthy of all that you have to offer. That's all good.

Think over all the good things that have happened over the last year to you - it's been an amazing ride. You're learning and growing every day. You can't expect it to happen immediately and you wouldn't want it if you didn't have to fight for it anyway. Together, we've traveled amazing distances over the last year - and we're going to welcome in the next one with even better expectations, even bigger goals and secure in the knowledge that we will both achieve all that we want - because we won't quit until we do.

Be kinder to yourself. Trust that you have time to achieve all that you aspire to. Expect that it will come, and it will. Most of all remember how many people love you - for all that you are, and all that you are not. Patience, love.

All these questions, all these big thoughts...it's because you're going home. It happens to you every time you've been back since I've known you - not a depression, a conundrum. Because you miss the comforts of home, your family but you also love the life you have created all by yourself here.

The answers will come to you, I promise. In the meantime, just accept it all as part of you - because it is, and it's wonderful. I love you! :-)

Viral

"I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing."
-Anais Nin

Where to start? First of all, I'm as sick as I've ever been. I have literally consumed one entire bottle of NyQuil in the last day and I'm thankful to the friend that has brought me another. I can't hear, I can't speak, I can't think and I can't focus on anything. I've actually been watching television! It's the only thing that doesn't require an effort on my part. I started feeling a little ill Thursday evening, but had a meeting after work that I couldn't miss. That lasted several hours. After, I, well...I can't discuss it. Something very strange happened, it's almost as if I summoned something monstrous into my life. Perhaps later when my head is not full of confusion from congestion and the strangeness...

I know I make no sense at the moment. I can't THINK.

To A - My most genuine wish for you is that next time you'll be willing to take a few more chances, to abandon logic for the promise of something larger than life. We are so much alike - for all the perceived self-actualization, there is a fear that is impenetrable. At least that's my hope, because the alternative is oh-so-unsightly.

I recently admitted to someone that the thing I hated most about myself was my tenacity...my unwillingess to scream "Uncle" long after the proverbial fat-lady had sung herself into a glass-breaking coma. I'm too spent to continue being this woman. I cannot continue to be the woman that does chest compressions until every rib has snapped and I threaten to pound myself into cardiac arrest. I need to learn that sometimes the risks of involvement are worse than the risks of walking away.

Gratitude

"If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, "thank you", that would suffice."
-Meister Eckhart

I enjoyed a really wonderful Wednesday evening and Thanksgiving day with my parents. I came home Thursday night to an empty house and briefly felt sorry for myself, for being alone on a holiday. Then, I layed on the couch staring at my lovely Christmas tree, drank a cup of hot tea and read a book. Then I remembered that the solitude was my choice. I clearly could have stayed at my parents house. I could have gone to Marky Mark's house, or I could have called Shiraz. Much later, I had a several-hours-long phone conversation with one of my dearest friends.

I had an absolutely blissful day today - I slept late, I went for a run, I met Shiraz for lunch and then she and I spent the rest of the day tooling around until just a bit ago. It was fun and casual and unplanned and - perfect. I have spent the last several days reflecting on that for which I am thankful. If you'll indulge me...

I would be remiss were I not to thank the winegrowers of the Wilamette Valley for the impossibly perfect Pinot Noir that will surely fuel the majority of this post.

I am thankful for my lovely children. Even on the worst day, when I want nothing more than to scream and cry and pull my hair out, their smiles and their laughter make life brighter. On the days when I want to scream and cry and pull THEIR hair out, their chubby little starfish hands wrapped around my neck and their sloppy kisses on my cheek, instantly make all their minor sins forgivable. They are truly the reason that I do everything that I do, and I'm thankful that I will have that impetus for the rest of my life. They truly are two little beacons guiding me with their glittering light.

I am thankful for my family. It is beyond wonderful to have two parents that I have a close and genuine relationship with. My relationship with each of them is completely different, but very honest and real. It is such a supreme joy to get to know each of them in adulthood - I am no longer their "little girl" (although in many ways I always will be), I am their adult daughter and we share a close and special bond. I am also fortunate to have two step-parents that are kind and warm people, who have brought additional relationships into my life, for which I am richer.

I am thankful for my friends. It is such a reward and a genuine pleasure to have very sincere and real relationships with so many warm and wonderful people. My two best girlfriends, Shiraz and Ebird, enrich my life in ways that I'll never be able to adequately express. They know me intimately and deeply. With them, I am vulnerable in a way that I never thought possible. Female friendships were something I did not cultivate while I was married, to my personal detriment. The richness these two bring to my life is something I will never lose again.

Then, there's Po. My evil twin. To think how close I came to not bringing him into my life is strange. With him, it's easy and free and insane - and I love every second. With the exception of Ebird, these relationships have all formed in the years since my divorce and it's astounding to think of the value of them garnered in such a short period of time. I genuinely love you all for all that you bring to my life.

I am thankful for my body. For all the abuse it's suffered at my own hands - it's hanging in there pretty well. I recently found my wedding dress and was pleasantly surprised to discover that despite the passage of 14.5 years and the delivery of two big-ass babies, it still fits! I've recently started training for triathlon again - this season, I'm going to be far more competitive. I missed the groans and moans about the aches and pains - they make me feel alive, they remind me that I CAN use my body, that I can in fact, abuse my body - and it only makes it stronger.

I am thankful for my education and my career. I did it alone. I fought for it every second of every day - at home, at school and in clinicals. It was all a giant battle. BUT, it was worth every second. I did it without student loans. I did it for myself and my children. I did it to secure a future for them that was free of worry. And you know what? I'm now in a place where I am able, as a single mother of two young children, to purchase a home that I thought I'd never be able to afford. The best part is, I help people every single day of my life. Think about that for a second, please. I'm an almost 36-year-old single mother of two young children, working in a field I entered largely because I wanted to make a difference in the lives of complete strangers. I've accomplished that, I adore it, it makes me feel like a superhero some days - AND, it's giving me the good fortune to buy a home for my children that exceeds my wildest dreams. It's astounding to me, really. No really. Think about it. Those of you in my field know exactly what I'm talking about ... it's crazy that we get paid for this shit. Then, in other ways, it's crazy that we only get paid what we do for this shit! :-D Wouldn't trade it for the salary I used to have...I love it.

I absolutely cannot wait until Christmas morning. My children aren't going to be getting many gifts from me this year - due to the house but also due to the fact that they don't need much - and the other people in their lives will be giving them multitudes. These children want for nothing.

On Christmas morning, I'm going to take them to the house, which will maybe be a slab, or maybe a frame - and gift them with a future of stability, predictability and permanence. All things my nomadic mother never provided to me, but that I think may be very important to a child. I don't know - it scares the hell out of me! ;-) I'd just as soon buy a sailboat, pack them onboard and spend our lives sailing the oceans. But, it's not about me and I am so thankful that I can give this to them.

I am thankful for my courage. My ex-husband used to equate me to Piglet in the Winnie the Pooh series. He told me often that I was afraid of everything. Ironically, it turns out that I'm not afraid of much at all. I was afraid of the stagnation in our relationship. I was afraid...of him, and of our future being not at all different than the past had been.

Ultimately, however, I wasn't afraid to leave the safety and security of my beautiful house that I had poured my heart and soul into to become an apartment-dwelling single mother of two young children. I wasn't so afraid that I told the lawyer that I didn't want child support - I just wanted out. I had the courage to realize that I was young enough and vibrant enough to need more in my life. It took many years to dig deep enough to find the courage, but now, it's unstoppable. I'm not afraid of much of anything. I love my life, and I plan to live my life.

I am thankful for music. Silly? No...I love it. It motivates me when I exercise. It pleases me when I clean. It soothes me when I need soothing. It makes me shake my ass when that's the only option.

I am thankful for the annoying kittens. They irritate me beyond all recognition, then they crack me up. My legs are scratched to shit from them. I'm annoyed when the girl wakes me up licking my nose...but they are adorable and they really do delight me. More importantly, they delight my children who carry them around like babies when they aren't tossing them like footballs. It's all good.

I am thankful for laughter. There is not much in the world that I love as much as I love laughing. And not just those big, genuine belly laughs where you think you seriously might stop breathing. Those are amazing. But I also love the fliratious giggles. The sarcastic guffaws. The timid chuckles. All of it - yes, please. I'll be laughing all the way to hell.

So, thank YOU. Is my life perfection? Probably as close as I could ask for, and definitely as close as I'd ever dream to ask for. This is truly a charmed existence.

How?

"Apathy is one of the characteristic responses of any living organism when it is subjected to stimuli too intense or too complicated to cope with. The cure for apathy is comprehension."
- John Dos Passos

It's a little known fact that my mother holds several advanced degrees in psychology. She recently sent me a quiz, complete with answer key, and told me to really spend some time on it. I'd credit the source if I knew it, but I do not.

What I do know is that I have spent several hours now pseudo-psychoanalyzing myself. Fun stuff. Not. The trite results are not entirely unpredictable.

You have significant difficulties with intimacy. These conflicts reflect underlying feelings of inadequacy and a fear of exposure. Men will feel uncomfortable being open with you, for they detect your anxiety whenever the communication of real feelings occurs. It may be helpful for you to explore just how much you accept yourself and whether you can really tolerate a man knowing who you are.

Thanks, Ma. Luckily for me, she sent 5 or 6 emails with various ways to analyze myself. Yippee. The above paragraph is not news. What is shocking, however, is that it doesn't really indicate HOW I'm supposed to go about changing that little factoid.

In so many ways, I'm completely transparent. I'll tell almost anyone anything - as long as it's genuinely insignificant to my mind. The big stuff, man, I play that so close to the vest. Shiraz knows all my secrets, but only because she's patient enough to pull them out and ask the right questions.

I'd let my guard down if I cared enough to do so. That's a lie, I'd let my guard down if only I knew HOW.

Blank

"People are afraid of themselves nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to oneself." - Oscar Wilde

My writing has not been up to par lately, and I realize that. I've barely had enough time to formulate a thought, much less put it down on paper. But I do appreciate the few courageous enough to point out that fact (sincerely).

When I haven't been dealing with the dramatic offerings of a cute little puppy, I've been on a tremendous journey of self-exploration. There is so much that I've been ruminating over for the last few weeks that I just haven't wanted to stop the brain train and interrupt it with analysis.

Perhaps I can explain a bit more. I read a phenomenal book that caused me to really look deeply at human relationships. That lead to another book, then another and yes, a fourth. One of the books spoke a great deal about visualization and offered exercises to try. I've learned some very interesting things.

I can't visualize. Literally. I cannot make my mind see pictures. For me, it's all words. I spoke to Shiraz about this at length. As a visual artist, she merely closes her eyes and pictures dance in her vision. I close my eyes and it's blackness. Now, I can create really rich words that convey what would be images to others, but for me, they are all stories. It's interesting. I'm not terribly bothered by it, but I do find it interesting and wonder if there are others for whom visualizing is merely an internal text message.

I have finally and genuinely released all of the guilt I have felt about ending my marriage. I *knew* this to be true last week. Last night, I was telling my ex-husband about the house I am purchasing, knowing that confrontation was knocking on the door due to the fact that it's quite a distance from our current locale and that this would force his hand a bit. Without my usual finessing, without my usual cautiousness, I explained to him that I had given the matter a good deal of thought, that I was making the right decision for the children, and more importantly, that I had made the decision and his only option was to follow suit. Not an ounce of guilt was present as I spoke, not an ounce of anxiety.

He did, naturally, attempt his normal tricks to manipulate and cause the guilt that he knows I wear so comfortably and I merely shrugged my shoulders and stood my ground. It didn't feel triumphant, it didn't feel as if I had one-upped him, it just felt like the matter-of-fact that it is - and that was beyond wonderful.

This house thing has been interesting.  The way this house found me when it found me proves that it will all work out just exactly like it's meant to. Well, I am a little afraid of it, but this was not just dumb luck - it was star-crossed and it's happening exactly like it's supposed to.

My only task is not to overthink it and interfere with the master plan. (And there's a metaphor for most of the things that happen in life, eh?) It's right between my parents house and my best friend's house, it's a great house that I'm getting a great deal on with great schools in walking distance, plenty of places to run, a pool in the neighborhood and my children will just flip out when they see it (I haven't mentioned a word to them, they will not see it until Christmas morning - since they'll be lucky to eat until then, much less receive a toy or two!).

The whole little non-experience with Dallas proved to be quite good for me. I'm so bored with these games that people play (and make no mistake, I've been playing them too) that I've decided to just not make an effort with anyone unless and until they prove themselves worthy of effort.

Last night, I sat in a crappy neighborhood bar with my father and got rip-roaring drunk and we talked about it all. I told him everything and we laughed long and hard. There's something pretty freaking fun about sitting in a seedy, shady, smoky little bar with your dad while you confess your stupidity to him. Fortunately, my father has walked down some pretty dimly lit roads himself - the only difference between he and I is that he's married them all.

Being my father's daughter, he offered some unique and correct perspective. Turns out that I've been choosing men that are unavailable quite intentionally - because I'm so unavailable. And perhaps that's why I've internally idealized my pilot - because he is physically unavailable. It's easy to be invested in someone that I never see - it's the ultimate no-stakes poker. He's there and I'm here. It's doomed no matter what - so...no real risk of emotional involvement. Easy.

Bottom line? I'm busy right now. I've got the house, I've got my daughter's birthday and work. There's the holiday parties and the fantastic dresses and requisite new shoes. There's New Year's and its symbolic end to a year that I won't mind saying good-bye to.

Then, there's my birthday and it's symbolic beginning of a year that I'm tremendously excited to welcome. 

Ages

"Honestly is the first chapter in the book of wisdom." -Thomas Jefferson

I have missed writing so much this week. It has been a fairly insane week for me. Tuesday night I had something that I needed to attend to, so I had a babysitter come to watch the children. As my time with my children is fairly limited, I had never chosen to have a sitter come over but I had obligations that were necessary to attend to and their father had plans that he could not change.

Tuesday night, I'm sitting at my function, bored out of my skull and desperate to leave. All of a sudden, I get a text message from Dallas. "Hey, I'm in town. I decided to come a night early and surprise you." I inform him that the surprise is not entirely welcome, but that I have a sitter so I have a short amount of time that I can spend with him. I knew that he was coming in Wednesday for business, and we had dinner plans with some of his clients.

So, we are having a glass of wine on Tuesday. We talk about the following night and he gives me the low-down. One of the men that will be at the dinner is an integral prospect for him. The man is the President of an investment bank and he *has* to have him onboard for the project. The other people that will be attending are all related to the project - there are a couple of programmers and a couple of creative types...all in all, it sounds like fun. We wrap up this conversation with Dallas saying to me, "You have to help me get this guy to commit. Will you help me?" I tell him that I'll do what I can - little does he know I spent years in that role, so I'm looking forward to playing that little game again.

With that topic covered, Dallas says, "Listen. I have a beautiful suite at the Omni for us tonight and tomorrow night. Come over and spend the night with me." I tell him that I can't - remind him that my children are home with a sitter - and he gets a little pouty. He is adorable, but his pouting is not. I remind him that I have obligations in my life that are not negotiable.

He says that he needs to tell me something, that he lied to me.

"Oh, you're married." I say.

"No, of course not. I lied to you about my age."

"Just say it."

"I'm not really 32. I'm 37."

"Perfect!" I say, genuinely relieved.

"Minus ten." He says.

"What? You're 27?" I say.

"Yes. But I've always been attracted to older women."

Groan. At this point I'm thinking that if the word "cougar" escapes his lips I'm going to have to kick him. Hard.

I tell him that I'm very uncomfortable with the age difference. Very. We are in completely different places in life. Now, he's got his act together, he's very smart (and did I mention how cute he is?) but seriously...I can't be with someone that much younger than me. He returns to the subject of the suite, he just wants to watch a movie, spend some time together and then I'll see that it's not as bad as my perception of it is.

It's late, I need to get back to my sitter and I need some time alone to process this new information. I tell him that I'll still go to his dinner the following night, but that life I'm disappointed by the lie. He sort of sulks off and I'm sort of amused, sort of appalled by this new information.

The following evening, I meet his group at a great little restaurant/wine bar for dinner. I love the evening. The conversation is easy, robust and rowdy. Dallas has taken the head of the table, his important prospect, Walker, is on my right. I find him very easy to talk to and we have a great deal in common. We are the same age, he's a father of young children (I can't help noticing that there isn't a wedding ring), we both share a genuine love of wine and we chat all night. Early in the evening, we exchange email addresses and make plans to go for a run together at some point in the future (it's not often that I meet a man that runs my pace, and with the night coming so early, it would be much safer to have a man to run the trail with).

I'm looking at him closely, and despite his baby-face, he's a commanding presence. It's funny to watch the others at the table stop speaking when he speaks. He's sitting in the middle of the table, but the waiter instinctively chooses him as the group leader. 

 The guests begin to trickle out. Eventually, it's just me, Dallas and Walker. Walker excuses himself to the restroom and Dallas informs him that we'll wait outside. Once outside, Dallas says to me, "Where did you park. Let's go back to the Omni." I tell him that I am not going back to the hotel with him. He doesn't like this answer and says, "I'll tell you what. It's time. We've seen each other 5 or 6 times now. I've made every effort to come down here and spend time with you. If you don't come back to the hotel with me, we're done. It's over."

What? No really, are you giving me an ultimatum? Ah, now I see your youth. Give me an ultimatum and you'll see me dig my heels in the sand. That's pretty much the BEST way to make sure you're not going to get your way. He did it, I'm not budging. You know, it's sort of funny too - I haven't been intimate with anyone in so long that I'm absolutely desperate for touch. Had he finessed the situation just a hair more, he might have gotten his way.

I wouldn't say we had a "fight" right there on the street because I wasn't speaking, but he's definitely talking louder than necessary, trying to incite me. Dallas leans down and kisses me on the lips, then turns abruptly and begins to walk down the street towards the hotel. I begin to giggle. When he turns to me and says, "I'm serious. This is your last chance!" my giggle turns into full-fledged laughter. Yep, he's 27 alright.

I felt myself completely detach from the situation. I'm watching the entire scene unfold as if it were a B-movie and it's seriously one of the funniest things I've seen in a long while.

I begin walking in the direction of my car when I hear someone call my name. I turn around to find Walker chasing down the street after me. "Where did you park?" He asks. I tell him and he informs me that he's walking me to my car (now you see where his nickname came from). I assure him that I'll be fine on my own and continue walking. I'm a little tipsy, a little angered and a lot amused by the evening.

"I'm not letting you walk by yourself. Especially into that parking garage. So, you might as well just slow down and talk to me."

He walks me to my car, tells me that he enjoyed my company and tells me to email him when I want to go for a run. I thank him for the evening and the walk and drive home, happy to not be dodging Dallas' immature advances in a hotel room, looking forward to crawling in my bed and sleeping.

The next morning, I get an email from Walker.

I haven't replied. Part of me is so bored with this whole dating thing, but part of me is very curious about this man. I have tons of obligations this coming week with trying to buy a house, Thanksgiving and work, but maybe the following week. We shall see.

Crash

*Obligatory graphic content warning*

"Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield upon which your reason and judgement wage war against your passion." -Khalil Gibran

The instant you begin to slide the car off the side of the highway I'm aware of your intent. I feel myself smile at you a bit sheepishly, against my will. As you gaze steadily into my eyes, revealing nothing, I feel my eyes close as my teeth begin to nervously nibble my lower lip.

The road stretches out in front of us, long and straight, peppered with towering trees. A cool summer breeze rustles the leaves that dangle overhead your now parked car. I glance again in your direction and you nod as you release your seatbelt.

I am paralyzed in the moment, curious as to whether you will proceed and allow your passion to uncharacteristically overwhelm your logic. I'm conflicted - this is a side of you I haven't seen and my own logic threatens to impede your plan. Instinctively, however, I'm delighted by your spontaneity, aroused by your neediness.

I glance behind us at the road as dark and as straight as the path that lay ahead of us. You remove the key from the ignition, the radio quiets, the engine hum desists. The silence is magnificient. I can hear the leaves rustle above me like familiar windchimes, a small animal darts through the foliage. I smell the dampness of the grass, wondering if you can sense my own dampness as acutely.

The sound of your door closing as you exit is deafening in the silence, immediately shaking me out of my nature-trance. I watch your body as you slowly walk in front of the car, your hand touching the hood for balance as you glance towards me. I realize at that moment that I know every centimeter of your body better than I know my own.

The mole on the side of your right ear reminds me of the sun because of it's satellite freckles. The front tooth that lays ever so slightly over its neighbor entrances me every time I see you smile. The way your biceps dip so noticeably in at your elbow, the thick and jagged scar from a childhood sports injury and the deep indentation just above your buttocks are all parts of you that I've appropriated for my own use - to define our familiarity, to make your body a possession.

As you approach the passenger side, I stare deeply into your eyes and wait for the twinkle to appear. As your hand reaches for the handle I glimpse it, but only for a second. You swing the door open and reach towards me, palms outstretched, waiting for my touch.

I place my hands in yours and feel their strength as they wrap around mine, effortlessly lifting me out of the car. I lift my face towards yours and feel your lips brush mine softly, teasing me - exactly the way I knew you'd kiss me, exactly the way you know I love to be kissed.

My car door closes, seemingly of its own volition, as your arms snake around my waist, mine around your neck. I stroke you there, allowing my fingernails to gently scratch the tender skin. You lower your face to mine again and kiss me deeply. I stare into your face as you do. With your eyes closed, I feel you fade into me. I press my body hard against yours to bring you back to the moment, to keep you from drifting into that deep, amber-colored place we both long for.
Without warning, you spin me around and press my body against the hood of the car. I feel the weight of your chest against my back as you stretch my arms against the cool metal, holding my hands in place. You bury your face into my neck and sigh deeply, inhaling my scent, the moment perplexingly finite and infinite.

"Your hair is so soft." I say. Instantly regretting that those words were the ones that broke the perfect silence, feeling like a silly teenager.

"I'm not." You whisper into my ear, removing my hand from the car, leaning more firmly against my back and placing my hand over you. I squeeze gently, then turn my head to kiss you.
Your tongue fills my mouth and I accept it gratefully, happy to listen once again to the silence, happy to be silenced by you. I suck your tongue deeply into my mouth, forcing you to recall the previous evening.

I feel your hand begin to ascend my thigh, it's largeness covering most of my leg, pressed firmly against my skin. As you lift my dress, the sudden exposure to the cool night air startles me - a strong contrast to the heat emanating from within.

I lean my head back against your chest and feel you wrap your arms around me. As your hand begins to snake down my stomach I shiver and lean harder against you, partially for balance and partially for the comfort that your body provides. Your breath is hot in my ear as you whisper the words that I love to hear, the little phrase that brings me to my knees each time the words escape your lips.

I close my eyes and feel the moment in its entirety - the cool air, the sound of the bushes blowing gently, the chirp of crickets, the dew from the grass creeping up our legs, the solidity of your form, the scent of your skin. It's marvelous and beautiful. As your fingers slide easily into me, every sensation is combined and condensed and I feel nothing except your touch, hear nothing except your breathing.

I don't hear you release yourself from the confines of your clothing, nor do I feel you release me from mine. Almost as if by some magical force, I feel you slide effortlessly into my pool. I lean back and rock slowly onto you as you fill me - the long-lost key to a hidden treasure.
It isn't long before you feel the ravenous force of my passion for you - a torrential outpouring from deep within my soul boils over as my body falls against you.

As my storm begins to subside, you gently lift me onto the hood of the car. Your body presses firmly against mine, firmly inside mine. I wrap my legs tightly around your body, pulling you in as closely as possible, wishing to consume you.

I feel your energy fill my body, first as you kiss me ravenously then again moments later as your warmth, your soul is transferred to mine. Your weight falls heavily against me as your arms wrap snugly around me.

A feather falls from the sky as a bird twitches in a tree above us. A tear stings my eye before suddenly tracing its way down my face. Your hand wraps around my cheek, your thumb drying the escaping drop. The bird sings sharply - it's swan song perfectly devestating, a harbinger of our own.

Manifest

"Destiny is not a matter of chance, but a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved." - William Jennings Bryan

I did not dream last night. That may be untrue, I most likely did dream, but if I did, I have no recollection of those dreams.

That simple fact led me to consider whether there is reality in something that doesn't exist in your mind. Since I have no recollection of it, for all intents and purposes, it never happened.

If that's true, then surely the converse is true as well: If it's in my mind, then it is reality.

I've long known that the power of the mind is the most powerful organ in the body. I've literally seen cases where people have cured themselves of incurable disease, simply by believing that they were going to be well. I've seen the flip side of that as well - I once had a healthy patient come in for a very routine procedure. From a surgical perspective, he was fine but we were unable to extubate him post-operatively, the direct result of his anxiety. His mind almost killed him.

We also have all heard ad nauseum how we only use 5% of our brains. Remarkable, really. What's the rest of it doing there? Acting as a huge storage system for the large volumes of largely useless information we are all innundated with on a routine basis?

Then I started thinking about how much of a hand "fate" has in everything. You start with the premise that nothing matters because it's all pre-ordained or somehow fated and it is an absolution. You free yourself from taking responsibility for your life. That line of thinking certainly appeals to me on one level, but on another more fundamental level, it's anathema. I've never been warm to the notion that I can just sit on my hands and wait for the world to happen to me. In fact, many of the blog postings here deal with me trying to accept that reality. Not surprisingly, no matter how I think of it, or frame it, it doesn't become more compelling.

This started a strange, philosophical riddle in my mind that lasted for excruciating hours and left me exhausted. However, the working solution I discovered really works - for me. What I'm about to share with you is not new or unique, it's been the fundamental principal of most great spiritual traditions.

Negativity breeds more negativity. Bad things happen to good people who expect bad things to happen. Then it begins a downward spiral and the negative energy begins to spiral out of control drawing more negativity and badness. But forget that crap, I'm finally, genuinely emerging from my cocoon, I'm shedding any negativity that has lingered and persisted.

Positive thinking brings positive results. Expecting the good paves the way for boundless good to enter. With your mind, this powerful tool, you can draw the things in your life to you. People do this everyday in different ways - for some people, it's prayer to a specific deity, others call it meditation, creative visualization or a host of other New-Age-y things I'm not familiar enough with to expound upon.

I tested the theory today, and I have to say that I was absolutely shocked - I did this two ways. As I left to go to the grocery store, I said to myself, "I'm going to get the front row parking spot as soon as I pull in." and I did. Sure, that could be coincidence. As I was leaving the grocery store I said, "I'm going to see a white Mini Cooper on my way home." I was only a block from my house and beginning to think it wasn't going to happen, when, in the last possible spot, a white Cooper comes flying off a side street and almost careens straight into me. I was beyond shocked and just smiled.

You can, in fact, manifest your own reality simply by thinking it into existence.

Chrysalis

"Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; Something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind." - Anne Sexton

I rarely remember my dreams. But on occasion, something will happen that will trigger a series of days in which I remember my dreams vividly. It's always when I'm standing on the edge of a chasm of some sort another. I love it.

Saturday night, I had a dream about getting a tattoo and meeting a man named James Durden. It was strange because in the dream I even asked him to spell the name because it was unusual. I googled the name this morning just for shits and giggles and the first thing that came up was a Fed-Ex pilot in Denver. The second thing that came up was an artist that died in 1964. He painted these pastoral, fluffy portraits of women that I dislike tremendously. At any rate, I don't know who this character is, but I'll figure it out. Or I'll forget about it. Either way, I'm good.

The whole purpose of even writing about this, however, is to tell you about last night's dream and the clarity with which I awoke this morning.

I dreamed that I was a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. I had these huge, gossamer wings tinged with teal blue. I looked behind me and saw a gray, cottony pile beneath me. I looked up and saw my frail little antennae above me and smiled, knowing that I could rely on them. I was on a tree branch, staring at the world below me, with that chasm underneath. I fluttered my wings once and felt the wind begin to lift me. I fluttered them harder and faster and suddenly, I was airborne. I glanced back towards the safety of the tree branch then flapped harder as I flew ahead, over the chasm.

I don't know what happened to me last night as I slept, but this morning, even through the gray mist that threatens thunderstorms, I know that I've left the cocoon behind.

Punishment

"We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also." - Oscar Wilde

I'll never forget driving home from San Antonio with my husband one night. We hadn't been married long, six months or so. I was a child, I had just turned 25. I had been given the task of presenting a speech to a large group of conventioneers for my job at the time. Being an ineffective and nervous public speaker, I had asked my husband to come along for moral support.

After presenting my speech, I mingled with the crowd. I was networking and working. I spent a little more time than my husband was comfortable with chatting with one man in particular. This man was an integral prospect for my business, I needed him on my team. I wasn't overly flirtatious or solicitous, but make no mistake, I was flirting. It was business and I've always believed in using whatever tools you have at your disposal to facilitate getting what you need. I could feel my husband's disapproving stares.

Just as I've got this man against the ropes with his pen poised to sign my contract, my husband tells me that we are leaving. His hand is on my elbow, gripping tightly. I smile at him and tell him that I need a few more moments. He sulks off, but the moment is ruined. The prospect feels the chill and shuffles off uncomfortably. I plaster the smile on my face, say my good-byes and strut off to the car.

Once inside the car, I turn to him and tell him how inappropriate his behavior was and try to explain just how important that man was to my business. I was stunned that he was even remotely concerned about the flirting given that the man was a rotund, balding chap easily 30 years my senior.

I'm livid, my voice shaking and cracking as I spoke which is what always happens when I'm that angry. Tears follow shortly thereafter, something I've always hated about myself. It's hard to convey anger when you're voice is quivering and you are crying, but it's my way. Fortunately, I'm rarely that angry. I lambasted him in my weak way for 30 minutes, my voice getting louder and louder with tears literally shooting straight out of my eyes, landing in my lap.

He pulls the car over on the interstate, gets out, come to the passenger side, opens the door and drags me out of the car. It's an unusually cold night and he holds me against the car and grabs the sides of my face. I can still feel his fingers in my cheeks, I can still hear his voice through clenched teeth as he shouted, "You have no idea how to let anyone love you. By falling in love with you, I've already accepted the fact that one day, you're just going to up and leave because deep down inside, you just don't believe that love can be eternal."

I stood there shivering against the cold, against my coldness, unable to speak. He pushed me back in the car and drove home. We didn't speak again the rest of the night. I wanted to tell him that he was mistaken, but I could not utter a word in my own defense, largely because I believed him. I spent the next decade believing those words while simultaneously fighting to deny his prophecy.

I always knew that I never loved him the way he loved me. And should I have attempted to forget that fact for a moment, he was happy to remind me. But the way he loved me was almost parental - possessive and controlling. He was always available to me, but I had to weigh every word I uttered with caution. He was free to say what he wanted to, to be who he wanted to, while I had to watch my own actions as if in a mirror.

His words of that night have haunted me for many years. I'm so afraid sometimes that he was right then and that he's right now.

I'm sure Freud would blame my father. Ultimately, it's just me. Deep down, I fear that I'm not ready to welcome someone into my life, even though I so sincerely want to. I tell myself that when it's the right one, the worthy one, I'll love him with the plentitude that I am capable of. Ironically, the men that are emotionally available to me are dismissed with about as much fanfare as Sarah Palin, while those that remain emotionally unavailable are welcomed, embraced and fought for.

Take Dallas for example. He flew in Tuesday evening and we went out for dinner. We had a lovely evening and he was quite different one-on-one. I do think I underestimated him. He's smart, quick-witted, fun to be around and incredibly open. He's very attractive, I watched the waitress the other night fawn all over him within 2 minutes of our arrival. I've woken up every morning since to an amazing email telling me all sorts of wonderful things about me. He's actually given me a paper ticket (didn't even know you could get those anymore) to come visit him "whenever I'm ready" and he's called regularly to ask when he can come back to visit.

Meanwhile, I have less than zero interest in him.

I have many theories as to the "why".  Ultimately, the truth lies in my own twisted sense of goodness. I've caused pain and the guilt is hard to manage. I need the aloofness as a shield.

Beat me to the heartbreak and I can't break yours.

Bravery

"People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s self. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race." -Oscar Wilde

It takes courage, tremendous amounts of raw courage, to make yourself - your heart, your soul - available to another.

I've never been brave.

My heart is aching, I'm in pain. I haven't felt this sincerely terrible in a very long time. The pounding headache and nausea aren't helping matters. Of course, those two maladies are entirely self-inflicted.

I went out last night and got obscenely drunk. I knew it was coming. I had a work function to attend and had a couple of drinks there. While I'm there, I get a message that I really shouldn't have read while I was out. I left to go meet Po at another bar. On the way, I ran into some friends at another bar and had a drink with them. I find Po and Roo and begin drinking in earnest. I tell Po why it's coming.

We're looking for suitable distractions at a point in my drinking where the only smart option would have been bed. Leave it to me to find the only man in the bar that does not live in Austin, right? This time, I find a Russian podiatrist from Atlanta. Smoking hot. I don't really remember the night. I certainly don't remember his name. Luckily Po drove me home and tucked me in before my foggy memories were of something more than a drunken bar make-out session. Yes, I would have. I was hurting that badly. Dr. Foot was about 10 minutes away from becoming the unknowing recipient of a world-class grudge fuck.

There are aspects of myself that I dislike tremendously. I hate that I will chatter on and on about things, laughing and joking, while I'm crumbling inside. I hate that the only things I will share openly with people are the minutiae or the things that mean nothing to me. I hate that I will fight for things long after the fat lady has sung.

I finally have to admit what I've suspected all along - my relationship with the pilot was nothing more than a fantastic fallacy. I created it, but I didn't do it in isolation. I had some help along the way. Our relationship ended exactly the way it began - with him in control.

The worst part of it is that he's not even going to give me a chance to speak - to say what I need to say. Sure, I could send him an email and say the things I would like to say but he's made his choice and I don't really know why. Ultimately, it doesn't matter - because for whatever reason he isn't willing to even give it a chance. It's not even a big chance or a big risk. I'm not asking for much - not a trial marriage, not a promise of forever - just a weekend, to see.

So for whatever reason, it's just not compelling enough for him. I'm sad, angry and frustrated. For all my faults, weaknesses and fears, I was curious enough and willing enough to at least see. It isn't heroic, but it does require a modicum of courage.

Critical

"Modern science has been a voyage into the unknown, with a lesson in humility waiting at every stop." - Carl Sagan

It's 5:30 AM. I just got home from work. I worked most of the evening. I love being on call, because those surgeries are often the most necessary. No one wants to remove the tonsils of a 17-year old at 8PM on a Sunday night. But when the infection is threatening the child so much that he can't speak and his airway is compromised, well...you just don't have much choice. I get home, waste some time, then go to bed. At 3AM, I get a phone call: Aortic Dissection. Hurry.

I've only done one previous Aortic Dissection in my career. Why? They happen often enough, but patients rarely survive to make it to the hospital (estimates indicate 10,000 per year in the US and roughly 17% make it to the hospital). Once in the hospital, a rapid and accurate diagnosis is essential. This is not always as easy as it sounds - generally these patients have a significant medical history and comorbidities that must be sorted through, while their symptoms are presenting as something else. They rarely make it to the operating room table. IF they make it to the operating room table they are the lucky ones, Sort of. That survival rate is, at best, about 30%. Assuming we get them off the table, we have to hope that blood flow to their brain was not compromised, that their lungs will tolerate the assault, that the graft will work, that they don't develop cardiac tamponade or some other hemodynamic crisis and ultimately, that they don't acquire some awful infection while hospitalized.

The one that I did previously was one of the most amazing moments in my career - it was truly a Hollywood-styled surgical moment. Sadly, despite the best efforts of my colleagues (who impressed me that day beyond recognition), the patient did not survive. He made it off the table, but his brain had been depleted of blood for far too long - the family chose to terminate life-support three days after surgery.

I arrived in the ER to see the patient tonight. The surgeon and the anesthesiologist were in the room examining him. While I waited for them to decide the course of events, I started an IV on the patient. It's very hard to stand around doing nothing, and I figured he'd need better access than what he had regardless of whether we took him to the OR or not. Ultimately, the doctors decided that he was not a surgical candidate and I came home. I'm pretty good at separating my emotions from the situation, but I will tell you that it's difficult when a patient looks you straight in the eyes and says, "I'm ready to get this fixed." and all you can do is smile pathetically while you pat their hand, the same hand you just jammed an 18 gauge angiocatheter into.

There's the backdrop...

I mentioned that I had an interesting chat with a man on Halloween about my career. It started as most things do at a party, "So...what do you do?" and I answered the way I always do, "I'm a nurse." With most people at that point, they ask routine questions, Where? Do you like it? Do you know so-and-so? But this man had a very big surgery in the recent past, and he was very curious, asking all sorts of interesting questions about what happens in an OR after the patient is asleep. I answered his questions as best I could and he said, "Wow. That's so cool. Thank you for doing what you do."

I was touched. The thing is, 99% of my job is so routine I could do it with my eyes closed. And to be perfectly honest, I *have* done surgeries with my eyes closed. I joke about "Saving the world, one gallbladder at a time." But when it's not routine, when it is critical, it's rewarding beyond recognition. It's awe-inspiring and tremendously humbling.

We get these strange and rare glimpses into the most personal aspect of life - death. It's fascinating to see how people react to adversity. As a general rule, people are remarkable. Given a bad prognosis, I find that most people are courageous and brave, accepting and so utterly trusting that you take your duty to them very seriously.

I recently met a new anesthesiologist. This guy is young. Young. I met him several days before I had the opportunity to work with him and thought he was a little standoffish, a little too cool. Then, I spent a day with him in the OR. I was wowed by his demeanor with the patients - he was kind and calm, authoritative but approachable. After our first case together, I told him how much I liked his countenance. He appreciated the compliment, OR people are not known for being the best with their patients - hell, that's why we're there - we love the science of healing, but the art is a bit foreign to most of us.

Our second case was a big one. It was "just" a gallbladder, but the worst one I've ever seen. The patient was septic and bordering on death - another couple hours and we probably wouldn't have been able to get him back, he would have fallen into multi-system organ failure - he was well on his way. Intraoperatively, his condition improves as the evil gallbladder is extricated in 5 pieces from his body. His heart rate falls from 140 to a nice, normal 85, his temperature begins to drop and he begins making urine meaning that his kidneys are functioning. After the case, we transport him to the ICU intubated and ventilated. Once there, the anesthesiologist pulls his breathing tube and miraculously - the guy is breathing well - far better than he was preoperatively.

This new doctor and I are in the elevator on the way back to the OR - our day isn't even close to over - and he puts his arm around me, rests his head against mine and sighs.

"How do you feel?" He asks me.

"Oh, I'm good." I answer.

"No, I mean really - how do you feel?"

I look at him, sort of puzzled. I don't know this man at all and I'm trying to determine what he's angling at.

"You just saved another life. I hope you feel good about yourself." He says, smiling at me. I smiled back at him, broadly. It rarely feels like a save, it usually just feels like another day, another surgery.

So it was wonderful to hear and I'm so thankful that all of this is happening right now, at a time when I really thought my career might change. Regardless of what my professional future holds, I'm so thankful that I have the job I do. Most days, it matters.

Islands

"The person you consider ignorant and insignificant is the one who came from God, that he might learn bliss from grief and knowledge from gloom." - Khalil Gibran

Halloween is all about pretense, and in many ways, it's a welcome release for all of us: pretend you are someone completely different than who you are. I have always hated Halloween, largely for that reason. But this year, I had a great costume idea, Po executed part of it fabulously, the rest came together for $10 at Goodwill 15 minutes before I had to get ready to leave for the events of the evening.

The party that I attended was just exactly what I needed - a fun, smart and interesting group of people. We all drank far too much, then headed down to 6th Street to see the mayhem. As long as I've lived in Austin, I've never done the Halloween on 6th thing and I'm glad I did - although I can say with certainty that I won't do it again. I get nervous and edgy in crowds like that, especially these days.

At the party, I had a very interesting conversation with a man about my career. That chat will be a separate post, maybe tomorrow. It changed a lot of my perspective about what I really do. No, that's not right. It didn't change anything; it put a finer point on it.

My costume was the character Lee from the movie Secretary with James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhall. I wore a fluffy white blouse, a long pencil skirt and Po made me the little bondage contraption that rounded out the movie. I've always loved the movie, and when people would say, "But it's so twisted!", I'd say, "Yes, but it's a love story." I found it to be funny, incredibly sexual and ultimately, the story of two people finding what they need in another.

I was excited to be in the costume, excited to see the reaction of others, certain that while I'd be vulnerable with my hands bound and a collar around my neck that I would be safe with my friends and that Roo, my James Spader for the night, would protect me. But in reality, being bound, being that vulnerable even around people that I have a great deal of trust in, was very unnatural for me. In fact, the costume lasted long enough for a photo session for posterity, then came off. I did not enjoy being that physically vulnerable at all. Submission is not my way.

I didn't get home until the very wee hours of the morning and after soccer and retrieving my vehicle, I came back home and fell asleep - all day long. I had strange dreams. I was interrupted often by my phone. I was a bit introspective from the curious reaction I had to my costume.

We all have an image of ourselves that we identify with, and as previously posted, I think we all like to think we're a little bit better than we are. In some ways. In other ways, I think we all tend to sell ourselves a little bit short. It's the self-deprecating humor. It's the way we internally berate ourselves when we do something bone-headed. It's the way we kick our toes in the sand when someone genuinely compliments us and shrug our shoulders as if to say, "Awww....shucks."

It's just another one of those contradictions in life: We can tell someone all of our good qualities, and ignore the bad as we "sell" ourselves and yet when someone genuinely recognizes a good quality in us that we have either accepted as a given or have yet to accept at all, we tend to downplay it.

The way we identify ourselves is dependent on our own sense of worth, vigor and esteem, but it's also larger than that. Our opinion of self is forged largely by the influence of others and the way they respond to us.

It begins with our parents, spreads to other relatives, shifts at some point to our grade school friends and ultimately to our colleagues and employers, lovers and partners, friends and foe. Moreover, it's rooted in our societal and personal cultures and the opportunities that the world either provides us or denies us. The way we see ourselves is not something that we create in isolation.

I recently wrote to my pilot that I've always felt like an island, waiting for some great tidal wave to wash over me and nourish my soul. It's true - I've always felt like such a solitary creature. I certainly have my moments of needing and desiring solitude, but I'm not a lone wolf at all, I'm a pack animal.

Nothing happens in isolation. You can think it does, and you can think that you control your life and your destiny, but you do not. At best, you can only control half of it. Each and every person that you come into contact with has an impact on you in some way. You can control your actions, and your mind as much as you'd like - but it won't change much at all because each and every influential person that you meet is forging their own path.

The lives and actions and feelings of others do impact us to a remarkable extent, and you can't control them. No, I cannot be submissive - it's a terrifying place for me, I learned last night. But, I am going to have to make myself more vulnerable to others so that I can accept their influence on my life. We are all on a fabulous journey and many of the travelers I'll encounter are wonderful people that can enhance my life in ways I can't even imagine or possibly know - yet. I'll embrace their presence in my life because I need them - for reasons both mundane and personal. I'm not an island.

Infested

"I had always worked with the temperamental conviction that at bottom there are no insoluble problems, and experience justified me in so far as I have often seen patients simply outgrow a problem that had destroyed others. This 'outgrowing,' as I formerly called it, proved on further investigation to be a new level of consciousness. Some higher or wider interest appeared on the patient's horizon." - Carl Jung

My friend Shiraz and I go for a quick coffee after work today. I love being downtown, people watching, chatting with my brilliant BFF. On the way home, I get a call - my daughter, Duckie, has a lice infestation. Don't you know that last night is the night my darling girl decides to crawl into my bed? Blech.

So, I've been washing hair, combing out nits, washing again, bleaching sheets, itching all over. It's so disgusting.

But it dawned on me that every time life starts to get a little nutty, something happens that pulls me back - and makes me clean my house. It's as if the solution for me is always: clean your outside world and it will clean your inside world. I probably sound pretty OCD right now. I can be a bit at times, but really it's an almost symbolic purge, a ritual.

Random updates:

* I deferred admission to the program for six months. I'm not sure anything will be different in 6 months, but at least it's a reprieve. Buy some time to work out a game plan. Clear the cobwebs. Look for alternate solutions. Part of me hates that this leaves that tiny little window of opportunity open - I should probably just close that door and move on - but I'm not ready to admit defeat. Moreover, I've never been very good at letting go - probably to my detriment.

*I have been running again! Yay. Triathlon training will start soon for the 2009 season. That will be a healthy distraction. Even sent an email to my ultra-competitive, ultra-fit girlfriend. I like the way she pushes me.

*Dallas is "coincidentally" going to be in Austin on Tuesday. He flies in in the afternoon and has to leave that night. I agreed to have dinner with him. Maybe he'll be a little different without a posse to impress.

*Excited to go downtown for the freakshow Friday night, after trick-or-treating with the kids, and after the party at Po's.

Back to the bleach.

Covenant

"The man who promises everything is sure to fulfill nothing, and everyone who promises too much is in danger of using evil means in order to carry out his promises, and is already on the road to perdition." - Carl Jung

Saturday night, my best friend Shiraz and I head downtown. It had been a while since we'd been out and about, and with everything that has been going on, I was looking forward to drinking a little too much and flirting with anyone and everyone. It's been a rough run, and frankly, I just needed some attention.

Shortly after we arrive at the first bar, we begin talking to three men. One is from Dallas, the others from New York. They invite us to go to a dance club with them and we do. It's fun talking to them, they are very different than the Austin crowd - we're actually having conversations and laughing and what not. At the end of the night, Dallas asks for my number and I give it to him. It seems like the easiest way to get away and I don't think much of it, I know I won't hear from him again.

He calls Sunday night, but I don't answer. I'm exhausted from the weekend and just not in the mood. Yesterday, he sends me a text message. The beauty of text messaging is that you have a record - you don't have to try to remember what someone said. This can also be a drawback if you lose your phone. ;-) I'm not proud of myself, I come across as a real snot in places.

D: Hey beautiful...you need to tell me your last name.

A: Y'right...so you can google me? You won't find anything interesting.

D: No silly, so I can buy you a plane ticket to come see me this weekend.

A: Y'right.

D: Seriously. Halloween weekend, we'll have a blast.

A: I can't. I have plans, but thanks.

D: When can I fly you up here? I want to see you again.

A: That's sweet, but we don't know a thing about each other. I'll pass.

D: I know I could dance all night with you again. ;)

A: Haha. How old are you?

D: 32

A: Married?

D: No!!! I want to get to know you.

A: You sure about that? Here's my story: I'm almost 36, I'm divorced and I have two young kids.

D: I love kids. How old?

A: My boy is 7 and my girl almost 4.

D: I could take care of you, and them, you know.

A: Huh?

D: I've made a lot of money in my 32 years.

A: I noticed. Your watch is worth more than many homes.

D: I took care of you Saturday night, didn't I?

A: You didn't walk me to my car!

D: OMG. You didn't really just say that to me. I tried. You said, "This is Austin, not Dallas." I even tried to put you in a cab and take you there. You were such a pain in the ass, but I thought the independence was cute.

A: Yeah, that was a mistake.

D: Why?

A: Nothing. I survived, mostly unscathed. So what do you do for a living?

D: I'm a venture capitalist.

A: What the fuck does that mean?

D: It means I developed a web company and sold it to AT&T. Now I don't really work, I just invest in other people's good ideas.

D: You know, there's nothing wrong with wanting to be taken care of.

A: Please don't pretend you know what I need. It's a huge pet peeve of mine.

D: It's easy. You decide to be with someone and then you make it work. They have what you need, you have what they need - you just make the decision and you make it happen.

A: Now I feel much older than you. Life isn't that black and white. People have dilemmas, situations to deal with. (Does anyone else find it amusing that this came out of MY mouth?)

D: I've never met a situation I couldn't buy my way out of.

A: Tell you what - next time you're in town, call me and we'll go have a drink.

D: Tell YOU what. We'll get to know each other a bit over the next few weeks, then you'll come to Dallas.

The following Monday, I tell Shiraz bits of the story. She says, "See, I told you he was really in to you. When you went to the bathroom I tried to dance with him and he wouldn't let me."

So, that's kind of cute. And really, he's very much my type, at least "on paper". He's tall, he's fit, dark hair, amazing blue eyes, dressed nicely, and he rolls like a rockstar. But, he's actually TOO pretty for me. He's a showy sort of fellow. The kind of guy that needs to be a high-roller - he needs to be in the limelight, the center of attention. Now, I have my moments of enjoying that, but for the most part, plant me on a beach where I can swim and snorkle and drink fruity drinks with umbrellas before throwing on a sundress for dinner and I'm a very happy girl.

While physically attractive, his face lacks character. While being successful, his career baffles me. Venture capitalist? That means nothing to me, literally - I have no clue what that means. While he seemed sweet and attentive, he's too airy - I simply can't see him possessing an earthy sexuality - he's not grounded at all. He even looks wispy and willowly despite his size. Hard to explain. He's the kind of guy that would be looking in the mirror while you had sex - at himself.

Po would have loved him - but only because it would have been the first time a ridiculous bar tab didn't land in HIS lap. Po would have hated him for me. Recently, after a long night of drinking with Po he said, "So what IS your type?"

The man that is right for me is solid and earthy. Grounded. Meticulous and methodical blended with a healthy dose of philosopher and dreamer. He likes nice things, but he's not reckless in acquiring them. He plays hard, but not at the expense of reality. He's strong and competent, the proverbial Alpha Male - but remains accessible and tender. He's a little bit of an imp, happy to challenge the status quo when the situation demands it. He's an optimist. He's the man that my father and children would adore. He has managed to find the perfect balance, the harmony between sexual and sensual, healthy and hearty, achievement and leisure. He's the man I can respect, he's the man that has what I need.

Dallas called again yesterday, but I didn't answer. My kids were having a meltdown, I had 8 million things to do and I was apparently very invested in becoming my mother because I sounded just like her.

I thought..."Wait a minute. Maybe he's right. Maybe he can buy me the solutions to all of life's challenges..." But no, that's not reality. He can think it works that way, and he may damnwell be right. But for a second I think, "Maybe he is good enough."

Then I remember that I settled for "good enough" once already and I learned a valuable lesson. This is MY promise: Good enough is not good enough.

Contradiction

"The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of." - Samuel Beckett

I realize that much of what I've written lately seems contradictory. As I read back, I seem to be saying one thing in one spot and quite another in another spot. I don't think one thing is necessarily true while another necessarily untrue. And I don't think it's surprising to feel one way one moment and a bit differently another moment. It's not a contradiction, it's a fluidity of feelings, thoughts and opinions.

I'm thankful for it - it may be uniquely human - to profess one thing with certainty at one moment, then adapt to changing circumstance or information and believe another thing at another moment.

I'm growing. Most of the time, I feel like the first green sprigs of a flower pushing up out of the Earth after a cold, dark winter. Friends that have been with me since the start of that spring tell me constantly how much I've grown.

I had started to forget how cold that long winter was, looking at a future of boundless opportunity.

To explain - I was given a career opportunity that I have longed for since I entered the medical field. Most of you that know me well know that I've long wanted to go to anesthesia school. (To my coworkers that read this, please, please don't ask me about it - and please, please keep this information to yourself. I cannot talk about it because it truly, genuinely breaks my heart and I cannot answer any questions).

On a whim, I applied - to the best program in the country. Without the "required" experience, I knew my chances were limited, but it was a chance and I never listen when people tell me that I can't do something. I wanted to try. I wrote a long letter explaining my interest and I had a letter from an anesthesiologist that helped a great deal. Reading his words about me blew my mind - I couldn't believe the things he said. As I thanked him for making me look so much better on paper than I am in reality, he said, "I meant every single word of it."


I didn't tell a soul except the author of the letter, trusting that he'd harbor my secret. I never mentioned it because I knew I'd never be accepted and I just didn't want to answer the question, "Have you heard back?"

I heard back. I was accepted. I was ecstatic. I knew I'd have a hard time convincing my ex-husband to move, but the move would only be for two years. I was pregnant for two years, it's a minor time frame.

I invited him over to talk. I made him a drink, then brought up an unrelated subject that I knew he'd love to talk about. I made him another drink. He continued to ramble on and on and on about the subject that he most loved discussing - his impending musical stardom. Halfway into his third beverage, I pointed out to him that his musical career could really flourish in another city....say, perhaps...Chicago. Then I tell him why I want to move to Chicago. I offer him anything and everything I can think of, short of a reunion.

He mulls it over for some time then looks me straight in the eye and says, "No." Simply no. I beg. Literally, I beg him for this. I'm sobbing.

"You never thought about how your career change would impact my life in the first place. Then, you're hanging around with all these doctors and I'm not good enough for you anymore. So you just up and leave me. You've got everything in the world you ever wanted now. You've got your job, you've got your friends, you've got your free time and you've got your boyfriends. Now you have to live with your choices. If you want to go pursue your latest and greatest dream, you're going to have to do it without your children. Their family is here." He's smiling the whole time he's talking. He finally gets to play the trump card he's held onto for two years.

His perception of the divorce is so far from the reality of it that it would be amusing if it weren't so pathetic. His perception of my current reality is so far from the truth it would be amusing if it weren't so pathetic. But above all, I know he won't listen if I try to correct the misconceptions. He's got his reality and he needs it to accept the situation. Sadly, he knows one thing about me - that I will not leave my children behind.

I spend two weeks trying to swallow the white-hot, blinding rage I feel towards him. I tell myself that there is a reason this is happening, but I'm unable to discern that reason at the moment.

Then, something really surprising happens. I find myself considering the move. I actually consider leaving my children for two years. I tell myself that it would be OK because I'd come back to them stronger and in a completely different financial situation. I'd be able to give them every opportunity the world would allow. I could visit every weekend. The end would justify the means.

But then I realize that I am mistaken. They would feel abandoned, neglected and unwanted. The thought makes me sick, disgusted with myself, wondering what sort of mother I am to even allow my mind to explore the opportunity. Then something else happens that is so much worse. I find myself wishing that I didn't have them.

Holy shit. Can you imagine what that felt like for me? The guilt was overwhelming. I want to be known well for doing everything that I undertake well. But ultimately, the only thing that matters in the world is my children - and make no mistake, they are MY children. It's my DNA that makes their little hearts beat - you only have to look at them to see it.

The anger I feel turns to something else - a genuine dislike for myself. I distract myself with lofty thoughts of other things, but ultimately, you can't ignore a truth about yourself and that's why I needed a little breather.

So I set about cleaning my physical environment and in doing so, I find the diary that I kept as my marriage was falling apart and I curl up in my bed and read it all. I may share some parts here, I may not. But reading it was such a welcome relief.

It reminded me that the thing he always hated most about me was my unwillingness to just hum along in a humdrum existence. It reminded me that I do have hopes and dreams and aspirations and that is not only acceptable, it's the only option. So, it's OK that for a brief moment I considered leaving my children. It's OK that for an even more fleeting moment I wished I didn't have that responsibility in my life. I didn't leave them and I will not, but I'm not evil for considering it because I never want to be the person that doesn't consider possibility.

We make choices in life and some are tough pills to swallow. Sometimes letting an opportunity pass is painful, but sometimes the reasons are sound - even if they haven't been revealed to you yet.

But I still can't make myself write the declination letter.

Distance

"As long as anyone believes that his ideal and purpose is outside him, that it is above the clouds, in the past or in the future, he will go outside himself and seek fulfillment where it cannot be found. He will look for solutions and answers at every point except where they can be found - in himself." - Erich Fromm

Some of you have been asking why I'm different lately - I look different, you've said. I seem farther away. Please don't be concerned, it's just my way. Sometimes, I live in my head a bit too much for others liking. It used to make my ex-husband insane, and that's when he'd start the probing and interrogating that so threatened my psyche.

I just need to retreat into my head for a bit. I woke feeling quite ill this morning, but it's not viral. I haven't gone on a run in two weeks. My house is a disaster. I haven't been spending time with my friends. No, I don't need to talk about it and yes, everything will be fine.

I have a couple of really big decisions facing me, weighing me down. The easier of the two decisions is completely contingent on the first, so until I find the clarity there, I won't be able to move. Inertia is such a bad place for me.

However, it's a bit of a welcome retreat - I've been flying along at Mach speed for quite some time now and I'm fine with a little rest. Sometimes, life decisions force you to examine who you really are and what you really value - and I'm more than a little shocked at one of the answers. In fact, I'm stunned to discover that there was ever even a question...but there was, and now I must think about who I really am and what the ramifications of that are for some wee people that rely quite heavily on me.

I'm sure that this will be good for my writing...and I plan to examine some aspects of myself here, publicly, as I sort through these weighty choices. Right now, I'm going to crank up some disco tunes and clean my house from top to bottom, box up some of the clutter and listen to myself think.

I'll be back, and I doubt it will be a long trip...I'll send a postcard or two...

Betrayal

"Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life of the intellect - simply a confession of failures." - Oscar Wilde

Before I begin this little missive, I would like to make it very clear that I am not having an affair. I repeat, I am not having an affair. The topic seems to be very...well, topical...lately. It's coming up all over the place in conversation. I've given the matter much thought. As you read, please keep in mind these basic premises:

1. I'm referring to a relationship, not a random night of drunken sex. So, when I use the term "affair" I invite you to imagine that as something that includes more than physicality.
2. I'm speaking of people that are clinically sane and reasonably intelligent.
3. Happily married people do not cheat. Period. One or both parties may think everything is perfect in their relationship, but if that's the case, they are in denial. People in fulfilling relationships do not look outside of that for pleasure, because the stakes are simply too high. (Unless they do not fit neatly into one of the categories assumed in the above item).
4. As it's a given that the original relationship is broken in some capacity or another, it's kind of hard for me, being the logical beast that I am, to get too bent out of shape with empathetic misery for the person being cheated on. Yeah, yeah...I know. My moral compass is a little rusty.
5. Nothing happens in isolation. It's not like some sex-pot man or woman comes flying out of the woodwork and sweeps another off their feet. I'd wager that every person on the planet has had a terribly attractive and compelling person in their lives whose sexual advances they HAVE been able to resist.

Phew, now that that is out of the way, I repeat: I am not having an affair. Phew, now that that's out of the way...

It strikes me as somewhat amusing, somewhat surprising that an affair, a relationship built almost entirely on lies, can quickly become one of the most honest and open relationships a person could possibly have.

Affairs progress rapidly - often, they burn themselves out with their own plentitude, but just as often, they begin as something rather innocent and morph into something larger than life. Why? Because from the very start, you are forced to face nothing but each other, warts and all.

From the first moment, you know the very worst thing possible about the other person - that they are simply not trustworthy. You accept this as a matter of fact, and you don't give it much thought, because you're not trustworthy either. What does this mean? It means that from the very first kiss you share, you've accepted one huge, major character flaw. In reality, we're all merely simple humans, with flaws and failures. We can all be trustworthy, but as a rule, we're only as reliable as our own needs allow us to be. Ponder that one for a few. Please.

So, there you are - flawed you and your flawed object of desire- testing the waters, seeing if something exists between you. Clearly there's a physical attraction, a physical attraction that's bigger than simply finding the other person attractive. There's a physical attraction that is so intense you're willing to gamble for it. No, you're not simply willing to gamble - you're willing to go "all in" just to experience that feeling - once. That's some pretty impressive desire - I want to feel that way about someone.

Passion overwhelms you and you two sneak off somewhere to experience each other - tensions are mounting, pressure is building...and finally, the release is either anticlimatic or Earth-shattering. If it's a let-down, no harm, no foul. You simply march on your merry (marry?) way and try to forget your mistake. You'll be the world's best spouse for a couple of months simply from the guilt - and I can almost guarantee your spouse will be the clueless recipient of a home-cooked dinner and a back massage that night.

If it's Earth-shattering, flawed you and flawed lover have an issue. Of course, you're not thinking clearly, you're simply thinking about the next time you'll be able to feel the tremor. So you plot, and you plan and you connive. You're thinking about the person obsessively, dreaming up ways to pleasure them with even more intensity that the previous encounter. They are too. They loved what you experienced, heightened by the taboo nature. Perhaps one of you makes an effort to contact the other - a sexy little email, a thinly-veiled hint regarding your soon-to-be whereabouts, a forbidden phone call. It escalates to a fever-pitch, largely the result of your own mental creation.

In isolation, you've both made remarkable efforts to satisfy the other's longings - her toe nails are perfect, her bikini line freshly waxed. He's dressed to please and wearing the good cologne. Above all - the anticipation you feel is sending an electric charge through every fiber of your being, and everyone you see can feel that heat radiating from you. It's no surprise that your next encounter is even more mind-boggling than the first. You're a junkie now, and you'll do anything for your fix.

Together, you establish some guidelines and figure out how to keep lighting that pipe. With each encounter, you share each other physically with raw passion and complete abandon. You've got nothing to lose - at least not with each other. You've done it - you crossed the line. You know you're going to have sex again, because you can't imagine not having sex again.

Neither of you has to play coy - there's no point in trying to hide your basal nature - you've both accepted each other as flawed already. That's some pretty heady stuff, there. Think about it - that's really getting down to basics. You're both animals with needs and wants. Not only do you accept it - you embrace it.

Your initial attraction to the person was MORE than just physical. It had to have been because no sane or reasonably intelligent person would really it all for "just sex". Maybe they made you laugh. Maybe they had a mind that impressed you. Maybe they were outgoing just like you, or athletic just like you, or...it doesn't matter - there was something. So as the two of you lay next to each other, satisfied and refreshed, you begin to talk to each other. With no need to sugar-coat things, or to try to put on airs, you begin to really, really talk to each other. Now things get really sticky.

You feel as if you can speak very freely to the other person. They don't judge you or try to use your words against you because you're wrapped in each others arms, genuinely liking this person, genuinely intersted in this person. You feel like they *know* you and understand your wants and needs in a way that the other lover in your life simply cannot. You feel, more than you ever have, safe. You are completely safe to be your real, flawed self in the arms of your real, flawed lover. I know...it's ironic. But it's also true.

Now you're not just sexual partners, you're intimate with one another, but you've got one huge advantage over all the other lovers in the world. It isn't a "real" relationship and as such, you don't have to deal with "real life" issues. It doesn't matter if his sister is an overbearing bitch, or if your father will never accept him. It doesn't matter if she promised to pick up your dry-cleaning and it's her turn to do the dishes but you're elbow-deep in suds with nothing to wear to work the next day. That crap simply isn't a factor.

You've drilled it down to the basics - to what every loving relationship really should be about - the two of you - enjoying and appreciating each other in body, mind and spirit.

You lay there, sticky with each others sweat, nude and entwined in each others arms, talking about everything and nothing. Getting to know each other. Listening to each other. Truly and wholly enjoying each other for who you are, appreciating each other. It's easy because the situation has forced you to filter out all the bullshit of daily life, the reality that bogs you down and distracts you from sharing ALL of yourself with the one you love.

It's just the two of you - raw and real, vulnerable and flawed, perfectly imperfect and enjoying the hell out of each other. It doesn't get more open and honest than that.