God and the Wounded Creature Within

My reaction to my father's email concerned me. He talked about being in God's favor, about God longing for me, about great things coming to me and being willing to have faith and take a risk. My first thought, my knee-jerk reaction, was that I was about to lose everything. Talk about irrational. When I hear I am being blessed with everything, I hear I am about to lose it all.

I opened my palm and let Him hold my hand today. I felt Him kiss my cheeks. Then He said something I had to ask Him to repeat. He told me that he would like to get to know me in the good times, we had been through enough bad.

Here's the thing, I know when I listen to him things turn out for the best, but I don't feel like I have been listening to anything lately. I have felt a bit odd, a bit disconnected. Perhaps it is just a matter of getting to know him outside of the proverbial warzone, perhaps now is the time to get reacquainted on domestic soil.

It's sad that the One who saved me reminds me so much of that which I needed to be saved from that I would flinch at His name. I am realizing that there is a wounded creature that still lurks inside of me, just under the surface.

I am haunted, in my dreams, by a lingering desire to be saved and by the knowledge that no one ever comes. He does though, He always is waiting. In my poor, damaged mind He designed it that way; a manipulative tactic to thrust me into His arms because there is no one else to cling to. Cognitively, I know this is not true. I know that He does not operate that way. That creature though, she looks at Him with wide-eyed mistrust. How did this happen? I have fought this creature my whole life. Seeing Him and realizing who he is, then forgetting all over again. How could I forget? I want to feel badly, but I don’t feel much of anything save a twinge of sadness.

The creature inside of me heard Him say that He is back, not to save me, but to reintroduce himself to me outside of the shadowy world of my despair. She took a step toward Him, still shaking, but intrigued. Could it be true?

I take it back, I do feel something. It isn’t guilt though; it is deep, deep sadness and shock that I am only now seeing this pathetic creature for the first time. Now that I see her, I realize she has been there all along.

Funny, she came out of the shadows again tonight. Someone got too close to my heart. I reeled back with a vicious growl. I keep her well hidden, but I hear her, barring her teeth at the mere idea of someone getting close enough to hurt me. What happened to me that this thing could live inside of me?

I have spent my entire life running headfirst into the heart of anything that frightens me. I loathe the idea of anything having that kind of grip on me. It is only my great faith in myself that allows for my hopeful views of the future. For someone who dreams fearlessly of conquests and mountains to climb, it is funny to see the cynic beneath it all. I am good at dreaming about that which I can control. Hoping for that which I cannot is terrifying. I do believe that is the risk He is asking me to take now.

Things have been so frighteningly beautiful lately. Seeing the life I have always dreamed of, even the pieces I cannot control, coming together; it is petrifying. How could I have all this? I have done nothing to earn it. It is a gift I cannot bring myself to accept.

He is holding his hand out to me, telling me to take a step into the darkness. Who knew the one thing I would fear would be happiness?

In my philosophical musings I have come to accept that nothing lasts forever, and that is shouldn’t. Life is an ever-changing landscape with wonders and beauties of all different kinds to see along the way. It is not meant to be lived standing still. I have also come to accept the fact that as long as my home is in my heart, each scene will be mine, I will not be alone. I suppose that the next step is living these ideals; believing in the beauty, the goodness and the joy of life.

Now is the time to stop waiting for the “other shoe to drop”. It is time to let go of the fear and accept fully the happiness that has been offered to me, even the happiness that I have not earned. It is time to take the biggest risk of my life; accept joy and all the dangers of loss and disappointment that comes along with it. It is time to heal the wounded creature in my heart. It is time to learn to be truly fearless. I suppose it is time to learn to be more like Him. An open heart is a courageous one.

I have tasted perfection. When I let go it feels more like flying than falling. I want to spread my wings. I want to trust Him to not let me crash to the ground. God gave me the gift and the responsibility of an open heart. Imagine the possibilities if I open it up all the way. Imagine what love like that could do. It could light up a city.

I hear him now whispering, "Trust Me"...

Lion Tamer

Like someone who acquires a baby lion or tiger or bear cub and then is surprised when it becomes a full grown force to be reckoned with, I have grown a life that threatens to sweep me away!

I created this party, I made this whirlwind. Riding atop the breaker, I wonder how long I can keep it up, and when it carried me away.

I'm not complaining, just contemplating. My life is an endless string of social engagements, dinners, drinks, events and it is fabulous, but how long can I keep it up? This is not a lifestyle Mick Jagger could maintain in the long run.

I need to get back on top. I need to reign it all in, find the quiet and the balance. Perhaps I need to prune my guest list. Or perhaps I should just let it carry me away, perhaps I should ride this wave to the shore. Who knows?

My life is shifting, when the earth shifts there are earthquakes, perhaps this is just my personal tremor.

Keystrokes of Thought

I am not an internal processor. I have far too many competing thoughts rushing through my mind to truly examine one in detail. Talking does not solve this dilemma either. Speaking divides my attention between effectively communicating that which I am trying to understand and the comprehension of it. Writing seems to be the only method in which I can truly untangle the brambles of my internal life. Writing has become as essential to my well being as bathing or eating or even breathing at times. I wonder what that says about me, that I cannot think without seeing my thoughts laid out before me. Perhaps I should write about it...

Absconder

I have been lost lately, running as though my life depended on it. There has been no quiet, no calm. I have been unsettled. The unrest within me, the nervous energy, made it impossible to be still, impossible to be quiet. If there is no calm within, how can you possibly sit idle, feeling the torrents surging through your chest?

It was an odd feeling, hearing people comment on how well I seemed to be doing. I felt only an inexplicable urge to push forward, to surround myself with people and chatter. Up was down, my focus and priorities skewed. The guilt about that nipping at my heels as I ran faster and harder. The thing is, eventually you will be caught.

I hit a wall yesterday. My brief periods of sleep were rot with nightmares and anxiety, and the numbness was replaced with sadness. I couldn't see and I crashed.

I let the melancholy wash over me through the day and finally sought solace in a kitchen, with an idealist. I put on my cosmetic armor and went up to Ma Peche to watch Emily cook and wait for her to wrap-up for the night. For some reason, sitting in a restaurant, watching the precise, uncompromising work of a chef, I was able to be still and quiet. I sat for two hours, watching her plate, watching her break down. I was still and silent. The sadness would nip at me and then scurry away. She finished her shift and took me to a quiet bar around the corner.

There I told her about my unrest. I told her about my guilt. In the midst of my mad dash, I was walling myself off from those important to me. Speaking in anecdotes to acquaintances and leaving no time to truly talk to family (both blood relations and dear friends). I was not writing, I was not thinking, I was starving my soul with the iceberg lettuce of activity instead of true sustenance. The disconnection brought guilt and the guilt pushed me on.

Realizing the futility of the life I was living, seeing how far off-course I was floored me when it caught me. On the surface it looked like the life I aspire to: active, social, exciting; but without substance it is vapid.

Like a crazed hunting dog chasing a rabbit into a briar patch, I found myself pursuing the wrong things. I was out of balance and out of energy.

Emily sees me as the woman I want to be. She loves me, but cannot be hurt by my distress. She is not afraid to confront me, but will never judge me. She still holds strong to ideals that age has softened for me. She is like a younger version of myself and it was with her I found my refuge. I was able to stop running.

There was not a monster hot on my trail; it was simply the helpless powerlessness that comes from loving people. I feel it when I look at my brother struggling, when I read about my terminal and broken patients, when I watch Jo fight for the life she deserves, and perhaps, if I am honest, when I realize that as long as my life includes people I care for, my own happiness is at stake. I cannot save them and I can only save myself to a point. I can work hard and attain much of what I want in life, but when it comes to people, what you want doesn’t matter. No amount of work or ambition will enable you to change them.

I was seeking without knowing what I was looking for. I was accepting facade over authenticity. And I was scared.

I think having Joanna here with me shifted my thinking back to a place where I no longer centered around my own core, instead I started trying to center around a pair. I can craft my life, but when you try to start building for two, your foundation will be a shaky one.

How could I not be anxious? I accepted the idea of sharing my life again, but with no guarantee of her participation. You cannot expect the actions of others to match your own. That is a recipe for disappointment and heartache. All you can do is live your life the best way for you with an open invitation for those you love to participate or not.

I don't want a taco truck of a life, constantly chasing the crowds. I want a brick and mortar abode. It will always be open for those I love to come and find laughter, consistency and refuge. Most importantly, no matter who is coming or going, I will always be home. A true home is not a place that resides in a crowd, or family, or a friend or a lover, but inside of me. Trying to find it anywhere else makes me an anxious vagrant, running frantically from one crowded room to another. I somehow forgot that over the last few weeks.

Sitting quietly in my apartment, not a sound or a soul around, I have settled back into myself. I can let go. I do not need to save anyone, that is not my job. I need only to continue building a strong foundation for myself. As MFK Fisher said, "Like most humans, I am hungry...our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it...” It is only after I satiate this hunger in myself I am able to indulge in “one of the pleasantest of all emotions… to know that I, I with my brain and my hands, have nourished my beloved few, that I have concocted a stew or a story, a rarity or a plain dish, to sustain them truly against the hungers of the world."

As long as I am wholly me, those I love know where they can find comfort. My life is a beautiful bungalow not a prison. It is exactly what I want it to be and will always be open. It was shuttered these last few weeks, but I am here now. I am smiling and free and ready to welcome and savor each guest who crosses my threshold or to relish it in complete solitude.

Through the Looking Glass (or the ER)

Today the powers that be aligned in the hallway outside my office, that's right, the unholy trinity of Little Boss, Middle Boss and Big Boss were united. Looking at them together made the irony of the names I have given them all the more clear. Big Boss is an Athena-like, statuesque woman who towers over the other two. Middle boss is a round, grandma-looking woman, shorter than Big Boss, but significantly taller than the tiny Little Boss. Little Boss is a pocket-sized Latina, who is absolutely adorable with the air of a Chihuahua.

They certainly act-out their persona's to a tee as well. BB knows she is the master of the universe, and to her credit, she is a brilliant, ferocious force to be reckoned with. MB is the petulant middle child, bobbling around without enough power to matter, but enough to cause trouble (which she enjoys doing between her triads against whoever has demonstrated themselves to be "an incompetent idiot" on any particular day). LB is happy and bubbly, like the aforementioned dog, pleasantly wagging her proverbial tail and osculating between BB and MB.

I can't really say I find my stature to be comparable to theirs. I feel taller than MB and LB, but definitely a bit shorter than BB. BB is the only one I take seriously, and even she does not strike fear in my heart. Respect yes, fear no. I suppose I feel rather removed from their trifecta of earnestness. This job has felt like a temp position since I started. When they talk about "My future at the VA" I simultaneously shudder and smirk. No ladies, I will remain like Alice in Wonderland, a girl who happened to fall down the rabbit hole and is just passing through!

On the other side of the looking glass there are many strange creatures; The Trinity, Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb (I don't quit know which is which, Is the rotund cackler dee and the pervy reject dumb? I think they may be interchangeable.), there is the chain-smoking, food dribbling ogar of an IT supervisor(the only outright hostile woman in the place), and a bevy of other freaks, crazies and lost souls. Because their fate is not my own, they are all completely harmless. I am able to walk through the circus with an amused eye.

I appreciate the fact that I have never had a "normal job". The Army was a complete insane asylum. The restaurant was a political hotbed of felon line cooks, temperamental chefs, coke-head fairies, aspiring artists and down-on-your-luck southerners. RRA was run by the single strangest woman I have ever met and was wrot with delicious madness. The VA makes sense. What would I do in a normal office? I wonder if they even exist. Are there places that are professional and drama free? Maybe not.

As long as I can escape from inside these bizarre worlds, sit back and enjoy the show, I think they will continue to serve as anecdotal souvenirs of this life of mine. The key is seeing the story in the chaos rather than living it and truly immersing yourself in the good.

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.

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.

That Woman

I never thought I would be that woman. The woman who feigns headaches, who wears sweatpants to bed rather than sexy panties and camisoles.

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.

Feels Like Falling in Love

You know that feeling when you are falling in love? When it feels like the world is ripe with possibilities, when you feel like the most interesting, beautiful person on the planet? Well, I have been feeling that way a lot lately.


I wonder if it is actually possible to hold onto this feeling, clutch it close and luxuriate in it. The fact that I am not falling in love with anyone in particular, but rather, many people, places and experiences, means that I am not reliant on a person to maintain the sunshine of new love. As we all know, when the glossy veneer of lust begins to fade, all the cracks begin to show, people becomes real, imperfect and unable to live up to the idolized image we have created of them. Perhaps loving whole heartedly and widely Will create a vacuum in which the beautiful glow can be maintained.


Even as I write this I don't believe it! This feeling is like being high, and everyone has to come down sometime.

As Katy Perry said, "Its not serious, just want to try you on", well what if you could live as though you were in a dressing room? Trying on different possibilities like clothing. Its an interesting prospect.

Forever Young

Reading through my recent blogs I have noticed a pattern. It seems that I have gotten a bit caught up in a melancholy tone. I suppose my humorous outlook needs a rest once and a while, I often let all the melancholy out here. I must remember that depression is not art or visaversa! This blog is about my life, and I refuse to believe that it has been as dark as I have made it sound. There has been a bit of a tempest in my mind lately, but I am a true believer in the idea that it is you and not your circumstances that shape your outlook.

There have not been any EWI events since the wild, wild Holiday Mixer a few weeks ago. There was a beer and cheese event that was snowed-out and a Scotch tasting that I missed due to "work exhaustion", but there is a fabulous Filipino Fusion restaurant tasting scheduled for Tuesday. I need to cook an Afghani dish tomorrow so I can stay on-track with my eat/cook around the world project! Mmmm! Just thinking about my beloved group makes me smile. Well, about the to Holiday Mixer, it seems that in all the excitement I neglected to mention it.

Our darling Bro-friends Mike and Pooneet suggested that we have a party to help foster relationships between the original and new members. They also offered to host. I made a beautiful stuffed fig dish.

Wandering around the Chelsea Market gathering the perfect ingredients: a pungent blue cheese from Lucy's Whey, fresh figs from the fruit market and paper-thin sliced bacon from the meat market. At the market I met a fellow foodie working behind the register. I invited her to join the group and left the market filled with a sense of beautiful certainly in the direction of my life. I love food and people, and the people who love food are a special breed of people; my people.

I headed over to the party and started cooking. I halved the figs, pressed the cheese into the halves and wrapped them in little bacon bundles. The boys popped them in the broiler for me. They had made a chick-pea bruchetta and lamb meatballs. Deepa brought fresh-baked ginger cookies and everyone brought wine!

The party was set to start at 4pm. I had agreed to go to my friend Mark's party later that night, so D. opted-out of the EWI fete and told me we would meet-up at Mark's.

People trickled in at their own pace, but it really didn't matter, I have a great time with them whether there are five of us or fifty. Ironically, there was not all that many new members there to meet original members! As I said before, not that fact (or any other) would stop us from having a grand time. Judging from our long history of partying into the night, I should have known that this would not be a quick party, regardless of what time it started!

We drank, and talked and laughed and then conversation turned to Bourbon. Yes, Bourbon. Pooneet happens to be quite the connoisseur, and I happen to be of the opinion that if you don't like something that just means you haven't tried enough of it. That lead us to a Bourbon tasting. I was feeling no pain before the tasting, after the tasting everything got a bit surreal!

Somehow Rock Band was turned-on and the most incredibly bad singing and playing commenced. After exhausting the original Rock Band line-up, the Beatles's Rock Band was queued-up and the resulting butchery of such classics as "Lucy in the Sky" are thankfully nothing but a blur to me.

It was around this time that we noticed the time. It was nearly 11:00pm. Yes, we had been drinking for close to 7 hours. Naturally, it was time to move the party to Mark's! I texted D. and we were off to find a cab. Our original party had dwindled to a group of four.

We arrived to Solas in the East village and stumbled out of the cab and over to the club. The bouncer hassled the guys (I still don't know why), but submitted to letting us in. Once inside I began looking for Markie. The crowd did not seem very Gay, and considering his sexual preferences, I was confused. We struggled through the crowd and I tried to call him. We decided to leave, but on the way out I ran right into Mr. Mark himself. He was as drunk as I was and we hung onto each other outside the club, slurring compliments to each other. He asked us to stay, but at this point the bouncer was evil-eyeing us again and so we begged-out.

DeShon finally texted me back to let me know he was going out with one of his boys instead, I texted him that the club sucked and would be home soon.

Rather than rolling on home, the crew suggested that we check-out a bar on the corner. Why not? We sauntered into Hi Fi and promptly ordered drinks. Let's see, after an evening of red wine, white wine and Bourbon a Dirty Martini only makes sense, right? Ah, the drunken mind! I enjoyed Erin's comment about the evening; poetically she told us that our evening was merely an "adventure for our livers"!

Adventure it was. After we secured our cocktails we moseyed on over to the pool tables. Now, I am a firm believer in the fact that alcohol impairs your abilities, with one striking exception: Pool. I suck at pool, I mean really, really suck! When I drink though, I get good. We played in teams and I was actually on the winning team the first round! Even in the subsequent losing rounds, I held my own. In fact, I kicked some ass! It shocked me every time the ball miraculously found its way into the pocket. As you can imagine, I was very vocal in my satisfaction with myself. Ah, booze!

Amidst the revelry, I neglected to check either my phone (in the coat room) or the time. As the evening came to an end and I was shuffled by my dear members into a cab, I glanced at the clock to see a luminescent 4:00am flashing back at me. I came into the apartment gleefully intoxicated and jolly from my evening of excitement. DeShon was not amused. He bitched at me and then sent me to bed. Thankfully I was smart enough (read: drunk enough) to just do what he told me and go to sleep.

It took D. a few days to get over it, but he came around. See, I don't generally stay out all night. Hell, I rarely stay up past 1:00am! It felt good though. Not something I would make a habit of doing, but hell, it made me feel young. It reminded me of a time in my life when life was too exciting for sleep, when I was afraid of missing out on one second of it. I let myself get carried away in the moment; in the sheer pleasure of friends and drinks and laughter. I am a young woman, but I have to remind myself of that fact. I grew up too fast and now that the brakes seem to have failed, I am desperately trying to slow down time. I want to act my age, even if just for one crazy night of marathon drinking and blurred East Village bars.

You are What I Want You to Be- An Affair of the Mind

I desire you because my life with you is perfect.
I lust for you because you fit so perfectly into the idyllic future in my mind.
I long for you because you represent the life I dream of.I hunger for you because I hunger for what my life could be.
I love you because you are not you at all but a piece of me.

Sentimental

Walking to work today I caught a whiff of diesel fuel. That smell brings me back to the war and all the memories from that time. The pangs of longing have become much more quiet these days and I suddenly remembered a time last spring, when the fierce longing was so intense that I ended up in Dr. Katz’s chair. I remembered how tortured and sad I was. I remembered that the moment I finally broke into tears was when I finally admitted that the thing I missed the most about those times was me. The hopeful young woman who had the entire world in front of her. I had lost my hope. I felt so trapped by my life and so disheartened by the future. No wonder I was filled with dread every evening in bed and every morning when I awoke.

Thinking back on that day, I realized something profound: It is not times in our lives that we long for, not really, if you break it down to its most basic form, it is a feeling we miss. Life is never perfect, there is always bad along with the good. Clearly this was true for my military service! It was not the army life in early 2000 that I longed to recapture, it is impossible to recreate a period of time with all its intricacies, it was the youthful hope, fearless love and deep friendships.

I find this epiphany to be profound because it offers a solution. Though you cannot go back in time, you can find ways to re-capture the things you truly long for. That singular therapy session did not cure me, it did not calm the screaming in the pit of my stomach, but perhaps it was the seed that lead me to my experiment a few months later, the experiment that lead me back to friendship, hope and confidence.

Next time I am feeling that sentimental stab, I will ask myself what it is I am truly in need of: closer relationships with my family, excitement, adventure. I can never go back, but the past may help me to craft a better present and future. Passion is my compass and perhaps now I see that the past can be the needle, for at the core of sentiment is desire a close companion to passion.

I am on my way, I may take a wrong turn here or there, but I am no longer the woman who wakes in a panic of the life she has come to loath, I am no longer the lonely woman trapped in her memories, I may not know exactly where I am going, but I am no longer lost.

Week 8: The Last Day

I decided to re-read my first post today. I wanted to see how far I have come in 8 weeks, every good experiment must be evaluated after all! I barely recognize the lonely, dejected woman who set out to craft a new life for herself. The tortuous minutia of struggling through the workday and coming home to watch my shows with no real future in sight was robbing me of myself, turning me into someone else. I feel at peace now, excited about the future, but also happy in the moment. I think it's worth mentioning another beautiful phenomenon, as I have added to my life money has decreased it's staring role in it. Yes I still budget and manage it, but I no long feel the need to talk about it much or even to think about it often. God provides everything I need, and as I have said before; money in and of itself is dreadfully boring! I wrote that I wanted to craft a life of friendship, adventure and passion, and to figure out what direction to steer my future. I set six weekly goals for myself to this end: One new recipe, daily workouts, one dinner party or social outing, one piece of writing, one new New York experience and one new friendship.

Recipes: Fat Free Canoli's, Chinese Broccoli, Home-made Pasta, Grilled Cheese and Pear, Pulled-Pork, Bun Bowl, Quiche, Risotto

These may not seem very impressive, most of them were fairly simple to make, but they all were an adventure. Challenging myself to create something new, not for someone else, but for the sheer pleasure of it added adventure to my life. Searching the neighborhoods of Manhattan for just the right ingredients, looking for inspiration at every turn, enjoying the successes and the unbelievable disasters, this is a simple excitement born out of my passion added color to my weeks.

Workouts: Spinning 2x per week, Pilates 1x per week, Hiking weekends, various 2x per week

It seems so vain and trivial, but pushing myself to try spinning has made me feel so strong and beautiful! Those pesky pounds have melted away, and I still eat without guilt but with balance. I feel amazing.

Dinner Parties/ Social: Drinks with Kaitlin and Gussie, 3 EWI cooking events, 1 EWI restaurant event, Visiting Jo and meeting her girlfriends, Marisa's wedding and party, dinner with Jill

I have been out with friends at least once a week, the best part being that each was fun, exactly what I wanted. I did not go out clubbing or partying, but sharing laughter and food and conversation. It has become a natural part of my life. I make an effort to see people and clearly that was all I needed to do. Learning to stop waiting for things to happen and making them happen has transformed my life. I am not lonely. I have friends all over the country and that's ok! I can find ways to see them and stay connected, and though not as close, my friends in New York add comfort and richness to my everyday life. Starting Eating with Impunity has empowered me to bring people together in an entirely different way. To introduce a group of 20 strangers and have them become friends is something I never thought I was capable of.

Writing: The Blog

Twenty-some odd posts later and the inane details of my life have become a story. Some funny, some profound, some simple. I am becoming a true writer and the author of my own life.

New York: Hell's Kitchen Flea Market, Chinatown, West Village specialty markets, Rowing on the Hudson, Brooklyn Book Festival, Brooklyn Tabernacle Baptist, Murray Hill Specialty Market, Dinner in Queens

Exploring my city has made it all the more enchanting. I don't need to be rich to experience the unique flavors of the many neighborhoods, and I don't have to be at the hottest clubs or newest plays for it to be totally New York! This city is different for everyone and I have found My New York. The New York of vintage hunting, unique cuisines and disastrous outdoor sports! I don't have to be anyone but myself and I don't have to force myself to try.

Social Connections: EWI group, new NYU members, Jo's girls, M.'s girls, re-connection with old friends

I have not made any new best friends, but I have met some amazing people. I am connecting with fellow foodies, reconnecting with old friends and seeing how rich life can be when you accept people for who they are. I enjoyed the crazy night with the suburban housewives in Denver, I loved the Army wives of Tennessee, I feel an instant connection to the girls I met at NYU and my EWI group is becoming like a little family. Each person in my life is different, but they are all characters, some funny, some sad all part of a great story.

What to do with myself: ??? : )

I am starting a new job, not career, job. The VA is going to allow me the opportunity to help people and the time to help myself! My applications have been sent to NYU's Food Studies and to half of the law schools. I am thinking that I will start at NYU in the spring (if I get in!) and when I hear back from the law schools, decide whether to continue with food studies or go for a law degree. For a short time I will be able to have it all! I am taking my FSO exam next week as well. I have so many choices ahead of me and I don't think a single one is wrong. I am going to follow my heart in making my decisions and continue to construct the elements I need in my life. I don't need a career to give me everything, it is only one piece of the grand life I am creating.

For the first time I feel peaceful, happy and at home. I thought at first that it was New York, a place to call home. As I sent my applications off to UCLA and USC and heard D.'s mother talk about production opportunities out west, I felt nothing but a quiet excitement. No panic, no regret. I love New York and I always will, but the home I have found is not geographical, it is something inside of me. I feel for the first time in my life that no matter where my adventures take me, the friendship and excitement and comfort of home will follow, everything will be ok. Perhaps I have been home all along, needing only to find myself to realize it.

D.'s plane is landing at JFK any minute now, what will happen now? My prayer is that even together I can stay close to home, not get lost in his dreams. My prayer is that our dreams will compliment each others, simply adding flavor. My prayer is that my adventure can be our adventure, that our friendship and love is big enough for the big ideas we both have. What will it look like though? I suppose that will be the next great experiment of my life. I have taken hold of my own life and created something beautiful, now it is time to try and double it. The adventures of D and Fi...hmm, has a nice ring to it.....

Hypocrisy Disclaimer

After writing today, and going to church earlier, I decided that I should write a hypocrisy disclaimer in case anyone actually reads this. Now, in this blog, or any of my writing really, I talk about life. I talk about food and sex and God, and all with a very dirty mouth! Some might find this strange or hypocritical, but really I find writers who pretend to be choir girls when telling the stories of life to be either naive or fake.

I just finished reading Bon Appetit by Sandra Byrd. She is lucky she tells a good story, because her main character Lexi made me want to barf. (Barf being a prophetic literary term, of course!) It was as though she had to paint the world in primary colors and make everything G rated simply because she spoke about God in the novel. I found Lexi to be either fake or naive, as I already stated. God is not tucked away in the Disney Land section of my life (as if I would actual have one!). He was there when I smoked pot, here when I am being a bitchy tart and will be right by my side the next time I do something unsavory. All that is to say, I am a real person, I write about real life and real life is not divided into chapels and strip clubs. It is all me, and perhaps my stories can show that spirituality and reality are not mutually exclusive.

God's Sous Chef

I traveled to Brooklyn this morning to check-out the Brooklyn Tabernacle. I have been craving the soulful gospel music and passion I found in the Southern Baptist churches of the south, and the closest I could come-up with here were in Harlem and Brooklyn. Brooklyn is actually closer. As I entered the mega-theatre of the sanctuary I knew that this was not the small, soulful parish I remembered, but the electricity was there.

It was different, not the warm embrace of culture I had become accustom to, but this is not the south, this is New York. I was inspired by the message and I realized one benefit of the mega-church was their ability to have a far-reaching impact, funded by the several thousand members. As the minister spoke about his experiences feeding the children in Haiti and Guam , I had an idea. Perhaps the meaningful aspect of my life can come through an extracurricular spice. I don't have to join the peace corps to touch people's lives. If I want to go and meet and help people, perhaps this megalith of a church would be my way.

The reverend also spoke about Jesus's disciple Peter. Peter was passionate and brash and a hot mess much of the time, but he was also a great leader. I don't have to be perfect to be great. It seems that my passion may be enough. Just being who I am may be enough.

I also had a revelation: It does not matter what I do, I am still going to be me. Everything changes, everything can be taken away, but I am still going to be me. The job I choose has no bearing on who I am going to be in my life, there is no right or wrong choice. I heard Him whisper in my ear: pick whatever you like, your life will be beautiful no matter what.

My choices and experiences lie before me, like the beautiful fish at Lobster Place and the shining produce at Gourmet Garage and the fresh baguettes at the bakery. As I pick-out my groceries I am beginning to see a recipe come together.

I feel God walking with his arm around me, picking-up things to show me like we are old lovers or friends. I tried to ask him for a list, but he seems to be shaking his head and laughing. It is for me to choose. He runs the kitchen and can make something amazing with anything I bring home, but He did not make me line cook, merely taking orders, I am his Sous Chef. I am the artist of my own life and He refuses to take that away.

Do what you like. I am still not clear as to what that is exactly, but I am beginning to see that a life as full as the one I dream of does not have a simple formula. I simply need to continue adding elements, directed by my passion and my heart, and when the right combination comes together I will have a life that I can savor, a life that will leave me full and satisfied.

Wrap-up of Week One

Quite a start if I do say so! I worked-out almost every day and lost 4 lbs, gaining 3 back over the weekend :..( I tried a new recipe and now know how to make Cannoli shells, if not the filling. I had a party, went out for drinks, met 10 new people and have been writing every day. I said yes to life this week and the results have been staggering. I am not losing site of my other goal though, trying to figure out my next career move. Though I am embracing life now, I always keep one eye on the horizon.

I suppose I should talk about the party. It ended up being nine of us in out strange motley crew! We have two paralegals, one lawyer, two finance guys, two lucky ladies in publishing, one gal whose job I just can't remember and Me. We are all in our mid to late twenties/ early thirties and we love to eat. I would say 7 out of 9 love to cook as well, though no one has a culinary degree. We all find our passion for the edible to be our salvation from the mundane realities and disappointments of our lives. One of the lovely publishing girls came up with our name, a name that falls just shy of pretension into the silly and ironic: Eating With Impunity (EWI for short)!

We EWI members sat and drank ten bottles of wine, laughed and shouted, and finally ended-up at an after party of sorts at the finance guys' loft. We were there to see the space and help him make fried risotto. K my co-founder, began snapping pictures and it was a great time! Looking at the pictures, I saw that I loomed about the other women. At first feeling quite amazonian, I began to smile. There I was with my pearls and red lipstick, boisterous and larger than life: I felt just like Julia! It didn't matter that I did not look petite or the thinnest of the girls, I was channeling my hero, a woman who was loved and adored for her vibrance and not her dress size. I probably sound a bit foolish, seeing as this "amazon" is only a size 4, but it is all relative, and this is New York!

My how things change! One week ago I was house sitting in the West Village, trying to figure out how to make my life more passionate, more full of laughter, more full of people and parties and new experiences. I shot for my eight weekly goals (I so hate that it is not a more rounded number, like 10!) and I tried to approach everything as an adventure or a story. It has been a bit exhausting, but strangely easy. Who knew my experiment would begin working so fast! I am well on my way to the life I want right now, but I am still in the dark about what to do next, I guess you can't expect to have it all in only one week.


Week One Goal List:
1. Daily Workout- 6 days
2. New Recipe - Fat Free Cannoli
3. New Writing- Blogger Article: cooking and cunnilingus
4. Dinner Party - EWI party
5. Social Event - Drinks with K.
6. New Connection - K. and the EWI's
7. New NYC Experience - Hell's Kitchen Flea Market
8. One Yes instead of No - I honestly don't think I made this one this week

Day 5

Yesterday was interesting. I was a bit more bitter at work, thinking about our eminent pay-cut meeting and unfruitful looking for other jobs on craigslist, but other than that, it was a pretty good day. After the weekly Boss-induced Friday heart attack (She waits until her bus to the hamptons is departing and then finds important things to work on, while I work like crazy to get her packed, out the door and at the same time finish typing the document she is working on), I made my grocery list and headed to meet my fellow type-a foodie.

She was not there when I arrived or after my first glass of wine, and I began to wonder if I had fallen victim to some deranged internet predator who would make plans with people and then stand them up! Well, she actually called the bar, God-bless her, to let me know that she was on her way. She turned out to be a total doll! I would assume close to my age, classic style, pretty and hates her job as much as I hate mine. To steal the line: "I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship!"

The Foodie Club party is on! There are several different directions it could go, more cooking or more eating, celebrity chefs coming to speak ect. OOOOH! I just had a great idea! I can't blog it here though! If we can find a way to turn this club into a business, we could both escape our silly starter-jobs.

After drinks I staggered down to the Trader Joe's and Food emporium and drunkenly spend a small fortune on food. I am all set for the Cannoli challenge though! I also agreed, just this morning to meet a friend of my mom's friend to discuss law school, a yes I would normally have said no to: Check. All I have left to do this week is to actually make the Cannoli and to do something New Yorkie.

Let's see where life takes me today!

Though my job is on the rocks and there are no new prospects in sight, though I still have no idea what to do with my life, perhaps with passion as my compass, this may turn out to be a great year!

Faux Cooking in a Fast Food Nation

I was reading a post on the blog Bitten and one from the New York Times about the effects of the recession and of food television on the amount of home cooking in America. It seems that there has not been much of an effect at all. Instead of eating-out, people are "taking-out" from grocery and convenience stores. Prepared foods that simply need to be eaten or heated.

This is an interesting phenomenon. I saw an astounding commercial the other day for a family sized microwavable lasagna. It seems that people now equate baking a frozen pizza or zapping a pre-made pot roast as cooking! I admit, I use pre-made pizza crust and gasp! frozen vegetables, but I take the time to craft a healthy meal that requires cooking or at least the combination of ingredients with these convenience foods. What happened to creating a meal? Have people in America really forgotten how to cook?

I suppose I began slowly, making salads and quick pastas in my first home, but I quickly fell in love with the craft. It was my desire to lose weight and eat healthier that got me started. It costs me as much to cook as to go out. New York groceries are nightmarishly pricey. The satisfaction is so much fuller though.

Creating and then consuming, rather than just eating is a truly nourishing experience. I wonder what it would take to convince people that it is worth the extra time. I find that coming home after a long day, stopping at the market and then cooking dinner is the best way to wind down. It is the transition from work to home, into a state of relaxation. All the irritations and frustrations can be forgotten as you focus on the task at hand. Maybe people would need less therapy if they simply came home and engaged in the natural and fulfilling acts of baking or sauteing!

As I wrote earlier this week, the most natural pleasures we have are food and sex. Well, the preparation of food is foreplay for eating. After indulging in a meal artfully prepared and lighter than the fried crap you can heat and eat, there might just be enough energy and relaxation left over for a romp in the bedroom. Perhaps this is the secret to the infamous French sensuality, the true enjoyment of food and sex and life. Not always quick and easy, but richer and more beautiful.