I am spending my birthday weekend in perhaps the best way possible. There are no big parties, no nights of binge drinking and living it up. I had a nice dinner with my favorite couple in New York last night, came home and went to bed. Today I spent the day drinking bodega coffee, watching youtube videos and relaxing--completely alone.
All my plans and all my friends have fallen through, yet I am fine. I was actually relieved when my plans for tomorrow fell through. I am going to clean my closets and go shopping tomorrow. I am going to savor my alone time in a way I have not been able to for months now. (Or maybe weeks, time gets fuzzy when you are feeling glum!)
I'm ok. Everything is going to be alright. I can sit here and feel.....content. I have nothing to run from or fear, everything is ok.
Now, let's be clear, everything is not perfect! (Is it ever?) I still feel the pain of my loss, but it's ok. I'm ok. I don't need to lose myself in a crowd. Ironically, that never works anyways! I have never felt so alone as when I am running in a sea of people.
Being here and being ok is perhaps the best gift I could receive. I miss him, and that's ok. I am alone tonight, but I will not always be. There are parties and dinners and endless adventures ahead of me. Being content at the end of the day, now that is something to celebrate. I am finding the comfort I never thought I could provide for myself, what an amazing thing.
This is what I have always wanted, though I never thought it possible. My greatest disappointment in myself has always been my need. My need for the comfort of a shared life. I am not saying that I don't still desire that for myself, I do. But to desire something is much different than needing it. I want to be alone right now. I want to be whole and complete with myself. I have always believed that love starts with self-fulfillment, but I suppose I never gave myself the chance to attain that, perhaps I never thought I could.
Tonight, here in my little apartment, I am beginning to feel something growing inside of me. Growing hurts a little, but it also feels good, like the burn of your muscles during a hard workout. It is not pain for nothing, it is purposeful.
It aches, but it is going to be ok. I am going to be so strong. To learn to be whole, you must learn to be alone, which is why it seems so damned perfect to be here on my birthday. I am going to be amazing someday.
Dr. Katz asked me on Friday what made me so happy last summer. I found it difficult to answer her. I spoke about the joy of building something, bringing passion into my life. I spoke about the confidence I felt, but I could not really take credit for that part, it was D who gave me that. See, I loved that feeling, I felt strong, as though I could do anything. I felt as though I had everything I needed and that seemed to make me glow. I felt so beautiful. I was doing things on my own, but I still had the security of love. He was far away, but I belonged to him and it allowed me to live as though there was nothing in the world I needed. I want to have that feeling now, but I want it to be all mine. Thank God for D. He changed my life, as I did his. I will always love him deeply. It is time for me to let go of my security, time to take-off the training wheels and be me, all by myself.
Well, I have less than a day as a 25 year old. I really can't believe I am more than half way through my twenties! What a strange feeling, I feel younger and more in awe of the passing of time as I get older. A great man once said, "I may not be where I want to be, but I thank God I'm not where I was". Life is so long and so short at the same time. I suppose my birthday prayer is that I am able to keep the best parts of myself, to keep close those I love and become the woman I have always wanted to be. Maybe, just maybe, this year I will become a diamond.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Pipe Dreams
I think we all know what we really want, or at least some little part of us does. That little truth is so often buried under the fears, the “shoulds”, the years of life that teach us that wanting is not having. I have been looking for my desire, digging through the rubble of the years in search of this tiny gem. I don’t deny that what we truly want changes and evolves over the years, but even as it comes into focus, we often brush it aside like a scam e-mail in our inbox.
Me, well it took me years to even figure out how to finish the sentence “I want….” Even then, I compromised. See, disappointment has traditionally been something I don’t do well with. I suppose to avoid looking like a young fool I found ways to find realistic versions of my dreams. If this seems like an oxymoron, it’s because it is. Dreams are meant to set you free, to let passion have its moment of unbridled glory.
This year I started excavating again. Still, when people asked me what I do, or what I wanted to do, I answered with some half-baked sentiment. Should I go to law school? (Then people will know how smart I am, I could make a difference, I could make enough money to do anything I wanted!) Should I go to journalism school? (I wouldn’t make any money, but then I could be a real writer! I don’t want to do actual journalistic work, but hey, it is close enough, right?) Should I do the stupid thing; go to NYU for a useless degree in food studies? (Ha! Wow, now that would be a good idea, spend more money on yet another degree I will never be able to use!) Well, shit, let’s hedge our bets and apply to all three, let life take care of the rest.
Dig, dig, dig. I love many things, but I have found one thing that has lasted the true test of time. The free time test! I love food. I like to read about it, talk about it, write about it, cook it, eat it, and travel for it. Before the rejection letters even started coming in, I knew which program I wanted to attend. Again, I compromised though. When people asked me what I wanted to do with the degree, I vaguely spoke of food marketing, a good fit because of my advertising background. I spoke about the FDA, as I am already a federal employee. I did not dare say what I could not even admit to myself. I could not say what I truly wanted. See, I don’t want to be thought of as silly. I don’t want people to laugh at my pipe-dreams.
Oddly enough, no one ever laughs, they even suggest those things I want so badly for myself. It is in fact me who brushes them aside. I laugh and say what a nice fantasy that would be. I often accuse those around me of standing in their own ways. Who knew I was the one most guilty of this very thing.
A few years ago a book called “The Secret” was all the rage. It encouraged you to visualize the life you wanted into existence. One tool for this “envisioning” was to take images of your desires and make a vision board, or poster of them. I thought, and still think, much of the principles are nonsense, but it is a good exercise to put together such positive ideas. Being lazy, I created PowerPoint collogues for myself. Even in these “dream boards” I cautiously included plan b’s.
Today I was feeling a bit blasé, so I decided to try to think of things that would make me happy. I made a brand new board. I created slides in the form of a futuristic timeline. Pictures of the classes I am teaching this spring, the events I will organize, the comforts that will get me through the winter. Summer was easy; full of little adventures, my best friend and vintage models in bathing suits. Fall was dominated by my joyous emersion into the NYU Masters program. The next slide was filled with pictures of my future travels, blogs and dinner parties. The final slide was a picture of where I want to end-up. The one I have never really made. It has pictures of my beautiful West Village apartment, decorated with mid-century modern furniture, it pictures a happy, exhausted couple from the 1950’s cleaning up after a dinner party, it pictures friends laughing, it pictures me cooking, it pictures me smiling one of my most beautiful smiles while leaning back into the arms of a smiling man, and it pictures me gleefully holding my first book. I began listening to Andy Williams’ “Moon River” and watching the slideshow of my future. It has been right in front of me all along.
I want to be a writer, open a restaurant, be beautiful, classic and vibrant, live in New York and surround myself with amazing people who make me laugh. I want to be in love, in love with my co-host, in love with my biggest fan and best friend. I want our love to be easy and happy and filled with laughter and endless awe and respect for one another. I want share my passion with people, follow my heart to the ends of the earth, I want to live a simple, complicated, joyful life. This is my pipe dream; this is what I sheepishly brush under the rug.
You know what? Sitting here alone, two days before my 26th Birthday, I uncovered my dirty little secret desire. It made me smile and it brought me back. I found an amazing woman this year. She is confident and charismatic, endlessly excited and alive, full of fearless love and passion. It has been her absence this last month that has made me feel so hollow. I looked for her in the mirror and saw only her shell staring back. Today, basking in the glow of my horizon, she walked back in my door. I feel as though she put me on like a suit of flesh and smiled with my lips as we began to melt back into one being.
I am not the girl I once was; I never have to be her again. Even when I feel myself slipping back into the gray past, I need only look for the light in my heart, flickering bravely and guiding the woman I have become back home. As far as my dreams, who knows, maybe they will prove to be the most realistic fantasy of all.
Me, well it took me years to even figure out how to finish the sentence “I want….” Even then, I compromised. See, disappointment has traditionally been something I don’t do well with. I suppose to avoid looking like a young fool I found ways to find realistic versions of my dreams. If this seems like an oxymoron, it’s because it is. Dreams are meant to set you free, to let passion have its moment of unbridled glory.
This year I started excavating again. Still, when people asked me what I do, or what I wanted to do, I answered with some half-baked sentiment. Should I go to law school? (Then people will know how smart I am, I could make a difference, I could make enough money to do anything I wanted!) Should I go to journalism school? (I wouldn’t make any money, but then I could be a real writer! I don’t want to do actual journalistic work, but hey, it is close enough, right?) Should I do the stupid thing; go to NYU for a useless degree in food studies? (Ha! Wow, now that would be a good idea, spend more money on yet another degree I will never be able to use!) Well, shit, let’s hedge our bets and apply to all three, let life take care of the rest.
Dig, dig, dig. I love many things, but I have found one thing that has lasted the true test of time. The free time test! I love food. I like to read about it, talk about it, write about it, cook it, eat it, and travel for it. Before the rejection letters even started coming in, I knew which program I wanted to attend. Again, I compromised though. When people asked me what I wanted to do with the degree, I vaguely spoke of food marketing, a good fit because of my advertising background. I spoke about the FDA, as I am already a federal employee. I did not dare say what I could not even admit to myself. I could not say what I truly wanted. See, I don’t want to be thought of as silly. I don’t want people to laugh at my pipe-dreams.
Oddly enough, no one ever laughs, they even suggest those things I want so badly for myself. It is in fact me who brushes them aside. I laugh and say what a nice fantasy that would be. I often accuse those around me of standing in their own ways. Who knew I was the one most guilty of this very thing.
A few years ago a book called “The Secret” was all the rage. It encouraged you to visualize the life you wanted into existence. One tool for this “envisioning” was to take images of your desires and make a vision board, or poster of them. I thought, and still think, much of the principles are nonsense, but it is a good exercise to put together such positive ideas. Being lazy, I created PowerPoint collogues for myself. Even in these “dream boards” I cautiously included plan b’s.
Today I was feeling a bit blasé, so I decided to try to think of things that would make me happy. I made a brand new board. I created slides in the form of a futuristic timeline. Pictures of the classes I am teaching this spring, the events I will organize, the comforts that will get me through the winter. Summer was easy; full of little adventures, my best friend and vintage models in bathing suits. Fall was dominated by my joyous emersion into the NYU Masters program. The next slide was filled with pictures of my future travels, blogs and dinner parties. The final slide was a picture of where I want to end-up. The one I have never really made. It has pictures of my beautiful West Village apartment, decorated with mid-century modern furniture, it pictures a happy, exhausted couple from the 1950’s cleaning up after a dinner party, it pictures friends laughing, it pictures me cooking, it pictures me smiling one of my most beautiful smiles while leaning back into the arms of a smiling man, and it pictures me gleefully holding my first book. I began listening to Andy Williams’ “Moon River” and watching the slideshow of my future. It has been right in front of me all along.
I want to be a writer, open a restaurant, be beautiful, classic and vibrant, live in New York and surround myself with amazing people who make me laugh. I want to be in love, in love with my co-host, in love with my biggest fan and best friend. I want our love to be easy and happy and filled with laughter and endless awe and respect for one another. I want share my passion with people, follow my heart to the ends of the earth, I want to live a simple, complicated, joyful life. This is my pipe dream; this is what I sheepishly brush under the rug.
You know what? Sitting here alone, two days before my 26th Birthday, I uncovered my dirty little secret desire. It made me smile and it brought me back. I found an amazing woman this year. She is confident and charismatic, endlessly excited and alive, full of fearless love and passion. It has been her absence this last month that has made me feel so hollow. I looked for her in the mirror and saw only her shell staring back. Today, basking in the glow of my horizon, she walked back in my door. I feel as though she put me on like a suit of flesh and smiled with my lips as we began to melt back into one being.
I am not the girl I once was; I never have to be her again. Even when I feel myself slipping back into the gray past, I need only look for the light in my heart, flickering bravely and guiding the woman I have become back home. As far as my dreams, who knows, maybe they will prove to be the most realistic fantasy of all.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Laugh Like Crazy
As I have been know to say, there is an expiration date on trauma of all kinds. With that in mind, I think that it is time for me to stop wallowing. It is time for me to pick myself-up, give myself a good hard slap across the face and get my shit together.
I am cleaning my disastrous apartment this weekend, getting back on a reasonable diet (yes, no more burying my sorrows in bagels and deli chicken!), buying some new panties (the dry cleaners have stolen all but three of my rattie thongs, some of them over 5 years old. I know, it's gross), going out with my friends and cutting the self-pitying shit fest. I'm not saying that I am going to be Little Miss Sunshine, but misery does not suit me, and if I am really honest with myself, I have little to be so God damned miserable about.
I have really pussed-up over the years, my threshold for pain has diminished as I have insulated myself from it in many forms. I am the woman who went through combat training with a broken foot! I am the woman who has given-up everything in the name of adventure, more than once! I am the woman who has had her heart shattered and soldiered on completely alone!
Right now I have an ex who is still my best friend, I have a best friend who is coming to live with me, I have enough friends in New York that I can hide my neediness by spreading the wealth. Imay not have the job of my dreams, but I am certainly heading in the right direction with all my extracurriculars. Oh, and the piece de le resistance' is the fact that despite the last two weeks of binge eating, God has decided to bless me by letting me keep my lovely figure, not gaining a pound. (I also have a theory that stress and pain burn calories!) All in all, my life is good. I just need to take-off my shit-colored glasses. My situation is the best case scenario, and one that never happens to anyone. I can be pretty ungrateful sometimes. I think that is the key, being thankful for fuck sake.
So, here we go again! I am going to my CookShop instructor training course tomorrow, followed by afternoon drinks with my fabulous girlfriend Erin. she is witty, fun and brilliant and I am totally psyched to be meeting up with her tomorrow. Sunday is a grand Bo Ssam dinner with the EWI girls, and this is my pre-birthday week! I started the year off with more of a bomb than a bang, maybe I can ring in my 26th year with dry eyes and a happy heart. Perspective, it is all about perspective, and in 26 years, I certainly hope I have gained that in spades!
Yes, it is time. Head held high, emotions on a short leash, living the fabulous life I have crafted in the greatest city on earth! Enough of my dribble, it is back to our regular scheduled program, adventure and drama, highs and not so many lows, food and friends and comically pathetic situations that only I seem to find myself in!
The Office:
Just today I found myself in a deranged version of "Office Space". In my current little hole in the wall, I am forced to cohabitat and try to get work done with a mousy man and a rather rotund and vivacious woman. Trying to type my version of "tps reports" this morning, I was distracted by her high pitched cackle, interrupted only by her incessant munching and his strange and increasingly forward come-ons. She sat there munching on her breakfast of 5 cheesy scrambled eggs, frequently spraying out of her mouth in a fine mist as she told some mind numbing story about the sores on her legs and Shade's newest album. The young man meanwhile continued his new habit of singing "Felicia, Felicia" under his breath. Weird right? Well, he explained the song today, sadly, making it even stranger.
Apparently he is singing the line from the Wyclef/Shakira song, "Hips Don't Lie", replacing the "Shakira, Shakira" with "Felicia, Feliciaaaa". Hmm. Slightly disturbing. He then proceeded to lean over my shoulder and whisper in my ear, "You look very 1940's today", which by the way, I did not. This is his new go-to compliment. Later in the day, he described my walk as, "confident, sultry 40's".What the fuck. I informed him that he is playing with fire and that people who sneak-up behind me while I am working are more than likely going to get elbowed in the gut. He chuckled and started humming his "Felicia Song" again.
My large female co-worker began to tell us about her new diet, cutting out her bacon sandwiches. She was explaining this dietary change while eating the marshmallow off of her Little Debbie Snowballs. I could not make this shit up. In between all this fun, we had patients coming to the window needing assistance. Though it is not my job, I ended-up fielding many of the phone calls and requests because one co-worker was too busy trying to get the cheese danish goo off of her fingers (again, complete nonfiction), and the other was busy trying to sound important while on the phone with a patient in need of a pick-up. Yes, this is the office where I am supposed to be writing reports and researching new discharge efficiency plans. Thank God my bosses figured out that perhaps this was not the best environment for me and have agree to give me back my private office on Monday.
I did get the distinct pleasure of watching these two buffoons get lambasted by at 77 year old man. (side bar: "Hips Don't Lie" just came on the radio, it is officially ruined for me!) Yes, this delightful old man decided to scream at the young man, telling him that he would slap the glasses right off his smug little face if he gave him any shit, also mentioning that he felt he was a lazy bastard. Then turning his attention to the protesting, face-stuffer, he informed her that she needed to be quiet and stop trying to be cute, because there wasn't nothin cute about her. I watched with a mix of pity and glee. It was just such a perfect piece of insanity for our little loony bin. After he stormed-off, they spent the better part of the next hour consoling one another and making proclamations of the come-backs they should have used and would use next time.
This would make for good television, but when it is your actual job, your actual life; you're left with only two options: slit your wrists with your paperclips or laugh. Clearly, I have made my choice.Depression or hysteria? Well, both are crazy, but the latter sure is a lot more fun!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Bouncing Back
Well, it was one hell of a week! I had the most atrocious look of misery plastered on my face, there was no rallying. The gig took a huge turn for the worse when I was stripped of my office and put in a little box with two clerks, phones that never stop ringing and not an ounce of privacy. My foodie group was being somewhat unresponsive and I was feeling very bleak. Nothing could pull me out of this funk, not a wine tasting, not kind words from Gus, not a damned thing!
Well, I hit rock bottom today and miraculously bounced. Things began to turn in my favor when I spoke to my "big boss" about the unacceptable office situation and she was as outraged as I was. Then I got a surprise call from a fellow in our Brooklyn office asking if I would be willing to come conduct some cooking classes for his PTSD patients. This pleased me immensely.
I wandered down to the 14th St CSA and met the lovely woman who runs the program. I should have know that she would be great, she is after all one of my "food people"!
All this positivity was enough to prevent a complete brain aneurysm when I received a call informing me that I was going to be stuck with an outlandish car repair bill. Yes, I took that one like a man.
Feeling almost human, I went to my bodega and bought some "almost real" food. Nothing much, just some soup and a frozen Kashi pizza, but it's a start! It is baby steps with me and my oven. The thought of cooking is starting to feel a bit less nauseating. In my mailbox I found my gift subscription to bon appetit, inspiration! This made me smile.
I suddenly felt excited about the new possibilities. This weekend I am going to get my home back in order, relax in my own skin and maybe, just maybe buy some real food to start cooking again.
I smiled effortlessly for the first time in days, not a cynical smirk, but a summertime, breezy, heartfelt smile.
I know it seems crazy, my current aversion to my greatest pleasure, but the idea of cooking for one, pouring my heart into a dish with no audience in mind; it is heart wrenching. Last summer was different. Each dish was for me, but I also knew that the great successes would be repeated for D when he got back. Cooking is an art, it is meant to be shared. Cooking for yourself is more like painting your walls. I must start thinking of it as a way to live well. I typically begin to eat simple, healthy food when I am alone. No great effort or creativity put forth. It is utilitarian, not artistic expression. It pains me to think of cooking a beef burgenon in my new Le Cruseut for an empty house. Perhaps I can learn to create beauty for me though. I am at least going to try to begin sustaining myself!
I am feeling hope anew today. On one of the harder, uglier days the sun seems to have peeked through the clouds. I suppose it feels as though the hole in my chest is beginning to be filled, one grain of sand at a time. That has been my overwhelming ache this week. Emptiness and anger.
You see, I did not realize what a huge, gaping hole D. would leave in my heart. The excitement and contentment I felt coming home to him, cooking for him, laughing with him. I have tried to fill that blasted hole with cocktails, food (Poor fattie Fi!), friends, work, but it all just disappears in the void. This, of course, leaves me starving for more: more attention, more carbs, a better job to lose myself in. When it all fails, I truly feel like I have nothing. That's where the anger comes in.
I have been so angry at myself, who else is there to blame? I am angry about my paranoid delusion that my neediness is poisoning my group, my heart and everything in my life. I am angry about screwing up, because only a screw-up could have such a shitty life. I am angry that I am stuck in a stupid job that doesn't even serve as a distraction for me. I am angry that I thought things would be for the best this way. I am so damned angry for not knowing how hard this was going to be. I am furious that when it comes right down to it, I have nothing real in my life or on the horizon. That's how I felt anyways.
The rational side of my mind knows that I am starting a new part-time culinary job on Saturday, I have an EWI Bo Ssam Event on Sunday (and no one is turning against me, there is an ebb and flow in participation in the group), NYU is still a possibility, Keith is coming in March, Jo is coming in May, Gus has already planned me one birthday outing. Basically, things are good in my life, it is just my pained perspective that is discoloring it. Guess what though? The rational side is finally gaining the upper hand!
My heart is starting, every so slowly, to see the beauty, to allow for genuine smiles. I know this burst of euphoria will probably not last, but I have gotten to the point in my life where I realize that it is not the unwavering durability of happiness that makes it valuable, any appearance it makes is worth savoring. I no longer live in fear of disappointment (well, not all the time!), I relish the good moments, knowing they Will not last indefinitely.
Life is long;long enough to see us through the bad times that seem interminable, and long enough to allow us to revel in the good times that we wish would never end. Who knows what kind of day tomorrow will be, but for tonight I will cherish my easy smile and glimmers of hope.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Me and Tippi
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon. I looked at the eggplants downstairs and promptly bought a coffee and bagel and wandered back upstairs. I need to go back down their and get one of those eggplants, some parm and some bread. Maybe some mozzarella too. The dish is going to be beautiful, but today is as grey as an old movie, so I am putting that off and settling in with the melancholy vibe. I am looking that bad boy in the eyes and just letting him sit there and stare right back.
I have been on a total Tippi Hedren kick lately. I am thinking about dying my hair the same shocking color blond. Flipping through old photo's of her, I came across the one above, which I simply adore! Sitting calmly with the object of her terror, lighting a cigarette with a match from his beak. How striking, how appropriate!
At a certain point you come to accept those things you dislike, stop running from the man in black and simply invite him in. There is a certain relief in this. I was looking at my old photos earlier too.
It is extraordinary how much of your life can be captured in a simple snapshot! I laughed at the tacky younger version of myself! Shiny jackets, long nails and big hoop earrings. I enjoyed seeing the thinner and thicker versions of myself. I looked closely to see what has changed over the years. I look older now, but I can't figure out what it is. I don't have wrinkles or anything, just older. My bone structure is more pronounced, which I love! I always wished for sharp cheekbones growing up, I guess good things come to those who wait. I looked at pictures of my little brother, the buff marine and the little boy, God I adore him! I laughed like crazy at a picture of him when he got fat!
I also looked at the pictures of D and I. The cake I made him for his 29th birthday, the gigantic one I made for his 30th, pictures of first dates and homes and family gatherings. They broke my heart a little, but they also made me smile. I miss him so much sometimes. God we look so different! How can you get that much older in less than four years? I am not a masochist, but I am tired of running. It is much better to just sit with these things every now and then and calmly look them in the eyes, then put them away again.
So, what is my object of terror, my flesh hungry crow? Am I afraid of being alone, or of regret or simply of pain? When I really think about it, it is not any of these things exactly. I suppose I am afraid of becoming someone else. I am afraid of becoming that deeply sad girl again. I am afraid of becoming that girl who desperately sought love, who let that quest preoccupy her mind. I am afraid of losing all the strength and happiness I have gained over the years. Looking at this fear, right into his beady little bird eyes, I think that perhaps it is as imaginary as a the idea of a flesh eating crow. I have grown-up and I will never be that little girl again.
That knowledge not going to stop me from grieving, or worrying from time to time (if only there was something to cure me of these, but I am still a woman!), but it does allow me to stop running. I can lean-in and calmly let my benign avian stalker light my cigarette. He poses no real threat, there is nothing left to run from.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Courting the Oven
I have likened cooking and sex before in this blog. I see them as our most basic, visceral pleasures. I suppose it stands to reason then that my interest in both has wained at the moment. I think this is due to another similarity between these beautiful things: the intimacy.
I have these thoughts bouncing around this morning because I have a cooking event coming up tomorrow night. Since "the break-up", I have not touched my stove. My appetite has returned (thank you PMS) but I have not been able to bring myself to cook. Cooking is such a beautiful, lively, exuberant thing for me. It seems that lately it has felt as inappropriate as intercourse!
The theme of this dinner party is "Favorite Ingredients". This is a challenge on my best day, there are so many things I adore! My two favorite things, in this order, are vegetables and pork! Delicate, fulfilling and under appreciated and utter decadence! I want to highlight nature's bounty: mushrooms or brussel sprouts or artichokes or spinach or collard greens, mmm! I must say though, there is very little that a few crumbles of bacon doesn't enhance.
The other challenge is a new member of our little group, a vegetarian. Many are outraged at her stance and think me mad for allowing it. Yes, my group is a passionate one! She happens to be one of the guests tomorrow, and though she insists that we cook what we like, I do feel a bit obligated to cater to her. The outrage of the group is beginning to make more sense! It is the fact that I adore vegetables that makes me feel pressure to defend her. I just didn't think about the fact that I enjoy adding the swine to most of my veggies. Hmm. Well, inspiration don't fail me now!
I just can't get into it, I was reading recipes last night (food porn) and just kept thinking, egh. The harder I try, the stronger my mental block becomes. My most recent obsession is beets, but I have been hard pressed to find one in it's natural state. Besides, I want to "wow" people with the lushness vegetables are capable of! I want people to see them as I do; as beautiful and filled with a simple, lusty decadence all their own. I suppose that may be my problem, I am still trying to coax myself back into that very state!
Well, I am on my way. My beautiful city smiled down at me yesterday, I have Dean Martin crooning to me on Pandora (while my sad record player looks on in horror!), the familiar sense of excitement is returning to my mornings and the usual sly smile is playing on my lips at this very moment! It will come to me. I will don my pearls and some semblance of my summer vintage wardrobe, go out into my city and let it come to me.
If not, I suppose I could re-work one of my classics; stuffed braised artichokes, stuffed mushrooms, eggplant Parmesan stacks, spinach-tomato-garlic pizza. I really want to do something new! Create something amazing....
I think I have a back-up plan though, I will perfect a classic. I can make eggplant Parmesan sliders. I will saute beautiful little slices of fresh bread, top them with the parm and slice them into lovely bites. Perhaps not the most original idea, but I swear, they could make even the most vigilant carnivore question his ideals! Yes, perhaps that is what I will do.
There are more dinner parties to come, countless dishes to be created, life is long and I have plenty of time. You can't rush inspiration anymore than you can turn the clock forward or back. For now, I will relax in the knowledge that spring comes after winter every year and I can see glimpses of new growth even now.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Bon Appetite!
I finally watched Julie and Julia tonight. It has been 8 months since I saw the first preview, 7 months since I read the book, 6 months since I started my life over; and I am so glad I waited.
I think the first step toward the life I always wanted, toward "The Experiment", was the moment I opened My Life In France, Julia Child's memoir. Julie Powell wrote, and was quoted in the movie as saying, that she was drowning and Julia Child reached out through her books and saved her. It seems dramatic, but I feel precisely the same way. Reading about that phenomenal woman who lived with joy and passion so infectious that she brightened every room she entered, reading about finding destiny so much later in life, reading about following your heart and being loved so completely for it; this brought me back to life, showed me the way home.
After reading Julia's story, I moved on to Julie's. As I flipped through the pages, learning about this lost woman finding her way, I saw only myself. My life has changed now too. I am no longer lost, I may not always know where I am going, but I trust in life and beauty and happiness as I have never dared to before. At the end of her book, her life looks to be coming together perfectly. Book deals, movie deals, leaving her horrible government job; but I know what comes next. Just when you think you have finally gotten things figured out, life throws you a curve ball.
I am currently reading Julie Powell's newest biography; Cleaving. Obviously, she has been published and is successful, but now her marriage is falling apart. When I saw the book jacket, read what it was about, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. How can someone I have never met be living such a parallel life? Clearly there is a great deal of projection going on here! I know there are differences, she was having an affair whereas I was just fighting dissolution. But the death of a dream on the heels of a dream come true resonates with me.
I bought the book to try and look into my own future. I put it down only a day later. Not she, nor anyone else, could tell me what I already knew. It was already scorched into my tongue, the one thing I could not say: Goodbye. I said it without the benefit of reading my future, I said it because it seemed to be the only thing left in my mind to say. My lips are still singed from speaking it into existence, my heart still aches. I digress, I began writing about the women and stories that saved my life because no matter how hard it is right now, thanks to them, I know it will not always be so.
The most peculiar thing comforts me these days, brings the devious smile back to my lips; it is the knowledge that I am me. I am joyful and passionate and bravely myself! The life I created for myself was not a matter of dinner parties and career paths, it was finding that woman inside of me. She may have tears in her eyes, but the playful smile still lingers.
The universe aligns sometimes to affirm some of the harder decisions in my life. In one such cosmic turn, authors of the present and long ago whisper to my soul. I stumbled across one such whisper by Katherine Mansfield:
"Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act yourself. Face the truth."
I have faced the truth, done the hardest thing on earth for me, and I will be myself. Therein lies my comfort, therein lies my hope, therein lies the key to the life I have always dreamed of. Who knew that all this time it was simply a matter of throwing caution to the wind and accepting joy? Who knew that all this time I was enough?
Loss is part of life, but joy is a choice independent of pain and circumstance. Thank you Julia, for showing me the way. Thank you Julie, for showing me that happy endings are never quite what we imagine them to be. Thank you God, for giving me the strength to keep smiling and the tenacity to choose joy.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Running Toward the Light
Every day is going to be easier. I went out with my girlfriend K. yesterday. We had cocktails, and like the good foodies we are, ended-up at Momofuku. We drank OB (Korean Beer) and chowed down on pork buns, himachi and xo scallops. It was so good! It felt so good to enjoy something. Leave it to David Chang to tantalize me.
I am going out with my girl E. tomorrow. Cheap drinks and manicures at Beauty Bar. I worked at RRA tonight and made plans to hang with Gus this weekend. Even if the quiet death catches up with me at night (always my weakest time) I am going to go through the motions and keep slapping on my broken smile.
I am gathering my forces. Spreading my neediness over as many of my girlfriends as possible! I hate being a burden, hopefully this way I don't have to feel to pathetic. Funny though, I seem to be the only one who thinks that I am being weak, everyone else marvels at my stoicism. I suppose that is because they don't see me when I fall apart at the end of the day, they don't have to hear all the whimpering echoing in my brain. Thank God for that.
Note, it is women I am reaching out too. Conversely, I have my defenses on high alert at any man's approach. Even my friends need to keep their distance. The older, wiser Felicia knows all too well how vulnerable I am, and she is going to protect that fleshy pink organ in the center of her chest. It is more than defense though, I am a bit angry. There is no real reason or appropriate target for these feelings. I suppose it is just part of the grieving process, but I have found my undeserving target in the men of the world! The anger and vulnerability I feel makes me recoil from men, makes me want to run when they approach.
I digress, I want to talk about hope. I want to speak into existence the easier tomorrows I anticipate and that I try to bring into being at each morning light. I want to talk about food and friends and the silly comedies that play out in every day moments. That is my light and I am walking toward it.
I am going out with my girl E. tomorrow. Cheap drinks and manicures at Beauty Bar. I worked at RRA tonight and made plans to hang with Gus this weekend. Even if the quiet death catches up with me at night (always my weakest time) I am going to go through the motions and keep slapping on my broken smile.
I am gathering my forces. Spreading my neediness over as many of my girlfriends as possible! I hate being a burden, hopefully this way I don't have to feel to pathetic. Funny though, I seem to be the only one who thinks that I am being weak, everyone else marvels at my stoicism. I suppose that is because they don't see me when I fall apart at the end of the day, they don't have to hear all the whimpering echoing in my brain. Thank God for that.
Note, it is women I am reaching out too. Conversely, I have my defenses on high alert at any man's approach. Even my friends need to keep their distance. The older, wiser Felicia knows all too well how vulnerable I am, and she is going to protect that fleshy pink organ in the center of her chest. It is more than defense though, I am a bit angry. There is no real reason or appropriate target for these feelings. I suppose it is just part of the grieving process, but I have found my undeserving target in the men of the world! The anger and vulnerability I feel makes me recoil from men, makes me want to run when they approach.
I digress, I want to talk about hope. I want to speak into existence the easier tomorrows I anticipate and that I try to bring into being at each morning light. I want to talk about food and friends and the silly comedies that play out in every day moments. That is my light and I am walking toward it.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Novocaine
As I navigate this difficult time, the familiar bleak curtain has draped itself over my city, my passions, my life. It is a grotesque feeling, like the numb yet uncomfortable sensation that takes over your mouth after a trip to the dentist.
There are moments when I feel a twinge of pain, like today looking at my finances and thinking about how close we came to getting ahead for once, but mostly it is just a groggy uncomfortable numbness.
I hate feeling this way. No one can touch me when I am in this place, there is no arm long enough to reach through the darkness and comfort me. It is a storm that is weathered in total isolation. That is the part I forgot about, the absolute loneliness in this grief. Ugh! When do I get to start feeling alive again? When will I stop seeing the world through the eyes of the undead?
I am going through the motions: job, club, gym (ok, sometimes gym), but nothing takes the edge off, nothing feels good. I suppose after surgery people feel this way, just part of the recovery process. That thought helps a little. Makes it feel like there is a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. On the other hand, just like post-op, there is no rushing recovery, and that thought is much less comforting!
Oh, how I loath this pathetic dribble! I want to write about cheese and vintage hunting and silly adventures! I want to bask in my sunshine, in my hope and passion. This is what I was running from. I hate wasting all these precious moments in the dark, rotting prison of death. Nothing is silly right now though, nothing is sunny, nothing is pleasurable. I hate these words even more as write them, even my words have turned on me. As usual, it feels as though the sun will never shine again. This sentiment, these feelings, they disgust me. Yet, I am helpless at this moment to change them. Again, I will brave a broken smile and pray, pray, pray for the sun to come out again.
There are moments when I feel a twinge of pain, like today looking at my finances and thinking about how close we came to getting ahead for once, but mostly it is just a groggy uncomfortable numbness.
I hate feeling this way. No one can touch me when I am in this place, there is no arm long enough to reach through the darkness and comfort me. It is a storm that is weathered in total isolation. That is the part I forgot about, the absolute loneliness in this grief. Ugh! When do I get to start feeling alive again? When will I stop seeing the world through the eyes of the undead?
I am going through the motions: job, club, gym (ok, sometimes gym), but nothing takes the edge off, nothing feels good. I suppose after surgery people feel this way, just part of the recovery process. That thought helps a little. Makes it feel like there is a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. On the other hand, just like post-op, there is no rushing recovery, and that thought is much less comforting!
Oh, how I loath this pathetic dribble! I want to write about cheese and vintage hunting and silly adventures! I want to bask in my sunshine, in my hope and passion. This is what I was running from. I hate wasting all these precious moments in the dark, rotting prison of death. Nothing is silly right now though, nothing is sunny, nothing is pleasurable. I hate these words even more as write them, even my words have turned on me. As usual, it feels as though the sun will never shine again. This sentiment, these feelings, they disgust me. Yet, I am helpless at this moment to change them. Again, I will brave a broken smile and pray, pray, pray for the sun to come out again.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Forever
It's amazing how the hardest thing can end up being the easiest too. Honesty is so feared, yet once engaged it is the only way to salvation. This blog is my honesty, a bearing of my soul. He read my thoughts today, finally seeing that which was always hidden in plain sight.
We cried together and found comfort in the mutual pain and love we still share. We both know what needs to be done, but we also hope that the best part of us can continue. Our friendship somehow remains intact.
I am of the cynical belief that lovers, boyfriends, husbands come and go throughout your life, the only people who can truly be yours for life are your friends who become your truest family. Friends love without condition, without expectation and without expiration. Perhaps forever was not a lie, as with so many things in life, it may just look different from the way we imagined it.
We cried together and found comfort in the mutual pain and love we still share. We both know what needs to be done, but we also hope that the best part of us can continue. Our friendship somehow remains intact.
I am of the cynical belief that lovers, boyfriends, husbands come and go throughout your life, the only people who can truly be yours for life are your friends who become your truest family. Friends love without condition, without expectation and without expiration. Perhaps forever was not a lie, as with so many things in life, it may just look different from the way we imagined it.
Amputation
As usual, I have gone about this all wrong. In my defense, is there a right way to cut-off a limb with out anesthetic? I think it is natural to try desperately to avoid a pain this great. I acted strong and brazen at first, the macho attitude that only those who don't know what is coming next can brandish. As the reality began to hit me, settling in the pit of my stomach, I ran. I thrashed and screamed and desperately tried to find relief. I surrounded myself with my friends and allies, trying to build up my defenses through their support and distraction. That is not possible though. This is something that by definition must be done alone. And alone I began to feel the full weight of the agony.
I had fitful sleep last night that only came in short bursts. There is nowhere to run from the sawing, cutting pain. There is no relief to be found in sleep, in a bottle or in anyone else. It is noon and he is still not home. No call, no text. I look at the phone and think about checking-in, asking if he is alright, but I have to stop myself. It is unnatural and hideous, yet I can't stop cutting because it would not be fair to go back now. He is the only one I should to talk to, though that will only drive the blade in deeper.
The voice in my head whimpers, "I love him, I miss him, how can I live without someone who has become a part of me?" Something is broken though, we can't keep playing house with the cracks in our walls becoming gaping fissions. I just don't know how something that feels so necessary can feel so devastatingly wrong. It feels exactly like cutting off a limb.
The pain is staggering. My body shakes and I feel razor blades dancing inside me. It seems there is no relief in sight, but I want to do it right this time. I don't want to run, I don't want to beg, I don't want to desperately tear apart my life looking for an anesthetic. I want to be strong and pray that at some point it at least feels right. I can suffer for something I believe in, but it is a new form of torture; to feel this horrendous pain accompanied by doubt.
My baby brother, the one I protect, the one I would unhesitatingly sacrifice for, it was him who stopped my shaking. A simple call, no words of affirmation, just quiet love and empathy. He did not pretend to understand, he is the first person to show as little comprehension of this cruel reality as I myself feel. Something about that gave me my first real comfort. This cannot be analysed or rationalized, it is just one of the deepest pains of life. It just is.
I have been to hell before, though I haven't been back for long time. It is different every time, it always feels as though I will never see the light again. The light somehow finds me though. I have been there and back and I know I can make it back to the light again. For now I suppose I will just clench my teeth and try to be brave.
I had surgery when I was in Iraq. The dirty operating table looked like something from a horror movie or a third world country's abortion clinic. The needle they used on me was huge and filled with what felt like sulfuric acid, later they had to cauterize my incisions without any anesthetic. I remember how proud I was when the doctor commended me for not screaming, for taking all that horror and pain without so much as a whimper. This is worse, but maybe God will give me the strength to get through this with the same bravery, without becoming the pathetic, thrashing woman I have seen claw at the walls of hell before. Maybe this time I can do it the right way.
I had fitful sleep last night that only came in short bursts. There is nowhere to run from the sawing, cutting pain. There is no relief to be found in sleep, in a bottle or in anyone else. It is noon and he is still not home. No call, no text. I look at the phone and think about checking-in, asking if he is alright, but I have to stop myself. It is unnatural and hideous, yet I can't stop cutting because it would not be fair to go back now. He is the only one I should to talk to, though that will only drive the blade in deeper.
The voice in my head whimpers, "I love him, I miss him, how can I live without someone who has become a part of me?" Something is broken though, we can't keep playing house with the cracks in our walls becoming gaping fissions. I just don't know how something that feels so necessary can feel so devastatingly wrong. It feels exactly like cutting off a limb.
The pain is staggering. My body shakes and I feel razor blades dancing inside me. It seems there is no relief in sight, but I want to do it right this time. I don't want to run, I don't want to beg, I don't want to desperately tear apart my life looking for an anesthetic. I want to be strong and pray that at some point it at least feels right. I can suffer for something I believe in, but it is a new form of torture; to feel this horrendous pain accompanied by doubt.
My baby brother, the one I protect, the one I would unhesitatingly sacrifice for, it was him who stopped my shaking. A simple call, no words of affirmation, just quiet love and empathy. He did not pretend to understand, he is the first person to show as little comprehension of this cruel reality as I myself feel. Something about that gave me my first real comfort. This cannot be analysed or rationalized, it is just one of the deepest pains of life. It just is.
I have been to hell before, though I haven't been back for long time. It is different every time, it always feels as though I will never see the light again. The light somehow finds me though. I have been there and back and I know I can make it back to the light again. For now I suppose I will just clench my teeth and try to be brave.
I had surgery when I was in Iraq. The dirty operating table looked like something from a horror movie or a third world country's abortion clinic. The needle they used on me was huge and filled with what felt like sulfuric acid, later they had to cauterize my incisions without any anesthetic. I remember how proud I was when the doctor commended me for not screaming, for taking all that horror and pain without so much as a whimper. This is worse, but maybe God will give me the strength to get through this with the same bravery, without becoming the pathetic, thrashing woman I have seen claw at the walls of hell before. Maybe this time I can do it the right way.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Facing The Tiger
I suppose I left the door of the tiger's room ajar. The problem that has been softly (or loudly) growling from behind the curtain of music and work and friends and booze. I looked him in the eye the other day and I knew I couldn't avoid him too much longer.
Well, Thursday night I worked late in Brooklyn and planned to meet-up with my girlfriend after. I was going to vaguely elude to my current state of turmoil, but she saw strait through me as though I was made of glass. I think she and I are going to be great friends. It is scary how quickly she knew me, but I suppose she is another woman who shares my particular brand of soul and situation. No one else has caught on, but I suppose their views are tainted by their long standing knowledge of me and their knowledge of my frankness. They just did not think to dig deeper.
We met at the most fabulous downtown private club, The Downtown Association. She recently became a member and wanted to show me around. It was truly something from another era. The leather furniture, ornate wall and ceiling treatments, fireplaces and even a taxidermy zoo in the "smoking room", lent to the authentic gentleman's club feel. I am not high society or pretentious (though I relish feigning pretension!) and neither is she. We are both California girls, from a land where the idea of a class system is humorously foreign. It is for this reason, the utter difference of this place, that we are so amused by it. We looked the part; she in her knit top and pencil skirt, me in my cropped suit jacket and high waisted slacks, both of us sporting a single strand of pearls. We are not trying to be anything we are not anymore than a soldier in camouflage is trying to be the jungle! We do know how to blend in to our surrounding, the only true way to observe those so different from ourselves.
The conversation flowed with the drinks and moved with us to The Vintry wine bar and finally to the bar in her apartment building, we found ourselves in similar predicaments and desperately in need of the other's sameness.
D was angry that I hadn't called him all day and was out when I finally stumbled home. When he tried to wake me up, I merely mumbled and rolled over. I was not about to fight with that much alcohol in my bloodstream and uncertainty in my heart.
Then he crossed the threshold. You see there are two domains within our tiny apartment, his is the night and mine the early morning, the space in between shared. When I woke up the next morning and began to get up for spin class, he got up and stopped me. Seeing him enter into my domain made me realize how serious the conversation was going to be. We began fighting about our most recent point of contention: the fact that I don't answer my phone when I am out and don't call during the day. Then it went deeper.
He was the brave soul who said the unspeakable. He told me that passion was our most binding trait as a couple, and though he still felt it burning for me, he had not felt the reciprocal from me in a long time. He calmly told me that if I wanted to give it another shot that he would do all he could to rekindle the flame, but if not, it was time to move on. I cried, but only a little, I said I couldn't bear to answer him that very moment, I was only sure that things had changed and I did not understand how I could love someone and yet still grow apart. He told me that either way, he was going to move out by the summer. So begins the long goodbye.
Throughout the day I felt heavy, no relief at facing the tiger, acknowledging his presence, just heavy. This is a sad thing and uncharted territory for us both. I love this man and he has done nothing wrong. He loves me and tries to make me happy. Something is missing, somewhere along the way we began to grow in different directions. How complexly sad to love someone and yet know that you are not supposed to be with them. What a wicked conundrum. I want to run from the pain, run from the tiger, run back into bed with him and into our shared life and never see a hurt expression or the piece of me being ripped right out of my heart. I would gladly fall on my own sword to save those I love an ounce of pain, but it is not fair to do that either. What happens now?
I pray that we can maintain the love and respect we have for one another as we begin to untangle our previously intertwined lives. I pray that we have the grace to be kind and gentle with one another. I pray that my best friend, the one I have found in him, can survive this twist of fate. I pray that I am strong enough to do what is right.
The tears I now am fighting back are distinct. Through all the ups and downs of the last year, not once have tears clouded my horizon. These tears are different, they are products of the deepest place in my heart, reserved for lost dreams and the excruciating pain of decisions that cannot be rationalized. These are from the mysterious and cruel land of love.
I no longer feel the urge to crawl into a bottle and hide. There is no more hiding to be done, the cat-is-out-of-the-bag and all I can do is try to face it with as much bravery as I can muster. It is so hard! It is so hard to feel these things! I am not a coward, but I do cower in the face of this storm. There they are! Ugh, I guess I should just expect impromptu bouts of tears from now on. No one said life was easy, you certainly will never hear me say it. Oh God, don't let me hurt him too much! That is my greatest fear, that is my greatest anguish. Dying dreams and hurting those I love. It is going to be a long winter, hopefully the sunshine of spring with heal hearts and brighten the horizon.
Well, Thursday night I worked late in Brooklyn and planned to meet-up with my girlfriend after. I was going to vaguely elude to my current state of turmoil, but she saw strait through me as though I was made of glass. I think she and I are going to be great friends. It is scary how quickly she knew me, but I suppose she is another woman who shares my particular brand of soul and situation. No one else has caught on, but I suppose their views are tainted by their long standing knowledge of me and their knowledge of my frankness. They just did not think to dig deeper.
We met at the most fabulous downtown private club, The Downtown Association. She recently became a member and wanted to show me around. It was truly something from another era. The leather furniture, ornate wall and ceiling treatments, fireplaces and even a taxidermy zoo in the "smoking room", lent to the authentic gentleman's club feel. I am not high society or pretentious (though I relish feigning pretension!) and neither is she. We are both California girls, from a land where the idea of a class system is humorously foreign. It is for this reason, the utter difference of this place, that we are so amused by it. We looked the part; she in her knit top and pencil skirt, me in my cropped suit jacket and high waisted slacks, both of us sporting a single strand of pearls. We are not trying to be anything we are not anymore than a soldier in camouflage is trying to be the jungle! We do know how to blend in to our surrounding, the only true way to observe those so different from ourselves.
The conversation flowed with the drinks and moved with us to The Vintry wine bar and finally to the bar in her apartment building, we found ourselves in similar predicaments and desperately in need of the other's sameness.
D was angry that I hadn't called him all day and was out when I finally stumbled home. When he tried to wake me up, I merely mumbled and rolled over. I was not about to fight with that much alcohol in my bloodstream and uncertainty in my heart.
Then he crossed the threshold. You see there are two domains within our tiny apartment, his is the night and mine the early morning, the space in between shared. When I woke up the next morning and began to get up for spin class, he got up and stopped me. Seeing him enter into my domain made me realize how serious the conversation was going to be. We began fighting about our most recent point of contention: the fact that I don't answer my phone when I am out and don't call during the day. Then it went deeper.
He was the brave soul who said the unspeakable. He told me that passion was our most binding trait as a couple, and though he still felt it burning for me, he had not felt the reciprocal from me in a long time. He calmly told me that if I wanted to give it another shot that he would do all he could to rekindle the flame, but if not, it was time to move on. I cried, but only a little, I said I couldn't bear to answer him that very moment, I was only sure that things had changed and I did not understand how I could love someone and yet still grow apart. He told me that either way, he was going to move out by the summer. So begins the long goodbye.
Throughout the day I felt heavy, no relief at facing the tiger, acknowledging his presence, just heavy. This is a sad thing and uncharted territory for us both. I love this man and he has done nothing wrong. He loves me and tries to make me happy. Something is missing, somewhere along the way we began to grow in different directions. How complexly sad to love someone and yet know that you are not supposed to be with them. What a wicked conundrum. I want to run from the pain, run from the tiger, run back into bed with him and into our shared life and never see a hurt expression or the piece of me being ripped right out of my heart. I would gladly fall on my own sword to save those I love an ounce of pain, but it is not fair to do that either. What happens now?
I pray that we can maintain the love and respect we have for one another as we begin to untangle our previously intertwined lives. I pray that we have the grace to be kind and gentle with one another. I pray that my best friend, the one I have found in him, can survive this twist of fate. I pray that I am strong enough to do what is right.
The tears I now am fighting back are distinct. Through all the ups and downs of the last year, not once have tears clouded my horizon. These tears are different, they are products of the deepest place in my heart, reserved for lost dreams and the excruciating pain of decisions that cannot be rationalized. These are from the mysterious and cruel land of love.
I no longer feel the urge to crawl into a bottle and hide. There is no more hiding to be done, the cat-is-out-of-the-bag and all I can do is try to face it with as much bravery as I can muster. It is so hard! It is so hard to feel these things! I am not a coward, but I do cower in the face of this storm. There they are! Ugh, I guess I should just expect impromptu bouts of tears from now on. No one said life was easy, you certainly will never hear me say it. Oh God, don't let me hurt him too much! That is my greatest fear, that is my greatest anguish. Dying dreams and hurting those I love. It is going to be a long winter, hopefully the sunshine of spring with heal hearts and brighten the horizon.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Drinking to Sober-up
I have been a very naughty girl lately. Midweek cocktails, not eating, smoking like a chimney; the usual behavior when I am doing mental gymnastics. I am like some kind of manic animal, searching high and low, running from the quiet like my life depends on it.
What exactly am I running away from, or toward? That is the question, isn't it? It is as though wires have somehow been crossed in my mind, with the tsunami going on up there, it is really no big surprise. The solace I usually find in the silence has been replaced by a near desperate need to fill it. I play music at work and at home, though I am not spending much time there lately either. Perhaps it was the roaring silence that kept me up all night on Sunday.
I am the type of person who likes to have the answers. I suppose the fact is, I'm overloaded. Like a computer overheating, my mind just has too many variables floating around in it and not enough constants. It is certainly hard to find answers with a combination like that.
Well, my calendar is full, my play list is pumping and I am about as clear as a binge drinker on a particularly gregarious night. What a mess! Focus, Focus, Focus Fi! Through the haze of my mind only one answer slurs out: "I don't know".
I don't know what? Who fucking knows. It is just one of those seasons, they certainly come around with a perplexing irregularity. Maybe when I am ready to face the silence, face the questions, I will find that which I am simultaneously looking for and running from. Until then, I will try to not beat myself up too badly, physically or mentally!
I am full of shit.
I just turned off the music, and there it was. Waiting for me like a cornered tiger preparing to be snared. I know what I am avoiding. It terrifies and confuses me. It is a problem with no good solution and I am just not ready to face it yet. So I am going to turn my music back on, close my eyes, and back slowly out of that room.
Why is it that life won't take care of our biggest conundrums for us? When did life get so damned complicated? My compass is spinning and my heart is turned upside down. No wonder I feel so out of control. Welcome to beautiful 2010, no one said it was going to be easy!
What exactly am I running away from, or toward? That is the question, isn't it? It is as though wires have somehow been crossed in my mind, with the tsunami going on up there, it is really no big surprise. The solace I usually find in the silence has been replaced by a near desperate need to fill it. I play music at work and at home, though I am not spending much time there lately either. Perhaps it was the roaring silence that kept me up all night on Sunday.
I am the type of person who likes to have the answers. I suppose the fact is, I'm overloaded. Like a computer overheating, my mind just has too many variables floating around in it and not enough constants. It is certainly hard to find answers with a combination like that.
Well, my calendar is full, my play list is pumping and I am about as clear as a binge drinker on a particularly gregarious night. What a mess! Focus, Focus, Focus Fi! Through the haze of my mind only one answer slurs out: "I don't know".
I don't know what? Who fucking knows. It is just one of those seasons, they certainly come around with a perplexing irregularity. Maybe when I am ready to face the silence, face the questions, I will find that which I am simultaneously looking for and running from. Until then, I will try to not beat myself up too badly, physically or mentally!
I am full of shit.
I just turned off the music, and there it was. Waiting for me like a cornered tiger preparing to be snared. I know what I am avoiding. It terrifies and confuses me. It is a problem with no good solution and I am just not ready to face it yet. So I am going to turn my music back on, close my eyes, and back slowly out of that room.
Why is it that life won't take care of our biggest conundrums for us? When did life get so damned complicated? My compass is spinning and my heart is turned upside down. No wonder I feel so out of control. Welcome to beautiful 2010, no one said it was going to be easy!
Monday, January 4, 2010
Deafening Silence
I recently purchased the newest in communication technology. This fabulous device is basically a brilliant little computer, waiting breathlessly to offer up answers to any query and alert me instantly of any message waiting to be received or voice to be heard. I also have three e-mail accounts, text messaging and the all important cellphone feature.
The one dreary fact I did not realize accompanied this new friend was the way it makes the silence even more deafening when it sits idle.
It's not his fault, my little Droid, it is me. (Yes, I still have a shred of sanity left. I have not started picking fights with inanimate objects!) I am waiting for one message in particular, one ghostly voice to answer from the void of silence it has been shrouded in. I have questions, I want answers. At this point any answer would do, I just can't stand the roar of silence anymore!
Yes, the addition of my favorite new toy has turned-up the volume on this distinctly loud version of quiet. Ah, the waiting game, I know this one! I should be quite deft at it by now. Funny how the games we know the best are the ones that continue to confound us. Here's to this round: may the best side of me win!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The Steely Sheen of the Fairer Sex
One of my favorite movie lines comes from the 1955 film The Tender Trap:
"You want a girl. That's what you all want -- a girl. And that's what you can never have, because the only way to have a girl is not to marry her, because then she becomes a wife. That's something entirely different." -Sylvia Crews
What is the difference between being a girl and being a woman? Is it becoming a mother, or a wife, or a particular age? I believe that you become a woman when you begin to realize that life is not black and white, that hard choices have to be made, and you assume your role as a protector.
You see, there is a ferocious mother bear in every woman. This instinct is not reserved for children, but encompasses spouses, friends, disadvantaged strangers, and above all, yourself. A woman learns early on that though the brawn of man may be greater, no one will really protect her when she needs it the most, no one else can be relied upon for survival. That job is entirely her own. Biologically we may be wired this way for very practical reasons, the most basic instinct of any animal is to survive and reproduce. These two things would be very difficult if a mother was reliant on her mate.
So it goes, the theme of womanhood seems to be all around me. Watching a documentary on Burt and Linda Pugach, a story of a beautiful girl brutally burned and blinded by her spurned lover who 14 years later marries just that man, to me is not a story about love but about becoming a woman. Linda survived, she lived her life bravely and joyously until her sight left her completely and she realized her best option was to take back this lunatic who had become her only true option as a caregiver and provider. (This being the 1960's women were much less empowered to provide for themselves, especially disabled ones.)
Whether it is single mothers and college girls stripping for money, Hillary Clinton braving matrimonial humiliation to reach her political ends, Afghani women sustaining beatings to protect each other or simply a wife who would rather sleep with her husband than break his heart by revealing her disdain for him; women do what needs to be done every day. Our choices may seem calculating and cold, but I say that they are merely our biology taking over. Girls aimlessly follow their hearts, women have the burden of balancing their hearts and their minds.
Though I chase youth like the carrot-on-the-end-of-a-stick, the fact is, I became a woman a long time ago. Perhaps this is why I lack shame and regret, I see my choices not as bad, but as human. Though sacrifice comes naturally to me, I am a ferocious protector, and the cub that has been with me the longest is me.
"You want a girl. That's what you all want -- a girl. And that's what you can never have, because the only way to have a girl is not to marry her, because then she becomes a wife. That's something entirely different." -Sylvia Crews
What is the difference between being a girl and being a woman? Is it becoming a mother, or a wife, or a particular age? I believe that you become a woman when you begin to realize that life is not black and white, that hard choices have to be made, and you assume your role as a protector.
You see, there is a ferocious mother bear in every woman. This instinct is not reserved for children, but encompasses spouses, friends, disadvantaged strangers, and above all, yourself. A woman learns early on that though the brawn of man may be greater, no one will really protect her when she needs it the most, no one else can be relied upon for survival. That job is entirely her own. Biologically we may be wired this way for very practical reasons, the most basic instinct of any animal is to survive and reproduce. These two things would be very difficult if a mother was reliant on her mate.
So it goes, the theme of womanhood seems to be all around me. Watching a documentary on Burt and Linda Pugach, a story of a beautiful girl brutally burned and blinded by her spurned lover who 14 years later marries just that man, to me is not a story about love but about becoming a woman. Linda survived, she lived her life bravely and joyously until her sight left her completely and she realized her best option was to take back this lunatic who had become her only true option as a caregiver and provider. (This being the 1960's women were much less empowered to provide for themselves, especially disabled ones.)
Whether it is single mothers and college girls stripping for money, Hillary Clinton braving matrimonial humiliation to reach her political ends, Afghani women sustaining beatings to protect each other or simply a wife who would rather sleep with her husband than break his heart by revealing her disdain for him; women do what needs to be done every day. Our choices may seem calculating and cold, but I say that they are merely our biology taking over. Girls aimlessly follow their hearts, women have the burden of balancing their hearts and their minds.
Though I chase youth like the carrot-on-the-end-of-a-stick, the fact is, I became a woman a long time ago. Perhaps this is why I lack shame and regret, I see my choices not as bad, but as human. Though sacrifice comes naturally to me, I am a ferocious protector, and the cub that has been with me the longest is me.
Happy
I have been bemused lately at my own state of happiness. It is not the overwhelming giddy feeling you get when something wonderful is happening, it is more solid, unencumbered by the usual dread of loss that usually accompanies these sensations. The happiness I currently possess is different, not a result of fate or good fortune, but something I attained, something I created.
I was unhappy, so I changed things. I took stock of those things that where missing in my life and rather than hoping or wishing they would magically appear, I went out and found them. So often we assume that the things we desire are out of our control, finding out how much actually is within our ambitious reach is a huge comfort for a control freak like me. Conversely, learning which things are not is my greatest sense of peace.
My life is not perfect, the turmoil in my heart and mind has not subsided, but it is thrashing under a soft blanket of happiness that seems to overpower the pain and anxiousness. The voice in my mind is whispering even now warnings, convinced that when happiness appears the storm is soon to follow. I can quiet this voice with the simple fact that the storm is already here, I have just found a way to rise above it.
Do I still get sad? Do I find myself in states of darkness? Of course. These annals of my life are proof of that. But somehow it doesn't matter so much anymore. The happiness is winning. For the first time in my life, it has the upper hand. I have the upper hand.
I chose to relish the joys and the pains until they both become mere threads woven together in the tapestry of my beautiful life.
I was unhappy, so I changed things. I took stock of those things that where missing in my life and rather than hoping or wishing they would magically appear, I went out and found them. So often we assume that the things we desire are out of our control, finding out how much actually is within our ambitious reach is a huge comfort for a control freak like me. Conversely, learning which things are not is my greatest sense of peace.
My life is not perfect, the turmoil in my heart and mind has not subsided, but it is thrashing under a soft blanket of happiness that seems to overpower the pain and anxiousness. The voice in my mind is whispering even now warnings, convinced that when happiness appears the storm is soon to follow. I can quiet this voice with the simple fact that the storm is already here, I have just found a way to rise above it.
Do I still get sad? Do I find myself in states of darkness? Of course. These annals of my life are proof of that. But somehow it doesn't matter so much anymore. The happiness is winning. For the first time in my life, it has the upper hand. I have the upper hand.
I chose to relish the joys and the pains until they both become mere threads woven together in the tapestry of my beautiful life.
Holding Pattern
I'm ready, poised for action, strong and determined! But like a racehorse with his mussel to the gate, all I am really doing at this moment is waiting. It is not idle or relaxed waiting, my heart is pumping and adrenaline courses through my veins. The difference between me and that horse is that he knows what he is bracing for, I do not.
All I know is that something big is coming, my life is changing before my eyes and the horizon is blocked out by a dust storm, kicked up by the pounding hooves of all that is approaching me.
I am not idle, I am filling my nights with EWI events and drinks with friends and spending my weekend days doing research and writing. Working, working, working away at my new post and old haunt through the week. But my appetite is gone, my kitchen is growing cold from lack of use, I wake early and feel a constant state of restlessness.
What is it that my body knows that I am of yet still unaware? As usual, only tomorrow holds the answer. For now I will keep my eyes on the horizon and my heart in the present and thank God for both.
All I know is that something big is coming, my life is changing before my eyes and the horizon is blocked out by a dust storm, kicked up by the pounding hooves of all that is approaching me.
I am not idle, I am filling my nights with EWI events and drinks with friends and spending my weekend days doing research and writing. Working, working, working away at my new post and old haunt through the week. But my appetite is gone, my kitchen is growing cold from lack of use, I wake early and feel a constant state of restlessness.
What is it that my body knows that I am of yet still unaware? As usual, only tomorrow holds the answer. For now I will keep my eyes on the horizon and my heart in the present and thank God for both.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Stripping in the Dark
Reading over my past posts I realized how intimate this is. There are things that I have held back, but only those things I can't stand to say out loud to myself yet. Those are the things that I can barely stand to think. I have a feeling that they will eventually end-up here too though.
I know that these posts are out there for all the world to see, but they don't look. It is as though I am standing in Times Square naked, but no one has noticed yet. There is a pleasing irony to it. Anything you could possibly want to know about me is right here, all you have to do is read it. It feels almost like I am playing a practical joke on those who wonder about me, those who would love to take a peek into my mind. Truths hidden in plain sight. I have found that is the best place to hide those things you are truly afraid to reveal.
One day people may see me, like an "artistic portfolio" of a young aspiring actress that suddenly emerges years later. Unlike her, I will not run from my compromising poses, I think I will revel in the beautiful curves of my truest self.
I know that these posts are out there for all the world to see, but they don't look. It is as though I am standing in Times Square naked, but no one has noticed yet. There is a pleasing irony to it. Anything you could possibly want to know about me is right here, all you have to do is read it. It feels almost like I am playing a practical joke on those who wonder about me, those who would love to take a peek into my mind. Truths hidden in plain sight. I have found that is the best place to hide those things you are truly afraid to reveal.
One day people may see me, like an "artistic portfolio" of a young aspiring actress that suddenly emerges years later. Unlike her, I will not run from my compromising poses, I think I will revel in the beautiful curves of my truest self.
That Woman
I always judged her, I thought, "What an ice queen! How does she keep a man?"
See, I have always worn my sexuality like a badge of honor, letting it define me to an extent. It has not been that way for a long time now.
I wonder when it started. Sadly, it has been so long it has become hard for me to remember the times when I longed to be touched, felt the fire burning. Perhaps a year and a half, two?
I don't know if it is kind or cruel how I carry on, keeping him just satisfied enough so that I don't have to talk about it. It is not that I am a coward, never that, it is worse; I a completely uninterested in that conversation. I feel that it would be a waste of my time and emotion to "talk about it".
There are times when I throb and feel that ferocious hunger again, little reminders that the sexual lion still roars inside of me.
I have only dared admit this to my my best friend, my soul twin, and what do you know? She feels the same way. How comforting to have someone else who is confused by the new image in the mirror!
I heard a sex therapist on the radio a while back who said that faking an orgasm was like denying your truest self. She said that our sexuality is the core of our being, that it was a betrayal of ourselves to be untrue to it.
Well, I suppose I agree to a point except that I have spoken to that side of myself, and she knows the deal. It is emotional triage. My mind is full, I have a hurricane of thoughts and feelings, possibilities, sorrows, joys, I am poised for the myriad of changes and challenges I am entering. I really just don't have room for that conversation. I can't afford the shit storm of the long goodbye. That could be what this is, I don't know, but I also don't want to know right now. This is the conversation I am really avoiding, this is the conversation I can't even have with her.
This year is starting out pregnant with possibilities. It is going to be a big year and I find myself bracing for the explosion. I am going to be true to myself, not in the watered down sense Dr. Sex indicated. I am going to continuing living the best way I have figured out to live so far: with passion, with patience for myself and with faith in life itself to make all things crystal clear in its own good time.
No, I never thought I would be "that woman", but perhaps I'm not. Perhaps knowing that she is a stranger borrowing my body, knowing that she is just a guide, leading me to explore a new part of myself, maybe that makes me decidedly different from her.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)