What is Romance?

My latest dating foray became a lesson learned and I’m back to swiping.  I felt things.  I remembered how music can pull you closer and swapping songs can be powerful. I learned a lot about myself.  I get to figure out what it is to be in a relationship without being paranoid that I could cause jealousy in someone else. Jealousy and insecurity are like stress and fear, right? You can’t measure them.  They’re made up in your head and taking responsibility of your life means no one else can give or take them away.  I just get to internalize that to overpower reactions I learned over 16 years ago. I wish I had tears for him this latest guy because he made me feel so many great things, but I don’t.

In a swipe-happy moment, I was approached by an inbox message, and he wasn’t offensive or entirely drool worthy.  We batted banter back and forth for a bit and then he asked me if I’m romantic.  He wanted to know what kind of romantic things I like.  It sparked thought and I’m going with it.  Naturally his next question involved what sex with my ex was like and that’s when he lost that dull glow of maybe and ended up in the land of no. Boys.

What is romantic to me?

Romance can't be scripted. It's about seeing the person you care about and catering to their needs and desires. It wouldn't be romantic if it didn't come from a place of love as a reflection of the intimacy granted through trust.

So maybe that’s a bit heavy.  Let me pull and stretch this so it lands and settles in the fine lines for you.

The easy answer is that romance isn’t about sex but ways we make others feel loved and cared for. It’s about idealizing reality.  I’m fairly irritated by men that can’t see past sex when looking at me or talking to me.  A friend recently said I’m brutal.  The truth is I’m very gentle and caring for the men that saw me as a person.  The men that see me more as an option so they aren’t stuck alone and rubbing one out get treated harshly.  It’s not that I try to be mean, but they don’t try to treat me like a human.  I might enjoy posting those conversations to my Instagram lately.  I get comments that tell me I’m not the only one.

Have you ever received a gift that you didn’t want? I know I have.  I’ve looked at it, and thought wow, you got me exactly what you would want.  Of course, my upbringing means you would have only seen my smile.  I would have hugged you.  I would have tried my best to use it and later let you know I did, but that doesn’t mean I felt loved in receiving it. It feels like being used to make someone feel good about themselves through the appearance of their generosity.

I buy my own lingerie, flowers, jewelry and quiet dinners.  Thankyouverymuch.

Romance isn’t about buying stuff.  It’s not about impressing me with how much you can spend on me.  It’s about taking the time to do what I like in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s a sacrifice I’m indebted to, but a moment where I’m so important that the thing we’re doing is important to you just because I am important to you.

Romance isn’t about 5 second underwear that you get to rip off me, but something you pick out just to worship me in.

Romance is preparing a meal - not to create a sexual atmosphere but because you don’t want me to add another thing to my day, or you want to feed me (a man feeding me is almost as hot as a man that is good with kids). Maybe it’s about showing me something special to you.  Not because you need to increase a fan base, but because you love what you are excited about so much that you think it would improve my mood.

Romance is about wanting to bring someone else joy or love or peace because that person’s wellbeing is what brings you joy.

In love, we offer our trust and it’s either reflected or betrayed.  Rarely it meets a solid wall where it doesn’t affect the person that was trusted.  In the intimacy exchange, we see into each other and breathe who we are into someone else, hoping this vulnerability gives the love it receives.

How incredible is it to see someone in the promise of this exchange? How powerful would it be to take the love and trust that was offered, see what was said and what stood without voice, and offer it as a gift.  To me, this is romance.

Romance is seeing that I like flowers, but noticing which ones I like, rather than picking any bouquet available. It's about gifting me with flowers that will give me a private show of beauty before dying for me as they fade and petals fall.  It's not something that only shows up as an apology.

It’s a date that takes me into who he is and wants to show me because it is an offering of his intimacy.  It’s showing me his adorable geek out as he is digging through comic books and wants to show me what only he and a handful of other people would know. It's holding my hand through a crowd to make sure I don't get lost or fall behind because he needs me to be where he is.

Romance is letting me in and seeing where I’ve allowed someone else in and giving back in a way that honors the open capacity to be that we have shared in our exchange of trust through the fragility of our vulnerabilities.

I can be brutal, but at the heart of who I am, I really am a hopeless romantic.

Autism Awareness Because You Should Have a Peek

So I'm cheating with this post.  I actually shared it to my Facebook feed on this day in 2013, with some editing. When the boys were babies, I talked to their pediatrician with the MDFAAP behind her name about the crying for 7 hours straight. I talked to her about the words they weren't saying and the poop they'd smear and eat. I asked about a lack of eye contact. She assured me this was normal. Kid1 and Kid2 are 18 months apart and shared behaviors. Yes, we changed doctors. (Fewer letters behind the name, but much more personalized care.)

Autism was a new word for me. It took a long time to learn the name that covers the habit of running head first into the wall only to slam the back of their heads on the floor. I thought climbing on top of the highest pieces of furniture to jump down had more to do with being boys than a need to control a sensory overload. It took a while for them to break me by dumping all of their toys over their head the minute I picked them all up.

I once had a stranger come from off of the street into our apartment complex to investigate the child abuse sounding cries from Kid1 because I left him inside the house to unload groceries from the car.

I thought this was normal. When I found out it wasn't, I looked for support groups. Of course, this was after a visit with a different doctor who looked me in the eyes and said, "you poor woman. There are medications for this." She stood quietly as I sobbed and thanked her. In the long run, the drugs weren't worth the risk to a 3 year old.

In the early days, with other parents of newly labeled kids, these groups became safe places to complain about the many ways our kids failed our ideals. It was a place of blame and anger. The group meant to strengthen and encourage me left me broken down and unable to face the strangers commenting on my children's bad behavior and my lack of parenting skills and discipline. Once I told a woman that I was sorry my autistic kids were ruining her perfectly peaceful grocery store trip. I didn't ask her what was wrong with her as she began to question the bad genes that put autism in our family.

I've heard all sorts of possible links, and commonalities, but so much is unknown. No one knows exactly where it comes from. There is no cure. There's learning to cope and autism awareness. You see it in the form of meltdowns as long as you stop assuming all kids are bad.

At this point, having gotten past the harder stages and facing the social and emotional pain to come, my kids have given me a gift and education that have made me a better person. I hate that this is the road they have to walk because it is difficult and painful, but I feel gratitude for being chosen to help them find their way.

My autism awareness became my trial and error process in figuring out what makes my kids happy, and how far am I willing to go in mutual discomfort to help them adjust to neurotypical expectations.

While this can be a lonely place, it has a magic that I can only see when I try to look through the eyes of my sons.  They are intelligent and observant.  They don't ignore the questions of life based on societal norms and what should be ignored in politeness.  They ask the bold questions and want to know why and how.  I like to think I get this from them.

With the space of learning who we are as individuals and as a family, I've been able to follow adults with autism on Facebook and they've been healing to me.  They've given me answers my children cannot yet articulate.  When I'm on Facebook.  I'm blogging and adventuring and posting, but rarely reading what others post anymore.  I think that's what happens when you get to live the life you want.  You stop obsessing over other lives that aren't yours.

There's one girl I follow that has inspired so much hope in me. She has down days, but the fire inside of her makes hers the voice I would want on my side when I need an advocate. She has taught me that it's not enough to teach my kids what is expected. I need them to set their own boundaries and know when and how to fight for those limits. She taught me that I am failing them by teaching them to be complacent and acquiesce to others because of an ideal that neurotypical is normal and right. That's how you raise a victim.

The comfort from other families is knowing that I'm not the only one who wonders if my kids will ever live independently. I'm not the only one who worries about my kids having to care for each other if I die before my kids do. I'm not the only one that has to fight school districts and Regional Center as well as Social Security and In Home Supportive Services.  I will not be the only parent to have to go to court for guardianship of my children once they become adults. I'm not the only one who feels that Autism awareness groups are not on the same page with my boys. And I'm not afraid to share that being test subjects for an autism cure was no longer empowering, but frustrating and difficult as a family. I'm not the only one. We are not alone.

Advocating For My Children with Autism

It's been awhile since I've written about being an autism mom and this weekend it's come up a few times in different conversations.  It's come up in a way where I get to decide to do something about it.  I haven't decided what that looks like yet but it's something that won't shut up, so it's time I listened. I was with a teacher from the Montebello school district yesterday.  We were talking budgets and it kinda surprised me to learn that they are allocated $.33 per student, per year.  So yeah, shout out to Montebello for short changing your kids by giving them the equivalent of a box of crayons for the year while teachers can't afford paper.  And mad thug life props to all the teachers that make it happen and teach our kids anyway.

I've learned that when you are committed, you do whatever it takes, no matter what it takes.  If you are not committed, you look for any excuse to turn and run.  At that point, it's okay to decide it's the best course of action and go with it. Even if that means accepting that someone else failed you in finding excuses.

We were talking about the education system that has structured learning times, and a minimum for physical education that gets pushed back as far as possible for learning. We talked about the schools having less art and music, and more structured learning and the kids that are falling between the cracks.  I've worked as a teacher's aide in a public school and a substitute teacher in a private school and I could go on a rant pointing out the good and the very bad in both, but that's not really the point.  I passed the CBEST exam without studying, and a credentialed teacher has taken the time to learn to teach what I pretty much have covered.  I like to think I'm sharp, but not sharp enough to hone someone else's child.  Not distanced enough anyway.

As a special needs mom, I learned that teachers can't help you serve your kids.  There are certain rules the districts have to follow. Teachers can get in trouble for educating parents in their rights. Whether or not your child is a student your local school, if they would normally be served by the school in your neighborhood, you get to ask for an assessment in writing, and they have to give you one for free within 30 days.  There are several rights and responsibilities that fall to parents and schools, and there's a booklet with that information that you can pick up from the school, and it reads like a boring textbook.  My advice? Get to know a special needs parent.  We've all been through the trenches, and we've all had to fight in one way or another and know a network of other parents that have learned in the same way.

Prepare to get your questions ignored.  Prepare to write letters and make phone calls that will end in an unanswered voicemail that you get to repeatedly follow up on.  Prepare to put your child through testing that will take longer than they have the patience for and teachers that don't get to be with your kids full time.  Take the steps they've outlined as their process, but don't be afraid to take it to the next level.

Prepare to be judged by a teacher that has taken classes and has been in a classroom for several hours with an aide or two engaged and  focused on teaching.  They won't know what it's like to work when they do, but still need to do laundry, make dinner and go to the grocery store with your kids, because you don't always get to structure adulting with blocks of parenting.

Accept that there will be strides and breakthroughs that had nothing to do with you.  It will happen with your children under the care of a teacher you might not like.  Know that at the end of the year, they'll love and miss your child because you've spent a year co-parenting without the struggle of reconciling scorned lovers.

Prepare for the anger and frustration.  Don't lose your shit because it won't serve you.  Know that you aren't alone.

It's safe to say the kids are set up to learn and test and test some more.  The grading scale looks for an average and that average includes children that can't communicate right along with kids that don't speak english, and kids that are gifted and sometimes ask questions their teacher can't answer. The tests are there to see where your kid needs help, not to categorize them into a workable distance.  Take it with a grain of salt and know you're doing what you feel is best for your child because parents aren't usually capable of doing less.

Listen to your kids, and figure out what they aren't saying. Get really comfortable with teachers and principals.  Recognize you're an adult and not a kid in trouble and act like a grown up. Make sure they know your voice when you call the school.  You aren't being annoying.  You're involved, and these principals and teachers will surprise you when they lower the mask of their profession, level a steady look of admiration and offer support in the ways they can.

What Is Sexy To You?

A friend has created a business around supporting women in finding their sexy.  Sexy Soul Matrix is her baby, but I got a special invite to her birthday party (friendship perks).  In full accordance with who she is, it’s a 50 Shades of Gray themed party. We won’t look at the level of kink that has caused so many fantasies to expand with each book sold.  Really, not everyone is meant for that exploration, but it became a doorway for exploration that many imagined as exit only or access denied before E.L. James made it look seductive. We won’t have to pretend that Anastasia finds her voice in the ways Christian silences her.  We won’t discuss how her love (independent of his purging and cleansing his mommy issues) could heal him.  It won’t matter that not just any man could seduce her in the way he did with his stuff.  Sexual, extravagant gifts that made his stalking her seem like authority rather than control. Realistically, his initial distance would push anyone away.  I don’t know about you, but anyone pushing me away is going to make me question how much I want to keep trying.  At least at first. Once my attention has been grabbed, I can be forgiving. His extravagant need to spoil her may have offended her in some ways, but she was still seduced by freedom of the life he provided.  And yes, this was a saga I’ve read a few times.  I’ll leave that thought right there. I get to notice it.  You get to laugh.

The point is finding sexy.  I was on the fence last night about going to this party.  I’m committed.  I'm a person of my word. My friend wants me to show up.  I don’t have my boys.  I get to show up.  I get to decide she is valuable enough for me to show up with a younger crowd and bring my sexy.  I admit I was having commitment issues, and in a move for accountability, I chose to go live on Facebook before I could chicken out.  And if you check it out, yes, I’m still nervous going live and being in front of a camera, alone, parked in my car. So not cut out for acting.

As a young woman, sexy was about how much flesh I could show off.  It was about being so hot I could make a muscle car look good.  (Never mind the fact that they didn’t need my ass prints on them or that it probably had the same effect as putting a spoiler on a 1969 Chevy Nova- don't and no.) It was about being so weatherproof, it could be cold enough for goosebumps, but it didn’t matter because my legs looked good naked, and my cleavage was something to be envied and the boobs needed to be the visible pillows of sensuality they were.  (And then breastfeeding happened.) I expect to be at this party with people that see sexy the way I used to, because youth is amazing in that way, and I don’t have that youth thing anymore. I like my old.

In 2000 I was in a car accident.  It wasn’t life threatening.  I did something dumb.  After a night of drinking, I was a passenger in my friend’s car, and we went to Tommy’s for a double cheeseburger, no onions, extra chili and nacho cheese Doritos, a little paper tray with little peppers and Hawaiian Punch because sugar was friendly then. (My only order since I was a kid.) We got in an accident leaving the parking lot.  The airbag left abrasions all over my face, and I had a gnarly concussion that made bright light painful for a few weeks. I got out the car in my Pure Playaz black mini skirt, covered in Tommy’s Chili. It was embarrassing.  At the time, I was working as a t.v. extra and getting work based on being cute.  I was often referred to as “cute.”  I was proud of my lifeguard swim suit competition on the X Show. I loved what I did for work until looking in the mirror was hard to do.  I didn’t feel cute anymore.  This happened just after I met my ex, and looks became a non-issue.  We got along better when I wasn’t noticed by other people.

This year there was a shift.  A man just a touch older than me and going through a divorce made it a point to introduce himself to me a few times. I was feeling pretty with a gold and black dress on and my hair done in romantic old Hollywood waves at our office party. He was a person that made it a point to talk to me, and he made me feel special that night.  There was something that shifted in his attention. In the days and following weeks, I ran into him a few times and he constantly had me feel like I was a bowl of cherry chip ice cream on his cheat day.  In January I started walking like I wanted to be seen because I loved the way it felt when he saw me.  I started blogging here at the end of February and you could read all about him if you care to. He ended up being my first crush since I met the man I married.  Perks of being a faithful wife include being able to fall in love like it's the first time because it's been so long and I forgot the good and bad and the WTF?

Fast forward to now and what does sexy mean?

For me, sexiness begins within.  It’s not about an inner being of light and beauty that is radiantly sexual, although it can be.  It’s not about the clothes I wear or how something might wear me, although it can be.  It’s not about the happy parts of me, and it’s not about the dark parts, but a combination of it all because I am not a dissected rabbit.  I’m a complete and whole being.  Even though there are parts of me that are broken and healing, I am still a complete being, with broken bits held together by all that makes me who I am. I love me in my beauty and in my pain, and in the ugly that looks like rain.  Even the rain brings new life each spring.

Intelligence.

I don’t necessarily mean book smart.  I mean a person that can take what they’ve learned or experienced, add it to new information and come up with a new direction or perspective.  I mean a person I can have a conversation with and their words shift my beliefs enough to see something bigger than I imagined on my own.  Intelligence is sexy, but I might be part zombie.

Confidence

I could look sexy in a pair of jeans and bare feet.  It’s about an attitude and determination to feel sensual, and embrace the side of me that is sexual.  It’s in my walk.  It’s in my smile.  It means when I’m complimented by a man, I’m not shying away or deflecting what he sees.  It also means I don’t need to be told I’m sexy.  It means I know it, independent of what others might think or believe they have ownership of.  It means I can see a sexy woman that I’m not attracted to, appreciate and compliment her beauty, and not feel threatened.  Yeah, it’s my brand of normal.

Male Bodies

In men, I’m starting with the body because . . . Um, yum? But it’s not enough.  Ever.  I just got a private call from someone I blocked after I decided beauty wasn’t enough.  Don’t do this.  It was awkward.  I owned up to my immaturity and apologized for ghosting him, but that wasn’t going to change my mind. Yes, a man that loves his body as much as he expects me to is always a win.  It’s still never enough.  It doesn’t have to be about abs and pectorals.  Glutes are great, and a man that doesn’t skip leg day . . . It’s not just that.  I’m not picky about hair.  I like man buns and hair that I can run fingers through, but I also have a thing for bald heads.  I love salt and peppered hair and laugh lines.  I love the dip on a lower back, and various other dips and curves on a man’s body.  I love a mature man's body. I love natural hair and I just don’t get manscaping but I can go with it.  And I love the smell of a man’s body.  But at the end of the day, it’s not enough.

Interest

I’m not a fan of being ignored.  Not many can do it and get away with it.  I’m amused every time though.  If you aren’t sure you’re into me, I’m definitely better off answering that question for us.

Connection

Connection is major.  If I can meet a man and our vibe seems to match, I will want to share my words. If he can read my blog and not freak out, then I want to know if he can handle the unhappy parts that come with me.  If we can connect, and we both want to see more of each other . . . Getting him out of my blood might take a while.  Yes, a great man can be an infection. At least he'll leave a mark.

Fathers

There’s something so sexy about an engaged father, spending time with his kids, or a man that’s great with kids in general. It’s an opportunity to watch leadership and gentleness.  It can awaken a dormant libido.  So freaking hot.  Yeah, my dumb is showing on this one.  ‘Nuff said.

So, what to wear to this party? It might be jeans and a t-shirt.  It might be a corset, hooker heels and pleather hot shorts. It might be a matching bra and panty set, but that's not really likely.  It might be something small with a trench coat over it.  I like that idea.  Either way, I get to show up and I know my sexy will be before and behind me, because it's already within me.

Irrational Fears After Emotional Abuse

New experiences over old ones mean you get to remember forgotten details, while learning new things. Hiking with my more athletic friend to Mt. Hollywood was awesome.  She slowed down when I needed to and she was very in tune with my pacing needs.  I had to remind myself it's okay to take a break.  It's important to stay hydrated.  Her wisdom kept me from trying to drink for thirst when I felt full because puking would have sucked.  I wanted to keep up with her, forgetting that she runs marathons for fun, and the trail from the Griffith Park Merry-Go-Round that was challenging yesterday was one she did while holding a toddler.

The sweat and my awareness of how badly I smelled was new to me.  I mean seriously, I was walking and then the sweat happened. Everywhere.  I could smell myself and it was pretty gross. Hiking as a teenager meant I got sweaty, but that was uncomfortable.  Something about that first childbirth changes a woman's body.  Sweat is no longer cute.  It reeks and the changes in my sense of smell paired with body smells make exercise so not attractive to me. When you start to smell like you're more in tune with nature than with beauty products, the rest of nature begins to accept you as part of their landscape. (Hunters know this trick.) That moment taught me to either get comfortable with bug spray or get comfortable with bug carcasses all over your skin.

My friend taught me how to step like a duck when we were going down the hard way.  I'm used to squatting and staying low to get down somewhere steep, but she taught me to turn around and climb down.  One of those falls that has me in pain right now taught me that you still need to look for places to stick your feet when you're climbing down backward, even if you're probably only going to slide down.

I've hiked before.  I told Kid1 that I planned to take them to Chantry Flats to hike to Sturtevant Falls but it would be in the spring when there would hopefully be snow melt making it to the waterfall.  He was surprised that I would consider the time of year, but I've done that hike before and overthink everything.  There may have also been an impromptu trip to Big Bear for the snow in July one year after high school.  Being young and fairly drunk all the time, we wanted to escape the heat in L.A.  We did, but clearly, snow wasn't happening.  It was cooler.  We caught a summer storm.  But no snow. Sometime after that, I started overthinking things.  It might have been my friends that made senseless adventure exciting.  This was the same group that decided we could go clubbing in Mexico after partying until 2 in Sherman Oaks.  We got there in time for the sunrise, but the clubs were closed.  Common sense wasn't so common, but we had a great laugh over the adventure.

In my teens, a hard workout would have started with hydration, protein and stretching.  Post workout meant a hot soak in the tub, serious hydration afterward, sleeping with both Ben Gay and Motrin, and forcing a day of rest that included light stretching in between . . . Not two fierce hikes in a row.  As an adult this weekend, there was hydration during the hikes.  That was it. My teenage self has been yelling at me all night.

Hiking and my aching body are probably not what has me up before the sun, typing without my glasses in the dark.   Hiking two days in a row took it's toll and exhaustion looked like adopting  a toddler's bedtime, but I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about boundaries.

I'm finding myself in a familiar, yet new place.  I had gotten so comfortable in being single that being who I was years ago is coming back to me.  I'm friendly.  I have always been comfortable with guy friends.  I didn't worry about boundaries because I was comfortable with them.  But then my marriage happened and things changed. I'm in a place where I'm thinking about how my actions might affect a man I care about.

Friday at lunch I ran into a male co-worker at Subway and we ate lunch together, but I wondered if I was doing something wrong.  It was lunch and nothing else.  Clearly, it was fine, but I doubted myself.  I was with friends on Saturday and felt like I needed to let this new man know where I was so he wouldn't have to worry.  I told him because even though I was visiting with friends, and being a responsible adult that acts like a Mom in all situations, I felt guilt.  I felt like the old lady in a group of younger people and didn't even flirt with anyone, but I felt like being out was enough to have to explain myself.  I gave my Dad a hug last night and smelled his cologne when I left, lingering on my skin, and wondered if there would be a problem with that if I were going home to this man.

I know this is all in my head.  This new man has done nothing to encourage these fears but matter to me. It's my past experience shadowing my present.  It's the first time since my ex that someone really matters and the first time I've had to face the scars of his jealousy.

I saw a friend at my high school reunion with his new girlfriend.  Before her, his social media was full of his topless exercise routines.  He fully understood the public service he was offering, but with the new woman in his life, these moments stopped.  It looks normal.  It looks appropriate.  I don't know if it is, because my reference points are skewed.

I get to learn what normal is.  Like all new things there's excitement and fear but I'm adaptable.  I can learn to walk like a duck.  I can learn that someone else's sense of security isn't my full responsibility and as I was told on a call yesterday, I am so worthy of so much.  I just have to step into understanding that in my skin, and no longer just as a sometime reminder in my head.

There should be simpler moments to concern myself with . . . Like do I aim for more sleep, or do I get moving so I can chase the sun?

The Point of Labels on People is Pointless

The thing about having special needs or a different gender identity or sexuality is that you will always be who you are.  Labels that box you into a definition are for the people that aren't able to see you as you are.  They need to define you. We all do it.  We see someone we like and start looking for the things we share in common.  We meet someone we don't like and start stacking differences to build a case.  If we removed these labels, and learned to look for commonalities instead of differences, we could meet everyone where they are, without needing to box them in and create distance.  They become people instead of labels.  This could apply to political parties, race, religion or diet.

I was hiking with a group through Griffith Park but it wasn't all heavy discussion.

We talked about pregnancy changing my sense of smell so now I'm part canine.  We talked about sweating as a teenager, and how your body changes and reeks after you give birth.

We talked about cinnamon flavored toothpicks, and pink bathrooms and toilet paper.  Of course, this was met with, "they used to do that back then?" Yes, I tucked my old back in.

We talked about my singing out loud and a friend told me she loves my voice.  I assured her that changes depending on how loud the music I'm singing with is.

Mainly we talked.  We walked up a mountain.  We talked.  We laughed.  We took pictures. And I connected.  It was a good morning.

When Depression Looks Like Avoidance

I used to spend a day in bed, reading novels.  I think my average on a good escape day was 3 novels, but my record was 4.  During these book binges, my kids were often getting my attention for food, or making epic messes in the house.  My ex was in bed watching t.v. with me, or giving me a nudge to see if I would start breakfast, then lunch, then dinner.  Or we would watch a movie marathon that was the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Extended Edition. I was so unhappy with life that I was escaping in the worlds of someone else's creation to avoid what I was living in.

I used to hide in books.  I haven't read one all the way through for almost two years.  I used to buy books at Barnes and Noble or through Amazon.  I'd flip through the pages, and breathe deeply so I could memorize the smell of freshly inked pages.  I felt the weight and read the publication details, the back cover and any details that had nothing to do with the story.  I would read the dedication a couple of times.  When I was younger, I would read the last page, then start on the story.  I remember how frustrated my ex got when there was a new book on the shelf.  My first surrogacy couple gave me a Kindle for Christmas when I was carrying their child.  It took time to get used to, but I began to love the idea of a library in my purse, and my ex never knowing where I was in a book or if I was starting a new one because he hated that.

I was talking to friends on Thursday about Harry Potter.  One friend was saying she's reading it for the first time.  I read that series at least nine times.  At that admission, the looks I got told me how not normal that was, and yet it was my normal.

I'm not escaping anymore.  Well, not entirely.  There are beach trips to watch a sunset.  I'm due for a museum trip this week or next.  I haven't been catcalling runners with windows closed and that makes me smile, because there's someone special enough to make that something I don't even think about unless it's realizing I'm not doing it anymore. I'm not getting lost in novels or movies.  I'm not reading self help books so someone else can tell me how I should live.  I'm living. It's an epic adventure where I get to make relational connections and allow them to shift my perspective so I can grow.

I was talking to the mastermind behind That Kind of Light yesterday among other friends.  One of our friends commented on the authority behind my words.  I say what is on my heart without a show or attitude.  I talk like it's truth because it is.  I told them an often repeated example.  I don't need to tell you I'm a woman.  It's who I am.  It's the same with my truth.  I say it as it is, and it lands or it doesn't.  Often if I give a man my truth, he doesn't accept my authority in who I am, or if I tell him about the amazing I see in him, he'll reject it if he can't see it.  My friend Mary asked if I was open to feedback.  I said yes.  I'm always open to that growth.  She said that my response feels defensive and it's a wall that I've created.  It's true.  She called me out and it is a wall, and I admit it.

For so long I didn't feel the freedom to say what is on my mind.  I had shame because I knew what I was feeling wasn't the desired feeling or emotion that I was expected to reflect and I didn't know how to care for myself in a way to be in a healthy place where my needs weren't all secondary.  As much as I withheld, it was a reaction to not having a safe place for my truth to land. I've come to a place where I shoot it out anyway.  I don't shield who I am because I often choose isolation over going back to who I was.  I haven't been able to read or get into binge watching television or movies because of the brokenness in which that was born for me.  I'm no longer hiding in what will cover me, but there is a defiant push I use when I give my truth.  It's almost a push to protect myself.

This week has been one where I have been intentional with reminding myself that everything happens in the time, place and order it is supposed to.  Whatever is meant to be yours will always come to you.  We meet who is supposed to come into our lives at the precise moment when we are meant to.  They impart wisdom and direction without knowing the way they are meant to shift your perspective.  I wouldn't have been able to accept Mary's feedback a few months ago.  Not in the way it has already rippled through me.

I had a moment of doubt yesterday.  I was hiking with a friend.  She's the first person I've ever shared my writing with. We started at the trailhead near the Greek Theater and started our ascent toward the Observatory. It was sometime at this point where she told me we were going all the way to the top of Mount Hollywood.  I didn't question if we could.  I decided I would take her leadership and we were doing it. We took the long way up, but the short way down.

On the way down, there were a couple of falls.  Of course I was freaking out that I would fall.  Both times I was laughing through it, but it reminded me of the transition I was feeling a few weeks back. I started shifting this week into a place of vulnerability.  That fall reminded me that when your footing isn't stable, falling can happen and it can be painful.  The problem with allowing someone else to brighten your smile is the risk that they would take that away, and I'm in a place where I get to step certainly in uncertainty and that takes vulnerability.  I'm not used to that, but I'm stepping into it.  As scary as that is, as real as it is, the rewards have already been huge.

Not long ago I was blogging about sharing my feelings as vulnerability being born through relationship and my day yesterday was a testament to that.  I spent my morning hiking with a friend.  My afternoon was at the Artists and Fleas meetup in Venice where I got life affirming hugs by friends that showed up at the same time I did (completely unplanned) followed by a solitary sunset.  I went to little Tokyo and the Arts District for a friend's birthday and late last night opened up in scary ways to a really special man, but I was met in love.  (Did you notice it's not about a boy, but a man?  I did.  It's growth!)

I'm not hiding in distractions anymore and that wall that I have been building is being slowly taken apart, one relationship at a time.  There are terrifying moments.  There are moments when I feel like this is what home means.  There are moments when I'm being a chicken weenie in avoidance.  There are moments when the feedback is a little too real.  All of these moments are mine and I'm not taking a backseat to my existence in someone else's imagination.  That feels badass.

Have You Thanked A Vet?

I have freedoms I take for granted and liberties that other countries are denied and I owe them to our military. Our country has been fighting or occupying other countries pretty consistently since the early 90's.  Many of us know or have lost someone that volunteered to do so much, and I want to thank them. My Dad is an Army combat vet as was his father and his father before him. My step Dad got his honorable discharge from the Air Force and I could but won’t honor the many men and women in my family and life that have served this country that I get to call home.

I need to honor and think of the men and women that come back changed. They're asked to do what most of us can never imagine. They risk their lives and know that their faith is their only safety. They endure so much fear, discomfort and loneliness and name it duty. Soldiers are made of much more than I could ever be.

My Dad's brain protects him as it did during war by not allowing him to remember the names of those he meets. He spent long enough in a war zone to not want to remember. I learned early on not to surprise him to wake him. The nightmares he lived still plague him as if the war were yesterday instead of 1967 and because of this, his fists are up before he is when startled out of sleep. Even a holiday like today is painful for a person who has survived so much while so many around him did not.

The images of war can easily plague a person into seeing it all happen at home and to those they love. Dad always has a plan for his family for the war he sees in Los Angeles.

Today I am happy to say "thank you" to those that have given so much for the freedoms I have. I can't think of a holiday that moves me so deeply every year. I don't house hop or spend the day in the kitchen. I quietly remember those I love and what the front lines of freedom have left with them and those that love them. Most years I do this from home, but today from work. My sense of motherly duty dictates I do whatever it takes for my boys.

I thank you for volunteering. I thank you for spending your first time away from home at boot camp. I thank you for learning how to take orders and learn to safely use your weapons. I thank you for being a role model and lending a hand to those you may not know and may not like. I thank you for embracing your job through the loss of your hearing or limbs and I appreciate your willingness to march back to those front lines with your Purple Heart. I thank you for the legacy you leave behind. I thank you for the living legacy of gratitude for our military that I get to embody and pass on to my sons.

I thank your military families. I thank the spouses that keep your family together as a single parent until you return. I thank your spouses for easing you back into family life until your next deployment. And I thank you for spending your holidays with your co-workers so I can be with my family, oblivious to your sacrifice.

A generation of children now know what it is to have a parent, aunt or uncle, grandparent or family friend go to another place, and maybe never make it home. Maybe it's not a lost life, but a limb or eyesight or hearing. Either way, they are changed by more than the physical.

So many young people give up their innocence for duty and honor, and today is a time to remember to give them our gratitude. For me, I feel a sense of warmth towards anyone in uniform, because I know that there is so much that I get to thank them for every day of my life.

Did you thank your Veterans today? You might see one with ink carved flesh to remind them of something they’ll never forget.  They may be wearing a hat or a patch because they find other vets and they connect with a history that the rest of us can never understand.

Buy them a drink at your local bar, but make sure you give them that look in the face that says, “I see you.  You matter to me.  I honor you and would love to support you.”  Offer to cover the cost of a meal at a restaurant or their coffee behind you at Starbucks.  (This absolutely applies to our Police Force as well.)

You get to be the change, as do I.

How You Show Up Matters More Than Who You Say You Are

  We call our loved ones special terms of endearment and it makes them special.

My kids have been:

Munchies, Munchkins, Kidlets, Punk, Punky, Punk Butt, Pumpkin (Always depends on how I react to their normal.) Leprechaun, Snuggle bug . . .

I've called exes Sweetie, Love, Babe, and Honeybee.

My sisters have always called me Yessie, but I usually introduce myself as Yessica.  I respond to Mom too.

I like birth names.  I've met plenty of people that define their identity and shift a name to shift the perspective they want to be seen as, but I prefer birth names and try to use them at every opportunity.

When I was younger and my neighbors were from Diamond Street, I'd walk with them to their  "neighborhood" (layers of irony define gang life, who knew?).  They went by their placa, but I always called then names given by their mom.  We'd walk to Bixel where he was slanging rocks with his homies, and I was calling them Jorge and Juan instead of Trusty and Ghost.  I never called my ex by the names he created because I always see who I interpret, and never who they want to portray.

For me it's about intimacy.  When I see a person . . . when I truly look at them, I choose to see past what they say.  It's part of that overthinking superpower.

I see a man that chooses to shave his head, and I wonder if it's because his hairline was receding or if he was going gray.  I wonder if he knows how hot his salt and peppered hair is to me.

I see a man that surrounds himself with toys and things, and wonder if he's bored when he's alone because when we talk, he isn't as nearly fascinated with himself as I am with him.  I wonder if he sees his value the way I do because if the conversation has lasted more than 10 minutes, and I'm saying more than he is instead of one or two words or a sentence here and there, I'm digging the way he makes me feel.  I wonder if he sees his value in what he has and what he's done. Things that never matter when we're apart and all I have are memories.

I see a woman that walks proudly and I wonder if she is in a blissful moment or putting a strong face forward because that's what we do to avoid street harassment.

I see my son with his excitement going over every single detail of something he saw or experienced, and I listen fully and remember details to return because it's not the day he wants me to remember but the fact that he is mine and I love him is something he needs to be reminded of. For a while he insisted he was "Super A Plus."  He was humored.

When I was pregnant with my children, I put so much hope into their lives and it showed up as what I would call them when they were born.  I wanted their names to mean something.  Naming a child is providing a legacy to grow into.  We named our firstborn after two of our best friends growing up.  Our second child's middle name is after his Dad.  Our third son's middle name is after a missed grandfather and a crazy uncle that saw me when I was at my broken and rebellious age.  He was my anchor.  We honored our family in our progeny.  I spent time thinking of my children and their names and who they would become around those names. Okay, so Kid2 and Kid3 were named because I had an obsession with Irish names.

My name was never my favorite.  It's odd.  My Dad was studying Hebrew.  In honor of the alphabet, he named me Yessica instead of Jessica because there isn't a "J" sound in Hebrew.  There is now because language evolves.  He refers to my name as "God's gift." It was often a source of teasing.  It's constantly misspelled and misheard, but it's who I am.  When I was younger, I couldn't wait to grow up and change my name.  At some point in high school, I was referred to as Yeska, and the idea of being someone's addiction is what made it okay to be what I was born as.  I started feeling like my name was no longer a label but who I get to embody.  There is no one else like me, and I own that now.  I didn't, but I do.  I can accept that I'm intense and what I give to the world doesn't need to be returned because I am boundlessly refillable.  That is what it means to be Yessica.  That is who I am.  I didn't create a name because I've finally grown up into who I choose to be.  My name was chosen just for me.  It was created for me. If my parents were like me, my name was written over and over the way you might doodle the name of a person you like.  It was given to me for my birthday and I use it every single day.

I might not have said it but I love Harry Potter.  I tend to keep my inner geek tucked in, but you'll see her sneaking out from time to time.  She likes Star Wars and Star Trek, Lord of the Rings and when t.v. was about escaping life, the Syfy Channel.

My oldest keeps referring to our President-elect as a yam.  I'm not calling him Voldemort.  I'm just saying we embody our names and become a symbol of who we are and our name is our identity.  When we see the name "Trump," we often think of his successes and failures as a businessman (taking risks is part of winning big). We might think of his signature look and sense of style.  We now think of the hate inside of him.  I see his brokenness.  When I think of Donald Trump I see a man that has had to prove himself repeatedly . . . His need to surround himself with beautiful, submissive women . . . His hate is more about ignorance from distance.  I see brokenness.  He's damaged and I don't feel gentleness but pity for him.

We give out so much of what we hold within.  I was in a dark place when I started making my Facebook profile private.  I realized last night I'm not that person anymore.  Hiding who I am was about a sense of shame I don't feel anymore.  I'm an open book.  I live with so much freedom in what I do, where I go and what I say because it's who I am.  It's been a journey for me.  But sometime last night, I realize I'm where I am meant to be.  I've discovered the place where my story is the one I want to tell because who I am and how I show up means more than what others see.  I used to be obsessed with gossip, but I've become a person that is more interested in the story I see and hear than what was told to me and I don't even know when that shift occurred. I'm sure it started with Princess Diana's death.

There's so much reward in being the rose.  Smell sweet.  Blossom under the sun.  Be the beauty within because when you start showing off what is within you, no one will hear what you have to say because how you show up says it all.

Music Tied To Emotions in a Playlist for a Man

There was a moment when a playlist was born today.  I tend create music playlists that are about an encouragement I'm in need of.  They speak to me in ways that build me up. When I no longer need that message, I will create a new list. This one was different. It wasn't about motivation.   I started a playlist a week or two ago based on a someone else's list that I fell in love with, but there were a few songs that in the last couple of days made me think of a man I have been chatting with. He shared songs with me today and I heard them with new ears.  With a perspective shift, I went from giggling to blinking away tears. This playlist is all about one person. It's about wanting music to remind me of him and manufacturing emotions close to what he makes me feel. I haven't done that since the man I was into right before the man I married. My first thought was, "what the fuck, miss? I didn't order a side of feelings with my fries."  Then it hit me in all the terrifying ways.

I've been this unfeeling, uninterested person, content in the superficial distance I kept everyone at. I had fun left swiping and going out alone. For the first time last night I wanted specific company and it was new and sticky and not my normal.

I was a faithful wife and the idea of having feelings for someone wasn't something I was interested in.  I had a first crush in 15 years in January.  It was entirely one sided and silly.  But the idea of being open to looking at someone that wasn't my husband was a huge deal. My second was in May or June.  He was sweet and fun to obsess over, but with both men, I never imagined introducing them to my kids.  They were never more than a silly distraction.  They were safe and meaningless.  The feelings I got to play in today are very different and in some ways I haven’t felt this way since high school.  There's something almost pure and so far from predatory. In being me and the ways he's okay with that, I forgot about an endgame and there isn't one. It's a free fall and I didn't realize I floated off the ground.

These feelings are everything I hoped for when I started dating in May, but the out of control feeling and the hope that came with it was a lot to process.  It was entirely unexpected. What I wanted looked like more than what this is right now and that was big.  I don't normally want more than the moment and since I started dating as a single mom, I never have imagined more than a playmate for me that would never meet my kids.  I imagined him spending time with all of us.

I mean, he's seriously beautiful but I'm not objectifying him for you because it's secondary to what he makes me feel. And there's a proprietary shift where I have no interest in sharing what I want to be only mine. There was a man running on the pier last night and I usually appreciate that, but only noticed that I didn't care about a topless man running past me until he had already passed me by.

I realized it's easy to love unconditionally when you aren't in danger of falling in world shifting love.  When the risk is a reality rather than some vague ideal, it is hard to remain present in the moment and take it for what it is.  I imagined all the ways I wanted more and the many reasons why I could never have it and the anxiety of a loss I haven't experienced was something I was already feeling the pain of. Within 3 minutes, I imagined a really great relationship was dead and as crazy as that was, it felt real and intense. (Overthinking everything intensely is a superpower. We know this by now, right?)

Love is an intense emotion.  I'm a firm believer that we make a choice to love or not love, and the feelings follow.  We make a choice to let someone in and to find the ways we are similar and how we can relate to them.  We look at who they are and how their paths fit with the ones we've walked in life. I don't remember choosing but I did at some point.

There's a free fall.  There's a moment when the emotion is too strong to fight and we fall freely, hoping that there is someone rising to meet us.  We love the feeling and can't get enough.  We want to be surrounded by love and covered in its warmth, seduced by its smell.

It's an addiction.  We will do what it takes to have the love we need.  We sacrifice our time and dreams and alter our goals.  We give and shift what we don't have to make it work.  We make love into our god and when this deity removes her favor, we are lost in the abyss of all we expected, showing us how far from the earth we've floated and the crash that is coming can be delayed but is inevitable.

I had to remind myself I was overthinking it, and missing out on the present moment of joy he was offering me by being open to my transparency.

It's a short playlist for now, but it's growing and I'm going with it, whatever this becomes. Even if it doesn't. It'll run it's course, big or small, and I will welcome being changed by it. What fun is living if I am too afraid to share my life with someone so easy to share with? Sometimes just knowing desiccated areas of your heart can be revived is enough.

• CALLmeKAT, Toxic
• Boyce Avenue, It Will Rain
• Boyce Avenue, Just Can't Get Enough
• Jasmine Thompson, Like I'm Gonna Lose You
• Lo-Fang, You're the One That I Want
• Lotte Kestner, Halo
• Ortopilot, Make You Feel My Love
• Lukas Graham, 7 Years
• Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, Growing Up (feat. Ed Sheeran)
• Drake, One Dance (Feat. Wizkid & Kyla)
• Drake, Controlla

Be the Best Representation of Your Minority You Can Be

My boys have been more concerned about this election than any other current event I can think of right now.  The person I stood for and my children championed wasn’t elected to run this country.  I woke up at 6 before the sun peaked above the hill that my bedroom window faces in the east and I wondered how to answer the questions I knew my boys would have.  I was over thinking it.  I decided the only approach was to come to them with Mom wisdom.  It sounded like a call to action and I’m about to Mom you all.

It’s not a time to despair and whine about an uncertain future.  My Trump supporter friends were more silent last night.  I won't try to imagine what they feel, but I know this transition is a challenge for many people and my advice is to do whatever it takes.  Get through it.  Cry through change if you need to, but don’t stay there. Sometimes the greatest transformations start with the darkest paths through the deepest valleys.  You must be willing to keep moving forward.

Failed marriages. . .   A career move you're afraid of. . . A new relationship that scares the crap out of you . . . A president elect that you really wish wasn't elected . . .

Move forward because there's nothing left behind you. You belong in this moment and can't hold onto the shredded past that fell apart on you.

I've explained how I felt about Donald Trump.  His title may justify respect based on the desires determined by a nation, but I can’t deny the way he has treated those he doesn't identify with.  I see him as a person that has been so hurt by what scares him, that he doesn’t even recognize when his hate is offensive.  What is worse is that the parts of him that are hurting are also hurting in the people I know and love that voted for him.  I'm certain there were women, Mexicans, Blacks, LGBTQIA, and Muslims that chose him over a woman that looked like the greater evil.

I told my boys we’re in a unique position.  I reminded them of the ways that people with special needs are like people in the LGBTQIA community. There are umbrellas of definition for the people who don't understand who they are because my Kid1 and Kid2 don't need a label to define who they are.  They just exist and that is enough. We are mixed race.  Black, Thai, Mexican, Caucasian, Choctaw Indian and Burmese . . . The list could probably go on. We are everything that our President Elect fears and distances himself from.  Our birthright is the capacity to be the change.

We get to stand in the authority of who we are and show up in love.  Who we are is a set of labels to other people and we get to show up to show out who we are in a way that matters to one person at a time.  In this way, I get to open eyes and I get to help others heal in the ways they are hurting.

As black men, you get to heal the fear that has killed innocent adults at the hand of frightened and angry police officers.

As women, we get to be powerful and confident and heal the expectation that a woman can't handle the art of adult survival without male assistance or approval.

As white men, you get to show the world what it is to not define your existence in terms of what has been because you are here now and this path that you carve is all you, Love.

As a Christian, you get to embrace and normalize the woman wearing a hijab because her God is not any more or less than yours.

As Muslims, you get to show the world who Allah calls you to be in your external expression of faith, the ways you really do hold and honor your women, and the way you care for those less fortunate.

The love I have as a woman that loves gay men and transgendered or gender fluid people can heal others that don't understand what it means to love unconditionally.  I get to hold hands on both sides of the bed and show you that we all love and hope and sleep the same.

If age is nothing but a turn on, why can't your kink be? If you are comfortable enough to claim it as your kink, is it really considered kink?

If we heal the pain that others have identified with . . . If we stop insulting our friends and relatives that made a choice they felt was the best option . . . If we accept that we are accountable to how we show up and reinforce prejudices and that our voice can heal others .  . We can diffuse the power of destruction that we have created in a world that was a vacuum and is still sucking away at life, searching for love.

Be.  Be love.  Be the change.

Silly Boys Online and the Men I'm Raising

It's Tuesday and my last night with the boys until Monday night.  I was going back and forth about what to do when I picked them up but finalized my decision when I picked them up and they grilled me about an absentee ballot I cast a weekend or two ago. I can't control an outcome, but I can decide on my reaction and interpretation.  I decided we were eating out and away from news. This choice looked like traffic after a long day at work.  Kid1 didn't want to go at first, but loved the food so much he wanted to keep the bag we brought our leftovers in so he could tell his friends to try it out.  Kid2 was mellow and happy because he's the adventurous one that loves new tastes.  He'll eat fresh water eel and experiment with sushi. Our next adventure for him is Indian food because he tasted curry in a dip and loved it.  Kid3 was so full of energy from his day and he wanted to excitedly tell me about every moment of it.  He was loud and exuberant.  He made sure I caught and could repeat details.  After the ups and stresses of a full shift, the internet being down for a bit at work, sorting out documents by hand and the highs of random texts that made me smile all day, I was exhausted, but I gave him 110% of what I had for him, digging deep so he didn't feel my deficits.  We got our food and Kid1 and Kid2 were in a silent slurping heaven, with muttered gratitude between bites. Kid3 was immediately nauseous with the smells of Japanese food that doesn't look like sushi.  We all ate a bit faster so he could get home and later complain he's starving.

When my only job was to raise a family as mom, I did all of the cooking at home from scratch.  I seared and simmered over the stove, running to the laundry room to swap loads of clothes or bang through a sink of dishes, breaking my nails that weren't bitten down to the quick.  Help looked like the times we ate out.  We piled into the car and headed to a restaurant I usually didn't like so we could sit quietly, lost in the places our devices allowed us to escape to. Single parenthood means we've made some life style changes and family meals in restaurants took a major hit.

Tonight we went to a restaurant that a friend of mine manages.  He was off, but I wanted to check out what his Kingdom looked like.  He is the boss in way that would be so hot to me if he wasn't gay and therefore not into me. (How into me a man is has a lot to do with my attraction.)  I love that we have the same taste in men and plenty to talk about when we share eye candy moments. He has dark hair and beautiful eyes with the most alluring lilt to his voice.  He's beautiful. He gives the greatest hugs and one day he'll make some man really happy.  And maybe I'm a bit biased towards a man that has fed me more than once.

As we were sitting I watched my boys interact.  I watched their excitement.  I honored a wish to not take pictures of them.  They were discussing politics with phrases they borrowed, but concepts they tied together themselves.  Kid3 believed we could get Kid1 to vote illegally just to contribute their beliefs. It was a moment where I sat in awe of the growing they've done over the last year.  I am so proud of my boys.  I made them with my body!

At that moment . . . at the peak of my happy momma feelings I got a text from a man I had forgotten about.  I don't think I was ever fully into him.  I would have blocked him a lot sooner if I wasn't so amused by his texts.  I directed him to this blog and told him to call me if I didn't scare him away.  He never did call me.

The laughs keep coming from this one and I did finally block him. I'm usually nicer to men in general but there is nothing about him I would want to protect and I'm not always nice.

I wouldn't call myself a male hater.  I love men. I love the way they look and smell.  I love their strength.  I love the way they think in the direct lines of logic.  I love the way they see things the way I can't.  Ultimately I would love to find a man who I believe in and would be willing to submit to.  It wouldn't be out of fear but out of respect. He wanted to be the Alpha Male, but he was far from my ideal and he didn't get it in the texts I ignored or the kindness I offered in scaring him away with my authenticity here.  I knew it would make him walk.  He's not the droid (or man) I'm looking for.  I never entertained the idea of him meeting my boys and I was never interested in giving up my alone time for him.

My laughter died down and my boys asked what was funny.  I didn't explain that he suggested I might want to call him after insulting me when I wasn't making any effort to be on his radar to begin with. Instead I told them there was a silly boy that thought their mom was dumb or that he meant enough to hurt my feelings.  He just didn't have that power.

I realized that we were in a perfect space as a family.  As mom, I'm raising men to be proud of.  (Still working on those times when Kid3 rage quits.) Apart, I'm sure their Dad is doing better than he ever did as my spouse and I can relax in the knowledge that we're doing right by them.  I don't have to worry about them when I don't have custody.

As far as dating, setting that bar really high and raising it with each solid man that I meet, whether or not he's the one for me, is the right choice.  I was having a moment in the last few days, wondering if maybe the bar is too high.  I got my answer yesterday, and no, it's not too high.  I could probably even raise it to match the man that's been making me smile like a blushing idiot all day. (I don't intimidate him.) Deciding on what I want and knowing when I'm not looking at it feels powerful. I don't feel powerful in a dominant aggressive way, but in the way where I get to control my life, unmoved by insignificance.  I don't have to believe someone else's value of me because I know who I'm showing up as to myself and to the only boys that really matter to me - the ones that are part of me and grew strong right under my heart.

I think about who I was a handful of years ago.  This boy might have hurt my feelings back then.  I've never met him in person and we never had much to discuss through text.  He read enough of my blog to feel threatened enough to do more than just fade away.  It broke whatever false kindness he thought was enough for me to offer something he wasn't even worthy enough to look at.  Call it ego.  I know my worth.  Once upon a time, I might have valued his opinion with only a glimpse of my personality through my words, and it might have mattered more than my desires for my life.  That's insane to me now.  I like that it's so crazy because this life I get to lead is that important to me.

This is the Monday of Your Life

I was driving Kid2 to school this morning, and I asked him if he was excited.  He gave me the usual "what the hell?" look that teenagers are supposed to perfect.  I laughed.  Then I looked at him and said, "really?"  And I explained what I'm so happy to share with you.  Right now. A friend once pointed out that we get two lives, and the second begins the moment we realize we only get one.  This is your Monday.  No one else gets to wake up in your body, (unless you are having a frisky morning) and no one else gets to live your day.  This is you in all of the amazing ways you get to exist.

Fight for your bliss.  Look for your joy.  Live every moment as if it matters because this is your life and you are the only one that gets to live it.

Make good choices you can be proud of.

Do the epic and live in the sublime.

Breathe in the gift of your existence and with every moment, know you have a unique contribution to offer.  Figure out what you are meant to do and who you are meant to be.  Then do it.  You are your only motivation and your only roadblock.  Own your better and embrace your worse.

Gift yourself to the world at large.  Be.  In this moment as you read the words in my heart, be aware that this moment is yours.  This epic existence is yours to set your own standards, disregarding everyone else's.  They don't even get to experience your heartburn, so don't give them a smile that hurts because it's inauthentic.

It's the Monday of your life, because this is life and there are no practice days in your existence.  We are abundantly gifted with days to do more, be better, and give all you have, knowing that cup comes with free refills.

You can live in expectation that one day you won't be living, or you can live in the intention that this isn't that day and so it doesn't matter.

Rewards of Showing Up

  I get to show up for friends and it means I see something I wouldn't have ordinarily been exposed to on my own.  This has meant trying an amazing Albondigas soup at La Velvet Margarita Cantina and celebrating a birthday.  It means attending a company launch party at Couture Nightclub and seeing that I can be comfortable walking into the unknown, unaccompanied, and fiercely confident if vastly over dressed. I have had too much laughter to not snort watching the Unsupervised Sketch Show at Bar Lubitsch.  I have been able to show up for movie screenings at the Mondrian hotel on Sunset Strip where I've sat with great friends, deepening friendships and connections. I bought a book and got it signed by the author while being inspired by a teacher of creative writing.  She's awesome.  Find her at That Kind of Light. Her book inspired this post.

This week, I got to show up for a friend yesterday at the Artists and Fleas event yesterday in the Arts District in Downtown LA.  It's a fun farmer's market, shopping space that had vegan deodorant,  body oils, and cold process soap.  They had jewelry and candles with crystals embedded in them.  I was also at the Shop to Give event hosted at the CTRL Collective in Playa Vista Thursday. That space alone was worth the visit.  I know it's a work space, but it was like visiting a fun museum with open work spaces.

It might appear to be a sacrifice on my part . . .  taking time out to drive across town to say hello, but it's really been terrific for me and maybe a bit selfish. My latest reward looks like this . . .

This amazing and beautiful friend of mine that I first mentioned here, took a huge risk and this box is my reward. She quit a stable job to launch her baby into being, and it looks like the pictures throughout this post.  I love the cards with the wealth of history and lore they provide. As a lover of words, I can say that the writing speaks to me and says lovely things.  The kits are designed as a starting point to show you how to pamper yourself, while making it clear that body scrubs and self care is far more tangible than beauty industries would make you believe. The materials were all carefully chosen and perfectly compiled in a box that is a treat in itself.  I don't need the pretty box, but it's worth keeping.  Really, I would love to know where she finds her salt, because the crystals are smaller, gentler and they feel like they hold moisture to them in the way they move and clump.

I believe the sugar might be raw sugar, but again it's special.  My laptop really didn't appreciate my curiosity though and I cleaned it without photographs because I can't let this moment of excitement get away from me.

I made a mixture today.  It was my first, and it felt so great.  I didn't mix the entire contents of each carefully labeled bag and container, because I like the idea of concocting what I need as I plan to use it.  I get my chemistry ya-yas out and it's a tailor made expresion each time. You don't have to be jealous.  Get your own at Mystic Dirt.

I get to show up for friends.  I arrive with a smile and receive a hug.  I give them my words of hope and support.  I give them my belief in who they are and empower them with all of the hope and belief I get from their dreams being chased.

The biggest reward of showing up for friends is the part where I'm really showing up for myself. I'm not sitting at home waiting for an opportunity to invite me out, but seeing what my friends are doing and showing up for them.  I get to see interesting venues, and try new foods.  (Today's snack of a curry lime almond dip came from Artists and Fleas.) I get to see friends and have deep conversations or share belly laughs.  I get to reminisce and create new moments that become treasured memories.  My selfies become group shots when I'm not too busy being in the moment to remember to capture them.

Yesterday I showed up for a friend's annual barbecue.  I left Kid2 with my Mom because he begged not to go.  I sat with a friend in conversation and felt so welcomed by his friends.  I got to experience what I was calling magic and learned was babaganoush.  I joined in a relay race that had me riding a tricycle through an obstacle course.  It's been more than 3 decades since I've been on one and my partner and I placed 2nd.  It was epic fun and I only regret not having proof of the shenanigans.  There was a moment where I felt guilt that I wasn't just doing what my son wanted (staying home), but we discussed it and came to an agreement.  I got to go for a while. He got to choose who he would prefer to watch him.  We agreed that this way we are both doing what was best for both of us, and today, he got a full day to be at home and in his gaming cave of solitude.

This latest box of fun has had me in a place of rest and self care.  I've had a great week and a better weekend but the time to care for myself and rest was needed and playing doesn't feel like wasted time that should be spent doing something else.  This box of fun has been about learning and mixing and smelling and exfoliating.  It's a beauty care package that reminds me to slow down intentionally while my Kid2 is happily gaming and spending the day as an only child while Kid1 enjoys his Dad and Kid3 has had a weekend with grandma and cousins.  I have been recharged and I'm ready to Paper Tiger my way through everything I've been putting off all week.

This ability to show up means for the first time since I became a Mom, I'm no longer a martyr to my family's needs.  I'm no longer staying home because of a need to always put others first. I'm standing for my wants and desires and trusting others to care for my children and showing my boys that it's okay to do what is important to me.  It's become important to me that we work as a family to stand for each other in what is important to us as individuals to show each other that this is where we place our value as a family. I'm no longer a short order cook on Saturday mornings while I skip breakfast.  We do what is best for our family as a whole and that means independence and the belief that we each matter, no matter who we are.  Our values are assigned by our love for each other and this love levels the field of importance.

Show up.  So much good happens when you show up for friends and when you show up for yourself through prioritizing what you want to do, alongside what we do because it's our duty and cost to the life we get to live. Live epicly!

High School Reunion

I'm more committed to my Facebook account than I am to most of my relationships.  I check out my Facebook feed throughout the day.  My Instagram and Wordpress accounts are allowed to post to Facebook and I don't even question why no one else asks Facebook to post to them.  Or maybe I just won't explore Facebook's commodification of my ability to use them to remain emotionally stunted. I use their messenger.  I use it to follow along in the lives of my friends without actually having to bother taking the time to be part of their lives. Shame on me and I get to notice, and change that.

I went to a high school that is only 4.5 miles from my house.  I've walked farther than that on a great museum day.  The thing is, most of my graduating class that I have "friended" (because making up words works when you become the social equivalent to coffee) is also fairly local.

My latest stretch is to show up.  I have met some amazing people this year that are dreaming big and offering me the opportunity to be present for them.  I get to show up and it means I'm not hiding in solitude, pretending to be friends because I can see what you're doing online without actually talking to you or pretending you might matter.  I mean, at the end of the day, these people are part of me.  There was something in my life that they experienced with me, which is why we are connected on social media (for the most part). They sat in the same classes with me.  They knew me and saw in me things I couldn't see (because introspection isn't easy when you are too busy looking for similarities so you aren't othered, not realizing it's what's within you that makes you so alike). They didn't see what I kept carefully hidden in shame of who I am.

The reunion was a success.  The group of us meant to reunite showed up.  There will be other gatherings. In the brokenness that has shown up in other areas of my life, I stepped back and allowed others to plan the reunion, only planning to show up for the game, if that.  I wasn't committed to what became an amazing night of reminiscence.  The girl that got me into and out of so much mischief asked me to be her date, and when I spent more than a few seconds debating if I should go, I decided I should go.  I'm becoming much more impulsive.  If a thought takes up more than a few moments of my time, I have been deciding on the, "oh what the fuck, do whatever it takes" mantra, and so far it's serving me well.

In not being an active participant, some friends were left out of the invitations.  It wasn't on purpose.  Actually, when I first heard about the planning, I was still in the trenches of family life and that life looked a lot like what I expected the rest of my life to look like. The idea of being around old friends and the way I felt I had to fit myself around my ex's needs in that situation were stressful.

*You may or not notice that I have no problem expressing my thoughts and ideas and perspective, but the way I felt when fitting myself around his needs is something I have yet to be able to express.  I am still stretching slowly in expressing my feelings but that only comes through relationships which I'm fantastic at avoiding. Didn't notice? You should practice studying the words left unsaid.  It can be illuminating. And that is my next real area of growth . . . sharing my feelings (even if they are messy and not always nice).

When my ex said he was done with the marriage, I was often openly bleeding.  I was posting exactly what I thought and felt and what was happening on my Facebook wall.  Life as I knew it was shifting and it wasn't just the person but the expectations of what my life was going to look like were taken from me and I couldn't make sense of it. It was ugly and messy and in hindsight not a strong or proud moment.  I unfriended a lot of people because I didn't want everyone to see it.  I unfriended people I wasn't super close to.  I unfriended his family.  I unfriended the people planning the reunion.  About a month ago, I friended a woman that reminded me it's been 20 years and she told me about the reunion.  I was added to a group, reconnected with friends, and then kept it superficial, not bothering to see who was included in the group and which of my friends were left out.  She didn't actually go, but remembered the douche ex I had in high school.  I didn't want to be remembered for being his ex.  I can't be remembered for that because who we were has nothing to do with who I am, right?

I got to show up.

I arrived on time, which means I was early for the rest of the group.  I'm really used to walking in alone and being comfortable in my skin.  I was someone's date, so I took the time to explore the gardens at Yamashiro before their era ends (in 2 weeks). I met her at valet and we walked inside, with a moment for a selfie.  She's beautiful but more private than I am, so I'm not sharing her face on my blog. As others came in, there were hugs and moments of, "you kinda look familiar." Because of Facebook, I also greeted spouses I don't actually know with so much more familiarity than was warranted.  (Yay creeptackular me!) Then of course there were moments when I was in a room with complete strangers because I was just as self involved in high school as I can be now.  How I do anything is how I do everything, but I get to take notice and grow from that.

True to who I am . . .

I'm still me.  When I walked inside the restaurant with my friend we stopped at the bathroom where I noticed the way the water poured out from the faucets.  I stood in the vent blowing cool perfumed air over me with eyes closed, feeling the wonder of the moment and what I was being invited into.  I watched the beautiful koi in the ponds and streams around the restaurant.  I enjoyed the sound of my shoes walking across the floor.  When I realized the time later, I ran outside to catch an amazing view of the sunset.  I then went back in to grab company because it was too beautiful to not share.  I had moments where I stood at the large windows as the skies grew darker and buildings and homes all over the city slowly lit up.  I wasn't giving all of me to the moment we shared, but living each moment for the gift to myself that it was.  It was a sensory nirvana.

The nostalgia feels . . .

There was a moment on a bench where I sat with a friend and we talked about ex boyfriends.  We talked about how much better our lives are without them.  I told her how after my separation, I did enough cyber stalking to see what my ex's were up to, but decided early on they weren't worth reaching out to.  We had moments of connection that probably excluded people that were never as close to us as we were to each other.

On the way to the football game, she was in the car ahead of me.  We were talking by phone.  I have plenty of moments where I will say, "hi" or "thank you for what you are doing for me on your run" or simply, "you're beautiful" while my window is up and the radio is on and I'm at no risk of actually being noticed.  Last night while we talked on the phone, I rolled my window down and said, "hi" to the man in the car next to me.  I said, "sorry but you have a terrific smile."  He complimented my smile and drove up a bit, ending the conversation.  I laughed.  My friend laughed.  In that moment, I was 20 years younger.  In that moment, I had the audacity to flirt shamelessly again and it was epic.  It was me standing  on the wings and strength of our friendship.  It was remembering that with her, I could do anything. Being isolated in my car reminded me that I can do anything.

The homecoming game . . .

My kid brother is on the football team. He was benched for an injured clavicle but he was there.  And I was there with the men that were once boys on that team when it was my school and the women I sat with were once cheerleaders and the drill team.  We critiqued these kids for getting away with the things we never could have on these teams.  The football players scored higher.  The cheerleaders would have been out performed based on the leadership we had in our youth alone.  The dance team was certainly a highlight of the half time show. This morning I learned that their leadership is the direct result of a foundation and a student that learned under one of my classmates.  We're amazing and talented at any age.

The end of the night . . .

I'm mom, so even though I shared two thirds of the planned night with people I haven't seen in 20 years, I was happy to head to my Mom's house and pick up my son.  My kid brother didn't want a ride home, and I get it.  He had a food baby to feed with his friends.

I went home feeling like I wanted to deepen these connections and renew these friendships.  These people had shared experiences and memories with me.  There's a built in connection and camaraderie that I can connect with and grow from. We shared similar shock and outrage to see kids walking around holding a live chicken at the game.  We remembered the field being more dirt than grass, and too dark to play night games.  I remembered that I used to love watching live football games. It wasn't so alien and I wasn't lost on the basics.  That was fun.  (We won't talk stats and predictions.)  I walked to my car with a coffee mug, and in awe of the moment I watched a couple of friends buy a tie from our alma mater, and tie it on with expertise.  Another friend reached for a parting hug while holding his sleeping daughter in his arms and wearing his 20 year old letterman jacket.  His fatherhood just about melted me.

To see these people as adults . .  . Strong, fierce, beautiful people with families and responsibilities and this beautiful light that looks like strong hugs and a searching look to see that I really am right in front of them and doing well . . . It was an affirmation of the life I get to live and love in.  There's glorious freedom here.

It was a great night to be me. Even if you are pseudo connected on social media, there is nothing as moving as showing up for your friends and being connected by experience through time.  And it's never too late to step in closer and reach in deeper.  So much opens up to you and all you have to do is show up.  You get to show up and things happen as they're supposed to!  I have some showing up I get to do today.  You should find ways in which to show up too.

Symbolism and Interpretation

I'm starting with a picture of my (dry) hand and three rings.  The one turned is one that never leaves my hand.  It's my college ring.  In high school I was so determined to finish college that I told my Mom not to waste money on a high school class ring.  It took 17 years but I finished school with the bare minimum that was acceptable to me.  I have my BA and one day when my nest is empty, I'm shooting for law school.

I spoke into a friend's life many years ago.  I stood for her when she wanted to quit high school.  I don't even remember what I said, but for her it was everything.  She's the most badass warrior dragon slayer I know.  She's a medical professional when she was once ready to skip her senior year of high school. She has stood for me in some of the deepest valleys I have been in throughout the decades we've known each other.  She showed up to speak to the darkness she saw that I couldn't.  She showed up with a Christmas tree.  She's standing for me yet again.

I wasn't planning on going to my high school reunion tonight.  It's been 20 years, but I didn't value the time and connection over the daily needs of my family, but she stood for me and told me my ticket was paid for and her stance for me . . . Her unfailing belief in me made me realize not going was about not stepping into relationship and when I do that, I'm the only one accountable.  When I see this woman, I see my past.  I see my present and she helps me see my future. That's what badass warrior dragon slayer best friends are for, right?

The rings . . . When I found these two small rings, there was a Reiki instructor selling her hand made jewelry and doing chakra readings.  I asked about the rings, and the infinity ring is about eternal love.  The arrow is a nod to her Sioux heritage.  I'm Choctaw in the way where I know it's in my veins . . . I'm just not connected enough to my heritage to know how.  But these are symbols and meanings are assigned.

Self love isn't a surface affection. You don't love just who you are inside. It's not the light as beauty and the dark as an absence of it. You love all of yourself as a whole. Broken or not, we are made of a whole and we deserve to love all of who we are. 

I love the idea of infinity.  I will always show up for myself, doing what matters to me, because I'm no longer a martyr to motherhood or marriage.  I get to fight for every moment of my existence like it matters because I do.  I have a few things going on this weekend.  Childcare isn't an issue because my support systems are remarkable.  I asked the kids if they wanted the extra time with their Dad because giving them options offers them control and while only one is staying with his Dad this weekend, I'm getting a sitter or taking them with me because I'm worthy of doing what will make me happy.

The arrow spoke to me differently than the original explanation. I've seen enough memes and pictures from Pinterest to remember that an arrow is always pulled back before it's launched.  I saw it and it reminded me that I've been launched.  I haven't landed yet, but I'm free and flying.  I often hear things like, "you have a great smile," or "there is so much love in you that it's shining and beautiful."  I never heard these things when I was being a wife.  It was a reality check a few months ago and I had another reminder yesterday.

I showed up last night.  A friend and my angel had a soft launch for her product line.  I didn't tell her I'd be there.  I surprised her.  The look on her face and her hug said all I needed to know.  I showed up and the symbolism in being present showed her that she mattered, while the look on her face told me I was loved.

The argument wasn't important, but I yesterday I heard the words that would have before told me that I'm a bad writer.  My followers and hits tell me I have enough people that want to read my words that this might not be a valid argument.  I was called a bad mother.  I've had enough professionals in my home and life tell me otherwise.  I was given the words that once wounded me so deeply: that is why I left you.  I hesitated for a moment because I remembered the way that used to feel and in that moment I felt freedom.  There was a disconnect between the past and the present.  I found no point in offering gratitude for what was meant to harm me, but I felt launched and free.  I'm grateful that the life I struggled through was taken from me because I feel a freedom I can't hide.

In this life, I get to look for meanings where life used to be mundane.  I get to drop by the ocean any time I need to be refreshed and renewed.  I get to experience the sublime and see each moment as a gift to be kept or shared as I choose because it's mine.

This isn't a new concept, but it's an extension of who I have always been.  These symbols are less painful or permanent than these or this one. At the end of the day, we see something, hold it closely or run from it entirely, and we get to assign or alter it's meanings. 

Warrior Dragon Slayer

In the last several Bumble right swipes, I decided it’s not enough to be tall and beautiful and smart. I want a warrior dragon slayer.  I’m a warrior dragon slayer, so why not expect to find someone just as powerful and intense? Yes, I prefer tall men.  I’m flexible enough to know I might find a man that could change my mind.

I have a thing for beautiful men, but I’m more sapiosexual and given the right connection, I can find something attractive in just about anyone.  I just prefer to be shallow.

I want deep conversations.  If I can delve as deeply in writing to the internet through this blog, I can imagine how much deeper I could go in communing with another person.  I crave that connection.

I was texting a man . . . a beautiful man.  It was a conversation that could have become more than words.  The cost wasn’t a value that I could appreciate.  As juicy as he was, his juice wasn’t worth my squeeze. He looks a lot like he could be a warrior dragon slayer but he’s not mine.  Imagining what we would fit like made it clear to me what I’m after.  I’m choosing to iron it out.  I welcome feedback.  I can be intimidating and maybe I’m asking for too much. I’m still going to ask for it.

I’ve had issues with my kid’s schools yesterday that I got to handle today.  This past weekend a friend of mine asked, “how are you holding up?” That’s what friends ask.  I’m a warrior dragon slayer.  I don’t hold up, and I can’t hang in there.  I handle it.  I fight like a girl.

Last night and today I have had two conversations with grownups at my son’s schools that irritated me in apologies to the point where I responded with, “it’s done.  What are your assurances that this will not happen again in the future?” It was rude of me.  I cut them off.  But it’s where I am.  I won’t sit in their victimhood of a situation they are accountable for, but had no control over.  I’m a forward moving force.

It was and still is a Mom morning between what I get paid for.  I don’t need help but the idea of being supported appeals to me.  I was responding to a text this morning and I’m sharing my edited side because I was shooting off a quick misspelled missive. I’m expanding on the rest of what I said because I’m not ashamed of what is in my heart and on my mind. I like him enough to offer a certain level of protection through his privacy.  Yeah.  I like him, but it’s not enough.

You want a powerful woman that can put you in your place and challenge you.  You want my strength and my courage, but you’re asking me to ignore my needs and that means I won’t be coming from the place of power you find attractive.  I need a warrior dragon slayer. 

A warrior dragon slayer is fierce and dominant.

I don’t expect him to pick a fight at every opportunity.  Any trained fighter knows true strength comes when we know what we are capable of, and still choose to dissolve unnecessary fights. It’s part of discipline.  You know you can lay a man out, but you feel the responsibility not to.  At the same time, I know that by his side, I walk in safety.  Confronted with another man’s interest, he doesn’t sulk in a corner or react in anger.  He knows I can state that I’m spoken for and he’ll stand quietly as I handle myself, willing to step in at any moment.  He’s confident that I wouldn’t offer my time to him unless I wanted to. He can pull me into a kiss that makes me weak and I won’t have to worry about falling.  He can carry me when I can’t stand.  Not just physically, but emotionally.  He’s my safe refuge.

A warrior dragon slayer can be open in vulnerability.

I can cry before him and he feels there is safety in crying in front of me because I am his strength and vulnerability is a shared expression of trust.  He is secure whether I’m ready to express how I feel or not, and I feel safe in pouring my darkness, my insecurities and doubts into him.  I know I won’t break him with my burdens and he knows I have it covered, but sharing the details is enough and he doesn’t need to take what I carry, but he’s willing to.

A warrior dragon slayer is faithful.

He defines himself through a warrior’s loyalty and it’s defined by his sense of duty.  I never feel like he’s looking at me as his discount prostitute, only created to satisfy his needs.  He understands that I don’t need him but want him and my desire is a gift.  He sees there are other options but repeatedly chooses me, just as I would choose him.

A warrior dragon slayer is a leader.

It’s not enough to lead through fear or intimidation.  A leader inspires his team to reach their fullest potential, exceeding their limits because he’s capable of seeing the heights of their abilities beyond their vision of themselves.  As much as I lean on his guidance, he relies on my support, growing forward and together in the ways that are world changing.  Every moment and breath in our existence matters because we are not following someone else’s path, but slashing through the jungle on our own. He sees that we're a team and he can't use me to get ahead because he's only as far as we can get together.

A warrior dragon slayer knows how to interpret what I don’t say.

He’s in tune with me, willing to decipher what I don’t say.  He’s willing to learn what he doesn’t know.  He can stand in silence and I know he’s proud of me because of his quiet strength and the way he looks at me. He’ll have the desire to take care of me, but refrain from doing anything that would crush my wings and freedom because his need to take care of me isn’t greater than my need to take care of myself.

A warrior dragon slayer can take care of himself.

Figuring out life was hard when I first had to do it on my own.  It’s still a struggle and I did it with support from my family.  I’m a single mom that brings home the bacon, cooks it, cleans up after it and still manages to take really great care of myself.  I hold it together when my kids need me and when I get to go to their schools to show them that their mother is a badass warrior dragon slayer.  I support my family and friends within my capacity and the man I claim as mine has to be willing to see life exists outside of himself. My warrior dragon slayer will be able to take care of himself and my addition to his life won’t be work.  He won’t be work.

That’s not too much to ask, right?

Living in Intention and Outside of Expectation

I had a small emergency with my kids today.  They're fine but for about 40 minutes I was freaking out.  Human error happened.  In reality, I'm sure my boys were happy with the way things unfolded. I'm fairly certain they were oblivious to what I was experiencing. My expectation failed to meet reality because I relied on past experiences to determine future outcomes.  When my response is to react (which looked like yelling at slow drivers with my windows rolled up, making calls and snapping in anger today), I (usually) try to remind myself that I get to choose my interpretation of a situation.  Life is neutral and any good or bad experience of it is an emotion assigned by me.  I mentioned the concept of intention vs. expectation briefly here. Now I'm explaining what it means to live in intention and outside of expectation.

Unconditional Love

In some ways I started the concept in writing about unconditional love and what it means to me.  It comes without expectations and leaves without disappointment.  It's not bartered affections, expecting emotional repayment.  To borrow a line from my favorite poem, it's knowing kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises. It's offering love in the ways you express it, knowing you will be happy if it's not returned, and even if it's rejected.

Expectations

Expectations can drive us mad.  My day included two separate conversations with friends that have reached a space in their relationships where they get to shift their expectations of the lives they envisioned. Break ups are hard because it's not just the person we part with, but the expectations we've often assigned to their existence in our lives.  When we start to invite them into our private spaces, and include them in our present and future lives, we are building a future that is connected. We are seeing our lives as a reflection of their lives.  We speak love and life into each other and our echoes resound in the darker places of who we have become, shifting us into better people, empowered by the love we've been given. We grow what we have into something much bigger and often outside of ourselves.  How easy is it to build up the person we love, in ways that we often neglect to love ourselves?

When we flip a light switch, we expect the room to be illuminated by the bulb that is feeding off the the electricity we just closed the circuit to.  We water a plant, and give it sunlight and we expect it to grow.  When it doesn't flourish, something is wrong and we look for fertilizers and check the soil ph and moisture levels.  We offer attention, affection and vulnerability and we often expect it returned.  We hold back until it looks like there's reciprocity.  We imagine a future and feel like it might be love but we withhold those words until it's safe to release them.  We expect a return on investments.

People are changeable.  We change our minds.  Priorities shift.  I went to bed earlier this week excited about a date, and woke up this morning thinking I'd prefer to spend my free time alone than with this particular man.  I expect to have a good time at every opportunity and I woke up knowing my intention remains the same, but the expectation that I would find that with him would be a failure on my part.

Intentions

When I focus on intentions, I'm focusing on my goal and what I would like, but I don't hang my expectations on it.

It's where I can openly love someone unconditionally, without the expectation that my love would need to be returned or my affection exchanged for something of value.

It's where I imagine receiving a back rub without a foreplay label or expected tip might be.  I've never experienced it and I'm not sure what it would look like.

As far as writing these blog posts, my intention is to write something every day.  I don't expect that I will get it done every day and I'm pleasantly surprised when I do. Often it looks like a post started later at night, with heavy lids falling and fluttering through words that come out with eyes closed, and meanings shifting into lucid dreams.  I'll hit "Publish" and drift off to sleep, only to edit the same post throughout the next day, forgetting what I wrote within a week.

It's expecting to grow old with the person you find and hang your hopes on without giving them permission to change who they are to you.  It's deciding your fate is tied to them, ignoring the fact that you can untangle the most complex knots.

It's a first date that looks like a second would be promising without considering the other person hasn't even put her purse down and her keys are still in her hand . . . Is blind intention and expecting a bit much. No. 

Putting it Together

It's a pleasure we rarely afford ourselves to live in the moment.  We grow up with emotionally detached parents and unavailable lovers mimic what we crave.  When we're able to step outside of what's expected, we are able to reach out to the best of our ability into ways that will help us grow. We give of ourselves in vulnerability and when we do it without a cost attached, we're often surprised by genuine reciprocity. It's about being in the moment, without the rushed pace of living in the future or the sluggish sorrow of reflecting on the memory of yesterday.  Be.  Be flexible.  The plans we plot can shift in an instant, and we can't survive by trying to stitch back tattered shreds of a broken promise and fading memories.

Naughty Fiction Because I'm Not Handing Out Halloween Candy.

The fall leaves in shades of decay blew haphazardly around her as she stood wrapped in a bulky sweater that was almost a bathrobe.  The bright sun warmed her skin, but was unable to scorch her flesh like it would have just months before.  She could feel the weight of lust calling for her and it settled low in her belly with a twist and groan she couldn’t control.  The need burned in her veins and she couldn’t wait any longer.  Shoulders squared and settling into her posture of power, she stepped forward into the authority of the task she was born to fulfill. She walked into the coffee shop and the smell of coffee with the thick sounds of burdened metal, heavy, hissing . . . frothing milk couldn’t mask the immediate attention she felt from every person in the small shop with old faded wood and bright blue Fiestaware decor.  The smell of the shop masked the smells of the rose oil, fresh marjoram and basil that made her smell like she spent all day in the garden.

She saw him before he saw her.  He was sitting alone with a mug of tea in his hands and a day weary slouch that spoke of stress, disappointment and anxieties crashing solidly over and through him.  His phone was face down next to him, like he didn’t want to know who would need him, but was too obligated to his duties to disregard his electronic leash entirely.  She could see he just ran a race and came out the winner, unaware of what he was running for.  There was little value in his accomplishments.

She stood in line to order her coffee.  Walking slowly, to see him watching her, she stood at the island and added cream and sugar.  He was still watching her with sidelong glances so she made her way to his table and stood before him.  He looked up at her, mouth slightly agape, not understanding why she would be right in front of him when there were several empty chairs at lonely tables.

“Do you mind if I join you? There’s something about your face that feels like home and this city feels so . . . “

“Isolating,” he finished.

She ran a hand through her loose auburn curls and said, “yeah, and big.  I feel small and sometimes it helps to be next to a solid person instead of isolated in the glass screen of my phone.”

His eyes and a nod gave her permission and she pulled her chair out, settling in and closer to him than the chair originally sat. They enjoyed the silence and she made a show of blowing on her huge mug of coffee that looked like it could have been a small bowl of soup and sipped carefully while he assessed her.  She could see his energy rebirthed in the power of her gaze.  He was no longer slouching in defeat, but sitting up and thinking of the best way to ask her out.  It wasn’t like business.  In his office, he is an embodiment of control.  He commands it and it’s surrendered easily.  This little kitten just wandered over and he was worried about pushing her.

“I’m Charlie,” he said as he leaned toward her.

“The pleasure is mine, Charles.” It was a confession uttered into her cup and it couldn’t mask her blush.  That delicious color in her cheeks conjured darker images for poor Charlie and She could sense it. He began to smile stupidly, unaware of the sorrow it brought her.

She rested her mug on the table and curled her right leg under her as she began to flip and twist her hair into a messy bun, feeling his gaze appreciate the press and stretch of her blouse against her breasts.  She waited until he was looking at her face, and smiled at him before saying, “I’m Brielle.  How cold is your tea?”

“It’s a bit icy.  You’re perceptive,” he said.  He hadn’t even noticed it had gotten cold on him until just before she stood before him.

“My coffee is too hot, and I really don’t need the caffeine.  Were you busy? I wouldn’t mind hanging out and not sipping this over-roasted brew while we do it.”

He looked at her, realizing he didn’t have to ask her out.  He finally saw that she had chosen him.  He looked at her petite frame and long legs and knew she would follow him to his place.  Without a word, he reached for her hand and paused long enough to feel how small it was in his hand before leading her down the street to his house.

Once inside, Brielle slowly removed her sweater and let it fall to the floor.  She could see the look on his face shift from an excited little boy, to anticipatory fear.  She could feel his emotions flooding through him and he was about to lose his nerve.

“So tell me about what you do when you aren’t sitting in coffee shops, smiling at lonely girls,” she asked.  Carefully, she unwound her hair from the bun it was in and set her hair free over her shoulders.

“I’m in finance. Acquisitions,” he shrugged his shoulders and she licked her lips.

“So you play with important things and you take what you want.  Sounds fun.  I can get into that idea,” she said.  She could see his uncertainty shift with the talk of his work and she pressed on. “I bet you’re the one in charge too, aren’t you?  I could see you telling people what to do.  I could see people eager to please you.” Not here, she thought. “Does it ever get old? Do you ever want to give up that control?” And just as quickly, he was lost in her gaze, not knowing he was losing to her power.

In the moment of his hesitation, she stepped toward him in a kiss of exploration that slowly took more than he gave. His balance shifted and he began to sway in her arms. She wrapped herself around him and her right hand slipped up to run curious fingers through his hair, only to grab a fistful, snapping his head back and exposing his neck for a gentle nip of grazing teeth. Her left hand lightly scratched his shirt in a hungry grasp so she could feel the muscles of his chest. She was grateful for the hair she felt because she couldn't understand the concept of manscaping. She wanted to see his skin and feel the hair all over his body. He was glorious in his response to her.

He stupidly forced her hand to his rising reaction and she stepped back, washing him in the cold of the room without her touching his skin.

"Sorry love, this isn't your board room.  You get to pay for your naughtiness here. Hands and knees. I want you to show me you know how to be the dog you are."

He watched her in silent obedience as she kicked off her boots, and slowly unzipped her jeans. She removed her shirt, slowly. . . Button by button, exposing the satin bodysuit she wore underneath.

"Don't look at me. You don't have permission. Not until I make you my bitch."  She rested a bare foot between his shoulder blades and the action was met with his sharp intake of breath. She felt powerful.

"This is so hot. I can't believe-"

"Shut up, Charles. No one asked and I really don't care."

She kneeled behind him and mounted his body like a dominant dog, and thrusted him solidly against herself, holding him by the hips. At his moan of acquiescence, she slapped his butt, grabbing a handful before a second slap and stood up.  She told him to strip to nothing. He obeyed quickly, nervously.

In his nakedness, she pulled him in for a deeper kiss, unleashing the power of a famished succubus, draining him with each kiss, mounting his body and riding him . . . leaving bite marks and kissing bruises into his flesh before leaving him desiccated and frail, but happy.

Happy Halloween.

Saving Space and a Place Called Home

I was on a journey through home yesterday, if that makes sense.  I am an Angeleno.  I was born at Cedars when they first moved from the blue Scientology building near Kaiser and Children's Hospital in East Hollywood.  I've lived here my whole life with all of my addresses in Los Angeles County.  I've always just lived here in the shadows of existence I let others define. I went to bars my friends wanted to go to, or the ones close to home when I was alone, never making space for the opportunities I wanted to create.  I would go to restaurants chosen for me, and I have an amazing knack for finding something on the menu I can enjoy . . . Even if I really hate Island's or In-N-Out (I know, sacrilege but I'm over it, you should get there too). Those were my ex's favorite restaurants and we were there most family and date nights.  Sucked to be me. It's part of being Kid4 for 17 years before becoming Kid4 of 12 plus the siblings that married into our clan making us a sibling force of 16, not including ex spouses (no, mine doesn't count).  I can go with the flow because I'm not a special snowflake that has to have her way.  This looks like existence and is hardly living.  I've taken notice.  I get this and I get to change it. I can own my voice and be heard in a room full of din beyond my creation because I'm more powerful than I've even given myself credence to be.

My day started at the Grand Park art walk.  It was all of Grand Park with Dia de los Muertos artwork throughout.  If you're curious, you can check out my Instagram.  (This will be here later if you get lost in my vapid selfie moments.) The museums, theaters and music centers were free and offering free performances and swaggy junk that will make once functional fabric into landfill fodder.  I then walked to the Artist and Fleas LA meetup where I found Ms. Mary Abolfazli and took home her book which whispered words to me sweetly, only to explode into these words today.  (We'll get there.)  I drove to the Last Bookstore, then walked to the Bradbury Building, Grand Central Market and then stopped at Howard Griffin Gallery before finishing my day off in Santa Monica on the pier and at a short play.  It was a really great day to be me, but if you haven't noticed, most days are.

Back to this gem of a book.  Mary's book asked some questions and it's only fair to share the pages that spoke the loudest for this post.  I'm certain it will be read and re-read and more will come of it because the best books . . . the honest books . . . offer that gift and keep giving it in renewed messages and new ones that you didn't notice the first time. What is most incredible, is that she teaches her craft.  She teaches creative writing and you can learn from her by checking out her website.  You can also search "That Kind of Light" and save it in your browser.  Make repeat visits.  Tell her I sent you.

What is home? I used to think home was where my heart was.  Home was in the man I chose to bind my future to.  When he left, it wasn't just the man that was gone, but the future and the goals and plans I created for myself because I was so solidly bound to him.  My life was a space created and saved for him.  He wanted to draw and I was looking for art supplies and keeping the baby occupied to leave him alone.  He wanted to get into paintball and I was home every weekend alone while he played, being passive and aggressive about my abandonment in teasing jabs at his bruises after kissing him goodbye that morning.  He wanted to go deep sea fishing every weekend, coming home with fish and the smells of ocean, rotting sea creatures, oiled burlap and sunblock. I would have to wash his clothes separately to not be tainted by the smell of loneliness.  He got into rap music and would call to say he was too drunk to drive home and I would be home alone, knowing there were strippers at the house with him because that was the culture they cultivated. His music became offensive to me as a wife and I couldn't be offended as a wife because the fame was his dream, so I said I couldn't allow our sons to listen to his music as their mother.  He became a Christian rapper but the abandonment was the same.  He was taking on leadership roles in our church and I wanted him to take over more than financial leadership for us at home. I was home alone with our kids, making space for his dreams, not realizing I could have been creating my own.

College wasn't a dream.  It was my survival.  I needed space that was my own and had nothing to do with anyone but myself.  I needed something sacred and untouched that was mine, and it looked like school.  When my life was released and only mine, I had to redefine what my dreams and goals were and it's a constantly renewing process.  It looks like eating foods I love and exploring where my curiosity takes me.  It looks like sitting on a pier long after the cloud cover blocks out the moon and all I see is darkness because in this expansive void I am small and everything is bigger than me and because I am breathing and present, I am just as monumental.

Home is no longer a person.  It's not the home I come to each night.  It used to be home was where I laid my head, but that was because of the men in my life . . . in my home . . . the one I chose and the children we shared. It was the soft sounds of rest and the peace I felt in my home because we were together.  But on days when I am home alone, I've discovered home to be the place where I am resting in the authority of my choices.  It's where I can be content in the feel of my skin and the infinite possibilities of my freedom.  It's the taste of a good meal and the beauty of a sunset or a fluttering butterfly that catches my eye.  It's birds in flight and the wonder on a child's face.  Last night I was walking down the street with a friend and a child passing in the opposite direction reached out to hold my hand and that was home. Home is where I choose to make it and it's no longer in a person or a vision I can't see.  It's not just within me but all around me and bigger than I need to contain.  

What does it mean to live life if we become syncopated routines of existence?  We do our daily tasks and assign to them the meaning we think they should hold, based on another's rubric.  At the end of your life, will you be happy with the pretty things  you own or have authority over, knowing you didn't impact anyone's life because you failed to impact your own? I don't want the perfect body if I have to eat food I don't like.  I don't want the swanky office if I don't get to do what makes me happy.  I don't want the clean house if it means we can't be playful and carefree in it. Play can become passion if you let it, and to do what doesn't excite me means I've allowed the cost of my existence to dictate my capacity for joy.  Never again. Not while I'm cognizant of my capabilities . . . not while I can imagine the possibilities.

Being burdened by the past of my existence is a choice.  I can see what I've done.  I take notice of what I am capable of doing and make the changes necessary.  Those that only see me by my past have no reason to usher me into my future so I have stopped holding them and it's liberating. 

My gift for today is to remain present.  I get to live in this moment and enjoy the sounds of nature (because I live on a quiet street on a hillside), while getting lost in haunting melodies that I've just discovered on Spotify.  I get to make space to be home and alone and see that it's a place of peace because I am a place of peace.  It follows me and is not confined to a person or the walls around me.  I get to be an expansive presence in my own life.  It's a gift.  I'm a certified treasure.