Gay Bar and Hookah Lounge Shenanigans

It's early Sunday morning and I think I'm still recovering from Friday night.  It sounds much worse than it is. Yes, there was dancing, and my calves and feet have been shooting off painful missives to remind me that I don't exercise, but that's probably more about potassium and I'll have a meeting with some bananas and avocados throughout the week.  I want to learn Bachata one day so my body will just have to suck it up.

Yes there was drinking, but it was a Scooby-Snack followed by a couple of water and lemon slice chasers.  I used to drink until the ground was hard to find while walking, and puking was a natural progression for the night, but I eat wheat when I want to feel like bad choices are trying to kill me.  And it's no longer on purpose.

Then there was the lack of sleep.  Waking up at 6 and spending all day at work (leaving only after it wasn't fun anymore because I love what I do) . . .  Only to go out with fresh makeup and eyes so red they matched my lips and then getting to bed by 3 . . . Then waking up at 7 because my internal clock is evil.  At the same time, I was able to get up, get my pedicure and waxing, take a short hike to the Bat Cave (or Bronson Park), run to the hospital to sit in the ER with my sister and cousin (she's home and fine, we were exhausted), check out the Self-Realization Center in Hollywood, enjoy family time at a late lunch, then fall asleep insanely early, only to wake up and think trolling Facebook was a great idea to mask what looks like insomnia.  On the plus side, I get to give you words and pictures.

I went to The Abbey in West Hollywood. There was a moment where I became a chair.  I was sitting in one, and a boy (not my type) thought I would make a great chair and when his friend called to look for him, he said he wanted to introduce him to his new wife.  I was in a good mood so when a chair opened up within moments, I had him take it.  He wanted to stay, insisting he wasn't that heavy, and I kept it to myself that it really wasn't a selling point.  My cousin wanted a drink and I was ready for water so we left him at the table and for the first time in my life, I said "bye Felicia."  Not actually to him but when we were likely out of earshot. Dating tip: just no.  This whole thing - just don't do it.

So here's where the amazing came in: There was so much love that it flowed around us in glowing embers.  You would think this was the booze because that is the extent of my mind altering (exhaustion doesn't count because that can make a person crabby), but there was this loving flow that is beyond words.  I mean, you walk in and once you get past the idea of the dancers gyrating for cash in their underwear, there is a really friendly vibe in the gay community.  There were so many beautiful and friendly people.  Gay, straight, bi-sexual, transgendered, young, really old, obvious sugar daddies with their sugar babies . . . Just having a great time and not at all angry.

We danced, we watched.  We talked to the dancers.  We swooned at the accent on the cute ginger that did that thing where he twerked his tush in mid air above us.  We checked out guys because we have the same taste in men and both love watching because our standards are really high for the actual introductions and touching.  There is so much safety in knowing I was surrounded by beautiful men that had no interest in me, whatsoever.  As we walked through the club, we would stop and tell these men how beautiful they were.  I was included in so many group hugs.  It was a really different feel from my creepy moments of looking at strangers while driving and saying, "Hi" in my best Stitch (Lilo and Stitch) voice, or "You're beautiful," and "thank you for what you are doing for me right now." And my more aggressive moments of actually saying that with the windows down so I might be heard.  That only happens when I'm feeling more out of control and my behavior matches my inner destruction.  I see it, and taking note means I must change it.

We left the club and walked arm in arm, continuing to tell men they were beautiful.  I got these really great hugs.  It wasn't about trying to get a number or take someone home.  It was about seeing someone's beauty.  It was about telling him (and a few hers) that they were beautiful.  We liked their dress.  Their hair made me happy.  It wasn't for an exchange.  It was just an offering and it felt good.  There were lots of smiles and beautiful people.

We left for Cafe Dahab in West LA where people around us were enjoying their hookah and playing card games.  The food was amazing.  I'm convinced they toast their garbanzos or sesame seeds to give their hummus that smokey flavor.  It was more than roasted garlic and it was amazing.  It was a sensory meal where I just savored every bite, with eyes closed.  It was the crunch of falafels covered in creamy hummus and garlic sauce.  Their chicken kabobs were tender and juicy and the company was terrific.  We had deep conversations about life and love and goals. Never underestimate cousin time.  He was the biggest blessing of my day.

I spent Friday night with a gay man that wears makeup and every once in awhile, a dress.  We went to a restaurant and were surrounded by Muslim Arabs with beautiful hijabs and perfect eye makeup.  I spent my Saturday morning hiking with a Muslim woman and her beautiful son.  Then spent part of my afternoon in the Self-Realization Center in prayer and meditation while I worried for my sister. Then I explored and took pictures.  When I was little I would watch the news and felt so much fear and hate for Muslims and the gay community.  My parents watch the news and when I was little I watched news about terrorist attacks and the gay community and HIV. I no longer watch the news and have no idea what is going on in the world unless it's something that is so large that it's jumping out through my social media feeds. Then I can search for details I want. I'm far too empathetic and will cry with a mother I've never met and will never know.  And of course what the bible says about Muslims and homosexuality and anything else you could imagine has always colored my views in ways I'm continually striving to alter. This is what healing looks like.  This is understanding that all lives matter and this is what living it out looks like in my life.  It feels good too.  The best part is my weekend isn't over and neither is my story.

Unreleased Offenses

Last night my really nasty side came out and it was messy and ugly and all over someone so sweet, that it really was a violation on my part.  I was in a place that was so uncomfortable that in noticing where I was, I noticed what I was doing, and the guilt and shame are still all over me.  This is about releasing offenses so I don't arm myself with them to injure another person. There are some things in life that feel huge and out of control and I find ways in which to feel like I have some control because that makes it easier for me to accept and navigate messy feelings.  When I was a surrogate, it was my control over my contracts and records that helped the out of control areas.  I agreed to everything in the contracts, so when IVF cycles and hormones made me feel crazy, I had something concrete to focus on.  There is so much that intended parents have to release in terms of pride and trust and I wanted to reciprocate that in having them choose obstetric doctors.  When my ex left, he took all of my contracts because of some imagined support battle in the divorce that hasn't happened.  In that moment when all of my records and photocopied checks were gone, I felt powerless and violated.  I felt like the signatures that held so much trust and hope were taken from me.  I have to release that.

In the last year I have gotten several text messages from my ex that looked like screenshots of our conversations that he was sending to someone else.  Very likely he was sharing my worst side with the woman that replaced me in his life.  What it felt like was a huge betrayal of trust, and it was done repeatedly.  It's still done, but I've gotten to a place where I ignore it because there is nothing I can do about it.  It's a violation, but I'm powerless and so I release the idea that I should have power over it.

Yesterday we were together to go over child support.  I was in a room full of people that were forced to share a room with their ex-lovers.  It was tense and comforting all at once. We started discussing our incomes and it became clear to me that I take a lot better care of myself than he did.  He noticed the ways in which I was doing well, and I thanked him for reading my blog.  He insisted people from the church family we shared will send him text messages to show him what I'm up to.  I stepped over that betrayal in that moment. I appreciated the fact that I have no idea of what he's up to unless our sons complain about something, and I was grateful that I no longer feel the need to spy on him.  I'm usually busy being happy with the epic things that fall in my path.

When the calculations were made, the child support payments he would have had to make were so small I decided to let it go.  In that moment I felt peace and saw it as extending grace.  I looked out the window and could see the building I worked at in January.  I remembered a few happy encounters in the kitchen with a slow smile and amazing pectorals and the view that so much peace was found in.  I asked if the attorney could see the ocean from there and he said he could on some days and it was a moment of respite from the tension of the morning.  I was smiling.  I glanced over and saw my ex had angled his phone and was recording me.  I smiled and said hello to his camera, and I was amused for a while.  It's not the first time I've been an unaware subject for someone's private viewing and I'm sure it won't be a last time.  I have caught enough camera phones directed at me that it doesn't bother me for the most part. This age of smartphones brings out the particularly creepy.  I didn't feel violated by this at first.

I was on my way to work and singing happily and even caught the food truck at lunch for my usual breakfast (2 eggs over medium, bacon, avocado and tomatoes, with cheese sometimes).  It was a good moment.  As the day wore on, Facebook reminded me it was 16 years to the day that he proposed to me.  My internal harpie started reminding me of the ways I was promised growing old together.  I started thinking about our trust and how utterly it was destroyed.  It was so much emotion, I couldn't keep it off of my face, and people I work with noticed.  I felt so violated in the picture or video that was taken of me.  I became a sideshow of someone else's design and the peace I felt was taken and mocked.

After work I saw a smile. It was beautiful and carefree.  It followed me home and I later used the beauty of that smile to reflect on my pain and sorrow and it became a source of frustration and highlighted a rare lonely moment.  I wanted to hurt the beautiful thing I saw and when I realized what I was doing and why, the guilt and shame tortured me through sleep and disquieted dreams.  This morning I've been searching for self compassion because there's not much more to offer outside of an apology to make up for what I did.

Old patterns emerge when I'm feeling especially low and I've had it suggested enough recently that the idea of getting lost in someone else's happy trail made me consider online dating again.  I'm not sure how fully I'm jumping into this. I went over my dating tips and the dating tips from my friends, and it doesn't sound as amazing a distraction anymore. I'm releasing these offenses and broken agreements that keep suckerpunching me at random times.  I will find grace when I'm not expecting it and look for beauty because I always find it.  But there should definitely be some shenanigans tonight.  There will be stretching out of my comfort zone.  There may even be another dress involved.

Gratitude

My day started early and I was able to slowly flow into full steam. I started to just sit and think of what I was grateful for. At the end of the day I was grateful to be too busy to write what I was grateful for. At the end of the day, there is peace in the sigh of fulfilled exhaustion.

An ocean front view of a fading sun was met with joy and I sang along with my favorite pier performer for a full set.

I watched the sun fall softly behind the mountains without a murmured protest from the many people around me. There's no sorrow when we know it'll return tomorrow. We love the sun for it's warmth and light and life giving energy. We take for granted it's consistence because only the clouds are fickle.

A sliver of moonlight stood timidly. Every night it's always in silent worship to the beauty of a fading sun. Unworthy in daylight, but magnificent alone. She is aglow in the warmth of the love from an absent sun.  I feel like a moon tonight and my sun is all of the beauty and wonder that filters through my day.

What's the Score?

Several times a week I will say out loud that I should watch more movies or television but I get home and I start writing or picking up after my boys. I still haven't watched more than a few YouTube videos but I did experience something movie related.  This afternoon I had a moment where there was space to just be.  I was listening to a score for something I have never seen, but in the soft melody that tickled at something light and playful, I was able to just experience what I was being pulled into.  I had no idea what the dialogue would have been or what I would have seen or heard to hand feed what the director had in mind.  I had a melody and in what I heard, I was able to just feel.

We never pay much attention to the musical score of a movie or television show.  Unless you are into films and production, most of us don't notice because it's not meant to be noticed.  The power of a score is in its ability to make you feel without telling you anything.  I really felt that today and it was incredible.  The beauty of it was in the simplicity of just being open to what I felt and not having to overthink anything.

Sometimes our extrasensory perception speaks to us in a way that a musical score would.  It's that physical reaction that doesn't match the rest of what we feel.  It's when you talk to someone that says nice things and looks beautiful, and yet you feel prickly tingles at the base of your skull or your calves tense like your body is ready to run.

At other times, it's the soundtrack of our past that loops through a new experience.  Without trying to, we often will subconsciously refer to something in our past to make connections in our present and predict our future.  This is why we find comfort in relationships that remind us of our opposite gendered parent.  This is why we have a hard time trusting when we see a behavior we experienced from a previously broken heart.

We rely on lessons that we've learned or have been told.  We imagine the many intricate deceptions that flower out of a missed call or ignored text.  We don't think about what we are doing to ourselves, but the score of our history colors and decorates our present and future unless we are aware and can shift our perspective into something new and experience each moment as a new possibility.

I'm in the process of selecting a new score for myself.

In relationships, I'm not looking to create a future and a long life together.  Each moment is a gift and I won't burden it with what should be or what has been because I'm enjoying what is, without worrying about what could be.  That's what unconditional love is about.  It's not about planned resentments when I realize the pedestal I prepared for someone else was only made for me. It's about a moment that may or may not lead to another moment, and appreciating all that was offered in that moment, without searching for the promise of something more.

In life I'm relying on my gut instinct more than I did before.  There is something about a physical reaction that is worth listening to.  When I first met my latest crush, there were definite butterfly moments.  Or indigestion. But the idea of running into him gave me a physical reaction and once I got past the shock, it was a feeling I now look forward to. (I'm not used to feeling like a teenager anymore.)

You wouldn't know by watching me walk or talk, but I am often assaulted by doubt and insecurities.  The ideas of low self worth will randomly surprise me from time to time.  Depression will creep up on me if I'm not cautious about the thoughts I allow to roam unbidden through my mind.  Silencing doubt and insecurities and that voice that chimes in the nonsense of not being enough is sometimes a challenge, but when it's quiet and instead I can hear my intra-personal cheering section, I feel stronger and confident.

I'm creating a score that builds in urgency and excitement. It's a trail of light footsteps that lead me through a forest on a path dotted with small animals and dewy moss covered rocks.  It's sunshine that filters through the trees, warming the coldest recesses of my heart and making me stretch in sweet resistant pain.

What are you listening to when you can no longer hear the words or see the frames?

Unconditional Love

There is something so romantic about the idea of unconditional love, but those warm fuzzies rarely touch on the realities of what it really means to love unconditionally.  It's a concept I spend way too much time thinking about.

Having my ex abandon me in every way he could forced me to really look at what it meant to be the wife I wanted to be.  I wanted to love him unconditionally.  No matter what he was doing to hurt me and push me away and have another woman treat me like our 15 year marriage didn't matter, I took my vows seriously and I wore my wedding band and declared I was his wife, because it took two to get together and I never co-signed his departure.  I wanted to love him no matter what he did because love is a choice.  Every moment you choose to listen to the whispers that float through your mind.  You make the selfish choices.  You make the selfless choices, but you choose and you act, and at the end of the day, it is what we've made it and we choose to accept it or we don't. Everything I had known, trusted and believed in shifted on March 11 of 2015.  It was in February - it was on my birthday this year that I decided loving myself without condition meant I had to stop treating myself worse than I would treat strangers. I was the wife I wanted to be and it was time to be the person I want to be. In the end, I loved my identity as a wife more than I loved him.

The picture above was borrowed from the blogger who shares her heart at Chinese Energy Healing and pictures that say so much more than I feel on Instagram.  I've been blessed enough to experience one of her hugs, and she knows what it is to hold you up, and hold you together, and just surround you with her warmth and her love and you will be transformed by the joy she gives you, even if she could really use some of yours as well.

Unconditional love doesn't come with expectations and leave with disappointment.

If your heart is breaking, you expected someone's love to hold and keep you.  In the absence of their love, you were left to fall and falter through disappointment, looking for solid ground because the rug was pulled from under you and every time you think you are standing, someone adjusts it violently again.  It comes in cyclical waves.  I know heartbreak because I know this reliance.

Loving without conditions means there isn't a cost to the love you give.

You love deeply and freely without reservations - without expecting something in return.  You love when you know you aren't loved.  You accept that they won't change for you.  They won't give you their time.  They won't do things for you or even let you know that they value you.  You love them because of who they are, in spite of what they do. Reciprocation is just a bonus.

Love is about doing what is best for the person you love, not out of obligation or repayment, but because their happiness is so closely tied to yours.

As Mom, I love seeing my kids happy.  I like to know that my drama isn't weighing on them.  They have their own drama to sort out and knowing they feel confident and safe relying on me helps me put them first.  This weekend and the last couple of times my Dad had a health concern, I was able to be the daughter  I want to be.  I was able to be there and help him if by bringing him peace, or by shifting his perspective by sharing the deeper parts of who I have grown into.  I was talking with a coworker today who spent part of his weekend moving his Dad to his new retirement home.  His sense of duty seemed to lattice into working with his hands and spending time with his brother but in the gentle laugh lines, a random scattering of gray hair and an open expression that settled into calm there was peace and sense of accomplishment that I could recognize.  (Attractive? Yes but I'm not sure I'd ask a friend to step aside to stop blocking my view, which I did a little over a week ago with someone else.) I'm a nurturer, but even as a salt of the earth type, the responsibility that feels like unconditional love touches all of us if we let it. No matter what duty dictates, there is peace in knowing you can adult enough to take care of yourself and extend it to your parents, without being offered anything more than love and a heavy dose of frustration that looks like teenage angst and rebellion from time to time from both you and your parents.

If you're still lost on the concept, think about a favorite pet.

I got home with tired feet after having to drive 18 miles to pick up Kid1 from his Dad. The frustration peaked and I kept reminding myself that no distance is too far for my kids.  I got home and my cat wanted to claw me because she wanted food.  I'm not saying you should think of your pets as givers of unconditional love.  They expect food and they lick you because they like you for caring for them.  People don't get much more from pets than a place to pour love and attention and in return for love and food, they get wagging tails and licked faces (with the same tongue that licks their own butt). The joy of an animal is enough to so many people. The dog fills this for me because when I'm not being selfish, we're friends. The cat is here to keep the mice out of my 1020's bungalow on a hillside. She has a job and I love her because she does it. She also brought me little birds for a solid week when the ex left. She loves me. People love pets unconditionally.

Unconditional self love . . .

For me, this is a constant journey that unravels with deeper meaning and greater rewards each and every day. It means loving being alone because my own company is my very favorite.  That looks like going to restaurants and dating destinations alone.  I'm due for a walk along Santa Monica pier and a quiet sunset alone . . . likely at my next kid free moment.

It means I'm not settling into something because I'm grasping for a connection but enjoying each moment for what it is because it's right before me and it doesn't need to become more than what it is.

I'm not reliant on how others make me feel because there is so much I feel on my own and that is its own reward.  It looks like a willing discovery of what makes me happy without framing it in the expectations or suggestions of others.

It's admitting that I can be wrong, but I'm still amazing in spite of that.  It's knowing that a mistake isn't fatal unless it makes me stop completely when I can still go forward in a different way. It's being brave through fear because I owe the possible reward to myself. I take responsibility for my choices and hope to grow through facing up to how I might have mistreated others.

It's about loving my body right now, for what it is and what it has been capable of with special care to ignore what was and what it could be because that wouldn't be right now.  With or without makeup I take selfies because I'm beautiful to me.  Unconditional love is about loving what is rather than the potential we place on what could be. It's about exploring your own sexual freedom, whether that means free love or total abstinence.  It's about what feels right to you because you matter more than anyone else.

Unconditional love means I forgive others that I felt have hurt or wronged me.  Every once in awhile I am gobsmacked with rage at the latest offense by the ex and "I forgive him," becomes a chant.  When sleepless nights were a nightly routine, I would wake and pray to God and forgive my ex over and over and eventually falling right back to sleep would happen mid sentence and now I rarely even wake up until the sun starts to filter through the curtains in a morning greeting of warmth and potential. I know that withholding forgiveness doesn't affect anyone but myself and that rage turns to bitterness so I forgive because then I am the one that chooses what my heart feels like.

We love because we can and it feels amazing. We can love without expectations. We can give because it's how we grow. We can give unconditional love and it can feel amazing to do so.

People Pleaser

I had the benefit of a friendly send off from my muse before embarking on a long drive with my Dad.  We’re just friends, but he has this shadows and light effect I enjoy.  The light is about the purity I see in him.  He’s genuinely a nice guy.  The shadows are about the muted grays and soft blues.  There's an edge of sadness and it bites softly - tentatively. There’s just something about him that brings out my gentler side that wants to Momma bear and protect him.  That and he thinks I’m selfless when it comes to being Mom and it makes me enjoy keeping him around. Some of our interactions are his attempts to annoy me.  It’s lighthearted and silly.  I think it’s fun because he sees someone that is generally happy and hard to ruffle.  I’m an autism Mom that has been in controlling relationships where I couldn’t choose what I wanted to do, let alone have free time to do it in.  I’m a bit of a challenge in that way.  I don't even realize he's trying to annoy me until it doesn't work and he tells me he was trying. As for him, he’s just incapable of the darkness that was offered as love by boyfriends in my youth.  There’s just too much good in him to be capable of true malice.

Today there was a moment where I was telling him about my plans to drive to Laughlin with my Dad and the parts I wasn’t looking forward to.  It was a moment of transparency where I was not shining in the best light.  We were texting and in a space of quiet, I panicked because I want to be the person that gets along with others and I didn’t look like that.  We found something to ruffle my feathers and yet he didn’t pounce.  Later we were in my car and I asked if he wanted windows or air conditioning and he asked what I wanted.  He was calling me out on being a people pleaser without saying it. Maybe he said it, but is was a gentle nudge.

On the nearly 5-hour drive, I spent quiet moments singing along to the playlist I made, talking to my Dad about anything and everything, and thinking about the ways in which I don’t speak up. I spent about an hour picking out a playlist to drive to.  I was enjoying it, and thinking about the look on my muse’s face when he commented about my pop music.  It was disdain, but there was fun in it.  As I was enjoying the memory, my Dad mentioned he wanted to listen to Christian music.  Just like that, I switched, not paying attention to my wants.

Several hours later the conversation drifted to the point where I talked about my upbringing. I was telling my Dad that I know he always did what he thought was best and I never doubted he loved me, but I’m only now beginning to speak up for myself.  I brought up the playlist. It wasn't to hurt him but to show him I was taking notice of my actions and responsibility for my choices.  As we talked, I brought up one of his favorite phrases, “children should be seen and not heard.”  He defended it saying that he was doing it to prepare me.  I said it prepared me to follow someone else’s lead because I shouldn’t have to fight myself to say what’s on my mind.

With my upbringing, it’s hard to speak up for myself.  I was taught to make others comfortable.  I was expected to follow my Dad’s leadership and I spent a life looking for a man worthy to lead me, without fully appreciating the fact that I can lead my own life. I defer to the comfort of those around me instead of deciding what I want for myself.  I will remain silent.  I’m still figuring out what I like to do in my time alone because for so long I didn’t have time alone or I didn’t have permission to do what I like, so I have no idea what that is anymore. I have to teach myself something different – something new.

Right now my lessons revolve around my ability to move forward without looking toward the past as a point of reference.  I can do different and be better at it because I won’t live in the fear of yesterday and tomorrow.  I have this moment and right now, I want to BE.

Vocabulary Lessons

So much of what we say comes from what has been said and these words hold the meaning handed down from those that taught us.  Your values are handed down in diluted milk from bottles with cracked rubber nipples and only transform once life has offered more than you ever wanted and the new normal looks nothing like it did.  At that time we start gulping down mouthfuls in a heavy stein because we know how to breathe through our noses and don't need to be burped. I must redefine life in order to keep from being swallowed by it.  I need new reference points and new meanings to make it okay.  We need to make life better in the new frame things sit and shift in.

What is your definition of success?

Once upon a time success meant enough disposable income to hire someone to clean up after me.  Now it's more about my state of existence. Am I happy?  Am I joyful? Does my joy rely on situations or people?  I see joy as something that comes from within.  It's not peace as much as a fluid state of accepting the many things I can't control, knowing I can always control my reactions.  I don't have to control or complete anything.  I can appreciate this moment and my ability to be present in it.  That is success to me.

What is your definition of failure?

There are times when my ability to step back and see what is important is given away.  I will give my strengths away to the rage that clouds my judgement.  It's often part of life when what I expected looks nothing like I thought it would and what I see needs to be redefined because nothing fits.  I lost it almost a week ago.  I'm usually calm and level headed, but I wanted things to go my way and I couldn't have it because I can't control what is outside of my reactions.  I was biting my nail (right thumb only) down to the quick.  I was weaving through traffic and speeding and creative was almost reckless.  Failure was getting home and having a drink in defeat, rather than in celebration.  Failure is reacting in a way that others are afraid to share their truths with me and about me because they have to dance on eggshells because of my possible reaction.

What do you call the in between?

The space in between is full of power and possibility. It's where I can evaluate what is before me and control my reaction to what I can not control.  It's where I can gauge my fear and boldly act in spite of it, stepping out in bravery and strutting around in courage.

What is home?

Home used to be where my husband was. I used to tell my ex  that it didn't matter where we lived, because my home was with him.  Home is where I feel most at peace.  It can be in a snuggle and tickle session with my sons.  It can be in my car and facing the ocean.  It can be alone in the car because I love being alone lately.  It can be deep in a conversation about everything and nothing all at once.  It's where I am seen and heard, if only the thoughts afraid to emerge because I will not give them the credence they deserve.

The friendzone.

I once joked about this place.  It was where bitter men go when they aren't chosen and they're too passive aggressive to have a tantrum and call me names for my rejection.  And yes, I've had some really angry men try to hurt my feelings for not being interested in them. It was also where I stuck some of the greatest men in my life.  If I never got romantically involved, I could always rely on them listen to my deepest thoughts and know that their friendship (and mild attraction to me) would keep them around.  Then I was put in the friendzone.  It was a first for something that wasn't mutual.  I enjoy the idea of being worth keeping around, but I finally get the allure of sticking around.  It's really not a bad place to find yourself.  I'm also in a place where I wasn't too excited about a real commitment.

What is work?

I felt that work was about getting paid for what you can do.  I see it as getting to go somewhere that challenges you, makes you happy while doing it, and then pays you on top of it.  Work is no longer about doing something I hate, but about finding a happy place to be passionate about what you are doing.  I have yet to find joy in down time, but the times when I am challenged and pushed and concepts are expanded are happy.  I leave work feeling really happy every day.

What is family?

I once saw family as obligations and duty.  It was the family you were given, and the one you chose, and creating a bridge for the two that often had me straddling two sides while making repairs and feeling like I've been walked all over in the process.  I see family as a network of support.  My family supports me in all the ways they think are best for me, and the reward is huge if I really look for what that means and looks like since the shift that removed the floor I stood on and threw me off and into amazing love that is stronger than I ever thought I'd have a right to feel.

What is love?

I grew up on love songs and ideals.  I know what I thought it would be and I went for it. I bought that dream and set of ideals and stored all of my souvenirs.  I see it differently now.  It's fluid and flows around all of us.  We have a choice to confine our love to a single set of people we trust, or we can love completely and blindly, throwing everyone and everything into the shadow of our protection.  We can consistently choose what is an action in perfect love for humanity, and I find that choice usually benefits me profoundly as well.

What is beauty?

It's what I choose to look for at every opportunity and in everything.  It's finding you have a beach body because you have a body at the beach.  It's the fall of rain in my desert home and not complaining about getting wet or drivers that follow too closely.  It's the sweet fan of dark lashes that shield the eyes you enjoy looking into.  It's the warmth of a hand to hold when you are most afraid or close to losing control of the crazy thoughts and emotions taking you hostage.  It's the smile of someone that wants your smile in return.  It's a field of California Poppies and butterflies floating while hummingbirds hover.  It's friendship that spans decades and knows just how to pick you up, no matter how many months or years have gone unnoticed . . . because they will always know and love you at your core.

Dear Younger Me

Dear Younger Me, You are beautiful but you'll go through school and meet classmates that will try to convince you otherwise.  One day girls will stop trying to pick fights with you and you will understand how much love, support and strength you were born into when your sisters go to bat for you. You won't fit the features of your classmates and cultural contemporaries and you will find love and friendship in other cultures.  Never lose your wonder and curiosity for other people. Your hair is different and you'll hate to brush it, but one day you'll make peace with your hair (but not a curling iron) and you'll grow into confidence to match your beauty and it will be okay.  One day strangers - both men and women - will stop to tell you that you have a beautiful smile and they'll want nothing more than to keep that smile on your face.  The names you were called for your full lips and messy hair will be a painful but distant memory and it's not your fault that you look different.  You are different and different is amazing.

There will be silly boys that will make it seem really likely that they are the only ones that see how amazing you are because they were the only ones brave enough to ask you out.  They will want you to touch them when you just want a hug.  They will make you feel like affection is an obligation, but it's not.  You are in control of your own body and no one is entitled to it but you.  You'll find your day brightened by the random people that go out of their way to say hello because there are really nice people in the world and they know that you usually are one of them too.

 You may never get the concepts of team sports, but you will love the many ways your body proves how amazing it is. Childbirth will empower you in ways that you won't be able to properly verbalize.  You will see the world differently through the act of raising children that came from your body. You will find joy in hiking down and then up a cliffside because it can feel amazing to push the limits of what you thought you were capable of. Wear knee pads during all of your drill team practices because knee pain at 23 is unfair and you will find any excuse to accept the responsibility of your injuries and beat yourself further for it.  Fake it until you feel it and above all, remember there is fun to be had and that feels better than a trophy that needs to be dusted looks.  You'll get more satisfaction from academic achievements anyway. You love the ocean. Don't let anyone steal that freedom from you. Learn to ask for help (this goes for the 38 year old writing this to you as well).  No one is worth the words that need to come out of you.  Never stop writing and never feel bad about loving literature. You can make a game of a stick and a plastic bag and you create worlds out of the thoughts in your mind.  You are amazing in the life that flows through you. Love freely and madly, but love yourself first.  When you take a risk and end up with a broken heart that feels beyond repair, know that pain needs to flow through you so love can take its place.  Muting pain in distractions will only leave a festering wound for later.  You'll heal and the scar tissue makes you stronger in the long run.  You can take as many chances at love as you want, but you must do it in the time that feels right to you.  Any faster or slower and you'll miss out on the beauty that love wants to offer you.  Volcanic ash leads to fertile soils, but the cost is total devastation first.

Never stop singing and dancing.  You don't have to do it well, but you have to do it because it makes you happy.  Sing and dance with your children because your depression will be a burden they will try to carry for you.  You have to break the cycle of depression you were born into and that means learning not how to cope, but redirect your reactions in a way that your children can learn healthy choices from your example.  Remember how much hurt feelings really do hurt and do your best to think of your children's fragile feelings because fixing a mistake is so much harder than being mindful in the first place.

Be yourself.  One day you'll realize you prefer the cute boys that are passionate about things that require more mental acuity than physical agility (because slightly geeky is hot) and think of you as smart.  You'll really hate talking to boys that only see you as a face or a body.  Try not to give them hell or be so vindictive in hurting their feelings. You can't expect better of them than they expect of themselves.  You were not created to fix anyone else's Mommy issues.

You have empathy in you and it is the greatest gift.  You will be blessed by giving it away.  You feel more than most and it gives you deep insight into others.  You see the unseen and when you take a moment to tell them they are seen, it brings you pleasure to gauge their reactions.  This doesn't make you responsible for how others feel and you need to release the burdens of the world.  Don't bother watching the news because you will feel the sorrows of the lives shattered and weep with mothers that have lost children.  You will learn from everyone that touches your life if you allow your heart to remain open.  Your best friend will teach you that you can't be angry at the ignorant, but you can pity them. You will forgive people for the unimaginable but it will give you freedom and peace.  One day you will realize your Uncle was right when he explained we are all children or parents in our relationships and it's a choice.  You will decide you are no longer a child and you will talk to your parents as an adult and that day is when they will start to respect the woman you've become.  You are not a victim to the life you get to lead.

You will gain so much patience from mothering your children and your tolerance will be high, but you don't have to be a doormat because you are patient.  Stand up for yourself because if you don't, others will think you're on the ground for their benefit.  At the end of the day, it's about your perspective and it's important to let it shift from time to time.  You will feel the weight of rejection based on how much you valued the acceptance that you never needed in the first place. You are enough.  Just be. Keep your value in your own hands because only you can appreciate it.

You were born to be more than you have been and I'm giving you back the authority you so carefully handed off to others.  Your life is your own and it's time you wear your glass slippers and straighten that damn tiara.  I'm the grown up and it's time I take care of you. It's time to pick up every fall and check our battered knees. It's time to tell you that I know it hurts, but we can bandage our own injuries and I can help you through the painful parts because it's time for you to release them.

Early Morning Reflections

Being a light sleeper and living on little sleep is one of my gifts of motherhood.  It's the one without a gift receipt so you never know it's value and you can't take it back. When I say this to people they usually assume I'm super productive because of it, but I'm not.  That may be up for interpretation.  I'm laying it out for you to decide. Often I lay in bed, scrolling through social media on my phone so I can pretend I'm keeping up with friends.  Once my curiosity is satisfied, I will think about the day I had and the day that's coming.  I'm sure I got these questions from a book or something.  I don't remember where but I started doing this at a really painful time in my life when I needed the work each morning to help me get through each moment because pain comes in waves and sometimes riptides.

What am I grateful for today?

Sometimes I'm grateful for a moment to snuggle Kid3.  This morning I thought of the back and forth messages from that friendship that always reminds me that he wants better for me than I do at times.  He makes me feel beautiful and wanted and he's safe because we plan to keep each other into old age.  He's amazing.  You should have one of him, but not him.  He's mine.  Other mornings I'll think of how great it is to get to do the things I once had no control over or things that took an ability I hadn't mastered to do because that was the life I had chosen to accept.  I wake up grateful that my aging body chooses to not remind me of the years I've abused my knees. I'm grateful that avoiding wheat makes me feel like a normal person.

Yesterday was winning because . . .

I think of a concrete example of a moment of joy or excitement or even peace.  Yesterday there was enough work to keep me happy and the challenges stroke my brain in all of the good places.  There was a space of goodness under heavy skies when my night was full of promise and the conversation was interesting.  I couldn't ask for more in that moment. There was hope on my way home.  It got away from me after a few hours, but it consistently sneaks into my dreams throughout the night and I woke up in a good mood.

What was the payout for the risks I took?

I want to take more risks.  That step in bravery despite my fear is where I find amazing payouts.  Last night it was in writing something that isn't likely to be shared.  I posted this story because while it started out interesting to me, I didn't invest totally in the dystopian world I had in mind, and it embodied every single one of my fears about writing that great big novel.  It is my definition of crap. I shared it because if it's out there and being what it is meant to be, I can no longer fear the unknown that is far worse in my mind.

Did I keep the agreements I made?

This part was something new from the MITT class I took. I'm often over committing to things I have no interest in doing because I want to be nice.  But at the point of agreeing, I've broken a commitment to myself to do what makes me happy.  It's a moment where I need to step back and take notice.  I've entered a space of inauthenticity.  What was more important than my honesty? What makes my thoughts, ideas and feelings any less valuable than the person I gave my pseudo existence to? I've also been meaning to watch a movie or television because I haven't been doing that lately, and there's a museum or two I've been wanting to visit.  But there's always tomorrow.  These are promises I've made to myself and I want to follow through on my desires because I matter.

What goals do I want to kick into existence today?

This morning's goals look like a to do list.  I have plenty of things to fill out and file because that is what autism mom duties often look like.  I have housework to get through and I want to write something that washes the remorse of last night and my mild hangover away.  I want to write something that changes me as I process what flows freely and I need pull out the stubborn thoughts that nibble quietly at who I am.

Deep End Love

I'm excited that I get to fall in love again.  I'm not saying I'm there or it's happening as you read these words.  Maybe I'm just not saying.  Maybe you are overthinking my love life. Love comes with variables and accepting the ideals of romantic love means you are willing to accept what you cannot control.  You are willing to take a risk because something may be worth doing in spite of the fear that grips you.  Really, I love lots of things and lots of people.  If I love everything, I can allow that love to flow freely through me and it's not being poured into an abyss that will dissolve love into memories that are ephemeral visions without depth or meaning once my love object morphs into someone I don't recognize or my tastes and desires shift because they will. I'm in this moment, loving each moment for what it is, without adding the weight of possibility and plans because I'm not there yet.  I want something strong that has teeth and those teeth better mark me, or it won't be worth that first bite. I want right now because I'm not living in the past or the future. What I'm finally writing about is the big scary idea of falling madly and deeply in love.  It's big and scary because it's a topic I've been avoiding but my latest muse has my mind turning things over in the way a muse is supposed to inspire deeper thought. Half the time my muse has no clue because I don't share every thought I have, but it's often written all over my face. At least I keep hearing that from those willing to pay attention. It finally seems like something I can look forward to because the dread I felt was washed away when I removed the bandages and discovered I didn't only heal in the last year, but there was growth, and it's not the gangrenous type.

I couldn't honestly say how many times I've fallen in love.  I've lost track.  I think my first love was a blonde football player.  That was obsessive and  really scary.  I was scary.  Fast forward through many others and the last true love experience was with the man I married.  These feelings are almost instinct and familiar and  I don't have to assume every guy I imagine playing with is the one I want to settle down with.  I have talked about wedding bells seriously with 3 men and even received tokens of promise before I actually exchanged rings and vows.  Falling out of love and releasing the future you planned is a process and I'm familiar with each step.  I can embrace them.

I love the feeling of falling in love.  I don't even mean that silly infatuation stage that makes my inner whore want to dance and play and learn every single detail about the man I am so happy to talk to and be around.  I mean deep, resounding love that makes you want to plan for a future together because you can't remember the last time you cared so much about someone. Their desires and needs are important to you because somehow their happiness makes you happy and selfishness doesn't occur to you first where this person is concerned. I fully embrace the idea of being the only one falling in love because as terrifying and risky as that is, the reward is always greater than being closed off.

The big scary part of love is the part where you trust someone else with your fragile parts.  You know how delicate your feelings are and you have to trust that someone else will care as much as you do.  You hope that you are handled carefully and with compassion.  You want to be safe because you know that you are choosing to fall and you want to believe they understand this concept because they are doing the same thing with you.  You aren't jumping or aiming but falling freely and only holding out hope that you will be caught because there are no guarantees in love.

You choose to take a risk. You choose to love. If you're already infatuated it's easy. That heart is already racing at the thought of this person.  Random things will constantly remind you of their smile or something they said. If those initial feelings have faded into the realities of compromise it can be harder. But you choose and feelings follow. You make a decision and that choice helps you follow through.  That's how couples grow old together.  They make a choice on a daily basis. They don't see a life together as being victimized and bound.  It's a choice and there is freedom in it.

It's not love that hurts us.  It's not love that leaves an empty ache that makes breathing painful and silence agony.  Love doesn't make you question who you are.  Love fills you so much that in its absence you feel the ways you were supported and the pain of its loss is what drives so many to protect themselves so carefully.

There is something so beautiful about a woman in love.  When a woman loves and is loved back, she walks with confidence and grace.  Smiles are genuine and given freely.  Laughter comes easily and stress is manageable.  She is attractive and others are drawn to her because they can sense how loved she feels.  She gives what she's received.  I've had the pleasure of really feeling love for myself in the last few months.  I love being able to put myself first.  It feels like freedom.

The love I felt as a Mom was instant.  The moment I knew there was a life separate from mine thriving inside of me, my hand was constantly on my belly, touching my now 14 year old son.  The love was immediate and overwhelming.  I started planning a future and daydreaming our existence together.  I had adjustments.  It was a long time before I was completely at peace with the idea of a parasite leeching off of me and the fact that I was growing a penis was mind blowing for a bit.  But the love was there.  My maturity is subjective. My motherhood looks like choosing to do what is best for my sons.  I want to do what is right, even if it's not the easy thing to do.  This looks like hovering, giving space, fighting for, with and against them, and trying my best every single day to be the mom they deserve, and not the mom I want to be. It means I can't disappear.

Even as a surrogate mother, I was in love with the children I carried. I still love all four of them. I never distanced myself so far emotionally that it was a paycheck or that these children were not mine. Those babies are all in my heart.  I was able to find peace in never seeing them again in the love I have for their parents.  I have so much faith in the women that shared my journey, that I have enough love to let them go and believe they are happy and healthy and loved beyond anything simple words could ever express.  My love was in my release and the faith I have in them to care for their children in the many ways they cared for me. My love is in letting go because that is what is best for the families that I will always love.

In the transitional training I experienced a couple of weeks ago, I was able to fully examine what it must have been like for my mom to find out she was having me.  She was a teenage mom.  She came to the States from Thailand and left her entire family without knowing the culture or language during a time when interracial marriages were shunned in local churches.  The eldest was 10 and the one closest to me had been the baby for 7 years.  My mom was past diapers and chasing toddlers.  During her pregnancy with me, she experienced varicose veins and thyroid issues that my sisters didn't introduce her to.  She opted for sterilization with my birth, but this was 1978 and the doctor wouldn't do it without my Dad's consent.  In all of the bitterness and rage that flowed through me at what I did to her, I never once felt that from my mom. I've only felt unconditional love and experienced what it looks like when you know without a doubt that the person loving you only wants what is best for you. To this day she will sacrifice her needs for mine and I'm a grown ass woman.

I love my sisters.  Growing up there was a large enough gap that I couldn't get in trouble with them.  I was telling on them because of what I saw them do with the boys they brought around.  Later they were telling on me.  When I was younger, they had moments of trying to be the sisters I needed them to be but I was too selfish to appreciate it.  One sister would pick me up for lunch during junior high and we'd sit and chat and she always made me feel so great when I went back to class with a doggy bag full of yum.  Another took me to a house party where she threatened me not to take anything.  It was years before I realized she meant drugs.  Eventually I was acting out in terrifying ways and they stepped in as mother hens, pecking and guiding me in ways I rebelled against.  As a wife, and later a mom, we found a place where our commonalities no longer throw us into a system of dominance, but allow space for connection.  They still have moments where I feel they are shocked at the things I say and do but the overall feeling is that we are so blessed to have each other.  We will defend and guide each other.  We want what is best for each other and that looks like happiness.  Even if we have to tell each other how we think they should do it.

Romantic love is so often written and sung about because we're all excited and confused about it all.  The hard reality of a love that I let consume me is that it often means I'm so happy with what it feels like that I'm willing to accept the bad and even the abusive. With all the bad, it's still a risk I am willing and happy to take.  There is freedom in letting go.  There is joy in the unexpected.  There is love and it's everywhere and I get to pour what I have into someone else and that ability to give love, whether or not I receive it in return is where my joy is because I have learned how to love myself first.  I don't need to be filled and fixed but there is freedom and peace in what I can give.

I'm excited that I get to fall in love again.

Give it to me because I want it.

When I was a little girl, my parents would take us into the heart of Hollywood where we walked along Hollywood Blvd. and read the names on the stars on the sidewalk. We stopped for ice cream in freshly made waffle cones with a maraschino cherry or a ball of bubblegum in the bottom and checked out all of the stores selling souvenirs. On one trip I remember putting a red plastic toy watch in my pocket. I also stole candy that night. They were little individually wrapped hard candies and I shoved them deep into my pocket, hiding them carefully for later. Later never came because as we continued along the street, I pulled out my new watch and got caught.  I couldn't wait for what I wanted and needed to have my immediate gratification. My parents did the responsible thing and made me go back and return it.  Getting caught sucked.

I feel it's normal to want something we don't have.  We go to extremes because we imagine how wonderful it would be to have that thing we want.  My first example for you was stealing.  We might take something if we feel like we can get away with it.  I thought I was in the clear with my little red plastic watch and I was ready to wear it and enjoy it.

We'll diet and exercise for a perfect body . . . Well, you might but I most certainly will not. If it doesn't feel good, you aren't selling it to me.

We save our money and forgo things we like and are comfortable with for something that matters more.

We'll negotiate and plead and beg for what we want.

We'll work hard toward what we want.  Making plans and setting goals is my idea of fun.  It lands me elbows deep in a spreadsheet.

We'll even face repeated rejections if that means there's a possibility we'll get what we want.  (It's always going to be about a boy.)

We'll even eat our vegetables so we can have cheesecake for dessert.  Doesn't it bite when you get through all of your brussels sprouts only to find out someone else ate your cherry pie?

I've been wanting to write a great big novel for years.  Each November 1st I watch Twitter light up with writers participating in NaNoWriMo and I want to be them, but I haven't been them.  Something inside of me shattered under the pressure of what I thought I was supposed to be and do made it really difficult to write.  I couldn't see the end and if I did, it wasn't fun anymore.  I couldn't get myself to set the time aside.  Once upon a time, I had to force myself to stop writing so I could eat or sleep.

The other night I felt the spark of a story that was pulling me along.  It felt amazing to be so involved in what I was writing and it was terrifying at the same time.  I want to write but the weight of the story that was filtering through me was different. It was a compulsion that kept me from the drama of being Mom in the middle of kid fits and it calmed the rage that was building in making me want to disconnect.  (The rebellious side in me ignores life in literature because I grew out of the scary things I used to do.) As much fun as I have blogging, the writing is not as serious or driven by deep need as writing out fiction (my dialog skills suck, so you may never see it).  As much as my blog started from a very broken place, there has been healing and there are no longer itchy scabs begging to be peeled so the wound can flow freely again.  I don't know when that happened but it is a good feeling.

I often see my blog as more frivolous.  I write short (to me) posts that map out something I think or feel or just the way I see the world.  It's silly and each post can stand alone.  It's really just just something to write to get back into the habit of writing.  I want to get back to what writing used to be and blogging is my gateway drug.  But I've been neglecting my blog for bigger, and it's a kid free night and I'm not sure if I want to do anything other than go home and write, and that excites me.

My Dad has always had projects he was working on.  I remember being a little girl and laying in bed wide awake. I purposely didn't cover myself with my blankets because I wanted my Dad to come tuck me in.  He was busy writing and didn't know about this until we talked about it last week.  I need to be intentional about being a Mom and make sure my words don't replace my kids, because my kids aren't imaginary.

Serious writing means I'll have to remember to eat.  I'll have to set aside time to function as a human that does dishes and laundry, but I get to write.  I will have to mother with intention.  I will have to remember to not neglect my blog because it brings me serious joy and I'll need it when I get to the revisions and editing phases that are tedious and frustrating.

The Person I'm Becoming

I was never a full on good person.  I wasn't an ideal daughter because rebellion was my way of filling a void I couldn't wrap my head around.  I wasn't a good sister because I was so angry that our age gap meant they were more like extra moms that were bossier than our mom.  I got hitched and poured myself into being a good wife.  I wanted to be what I thought I was supposed to be.  As a new mom, that meant keeping a crying infant quiet during long nights alone and keeping the house clean when it was the last thing I wanted to do.  It was a lot, and I called my mom when my son was 4 months old and I cried in gratitude because she didn't kill me as an infant.  I let those ideals go when I realized I was  putting my son's life in danger because of what I thought I should do.I used to lie a lot.  Everything was about how I spun it and I felt if I threw enough sugar on it, I could make cotton candy.  I lied about big and little things.  It drove the ex crazy and stopping was because I had to decide that telling the truth means I'm not ashamed of the truth and if I need to hide it, maybe I need to adjust my actions to live fearlessly.

I get to be an auntie.  It may sound silly because none of my siblings are expecting as far as I know, but I get to be an auntie. I have many, many nieces and nephews. When my sisters were pregnant, if they were willing, I was able to rest my hand on round bellies and wait for a tap from the life within.  I was in hospital rooms full of gore and only saw the joy of a growing family as I cradled my nieces and nephews and sang the first of many lullabies to them.  I gave them hugs and loved them and they were my joy.  I saw all of the good in my siblings within the younger generation, but none of the things that sparked sibling rivalries.  I poured love and hope into these children and delighted in the visible curiosity in their smiles and the dawning realization of connections made with chubby hands and large heads.  I changed diapers and chased naked babies that would flip over and crawl away from me in mischief and my frustration.  I got peed on and pooped on (my niece nailed my face and hair) and I had first steps that collapsed into my open arms.  There's so much good in being the auntie that never gets too tired because she gives them back.

I saw one of my nephews today and we talked a bit about life and what he's up to.  I assured him it was curiosity and not judgment because no matter what he does, I will always love and be proud of him because he is my nephew and that is enough. I told him about my love life and what it looks like right now, and he told me how great it is to really see me happy.  He expressed his anger with my ex, who was his uncle for nearly his whole life.  It wasn't just the husband he was to me, but the uncle he was to my nephew and the person he was in general.  He didn't have to say it but I know it was the person I was as an auntie with him.  In my rush to stay on the high road, I told him he didn't need to defend me and dishonored his need to be heard and have his feelings validated.  Auntie failed.  I get to make up for it when I see him again, because I gave him a house key with a fridge to raid and a safe place to come whenever he needs to.  I can do that now that I'm the one in charge of my home.

I just sent off a care package to another nephew that just went away to college.  As I was shopping and picking out junk foods and snacks, it occurred to me that I had no idea what my nephew even likes.  It was another auntie fail.  There is nothing to do about that but notice and change it.

I get to be a daughter and spend the time needed by my parent when they are going through something terrifying.  I get to trust that my children are safe and cared for and they don't need me to be with them when I need to be the daughter my Dad deserves and the example of what I think that entails to my kids.  I don't need to wait until I have time or until I can make arrangements.  I can just be, because in letting go, there is trust and faith in the support that has been supporting me.  The older two were with their Dad.  The baby was with my mom and I could just be a daughter.

My big sister said, "Thanks for everything . . . and stepping up to the plate!!" I didn't know how to respond because I couldn't admit in that moment that I had held myself back for so long because I needed to be more of a wife than a daughter and I felt the shame and regret filling my lungs and blinked away the tears that didn't have permission to escape.  I was this daughter to my father in law.  I was this mother to my kids.  I was a wife in what I thought I was supposed to do and failing my individual needs at the same time. I had a long talk with my brother in law and the family consensus seems to be that we're all happy that I am happy, but it appears that I have a new willingness to do what I wouldn't have done before and I'm no longer using my role as a wife as an excuse to not be an aunt, or daughter or sister.

I won't say it's all about what I was or wasn't allowed to do.  I made a choice.  I wanted to make sure my ex was okay with staying home with kids because it was my job as a stay at home mom, but I treated him like he was babysitting his kids.  I let this excuse stop me from visiting one of my sisters when she was hospitalized.  I'm throwing away excuses and learning to Be.  Right now.  I'm not waiting to have what I think I need. I'm not creating a list of things I need to do in order to decide that I can do what is necessary. I can be what I choose in this moment.

The Loudest Silences

There is silence in the void of emotion that carries what was into what will be and in the space between the event and the reaction is where power crackles and coils and the smell of electricity burns memories into every future that you force through your past.

I can't. I won't. It has never been in me to be.

She sat in the driver's seat without a place to go because she was lost without his directions.  The playlist wasn't on repeat and the car fell silent but the oppressive weight on her ears that screamed into the quiet with the pressure of his expectations was pushing in ways she felt but couldn't understand. Then it dawned on her that there's an app for that and it's up to her to decide, and then to go.

I'm not enough, or maybe I'm too much.

I waited for tears to fall and wash away what was building so terribly inside of me . . . but they didn't come.  The ache and moan and hollowed brokenness are not enough to mourn.  I feel it but it's not as bad as fear told me it would be. Was it a real loss if you aren't lost?

That idea is too boring to me to flesh out for you. No one else will care.

My ass is on that line, but I'm squirming uncomfortably.  I won't stay where I intend to be.  I won't sit where the meaning is meaningful. It's too much to commit to my words having meaning you might want to understand, and yet the emotions brew dangerously close to the surface and the rage I quieted wants release in words that build up and crescendo into the deepest parts of your mind.  I don't need to change the world, but I need to make you feel and I need your reaction. One word at a time, a series of paragraphs.  I won't stop.

You don't have time to do what you think you want to do.

I paid the bill for your growth because I put my money where my faith is.  You get my time, and my efforts and my belief and I'm lacking in time because I refuse to look at the belief I have in you that I've displaced out of my reach for myself.  But today I'm being selfish and taking whole minutes for myself to do what I want to do because I'm learning what that looks like and things are shifting because I have enough to give enough to the things I believe in.

There's silence between us in the feelings we refuse to express.

We talk and dance around the obvious in favor of the inane because there are feelings and emotions that are brewing and burning with a desire to be expressed fully and fearfully and with wondrous transparency.  We look and verbally dance around what will not be said because being children together is easier than what you would expect from grown folks.

The duty of living falls silently and solidly on us.

When we were young we had dreams and made plans that were bigger than the plans.  Bills became burdens and our ideas were pushed by the ideals and we were forced to face the work that is required in doing what we aspire to be.  But we live together and know we share a burden that we didn't want.  There is silence in the work day because the cost of duty is our ability to complain.

We statue ourselves silently so our fears can speak for us.

When the first tower fell there was shock, but the dawning realization of intent fell with the second one.  In fall of 2001 I was on bedrest with my first pregnancy and had no other option than to obsessively watch.  With the rest of the world, I watched lives fall apart and the confidence of a nation buckled to the sweeping desire for rage and retribution. It's fingers slid insidiously into the psyche of a generation who hasn't experienced national peace since then.  My children haven't seen what complete peace without national conquest looks like. I vaguely remember it myself. I sat with my first child in my belly, wondering about the legacy I was nailing to his future.  It was a moment where true faith in the inherent good of human nature stood silently alongside my fear and held me accountable to my individual decision to not cash that check of terror that was handed to us.  I do not live in fear, nor has that ever been a viable option to me.

A Moment of Gratitude

Last night I was having a hormonal pity party and a friend's perfectly timed messages gave me space to indulge in the feelings and then forced perspective, because I can choose how I want to react to the life I get to live.  It inspired a moment where I wanted to enjoy another post on gratitude. This one won't just be about men though.  It'll mainly be about men.  Isn't it always about a boy?

Thank you for noticing me and telling me you did.  That unexpected compliment was perfectly timed, but then they all are.

Thank you for wanting revenge on my behalf and respecting the higher road I've been dancing on.

Thank you for trusting me with your darkness and fully embracing mine.

Thank you for teaching me new things and being patient with my ability to make a simple problem complex. It's a super power.

Thank you for never making me feel the burden of what I did to your life.  I imagined what it was to find out I was coming and my version looks nothing like what you have always made me feel.  You amaze me.

Thank you for all of the loving pet names you use in our conversations that remind me that I am special to you.

Thank you for the trips down memory lane that we can laugh at now that you are no longer a 15 year old virgin.  Sorry for the power I enjoyed holding over you and the fun I had at your expense.

Thank you for making me feel like one of the guys.  Pizza and beer with a stogie and Monday night football are still happy memories.

Thank you for that amazing summer.  I can't think of Manhattan Beach without remembering our friendship.  I wouldn't want to.

Thank you for accepting that I grew out of my Freakzilla phase, but I want you to know I hold onto what I learned because of our deep conversations and your perspective.

Thank you for teaching me that exercise should always look like play.

Thank you for acknowledging that I had the ability to hurt others and for showing me I didn't have to.

Thank you for trusting that I will fight for you for as long and as hard as it takes because that is who I am.

Thank you for being my wing-man, and understanding that not everyone deserves an introduction while laughing at my insane reasons for rejection.

Thank you for rooting for me.

Thank you for feeling like you need to feed me.  It's sweet.

Thank you for the hug that felt like I was cradled and safe and words weren't necessary.

Thank you for the amazing you handed me without my ever needing to ask.

Thank you for going with my zany thoughts and ideas and never feeling like they needed to be smaller for you.

Thank you for indulging in my food joy moments that made no sense to you until you tasted what I had in mind.

Thank you for your spontaneity and the excitement you gave me when I gave you a yes.

Thank you for gelato when you knew I needed it.

Thank you for making things easy when I could only see obstacles in front of me.

Thank you for listening to me rant, and not trying to offer anything more than an ear.

Thank you for believing in me and putting your money where your trust was.

Thank you for not pushing when you saw me withdraw.

Thank you for showing me how affected you are by me.

Thank you for telling me more than you were comfortable sharing.

Thank you for teaching me how to throw a punch and what part of my foot to use to nail that roundhouse kick.

Thank you for teaching me how to change a tire.  And thank you for paying for my roadside assistance so I didn't have to.

Thank you for picking me up and taking me out to lunch.

Thank you for unexpected flowers and cards.

Thank you for our girl dates and pedicures and letting me tell you the many things you saw before I could.

Thank you for being polite.  And thank you for not being polite.

Thank you for disappearing from the world, but taking me with you.

Thank you for telling me all the things you adore about me.

Thank you for showing me that only the really great ones should end up in the friendzone.

Thank you for telling me that a whore sleeps with everyone, but a bitch sleeps with everyone but you, and accepting that sometimes there is no sleeping with anyone.

Thank you for your many guidelines for dating and laughing as I told you about the rubric for dating I was already using.

Thank you for helping me pick out a skirt, even though you hated shopping for women's clothes as much as I did.

What Used to Fit

The plan was to wear a dress today.  I have a thing I get to do after work and I wanted to dress up a bit.  When I first bought the dress, I loved the way it skimmed my hips and held my curves in front and back.  It hugged me and I wasn't wearing that dress nearly as much as it wore me.  It has large flowers in black and red and white and the red matches my favorite lipstick perfectly.  It's not super short and ends just above the tattoo on my thigh. I felt so sexy and confident in it.  It was perfect for today. I laid it out last night with my favorite black pumps.  After my shower I tried it on. I'm too small for it.  The dress is the same but it doesn't fit anymore.  What felt sexy is now silly with material to pinch instead of my softer marshmallow fluff.  I miss my fluffy bits.  It felt like being a kid in my Mom's shoes, but when I looked in the mirror, I was missing her grace and beauty.  In a panic I reached for my stand by little black dress and it is a size larger than the one I planned to wear.

I'm not dieting.  There is no exercise happening for my body.  It's not intentional at all. It's a shift in how I eat. The idea of my not eating something that tastes good and feels good is insane to me.  My food choices are epicurean in taste as well as sensory satisfaction.  I love food.  I know, it seems like something most people can get behind, but I really sincerely love food.  I love tastes and textures.  I love food combinations and unexpected nuance.  Throw fresh mango in my California Roll.  Add bleu cheese and fresh rosemary to my sweet potato fries.  Under the right conditions, a bite of heaven can sound like it needs an adult rating from me. I've changed.  I'm still changing.

Some changes happen quickly.  It's amazing how a uterus shrinks as soon as it's emptied after pregnancy. In the hours after giving birth, I was able to push a fist through my stomach.  The right and left halves of abdominal muscles split during pregnancy, to give room for that baby bump.  It means there was a huge gap that I had fun poking into where I was squishy and soft and it was immediate.  My body shifted in concert, but not uniformly.

Some changes are more gradual.  I was a larger woman two years ago.  I was probably even growing.  My favorite midnight snack was a can of Campbell's Chunky soup with a fist full of shredded cheddar on top of another fist of French Fried Onions. I eat when I'm hungry now, and skip meals when I'm not. My eating habits have changed.  I don't like being so full I can't do more than sit and digest, and waiting five minutes for more room isn't a habit anymore. The proof is in the shrinking of my body.  It started with jeans that needed a belt to stay up.  I shrunk enough to need new jeans and it's happened again, but now I need to find a new little black dress and bikini and the idea stresses me out.  I hate shopping for clothes.  I know, I don't deserve the breasts I was born with. I've gained confidence where I was only insecure before.  That's a plus, but there is space I wasn't prepared for in the shifting of my body away from clothes that fit and felt terrific before.

I'm in a pair of slacks in a boring color because I wasn't thinking of how sexy feels when I bought the suit a couple of months ago.  It fits but it doesn't make me feel like a lioness on the prowl for a bite and conquest.  It feels like what I felt when I bought it but even my personality has shifted enough that it's not working for me anymore. There is space in shifting who I am and where I belong and while the old was familiar and comfortable, it doesn't fit and makes me look ridiculous.  I can try to put on the past but it falls around me in excess and I'm looking for a way to make things fit when they can't.  It's time to give away the old and look for the new.

Risk Taking

The safe road is the one I've already been on.  It's the road with the memory of before that informs me of my limits.  It tells me where I need to stop so I don't feel pain. It's the road that can't see the future because what is in front of me is from the past.  What if the road itself is a construct that doesn't have to exist? What if a risk could involve flight? What if we never have to land because what is above is stronger than gravity?

Risk itself seems scary.  True fear is the underlying inability to trust what is out of my control. Control is an illusion and I have based so much on a false reality.  I can't control anything.  I can try to align things in a way that they might fall in expected patterns, but really I have no choice in what happens, only how I respond or react to it.  I get to give my fear away to the risks I am willing to take.  I get to see what happens and I get to start controlling how I choose to respond.  I get to live in this moment, at this time, right now.  I won't fear the past because it's already happened and I won't give up my future to what I may never see.

Love

The poets get it wrong.  Love is not painful.  Knowing what love is and then knowing what it feels like when it goes away is where we find the pain that so many write about.  We go from the excitement of finding someone that seems so amazing that there has to be a catch.  We look forward to a smile and try to memorize a voice and when it combines into the sound of their laughter there isn't a sound in the world that can hold more magic.  We long for the scent of their body calling us closer.  We crave the warmth of a hug and tender kisses that melt us into a puddle of carefree abandon in arms strong enough to support us. We like knowing that what we are waiting for is sitting in ourselves for someone else and they are just as excited to see us.

I look for the loose strings that could unravel a blanket and I pull and yank.  When it's still beautiful, I begin to trust that this blanket could keep me warm and comfort insecurities.  I start taking it everywhere, and start wrapping it into shapes that make the blanket into a vessel and I pour all of my hopes, fears, and insecurities into it.  I expect it to still be beautiful even though I've twisted it into something it was never meant to be, and I've given it a heavier burden than it was ever meant to carry.  At some point, the blanket is still a blanket and it will need to be shaken out to rid itself of the positions I've forced it into, dropping the weight of my belongings, and freeing itself of the crumbs I've left from that gluten free cracker binge during the latest novel I read while ignoring the fact that the blanket needed to be more than my blanket and had a beauty of its own to display.  There's a disconnect and a shift and the flat blanket and my strewn belongings leave me lost and in pain and suddenly cold, and I am left picking up my things that may have gotten broken when they landed on the floor.  Maybe I should have put my own things away instead of throwing them on the bed.

Anger

I picked the kids up early on Sunday evening, and they were distraught because as Kid3 put it, "Daddy tried to lie about where you were.  He said you were on a date at the beach." All 3 were angry.  Kid3 was able to express that he felt like his trust was violated.  I reminded the kids that the beach is my special place and while I've taken them to the beach, I haven't taken any dates to the beach. I prefer to go alone.  The last time I was at the beach with my son I saw that photographer that wants what I'm not offering and I waved but didn't stop because my son doesn't need to worry about anyone that I wouldn't want to make into a step dad.  I reminded them that I had a class over the weekend and I told them I wouldn't be available in the week leading up to it.  My kids need to know what is coming. They were prepared.  After that was settled, I told them if they were upset with their parents, it's their responsibility to tell us what we did wrong so we can fix it.  They did good in telling me, but they can talk to their Dad too.

Last night my son asked for an app on the old iPhone I gave him when I upgraded my phone.  It allows you to prank dial people and it was free, and I didn't mind.  Actually, I was in the middle of a very fun venture toward risk in my own love life.  I wasn't concerned.  It's summer and phone shenanigans were my thing at his age too. My son was with his grandmother, my younger siblings and his cousins.  A while later I got an angry call from his Dad because my son's game looked like a car accident with my ex's name and number as the responsible party.  There were calls to his special friend as well and they thought it was my idea to be a 12 year old. To my ex, it looked like I had someone in my family (my mom's number) harassing him and his special friend.  There was ugliness for me to face but I'm a grown up.

It was a moment when I felt pride in my son.  I know, it looks like I was happy that my son would try to annoy his father.  It's not that at all.    Prank calling his Dad was my son's risk in telling him he was angry.  He didn't use words expressing his feelings.  They don't have the rapport we do.  But he expressed his anger and frustration, rather than holding it in.  We'll have to have a talk about his need to defend me.  After all, I'm a grown up when I'm not crushing hard on a hottie.

Writing

This weekend I decided I would take greater risks in my writing.  I'm playing with ideas and outlining that great big terrifying novel I've always wanted to write.  Scrivener will finally get the attention I promised when I paid for it.  My laptop will finally be used for more than a blog post and random searches to satisfy my curiosity.  Or my more sappy lovesick stalking sessions. I will rip open healed wounds and pour myself into my writing in a way that I've always feared because it's time.  I'm ready.  The fear of not being creative enough, or not having time, or coming up with stupid ideas that no one will care about are now unwelcome guests that I never planned to invite to my party.  I've sent them home and changed the locks.

Life

So much of what I do or have done is dictated by the results I've already seen.  True risk involves taking chances based on the dreams you have.  Big or small, a dream is a dream and either it will happen or it won't.  I will not wait until I have what I think I need.  I will not wait until I can do what I think I need to do.  I'm here.  I can be what I want to be, right here and now.

Relationships

I had a conversation with my Mom last night that started after a hug that surprised her.  It was a hug where I held her tight and wrapped my love into her being.  It was after I looked her in the eyes and really told her how much I appreciated her.  There was a moment this weekend when I thought back to the time when she had me.  There was a moment when I saw the situation she faced and considered what I might have felt in her shoes.  I never once felt like she treated me the way I would have felt.  She only gave me love, no matter how many times I pushed or walked all over her.  I told her about the daughter I saw in her when she cared for my grandmother until her last day.  I told her how proud I was of her example. I later saw my step-dad and we talked from our car windows, but it was a moment of telling him that I appreciate the man he is to me and my children.  I told him I loved him.  Both times I was wounded by the surprise I received because I could see how much of my authenticity I was holding away from two people that mean so much to me.  I'm amazed at the beauty I can see in the people around me and I don't want to go back to who I was before I really saw all I did in my parents and myself this past weekend.

The Unknown in Others

So much fear comes from what we don't know or understand.  It looks like what we use to separate us from other people.  Race, sexual orientation, ability, belief . . . They are excuses to strange ourselves as we ostracise others.  Embrace what you don't know.  I don't mean blatant cultural appropriation but a full and meaningful embrace of what is unknown to the point where fear becomes appreciation of the neighbor you at one time didn't understand.  Embrace different.  Take a risk and be rewarded by it.