"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.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
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.
- 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.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
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.
"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.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 10, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 3, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
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.
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.
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