See me.

I'm into selfies.  It's never about makeup or an outfit. My selfies are about any given moment and how I feel in it.  I look through my Facebook or Instagram and I can tell you about that moment, because that was what I was capturing. img_0902 This was on Mother's Day.  I was with family at my Mom's house and the dog was ours for many years, but I gave him to my niece.  He was so happy to see me that he wanted to jump up my dress.  There was surprise and silliness and tons of happiness.  I was in the early happy stages of online dating and joking about the many dates I had that week.  That week, I had a couple of morning or lunch dates with different dinner dates.  It was a happy moment of attention and I loved it at the time.

img_0642

I was in front of my bestie's car.  He drives enough horses to make me a little jealous and I love my car.  We hadn't seen each other in a really long time and we were hanging out at a barcade for drinks, laughter, reminiscing and ego boosting.  I was with friends I have known over two decades and at one point I asked one of them to stand out of my line of sight because there was a beautiful boy in front of me with a southern drawl and I was feeling silly and boy crazy, but not at all on the prowl.

img_0851

This was Monday at the Mondrian on Sunset Strip.  I've lived in Los Angeles my whole life.  Specifically, I've had four addresses and they were all in Los Angeles County.  I have always wanted to party on Sunset Strip but never had an excuse or company.  It was a 20th Anniversary showing of Romeo and Juliet poolside with cocktails.  I was there with friends and excited for the opportunity to listen to the Q&A with casting director David Rubin and the opportunity to be with the woman behind GenArt.  (She's full of amazing, if you wondered.)  It was a great night before my week turned.

img_0852

This was yesterday.  I was having a moment of loving what I was looking at.  We can ignore the fact that I was looking at myself.

Life happens.  There is no need for excuses or explanations.  It is what we've made it and the power of it all is in our interpretations because perspective is a chosen way to look at life. Today was a much better day, but there was a moment once I parked my car before meeting a friend for dinner when my thoughts were serious and intense and while I wasn't overwhelmed, those ideas needed full credence and I was giving those thoughts my full attention.

img_0849

I posted this to my Instagram and Facebook:

"I glanced in the rear view mirror and caught myself sifting through thoughts deep enough to drown in.  Not hiding this moment became the moment I choose to share."

So many are used to my happy moments that one picture prompted phone calls and text messages.  I promise I'm okay, but clearly not good at thinking and smiling at the same time.  This was a moment of standing proudly in who I am framed by what I was feeling.  I was feeling a moment of sadness.  It's been a rough week but mainly I was thinking back a couple of decades and not proud of the woman and friend I was.  I was feeling the weight of free falling through situations I can't control.  I was taking a moment to stand in the strength of defending myself yesterday because I chose to not be yelled at and hang up the phone and answer when and how - on my terms when I was ready.

I will not listen to you yell at me because I am not your child.  

This is not a discussion.  

In those two sentences I felt taller, and the rage that flowed around me became ripples that broke around but not on top of me.  Those two sentences were years in coming and I was the only one to celebrate them when they came.  And my moment was full of many other thoughts in several directions because I can't shut that part of my brain off.  There may have been some angst and longing in there as well.

Night has fallen and I get to marvel at what it feels like to be loved so deeply that others want to know what has stolen my smile.  This is what it feels like when others take notice and want to help get that smile firmly back in place.

Bottled Bruises

I'd bottle the bad and toss it out to sea if it meant that through my eyes, all that can be seen is shaded with the freedom of interpretation. Actions wouldn't be the feigned responsibility of reciprocity but the intentionally unconditional offer of first fruits and selfless grandeur.

I would wake up daily. I would see what is to be seen and I would stop drifting casually and aimlessly. I've stopped waiting for life to happen as my life is a daily choice and open expectation. I expect responsibility for my choices.

These old scars are being packed in a glass bottle and I'll cork it up and wax it down and live out what I breathe in. I will be what I am being.

I get what it means to see that I am.

Small Pleasures

My week has been a rough one since Monday evening. Even today, the calls and texts kept coming and at one point I had to step away from my desk to walk off my anger.  At another point, there was no time to choose my reaction after a call and I was again a victim to anger that wasn't mine, but it broke over and around me and I sat in stunned silence.  The tears came without warning but I was sitting in my corner without an audience and grateful for the time of day when others around me had left for the day.  I blinked away those tears because the timing still wasn't right. At one point today I stepped into the tail of familiar scent.  Immediately the smell was a trail to a name that became a soothing repeated track that echoed through my mind like an anchor holding me still in choppy waters.

Tonight there was a call to my sister.  I whined to her.  We talked.  I complained some more.  She understood.  She felt like home.  I made her laugh.  It was terrific.

There was retail therapy and deep discounts.  My Victoria's Secret matching set came with 4 extra panties and was $26 on my shiny black and gold card.  Dinner also came with a discount and a Scooby Snack and a familiar face that I was really happy to see.

Sometimes I feel like I need the catharsis of a deep cry.  It still has not yet come. Last night the plan was to go out on my front porch with the rushing sounds of flowing water from the pond I built and let run over with plants, and cry silently under moonlight out of sight of my kids.  I received a random text message instead and my snark demon came out.

It never fails when I'm at a more vulnerable point and I'm emotionally bottomed out, a random person from my online dating phase will get lonely and bored, and he won't realize I was passing on his offer, even if I tell him directly so I become mean and friendly, drawing him in before cutting him down. I haven't decided why I haven't blocked him yet, but I'm leaning toward how fun he is to mess with.

img_0836

He seems to sense my low points and in my passive aggressive way, I become someone I don't like later. I justify it when I remember he thought I would be okay as his top one of three. He thought I would like to be told what to do because he didn't listen to what I said and for a while I feel like he deserves to be treated this way because he doesn't listen to me while he's busy looking at my selfies that were sent months ago.

I stop short of asking what he thinks this will get him and instead tell him all about my man crush and he is surprised that I'm still quite smitten since the last time he reached out and I haven't gotten bored because this discussion has been had about several others in the short time I've known him since early May and it's been longer than normal for me, but he forgets I was a faithful wife for a decade and a half and I can stay focused intently. Intensely. Too deeply. Too much. But he's safe to me.

A day goes by and I remember his heartache and his need to control his romantic life when I'm just focused on controlling my reactions. I feel remorse and it looks like shame in who I have let him shape me into. The aggressor with teeth tastes blood in the water and he's an injured mammal flailing and I enjoy the taste of fear but he doesn't know I want to hurt him.

It's evil and vile and somehow it feels good. Does that make me bad?

My Self

There's an elaborate covering.  It's my protection.  What you see, is who you see, and who I am is the woman I've created.  There's nothing organic in what I present.  It was burned away during the refining and the smell still haunts me but the wind is cleaning what was and what is still wears proud singe marks but you need an expert eye to see what is hidden. I don't know what healed looks like but it's close to what I feel on days unlike today. I moisturize then shade layers of shadow on my eyes.  I line my upper lids in black and mascara on my magic because the goal is to conjure a glance that might lead to more.  My lips are rarely lined, but usually smeared in red.  I pucker a pop with "O" rounded lips and imagine others would think of love or sex or death and want my lips to be a parting gift before sweet surrender into nothing.  Sex brings life but can also leave death in brokenness and the balance is struck with intention past lust.

I've been told I have great legs and a terrific rack.  I've been told I have a great body but I'm not offering it so every thought that bounds out of my brain is torn to nothing by what the lustful imaginations directed at my body are thinking at the same time. I grew up in the 80's where it was safe to walk to and from school when I was in the 3rd grade.  It was safe to stop in polite acquiescence for the man in the red car that was lost and thought I might know where he wanted to go while he held his rigid cock in his hand and I slowly backed away from what I couldn't understand.  Street harassment is nothing to aggressive teens that believe their hands belong on my ass and an inept electives teacher with an overhanging belly laughed that boys will be boys and there were no options for me because all through the 8th grade I would remain a victim to what was found as sexy on my body and I just wanted to get lost in a book.  The books I read told me that romance starts like aggression and maybe touching places that were uncomfortable would lead to excitement and angst and eventually love.  Leather and lace and bodice ripping romance started as violence and maybe this was the way to the happiness that comes in 300 pages and ends with marriage and a baby. I eventually named my butt, scrawling "my name's butt" on the bottom of a phys-ed t-shirt. I laughed at their aggression, acting as though it was invited.  It took my authority back in a way that became their disinterest. It was perceived that I was asking for it, and by that point I didn't care anymore.

I strut to the beat that is blaring in my ears.  One foot directly in front of the other, swaying slightly and stepping confidently.  I walk swiftly.  I glide slowly.  Chin up and shoulders back, I am ready for what is coming, even if it's just ice cream that I have no intention of finishing.

I sing loudly to stop the thoughts that bounce and roam into the corners of quiet that I want to claim as my own.  There is no respite from the world I can't control and the bell I can't unring is resounding in ways I wasn't prepared for. There was a shift and the future once planned has unraveled and is now mapping slowly before me.  I can choose the paths that I want to take, but to take them means I have to commit to a choice that is elusive when I keep changing my mind.  How do I avoid the paths I already took? How does the familiar become the chains of control I once handed over to someone else to map a destiny I didn't want? How do I share who I am and still keep who I am to myself? I choose being alone.  I choose me.  Over and over the songs on repeat are love songs I sing to myself because I get who I am.  I think.

In the quiet and calm when words flow from my mind through racing fingertips, I piece together what I feel, as I can't just think it.  I process out who I claim to be.  I bounce it off the walls of my being like unfinished spaghetti that isn't al dente and won't stick to the wall.  What gives my life meaning and in what actions do I place merit? How do I believe life should be?  I don't follow politics because I'm still deciding what I think is best for me and my children.  I know what I think I know and I feel what should be the same for all, and I share those thoughts when it's safe.  But who I am says I can't force or change what I believe to force and reframe anyone else. My ideals are still pliant and malleable under my shifting perceptions.

Is it ever safe to be who I am? Who I think I am and who I feel I am are fledgling through the faith of my existence.  I'm fragile and breakable, but strong enough to hold it together long enough to fall quietly and completely when I don't have an audience.  How amazing would it be to find the one that thinks I'm smarter than I am pretty and be okay with my measurements of both?

I step outside for the warmth of a summer night and a few teardrops will make an appearance before a deep and shaky breath banish them away.  I'm having a night I hope to forget and never revisit. Moist cheeks shine under the reflected glow of a moon hiding in the shadow of the earth it worships in a monthly dance of adoration.  The earth doesn't see the beauty the moon sees.  The earth can't feel the warmth of the sun, but the moon knows.  The moon dances slowly and sullenly through phases blamed on the moon, but the moon wouldn't affect much of anything without the forces of the sun and the earth.  The moon is a rock.  The moon has to be strong and constant. She has no choice and her will is only to exist.

The rage of the afternoon and the fall of late night will cushion racing thoughts with exhaustion and the quiet of acceptance will fall on graceless limbs.  The dawn will come and morning dew will wash away any signs of sorrow.  The birds will worship the sun in song and California Poppies will race Morning Glories to open their petals in gratitude for another day to shine and I will put on my covering and brace for a new day and another goodbye as my sons go back to their Dad.

I'll think of the earth with its beautiful browns and perfect shape.  Its graceful path and predictable orbit will bring the peace of fulfilled expectation.  It's a celestial body so used to existing it will never see how strong and resilient it is.  It dances through life, circling a sun because it's what has always been done, but never noticing the clouds that love being around it, or the waters that push and pull and give life to a moving mass of rock that is solid and molten and perfect in imperfection.  I'll wonder at which points my intensity is too much and marvel that it's a question the earth will never consider.

I'll meander and rest through the week until custody shifts back and spend my time alone figuring out again what it means to be my self.

Poker Face

I don't have a poker face, but I could probably really use one.  Without that mask, I feel like I owe apologies because so rarely is my joy overtaken by my rage, but there it is.  A series of injustices against my littles and passive aggression directed at me have had me in a rage most of today.  I've had moments of distraction, but I've been lost to the underlying thoughts that won't let me focus today. When I was younger, my smile was my mask.  At some point that was shattered. There's transparency and honesty and a vulnerability that tends to make others uncomfortable.   Something in life cracked open and exposed my squishy parts and I have a hard time hiding it now. My smiles are genuine for the most part.  The uglier parts that beg for release are rarely hidden. It doesn't take a lot of trust, but just enough and I share more than would make the average person comfortable. I've seen my forced smile in a mirror and it looks a lot like constipation.

As a war Vet with PTSD, Dad was well aware of his rage and kept control of it at all times.  His threats were softly spoken and much more terrifying in some ways.  In one conversation, when I must have been in my teens, he started describing the realities of war.  I don't remember it, but he remembered the look on my face and never brought it up again.

I can't hide much.  I don't try to.  Often when really great teachers are explaining their artistry they can tell when it's not making sense to me.  Really good food is honored through my silly facial expressions and odd vocal sounds.  If I care about someone, they can see it in the way I look at them.  I can't mask my tenderness.  Babies and puppies can always see how open and inviting my expression is because I love the ones I can give back and it shows all over my face.

For the longest time, I loved Lady Gaga's song, Poker Face.  It's all about bluffing love so she can clean out some poor guy's bank.  I was never in love with the idea of using someone for his money.  It's not who I am, but the idea of being able to fake and hide behind an elaborate facade was what I was interested in.  So often I'm so transparent that it's my emotions that are abused.

Today I felt rage.  In my helplessness to protect my littles from behavior I no longer find acceptable, I feel I've fallen short because I can't fix every pain and every hurt.  Last night I could only hold my son as he cried in my arms and fell asleep exhausted, only comforted by my proximity.  I can only assure my other son that I won't do what has already been done to him. I can hope they listen to my words and witness my example and hope that I'm holding myself to a standard worthy of the sons I hope to raise.

I'm having a day.  It's been a rough day most of today and I feel as though I've been pushed and pulled by my emotions and rage because I have been.  It was a rough night and a blessed morning, followed by moments of rage and I'm having a hard time seeing beyond that, but in about an hour, I'll be home with my sons.  There will be messes and laughter and snuggles and somehow it will all settle and make sense.  My little one will want to help me cook on the barbecue grill and I'll be patient through it and tomorrow will be better.  It always gets better.

Museum Day

My museum experience up until last year was to go to the museums that were part of a school field trip.  I remembered museums as long days and being told to be quiet and remain still.  It was great to get out of class, but at the same time, I was often bored. As an adult, it wasn't a priority.  I had kids that were hard to get out of the house and as far as I know, my ex was never into museums.  At the end of the day I'm okay going alone, and museums are occasionally far more interactive. I'm not artistically inclined, and have at times been almost proud of the fact that I can't draw a straight line with a ruler.  What I see in my mind is never what my hands create.  When I was studying literature, we often discussed the same Greek Mythology that inspired some of the artwork I saw yesterday.  We discussed art pieces but they were in the textbooks we read, and it was more about the philosophies that inspired the artists.

To visit a museum and to see the art was an amazing experience for me.  It was the personified history of each piece that felt like wonder.  It's became an extension of my love of literature.  Literature is less about amazing words and prose and more about what was able to accidentally survive people.  Really early literature was written by someone who could actually write because being literate is not something that is guaranteed by birth.  If you can read and write, you have been blessed by life in a way that many people across the world still cannot grasp.  Literature and art has to survive naughty children, angry scorned lovers, thieving rogues, hostile political takeovers and censorship carried out through destruction.  Not all literature is amazing beyond the mystery of its survival.  Of course my opinion is highly subjective.  I can't appreciate Moby Dick and I finally got through it after several attempts a few years back and I saw it as an epic disappointment.

I'm appreciating things differently lately.  I don't have a musical ear. I like music.  I sing loudly, but I couldn't tell you if it's off key.  I took vocal lessons as a child and imagined being a singer for a while (I was the youngest of the Secret Rendezvous but that's a story for another post), but it's not a skill as much as joy.  When I was listening to a friend's musical score, composed into late night hours and experienced by me here, I realized it's sometimes just about what something makes me feel.

Yesterday I visited the Getty Villa, made a quick stop at a beach where I got wet but the pretty rocks were worth it, and then visited the Getty Center before stopping at home and visiting Co Labs Gallery in Highland Park.  I'm sharing my observations.

img_0781

This first piece was the first to make me feel something.  I tend to walk quickly through each room and some pieces will call out to me and demand my attention.  This was one of them.  I stopped and almost immediately could feel the burn at the bridge of my nose telling me I should have brought tissues.  I blinked away tears, but I was so surprised at what I felt.  I read the description, and to paraphrase from memory, this is a picture of a father paying the ransom for his daughters.  I was moved.

The many interpretations of mothers and nursing children were beautiful to me.  I nursed my boys and it was by far my favorite part of their infancy. There is calm in the snuggle and their is a sleepiness that falls over you when you are feeding your child.  It wasn't easy with my first born, but it was worth the pain of his rejection for the first 4 months because that's how long it took to get him to latch on.  This piece included the picture of a missing father and that was what made it special.  So much of motherhood is the support needed from the other parent.

Furniture is different and beautiful when it can make it into a museum.  I love huge mirrors gilded in gold leaf with ornate moulding.  I sometimes imagine knocking out my ceiling to make room for this. I love couches that could double as a bed, and feathers on beds are what magic is made of.  Also, I'm so grateful that I don't have to dust anything there.

I admit that odd, excited noises came out of me when I saw the books.  Books!  They were beautiful and hand drawn with rich colors.  They were enclosed in glass and I could imagine the smell of old paper and slight mildew.  This made me happy.

I loved the pieces that were carved into stone.  It surprised me to find a little black boy amongst the art that was mainly Greek or Roman.  I was surprised at how many statues were missing penises.  I wondered if there is any correlation between missing statuary penisses and missing straight men walking through the museum without a companion.

Museum rules about not touching the artwork are just as solidly in place as when I was a little girl.  This was different.  This is a piece that we were invited to touch.  You could feel the difference between what she held and her skin.  Her body was smooth, but the cloth had a rougher texture to it. Now I wonder what her hair felt like, as I didn't think of it then.

As I shared on Instagram and Facebook:

To catch a bathing Venus and touch exposed marble flesh with murmured prayers of her gift of love to flow through all I touch with giving expectancy . . . Such a beautiful morning to be me.

The water features were beautiful and tranquil.  The plan is to go back when we aren't suffering through a drought and might enjoy the sound of flowing water.

These were things that made me want to create.  I loved the mosaic tiles and jewelry.  I loved the glass.  I loved the displays that teach you where the pigments came from and how they were used and for just long enough, I felt like I could create and it doesn't have to be good as long as it makes me feel something.

On my way to the Getty Center, the ocean called to me.  I happened to slip into a parking spot along PCH and walked out to find so many rocks begging to be picked through.  I started my day in jeans and a tank top with tennis shoes.  I keep flip flops and water shoes in the car.  I thought I was prepared.  In my search for pretty rocks I ended up thighs deep in the ocean and laughed it off.  I also had a purchase from American Apparel to return in my car and decided to make it an exchange instead.  They don't carry larger sizes so I walked out in a skirt shorter than I have worn in at least a decade.  I was so self conscious, if dry at first.  I could feel the back of my skirt flapping against my butt, and it was well above the tattoo on my thigh.  I don't feel that a mom needs to cover up for the sake of being a mom, I just got comfortable in sweats and never got used to mini skirts again.

Co Labs gallery was full of woman forward artistry and angsty pieces I would have been embarrassed to explain to my kids. Visit them! You'll love it. A few pieces called out to the deeper parts of me I acknowledge but rarely voice. I almost bought a pocket sized pencil drawing of a man's face. The artist called it, "Drawing UH Hipster, " and signed it SD. It was a perfect drawing. He was cute and for a bit I imagined keeping him in my pocket. I could pull him out when I wanted a smile. Then I realized how badly that reflects on my love life and decided on pencils instead.

By the end of the day I realized walking half of nearly 9 miles in flip flops was dumb, and my feet hate me.  Jumping from 2 miles a day to what I did yesterday means I feel it more than remember it.  I don't have to own the fact I'm rocking a mini skirt, I just need to be at peace with not being in wet jeans. And extra clothes in the car doesn't mean I'm a whore if it's the ocean making me wet.

Anticipation

It's Friday and the rush of a work week winds slowly into talks about a diet, a drink, a plan . . . Life marches and evolves once we leave and their excitement and joy becomes irritating noise when my eyes watch the clock and my longing wraps around me like a cloak.  I'm shrouded and cloistered from their excitement as mine coils within me. Like burning embers and a gentle breeze, heat rises in my cheeks and my pulse quickens.  Agitated fingers tap a beat, a rhythm, a slap tap tap that can't remain still as the day melts into early twilight filtering through blinded windows, soothing the heat of a relentless summer sun with drifting clouds racing through cooler air as the bright blue sky betrays the sun, inking the clouds in darker blues, and pink hues that blend and blur a yellowed tinge of remembered glory.

I'm losing focus as my mind slips from duty to pleasure in the last tasks of a full work week and the joy of what will come tugs and pulls me deeper into thought and thoughtless sensations flood my belly and raise goosebumps on willing skin that begs for a touch and a moment of stolen pleasure on sensitive finger tips and arms that long to hold him.

The moment arrives and I stand to feel a lump slide and stall in my throat, swallowing hard the nervous energy gilded with the fear of rejection.  That beast lives under my skin and she waits for moments to strike me into memories of a rejected love and she slaps me with what was past and it takes a moment to remind myself that stolen moments are just moments and the only promise for tomorrow is my carefully laid resentment if I expect more than is willingly given. Within a few steps, my anxiety has made me forget my purse and keys and my clumsy steps remind me that I wasn't always so confident, and memories of a shy smile and large brown eyes sometimes uncertain and deeply contemplative ground me in my own fragility.

The moment approaches and I take a minute to breathe deeply to calm myself, knowing that I will again smell his unique blend of sexy masculinity and it will surround me, staying on the hand that holds his.  I take a moment and release the doubt that floods me because I am living in this moment and nothing matters outside of it.  I'm ready and anticipation gives way to the arrival.

 

Gratitude

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

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

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

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

What's the Score?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unconditional Love

img_0711 There is something so romantic about the idea of unconditional love, but those warm fuzzies rarely touch on the realities of what it really means to love unconditionally.  It's a concept I spend way too much time thinking about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unconditional self love . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balance and Family

Life is full of balance, and my weekend family vacation was all about that lesson.  It was a trip that seemed simple and even exciting to start, and as the party in my room grew, so did the stress.  At first it was me and Kid3.  He's easy and enjoys the shenanigans with his cousins.  My mom convinced Kid2 to go and I began to worry about sensory integration and his needs coming first because it's not always easy when you go on vacation but autism doesn't.  Then my Dad wanted to come and I was going to drive him and I was worried about him and his health on such a long ride and in extreme temperatures. Earlier in the week, I suffered for my procrastination by having to order my bathing suit online.  I have been blessed by my late grandmother and my Mom and I had a hard time finding a swimsuit that could accomodate my top as well as comfortably fit my bottom in stores, so I opted for a bikini I found online because at least then I could choose by bra size.  I got the suit and while it was slightly tighter than I liked, it fit my new body shape.  The suit I had last year doesn't fit.  I wore it one Sunday and the band no longer fits, but the halter top knot left my neck in so much pain for a few days.  It's a lot of weight to wrap around a neck that is used to holding my head. A while back I had to get past the fear of wearing a bikini in public without the protective and admiring gaze of a husband that was mine.  It was probably a bigger deal than I explained here, but I was excited to wear my new bikini. It was even better to realize the sarong I have now fits in many other ways because my body is smaller than it was when I got it. 

As we started on our long road trip, there were good moments, but I was with my Dad and there were not amazing moments.  I went into them here.  At the end of the day, he's my Dad and no one else can make me feel like a teenager.  Well, almost no one else, but this post isn't about him. And we're talking different ends of the spectrum on the fun levels of re-living my youth.

The real fun was all about Saturday.  After getting into Laughlin and being greeted with late night lightning that was fierce enough to startle the locals, we got up and took a lot longer to get going than I was happy with.  It was an effort with kids and Dad taking their time because it was vacation and I needed the reminder to slow down.  I just didn't like it. We stay in Laughlin in Nevada and drive into Arizona during the day. We got to Katherine's Landing where the family enjoys calm waters.

As we were on the water, my sister told me about an unspoken rule for the moms and wives in the group, as the family vacation includes a lot of her friends and all of our children.  It's a family outing and the moms and wives cover up their bodies out of respect for the group.  I was shocked by this.  My nieces were quick to point out I'm not a wife anymore, but I get the culture they are trying to cultivate and out of respect, I covered up.  It reminded me of an amazing Muslim woman I knew.  She was smart and confident and as a medical professional and business woman, I was in awe of the power and authority she commanded and like all muslim women willing to cover up, I admired her faith.  We talked about the hijab and burqa.  She explained that it is a woman's job to not tempt a man into sinning by covering herself.  I could see her point of view, but I left feeling thankful that I'm not Muslim.  That is a huge responsibility to carry but I admire the honor in their faith that is so strong it's announced before you ever get a name.

A short while later my Dad wasn't feeling well in the heat and I got to take him back to the hotel room with Kid2 who was happy to go with us. While taking care of my Dad, I was able to get him to mellow out because the stress of not feeling well was making him feel worse.  I put on my playlist of classical piano instrumentals that I usually write to when I'm trying to be creative.  I encouraged him to practice breathing deeply, and I brought him cool drinks and propped him up with pillows.  There was something calming about knowing he was being taken care of and comfortable and I didn't have to worry about him.  His blood pressure stabilized. He calmed down and he looked like he was feeling better and I got to take Kid2 down to the hotel pool, where I kept my phone by my side in a waterproof case, while I stood in the shade and watched my son enjoy looking at the bottom of the pool with his goggles on.

I stood in the shallow  water under the sun and enjoyed the warmth on my skin and the laughter all around us.  I saw a woman in a white version of my bikini and had to ask if her boobs kept trying to pop out of her suit too.  We laughed and agreed that Victoria's Secret needs to learn that mature boobs flop and float and we're both at the age where we really don't care.  I stood next to a few other people and chatted as they kept offering to buy me drinks, but I was on Dad and kid watch and not into the idea.

After checking on my Dad and finding out that Kid3 was really happy with cousins and my sister was taking great care of him, I took Kid2 to an all you can eat buffet.  I have wheat sensitivities.  It's extreme.  I try my best to avoid wheat and anytime I think there might be wheat flour in a dish, I will ask to be sure and avoid it to be safe.  I ate something at the buffet that I reacted to.  I was planning on spending time poolside with the family but ended up in serious pain and vomiting. Being ill means I try my hardest to think about anything other than being ill, and I may be overthinking things, but I started replaying the bikini situation in my head.

This was a third trip for my family, but the rest of my family has been going for over a decade.  My ex never wanted to go, so we didn't go, but the first year I wore a one-piece and the second year I wore a bikini. Last year the trip was cancelled and this year I was called out on my bikini.  My first thought was no one complained the year I had a husband and over 30 extra pounds.  Then I really started to think of the implications of expecting the women in the group to cover up.  I know a few readers have already considered the internalized rape culture that runs through the group.  If you haven't, I'll unpack it for you.

I had my partying days in my youth where I was weather proof and wore tiny dresses, no matter how cold because I wanted to be cute.  Those days are long gone, but it was hot, and I was wearing a bikini, which covers just as much as the matching bra and panty sets I'm in love with lately. It was totally appropriate considering that was what everyone else was wearing, except the women in our group that wore a one-piece or swam with a cover up.

I actually had to dig for the courage to wear a bikini in public alone.  I was proud of that.  Then I was asked to cover up because I'm expected to help the men out by wearing more clothes.  The situation made me angry because the moment I tell my sons their gender excuses them from responsibility for their own actions, is the moment I've failed as a mother to my sons. Saying a woman should dress a certain way is assuming she's responsible for the actions of someone else.  It wasn't the men policing the issue, or even making me uncomfortable with their looks.  It was the women in the group, policing other adult women. This excuse is a slap in the face to the men that have self control and respect for women.  This rationalization opens the door to victim blaming and slut shaming.  I've already touched on those thoughts.

In my life, I have been honored with being secret keeper to more than one woman who has shared her experiences with rape and physical violence with me.  I've stood between a man with raised fists and his victim because I was willing to fight for a sister.  Once was right after high school.  Another time with different people was with a toddling Kid1 near my feet and after the ex realized what was happening, he chased the guy off for us. It would dishonor that trust to ever imagine anything they could have done or done differently would have affected the choice of one human being to violate trust and the personal rights of another person.

As I was feeling sharp pains in my upper back, and writhing in pain, from a bad food choice, I had both Kid2 and Kid3 surrounding me in bed.  They needed to be close to me.  I would toss and they would adjust and throw little legs and arms back over me, in a protective embrace of sleep.  At one point my Dad was on the bed across from us, and he saw this and laughed because it tickled him to see my boys treat me the way he and my uncle treated my grandmother. It reinforced how important it is that I import the value of respecting a woman in my sons, no matter how strong she is, or how much she needs their protection.  They trust me and it's my duty to offer my best. 

There were other great moments with my Dad.  There was singing and laughter.  My kids caught a glimpse of my Dad's discipline and the way I grew up.  It gave them appreciation for my parenting style and reminded me that I really did marry a man just like my Dad.  It was a bad visual, but it was necessary.  I needed to notice.  I need to do what's right, and I need to not do what hasn't worked out in the past. The ride home included laughter and singing and it wasn't just my perspective that was shifted.  The good came with bad, and that is where there is balance.

People Pleaser

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Hooker Heels and Self Representation

I'm really a jeans and t-shirt kinda gal. When those jeans don't require a belt, I'm in my happy place.  I have had enough pregnancies to know the value of clothes I can schlep around the house in.  I also know that when I start to get comfortable wearing yoga pants or sweats outside, it all runs downhill, and I stop caring about other things too.  I'm not super high maintenance in the makeup department.  I wear makeup, but aside from my eyes and lips and a little blush, the rest of my face gets moisturizer.  I keep it simple.

In the mornings when I wake up, I put on a pair of heels and walk around.  I have a sister that loves shopping and I always benefit from her closet.  I have more heels than I know what to do with and they aren't practical.  Once I'm dressed and my makeup is on, I walk around my house in heels because it's an ego boost.  Try it.  You'll like it.

This morning, I was still in my heels when the ex brought the kids over.  He was in a mood and that always gets directed at me.  He said I looked like a slut in my hooker heels.  Then he was angry because I was laughing at him.  What can I say? It was funny to me.  I decided to wear my heels out today. I'm walking around in heels that are maybe about 5 inches.  I'm already 5'6" and I feel like I could be part giant, but it's working.  The people at work seem to dig them.

I find myself in a mood tonight and these thoughts won't leave me alone until I purge.  It's a follow up post to another post about my comfort zones.

As amused as I was about the ex's anger, I was yelled at and slut shamed in front of our younger sons.  It was a moment of anger from him, amusement from me, and then my shock at the look of helplessness on my 9 year old's face.  I held him and assured him I was fine, and that mom isn't actually dumb or a slut.  I told him Daddy just needs to learn better ways to express his anger.  At the same time, I see the example he's given and the thought that I have to figure out how to fix the damage being done was overwhelming this morning.  It was in telling my son that Mommy isn't what Daddy called me and shoes have nothing to do with what we choose to do that I decided I would wear the heels to work.

There's a sense of entitlement that weighs on me in bouts of doubt.  When I decided to stop looking for companionship online, I had already ended a few conversations with people I just wasn't interested in, or they moved on.  It was pleasant enough that I didn't feel the need to block everyone.  Just 12 or so people.  I deleted contact information for the rest.  I love myself enough that if you ignore me and move on, you have to be really amazing or cute to have an open invitation.  Random texts much later tell me you are lonely and hoping I might bite at a limp carrot.  It was a wonderful day when a conversation shifted my perspective enough to stop dating online, and I haven't looked back fondly since then.  I've written so many posts on how horrible online dating was for me.

img_0706

My point is, it's not the shoes that make you a slut.  It's not what you wear, or how you look, but the choices you make.

When the choice to share your body is taken from you, you still aren't asking for anything other than to look the way that makes you feel good.  You are not deserving of any ill treatment. No one asks to be raped, or catcalled.  No one wants to be whistled at like a dog.  It's not okay to judge a person by what they wear or don't wear, or how they walk or the way they flirt.

I am a woman with real thoughts, feelings, and dreams.  I want to be loved deeply, and madly.  Being roughed up by life might make it easier to deal with the peaks and valleys, but it doesn't make that a first or second choice.  I want to be thought of first, and not as an afterthought.  I want to have meaningful connections, and you won't see that or be open to it if you can't or won't see past what I wear or how I walk, or the confidence I manufacture from within me each and every morning.

Vocabulary Lessons

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

What is your definition of success?

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

What is your definition of failure?

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

What do you call the in between?

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

What is home?

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

The friendzone.

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

What is work?

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

What is family?

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

What is love?

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

What is beauty?

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

Dear Younger Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

img_0688

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

Music

The students that took the Advanced class after our Basic class together through Mastery in Transformational Training had their graduation Sunday night and I witnessed the LP class graduation after it. One of the students that graduated was a young man that was in my class and I went to support him.  I'm so proud of him.  The room was full of people that seemed to have a new outlook on life and they embodied love.  It was beautiful. During the graduation, my adopted son couldn't see who was surrounding him as he was singing a group chant with closed eyes.  We were asked to join in and as I stood in front of him with his eyes closed, I began singing with him and to him and I could see the immediate joy on his face from the recognition of my voice affirming what he was imprinting on himself.  There was so much emotion in the voices lifted in solidarity. I don't remember what we sang, but I remember how humbling yet fiercely powerful it felt to be in that room. Just the night before I was preparing to go to a music festival and as I sat in my car, I couldn't ignore the fact that I'm really not a fan of live music.  The first time I heard a live recording of Mariah Carey singing, "I'll Be There" I was sad.  It wasn't as perfect and to me it wasn't as beautiful.  I don't want to hear crowds cheering.  I want to hear the songs that wash me in memories and nostalgia, not songs that are only performance. I have all kinds of weird about concerts and I accept that.

Last week while on the way to the beach with a carload of kids, they listened to songs they found on YouTube.  I loved listening to them sing together and even joined in on the parts I knew.  I love having music I love playing on iTunes, but that means I don't know any new music and I can be lost when listening to the radio. I've talked about music before. Briefly.  I talked about removing my ex's music from my iTunes because the things we stop sharing hold so much significance in this post and when I finally did it, I wrote this.  It kinda paid off on the car ride to keep his music because my son was in the car with me and asked if he could play it.  It was in my iTunes.  It was available and I was able to be the parent my son needed and at least pretend that the sound of his voice wasn't irritating me.

I enjoy new music being played live.  I love being a private audience.  It's an honor to be the first to hear someone's heart bleed so beautifully and privately.  I've enjoyed jazz music in bars and clubs . . . Once upon a time.  Music that's way too loud for the sake of being music and not an excuse to dance bothers me.

My ex's rap music was a different.  His music came with days and nights being home alone with the kids.  It meant he was in the studio and might be drinking and spending the night out and my knowledge that the studio often had strippers hanging out. His rap was my abandonment and rap in general makes me feel like less of a person because according to the rap I grew up with, I'm a body and a bitch and nothing more.

A couple of weeks ago during my Basic class I was in the middle of several group hugs.  I'm a hugger so it was bliss, but I took that moment as an opportunity to serenade the people that were in the center of our group hug.  Music was playing and I was close enough that these people could hear me sing to them and I did.  It wasn't about performance but an offering of the deepest part of me and it was my way of showing them that they are beautiful to me.  Toward the end, there were several people singing along with me and the camaraderie resonated in all of us.

In high school singing was about performance to me.  Singing a solo on stage from Les Miserable in high school was about belting it out and being seen.  It was about attention and being popular.  I kept trying and it was years later when I would run into strangers that remembered me that I really felt like I was trying too hard because I was already there for other people. Singing in church wasn't about worship.  I wanted to be seen and heard and I was way too concerned with how I looked or what it sounded like.  Now it's about offering who I am for the gift of what parts of themselves they've given me. It's about playing music that I love and singing while looking at my kids, or grabbing hands for playful impromptu dancing sessions.  It's expression.  It's love.  It's joy.

There is always music in my home and my heart.  It can help me develop a deeper emotional moment or curb a bout of sadness.  It gets me through traffic with loud singing and driver's seat dancing and classical music is what I write to when I'm crafting or writing more than how I feel or what I think. It was an amazing weekend and a terrific Monday.  Right now my soundtrack is super happy and upbeat and on my way home there will be singing. Loudly and purposely off key.

 

What you are telling me is . . .

In my restlessness last night I called my cousin and told him I was due for shenanigans.  I went to his place and he took me to a barcade.  We grew up together and he's the same special guy that talked me through a night of self discovery here.  There were figurines and dolls that were all about the 70's and 80's all over the bar and walls.  I saw all of the classic arcade games that we used to walk to 7-Eleven to play when we were kids.  I picked out songs, three at a time on the jukebox and loved that it reminded me of all of the nights we hung out at my place or our favorite pool hall.  Of course we were in a bar with other patrons and they played their preferences which I had never heard of and I had this moment of realizing that if the music is setting the tone, I may be overthinking things. Before I got hitched, I had a bunch of guy friends and not many female friends.  It's not about female drama I needed to avoid. It was about friends that wanted to be around me.  They accepted me and all of my damaged parts that allowed me to destroy a few of my female relationships.  I was one of the guys.  Apparently I still am.

I was at the bar with my friend when a few hours later we were joined by another friend I had not seen in over 16 years.  The hugs were huge and it felt like home.  It was a night of catching up and being silly and for a while I found that confidence I had when I was in my 20's.  During the laughter and catching up and selfie sessions being posted, there was a moment of jealousy from a significant other directed at me.  I had lost touch with my snarky side, but she was ready to play.  I'm not sure if I regret that right now but it opened a discussion about our current relationships and the people we're talking to.  The conclusion is we're all doing what works for us because in our damaged ways, the people we've chosen fit the needs we have. We've found the right fits for our dysfunctions.

None of us are in a serious or committed anything with anyone.  It's all very casual and in the moment.  We're not complicated people and very straightforward about what we want but as we talked, I thought about the many ways people will always tell you want they want, assuming you aren't too focused on your selfish needs and wants.  You watch the actions, listen to the words, pay attention to the body language, and don't over think it.

We all crave attention on some level.  We want to be seen and heard and looked out for.  The things we'll do to get that itch scratched will always vary.  On a daily basis, I will walk somewhere just for the attention.  It's not really a walk.  I strut. There is one foot directly in front of the other, and it throws me off just enough to pretend I have more junk in my trunk than I do.  I walk with my posture straight and making eye contact.  I don't just step.  My steps are forceful and intentionally overconfident.  I focus on where I'm going and when I catch someone's eye, they get my friendly smile.  A smile can make a scowling woman smile back because you're slightly less threatening. Usually my ear buds are in and I'm listening to something upbeat and I step to that beat. Sometimes it comes with catcalls, but often it's just a look and that is enough.  And then there are times when the stakes are higher and I'm nervous and clumsy.  It happens.

Is the attention worth the cost?

The attention we crave means we'll take a call from someone we would be okay not hearing from. We'll justify it by thinking we're polite people. For me, it meant online dating for two whole months instead of quitting after the first week and the second bad date.  For the guys, it means answering calls and texts just to show the women that won't leave them alone that they can be jerks.  They purposely made the women in their lives jealous and called it a taste of the dish they were being served.  I don't bother trying to get someone jealous.  They care or they don't.  Sometimes I don't care enough for the small things to matter.  It's wasted effort.  When I decided I was done with someone I told them I was done and if they kept reaching out, I blocked them.  There's no reason to give someone else that much authority over the joy I tap into.

If you really want it, you'll do what you can to get it.

We consistently put our time, energy and money into things we value. You call or text someone you want to talk to.  You ask them to join you when you are doing something or doing nothing because you want to be around them.  You tell them what you like and hope what you said was what they heard.  You make time or you make excuses and there is an answer in that if you pay attention.

What remains unsaid or unseen can have it's own library to study.

There are parts of who I am that I withhold.  Last night was so freeing but it threw into sharp contrast the parts of who I am that I keep hidden.  As transparent as I am here, and elsewhere, there is so much I hide, and it was so clear when I was with old friends and not holding back.  I feel it's about protecting my vulnerabilities but also about not frightening away others with other things. I can be intense and I'm not always nice. I'm constantly turning over a million things in my mind.  There's always a thought or reaction that I'm gauging.  Where does the conversation pause, and is it a comfortable silence? Do you feel like enough was said, or do you need to explain deeper or is withholding about trust that has yet to be earned?

What do you see in the body language?

Once I get past the beauty I'm ogling, I want to see what the posture says.  Is this person relaxed or is he a bird ready to fly away and why does he feel this way around me? Is my confidence intimidating or am I being mean and it's more than he can handle?  Is he reaching out for my hand or is he keeping polite distance?  Is he turning his body and head toward me? Is he looking away for the most part and reaching blindly because he's afraid of the rejection he might see in my face?

Are you invited in or being pushed out?

In this area I'm a bit cynical.  I have had some meaningful and beautiful relationships, but I've also had plenty of guys try to treat me as something they wanted to play with.  I listen for the familiar script that I've come to expect first. I really evaluate how I'm being approached.  Is it late at night and he's lonely? Is it just before lunch and he's gotten through the bulk of work and has a few minutes to kill before leaving for his hour and he doesn't want to start a  new project so I'm a distraction? Is he trying to see how I'm doing, or is he hoping I can make him feel good?  I pay attention to what is being said and I over think his motives because I do want to know if I've been crossing his mind just because I'm always on it or if he's bored and lonely and he needs me to fix that.  I don't always reach out when someone crosses my mind unless the moment becomes a while and then they deserve to know they've held my attention.  I've been known to shoot off random texts while letting them know they don't need to respond.  I want to see the spaces I'm invited into.  Do they want to tell me about themselves or their ideas and dreams, or is the topic of conversation generally superficial? Am I invited into his circle, or am I far removed from the people that mean something to him?

You'll always be told where you stand and what you mean, but you have to pay attention to what isn't being told to you in addition to what is.  Try not to paint their monologue with the colors of your desires and decide what you are trying to take away from what you do share.

Early Morning Reflections

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

What am I grateful for today?

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

Yesterday was winning because . . .

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

What was the payout for the risks I took?

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

Did I keep the agreements I made?

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

What goals do I want to kick into existence today?

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