Put your dreams away for now, I won’t see you for some time…
I am lost in my mind, I get lost in my mind…
Mama once told me “you’re already home where you feel loved”
I am lost in my mind, I get lost in my mind…

Oh my brother, your wisdom is older than me.  Oh my brother, don’t you worry about me!
Don’t you worry, don’t you worry, don’t worry about me…

all you need is love … love is all you need

I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Again.  I’m making a serious effort to understand myself and the way I form my thoughts and the channels that I follow… I’m very conscious of time these days. I’m very aware of the years. I’ve arrived at this place called mid-life. My indentured servitude spans nearly 30 years. I have two young children. It’s up to me to shape them, form them and prepare them for life. And how can I do that, if I don’t have it figured out myself?! There’s a whole new generation of young people in my life, looking to me for guidance, and what can I give them? I’m fumbling along under a facade waving the fake it till you make it flag and hoping that nobody notices that I really don’t have it all going on. (To be fair to myself, I do actually have almost everything going on –I’m just trying to wrangle this emotional thangggggg…..)

I’ve been thinking about human behaviors. I’ve been observing the way insecurity manifests in people and myself. I’ve been thinking about self destructive thoughts a lot lately, and wondering where they come from, why they’re there, how to obliterate them, etc… It occurs to me that they are entirely manufactured! Not that that is any big news. I’ve known that all along, but somehow I am beginning to let it sink in, that any negative thoughts originate within myself. So if they’re coming from me, I can change my mind, and turn that ship around.  Easily enough said.

Certain thought streams tend to short circuit to emotionally unattractive destinations.  I intend to repair my mother board so that my thought streams lead to healthy destinations.

One of the show stoppers is that dangerous zone of caring what others think.  Why so much concern?  Why ANY concern?  Judgment…   It’s such a slippery slope!  The reality of the matter is that I don’t know what another person thinks or feels. Those thoughts are entirely theirs. Am I spending my time passing judgment on the people in my sphere?  Or  do I simply love them?  Ummm.  I simply love them.  So, uhhhh, hello?  Stands to reason, doesn’t it, in the most simplistic way, that not too many, if any for that matter, are spending time passing judgment on me.  Why would I bother to waste any brain space on wondering or dreading what others might think of me?  Good grief! And even if I were to play the devil’s advocate, what kind of ugliness might someone dredge up on me?  Her.  Yeah her.  She goes to work every day.  Yeah.  Imagine that.  She pays her bills.  Amazing. She lives within her means.  Unbelievable.  She takes care of her family.  Whoa.  She saves for a rainy day.  What the what?  She tries to make people smile.  Crazy.  Oh sure, she gets emo once in a while. She’s a sensitive creature with an empathetic nature, so of course the travails of others can take their toll if she’s not careful, but she’s wicked smart and kind of funny, so hey.  She’s all right.  Mmmmm hmmmmm, yes ma’am.  She’s all right.

Seriously.  It’s ridiculous to waste time and life energy on wondering what others think, and worse yet, assuming what they think.  That’s a one-man-band, honey.  It’s ALL IN YOUR HEAD!!!!  SMH…

Okay.  Sure.  I have issues.  Daddy issues.  I’ve written about it before.  WHY DIDN’T HE CARE ABOUT ME?  WHY DIDN’T I MATTER TO HIM?  etc etc etc.  The thing is, I did matter to him.  I just didn’t recognize it.  Where he could display his love, affection and admiration to and for my sisters, somehow he was unable to convey it to me.  Maybe, all along, I’ve felt irrelevant only because I’m not the charming vivacious spitfires that my sisters are.  Maybe it was difficult for him to find a way to reach me.  Who knows?!  But the fact is that I’ve carried an invalid assumption along with me for most of my life, that I somehow just don’t quite measure up to what I should.  And don’t you see?  That’s the comparison game!  Comparing myself to my sisters!  We are apples and oranges (as well as peas in a pod).  Oh how I love my sisters!!!  They are amazing people!  And we are beautiful in our differences and in our similarities.  As beautiful and amazing as they are, I am as well!  I just wasn’t tuned in to the same bat channel.  So I didn’t get the message.  That is SO tragic!!!  Fifty years old and only now just dawning.

Anyway.

One way or another, this post was meant to be about love, and how you’re home where you feel loved.  All this blah blah blah about the great “why am I the way I am?” question, but the crux of the matter and the bottom line is that happiness is that place where we feel home, where we are home.

I feel home.

This.

This is what life and love are all about.  This is everything.  Now is now. I’m living it. Now! I laugh, I smile, I hug my children. I listen.  I act silly.  I cook. I eat. I work. I take care of business. I keep up my home. I do laundry. I do dishes. I love.

I am happy.

cherish is the word I use to describe…

The word popped into my head a few minutes ago, and I had a train of thought I planned to explore, but have since forgotten.  Still, I will hold the title and keep on writing. Maybe it will come back to me.

There are so many interesting thoughts of late that I want to capture and ponder.  My boys spent three weeks with their dad.  Unprecedented.  During that time, I had the opportunity to take a grown up camping vacation.  I haven’t had so much grown up time in YEARS!

It was hard, to be separated from my boys for so long.  I had a few tearful moments.  I sort of wished that I had been able to plan ahead for that particular window of time.  I might have spent it differently, rather than work through the first two weeks.  I was ecstatic to be able to go camping, though.  It was important to me on so many levels.

When I picked up my boys, the early evening sun was shining and the color of their eyes in the sunlight was dazzling and mesmerizing.  Their eyes are a grey green rainbow of sparkling color.  They are so beautiful — they take my breath away.  I wanted to take a picture and capture those colors and that beauty, but my phone camera skills are lacking.  The emotion of the moment was pure joy.  Reuniting with my boys.  Oh how I lufffffff them.

~*~*~*~

While camping, I experienced a plethora of thoughts, sensations, and emotions.  Granted, it was likely due to a mixture of erratic blood sugar control, substance consumption, and the heat.  One day, I had a series of out of body thoughts that I found perplexing and worthy of further exploration.  It was almost as though I had a starkly defined split personality.  On the one hand, I was so peacefully content that I had found my way to this stage in life where I have the most amazing, comfortable relationship with a truly decent, kind, loving, capable, intelligent, fun and interesting man, with whom I can clearly imagine growing old with and loving deeply until the end of time.  On the other hand, there was this nearly over powering persona that I’d call Doom, who stood by, authoritatively looking down on me, telling me that I couldn’t or shouldn’t live like this, that it couldn’t be real, that I should just walk away and spend my life alone where I belong.  It was such a strong and defeating sensation, so physical, in fact, that I could almost feel myself being compelled to stand up, start walking, and just leave it all behind.  All the while, the other persona (who I will call the real me) looked on with disbelief and horror, saying, good grief, you’re not buying into this bullshit, are you?

In the end, I reasoned with myself that I have no control over another’s thoughts or feelings, nor do I wish for such control.  He’ll never purposefully hurt me.  If he loves me, he loves me.  If he wants to be with me, he will be with me.  If he decides we don’t fit after all, he will say so, and we will part on kind terms.  There is no need for fear or anxiety or second guessing or anything at all.  And the converse holds true in all cases.  I will never purposefully hurt him.  If I love him, I love him.  If I want to be with him, I’ll be with him.  If I decide we don’t fit after all, I will say so, and we will part on kind terms.  He isn’t worried or concerned about us.  It’s all very simple for him.  He loves me, he respects me, and that’s that.  Similarly, I love him, respect him, and that’s that.  So why does this nemesis of a personality emerge?  I suppose it’s a manifestation of fear, and it’s not welcome here!  I have to acknowledge that it tried to grip me, though.  I’m also grateful that he’s not saddled with these ridiculous emotions.  He is so very steady.  Unflinching.  Unwavering.  I truly admire that in him.  He is solid.

~*~*~*~

I wrote this ages ago, and it’s been hanging out in my drafts, along with the 200+ spam comments attached to my Presence and Life post that I can’t for the life of me figure out.  Search engines are blocked.  Somehow there must be a thread or fragment somewhere that the bots have found.  I don’t find it when I inspect my code, so I am perplexed.  Maddening.  Anyway.  Even though the moment is long over, and my emotions haven’t taken too much of a dark turn (in general) since then, I think it’s good to be able to preserve some of these thoughts for further exploration, should they ever resurface.

The photo is taken from the cover of this year’s journal.  I was diligent until mid-July, and not a word since.  Interestingly enough, that time frame seems to coincide with the time frame when my kids were away.  I’ve either been too busy, too stressed, or having too much fun to bother with daily summaries.  Certainly, life overall has been wonderful, as evidenced by the lack of lengthy self-psychoanalyzing posts (since June, at any rate).  One of these days I may find my way back to blogging about the beauties of this simple life I’m leading.  Facebook and Snapchat, while fun, are nowhere near as fulfilling, and the seeming constant monotony of working through difficult emotions makes for a very lopsided blog.  So.  Posts of alpaca adventures, tree felling, trail blazing, carburetor rebuilding, farmer’s markets, fantastical Lego creations, gorgeous grey-eyed kids, road trips, country vistas, water sport shenanigans, and such may be on the horizon.  Or not.

I’m glad that I wrote about exploitation the other day.  It helped me process thoughts more productively.

Exploitation suggests an offender –the one exploiting, and a victim –the one exploited.  It absolves, somewhat, the one exploited from the responsibility of the situation.  Not that I am advocating transferring responsibility for a situation to someone, anyone, or anything other than myself….

Now that some thoughts have had a chance to mill about outside of the coulda woulda shoulda trap, I’ve finally been able to get somewhere.  Now I can and do reclaim responsibility for all of it.  Maybe I was a victim, maybe not.  Well, that man on the train had no right to invade my space, and that Iranian dude had no right to amuse himself with me in the manner that he did…    ….and that ex boyfriend really had no right to do me while I was asleep.  Had I woken up and gotten involved, well hello, that would be a different matter altogether (what’s better than barely waking and reaching for the one you love, and moving together in union and harmony in a semi conscious state?  How sexy and amazing is that?!), but I did not (wake up or respond in any way), and he proceeded, so yeah, he had no right to do that.  I was curious, truth be told.  Curious as to whether he would proceed or not.  It was a test, I suppose, and he failed….    Anyway.  I am not a victim.  I don’t know why or even how some things happen the way they do.  I am no longer hungry for an explanation for any of it.  I’ve decided to let it all go.  It’s something from the past, and the minute that it became history, it lost its power over me.  I don’t know why it took me almost 25  years to figure that out, though.

I’m learning the value of the now.  The only moment for which I have complete control is the moment that I’m experiencing now.  Now!  I am who I am.  I am who I choose to be.  I am who I want to be.  I can draw from the wisdom that has accumulated through the years and the experiences of other times, and I can choose to let all of the experiences be just that.  Wisdom.  Nothing else.  They can’t bring me down.  They aren’t an anchor, holding me down or holding me back.  I don’t want to be sad.  I don’t want to be angry.  I don’t want to be depressed.  I don’t want to be gloomy.  I don’t want to be hurt.  I have no desire for vengeance.  Besides all that, I’m a firm believer that good things come, always, always, always, somehow, from the ashes and anguish and sorrows and tears.  Always, good things come.  So in addition to that certainty, I now have this revelation, this added bonus, this wellspring of effervescent joy.  This is my moment, my life, this time that I am breathing, this instant.  This is mine!  This is my life!  I’m not going to be duped into allowing the past to steal my present.  No more!! And I’m not going to let the future steal my present either.  While I may have some input as to what my future holds, there is absolutely nothing that is certain.  Nothing except for the now.  My now.  My present.  This is what I have.  It’s all that any of  us has.  I’m claiming it.  Owning it.  It’s MINE!  This is life!  THIS.  IS.  LIFE.

brown eyed girl

I am exactly who, what, and how I want to be in this very moment.  I am good!  I am kind!  I am loving!  I am gentle!  I am strong!  I am smart!  I am capable!  I am resourceful!  I am responsible!  I am lovely!  I am fun!  I am creative!  I am happy!  I am healthy!  I am joyful!  I am alive!

Hello world.  It’s me.

Me!

up close and personal

Today has been one of those days that catches me off guard.  One of those days in which I fall apart, draw some conclusions, then realize that I’m mood cycling again and that it’s very likely attributed to shifting hormones.  This happened two months ago.  I remember.  I took some antidepressants for a short while and snapped out of it.  Thankfully, this time, the insanity only had its grip on me for part of a day, and I came to my senses in the early afternoon.

Shaking my head…   Seriously.  Shaking.  My.  Head.  You’d think I’d remember, when I start thinking along ridiculously extreme emotional lines, that my thoughts are traversing ridiculously emotional pathways, and that I’m being ridiculously emotional and these thoughts have little to no bearing on real life.

However.  There are some thoughts that surface when I’m in that state that might warrant exploration.

I seem to tend towards thoughts of fear, insecurity, and uncertainty when I get caught up in a hormone induced storm.  It’s truly ridiculous, and if I had my wits about me, I’d know that!  Alas, such is not the nature of storms.

I’ve been thinking quite a lot over the past several months about truth and walls.  I’ve been formulating some theories about the hidden heart of man.  This likely applies to mankind, not just men, and it may well apply to me, but for now I will just say that it is based upon observations of men, gathered over many years.  It goes like this.  The theory is that one can learn quite a lot about the true heart of a man by the way he sleeps.  Yep.  I’m that creepy.  Watching men while they sleep.  And I don’t have all THAT many data points to consider, but I have given this some thought.  I think that when one is sleeping, their defenses are down, and they present themselves in a more honest light. Because they aren’t presenting themselves at all.  They aren’t staged.  They are revealing a glimpse of their true selves.  In retrospect, I’ve not known many men whose sleeping selves are a match of their waking selves, and, alas, even that doesn’t a fit necessarily make.  Awake, one man might be a man among men, strong, powerful, confident, dominant.  Asleep, that same man may be terrified, and actually swat at me if I reach out and touch him.  Defensive.  Afraid.  Lost.  Awake, one man might be gracious and noble, well spoken, measured, open, and confident.  Asleep, that same man may be selfish, frightened, insecure.  His form is minimized and still.  Hiding.  Afraid.  Unreceptive to my touch.  Awake, one man might be all bravado, macho, and confident.  Another man among men.  Big guy.  Tough guy.  Strong guy.  Asleep, he may be an angel.  If I reach out to touch him, he smiles and opens his arms and pulls me close.  All defenses down, he is full of love.  Giving.  Appreciative.  Receptive.  He may never know that he revealed that part of himself, because he was asleep.  And when awake, he hides behind his carefully constructed walls.  I feel sad for all of these men, because they are conflicted.  Awake or asleep, their fears rob them of the beauty and fullness of life.  Imagine the peace and joy that one would know, if one were not conflicted!  And I cannot be with a conflicted man.  I just cannot.

I think that my own sleeping self is likely a fair representation of my awakened self.  Apart from the ultra sexy CPAP breathing apparatus, I think that if a man were to reach out and touch me in the night, that I would respond by moving toward him.  If he were awake, and watching me sleep, and stroked my hair or my face as I slept, I think I would likely smile.  If he were to try to pull me close, I would shut off the CPAP and bury myself in his arms.  I don’t curl up to take as little space as possible when I sleep.  I don’t try to disappear.  I don’t toss and turn.  I position myself on my side, with my CPAP mask in the least obtrusive and least noisy position possible, and drift quickly off to sleep.  I find peace, and I find rest.

I’ve been thinking of writing this post for quite some time!  I had wanted to pose the notion about Mr. RightForMe.  That his sleeping self would align with his waking self.  That awake he would be kind and gracious and manly and secure, and asleep he would be kind and loving and strong and at peace.  If I reach out to touch him, he may not wake, but he moves closer to me, and some part of our bodies connect.  If he reaches out to touch me, I move myself closer to him, and some part of our bodies connect.  I like to think that awake or asleep, we are comfortable and secure with each other and with ourselves.  I like to think that neither one of us is afraid of love, and neither one of us is afraid to love.  And even if we do have carefully constructed walls, we let each other in.

The problem with the hormonal storms is that while I’m under their twisted spell, I tend to despair and think that nobody would or could ever truly love me, know me, or  understand me, and that it’s completely and absolutely impossible.  That being because I can’t recognize myself when I’m spinning through that cyclone, so how could I possibly expect that of another?  I’m glad those moments are few and far between, but I surely wish that they wouldn’t take me by surprise, each and every time.

Seriously.  Each. And. Every. Time.

It helps, believe it or not, to write these things down.  I scour through my blog when I find myself struggling, and I find posts like this that remind me that this happens.  Sometimes that’s all it takes to snap me out.  Then I can shake it off with gusto, the way a dog shakes the water from its body.

Alrighty then.

Onward!

I can’t sleep. This happens so much.  I fall asleep easily, but invariably I’ll open my eyes, only to find that two hours have passed. I generally don’t panic on the first awakening, because there is still time to capture some rest in the next few hours before I have to jump into the new day.  I usually drift back to sleep, only to find myself awake again in another two hours.  I look at the time, shake my head, and say to myself, “Really?”  I lie there and wonder why my thoughts are spinning.  I try to will myself back to sleep. There is time. At least a little, anyway.  I’ll open my eyes, hoping to learn that I’d drifted off, but see that in fact, time is slipping away, and all that time was lost in the spin.  That is where the anxiety sets in.  Should I get up and make some soothing tea?  Should I make an appointment to see my doctor? Should I meditate?  Oh, wait. Spinning thoughts. Not the easiest thing to do, that.  I’ve almost never been able to meditate.

Today, amidst my spinning thoughts, I was pondering love in the bigger picture. Thinking of past experiences and emotions, of all the ways and times I’ve put my love out there.  Always I’ve loved.  I can’t find it now, but I know I’ve written about an epiphany I’ve had regarding being in love, and how, for all the love I’ve loved, I’ve never truly been in love.  I remember how that surprised me.  But always I’ve loved. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but it’s true.

The extending thought, then, is how will I recognize it, when it presents itself?  The answer is that there is nothing to recognize.  It will just be, because it has always been.  No questions. Only a sense of comfort and peace. A feeling of home.  A fit.

He kneels tentatively before her, glass slipper in hand.  He doesn’t know what she knows. It’s up to her to raise the courage to let him see.  This is my moment, she whispers in her head and her heart, and she realizes she has been holding her breath, looking at the top of this prince’s head as he kneels at her feet.  She knows it will fit.  It’s her slipper, after all.  She knows it fits.  She slides her foot in, and he slowly lifts his face.  He looks into her eyes.  He sees.

The bigger picture.  Recognizing love that’s always been.  Always, because love is in me, and has always been in me.  I have loved from forever.  My heart has always loved, someone, somewhere.

I stumbled across some words written in the sand on an Australian beach, years ago, and these words surfaced in my morning thoughts.  Someone.  Somewhere.

someone somewhere

“Someone somewhere dreams of your smile, and finds your presence and life worthwhile, so when you are lonely remember it’s true, someone somewhere is thinking of you.”

I am that someone.  I have always been here.

I left some of my own thoughts in the sand that day.

hope

dream

love

laugh

forgive

live

I’m tired, I’m worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world

And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause I’m worn

I’m feeling worn today.  As though the myriad fragments of thoughts of recent sorrows and former sorrows are all pooling together and finding their way to the surface, wanting to break through.  I’m feeling like a meltdown is pending.  Or else in progress.

I know that I’m tired, physically, and that a good long sleep would likely make these feelings go away.  Maybe they’re not so large at all, and would be nothing, if I could rest some more and let them drift off to a safe and peaceful place where they can feed my wisdom, but not hurt my heart.

So many of us are working through such struggles.  Some of monumental proportion. Some, not so much, but in their own estimation, they are monumental.  The struggle exists for us all.  Add to that the burden of misperceptions and misunderstandings.  All these unnecessary emotional struggles!

I think about the role I’ve played in other people’s lives.  The things I’ve done to give a helping hand.  Small things.  Big things.  In some ways and at some times it’s been sort of like helping a child learn to swing or ride a bike.  I give them a push, get them started, explain how to pump the legs or pedal the bike, so that they can go forth on their own.  Sometimes a push is all that’s needed.  And sometimes the push does little at all.  If they just move forward on the original momentum without adding their own force of pumping or peddling, whichever the case may be, inertia eventually wins and all things come to a stop.  In real life, with my own kids, in the same example of trying to teach them to swing or ride, I find myself frustrated when they give up and don’t try to propel themselves.  They want the easy road.  Mama, keep pushing!  But I don’t want to push any more.  I want them to learn and become self-sufficient.

In the adult world, I guess the wise thing to do is acknowledge that when another has allowed inertia to set them back to where they were, the consequential struggle isn’t my responsibility or my concern.  It would also be wise not to conclude that my efforts were ever wasted.  I shouldn’t rue the choices I’ve made, because always, in some manner, something positive and good comes.  Even if it doesn’t look like it, or seem possible.   Always it does.  Always.

It’s hard to watch the struggle.  I don’t know why so many people don’t believe in themselves.  What is there that can’t be done?  So much can be accomplished if one just tries.  Maybe we don’t know where to start, or how to start, but if we just try, we can get somewhere.  Maybe it’s not the right direction.  Then adjust.  And maybe that’s not quite right.  Adjust again.  Just keep on.  Almost anything is possible.

Of course, this only pertains to the struggle of managing our own lives in the realm of things that can be controlled.  It has nothing to do with the struggle of coping with things that are dumped on us from who knows where for who knows why.  Like cancer.  Or mental illness.  It’s an unfair battle.  The only thing I can see there is to do, for those who are caught in this kind of struggle, is to fight, and keep on fighting.  My heart aches and weeps for the unfair battles like these that people are thrown into.

I’m struggling with my own job of single parenting.  Wanting to nip things in the bud, and not knowing how to.  Wanting to impart harmony and peace, cooperation and consideration.  Not knowing how.

I’m struggling with my own sense of self.  I know who I am, but I wonder if anybody else does.  I spill out pages upon pages of words that describe my emotional being.  I have this cloud of emotion I’m swimming in right now, and I can’t fathom anybody else being able to understand it, and therefore understand me.  And that adds a sense of loneliness to the whole mix.  But why would it even matter if anybody understood what I feel and why?  This is just a part of me.  It’s my own journey.  It’s mine.  Why would a sense of loneliness even surface?  By definition it’s supposed to be singular.  Because it’s just me, and I am only one.  And that, by extension, makes me wonder how togetherness is possible, when it’s almost impossible to completely understand one another.  Maybe that’s the crux of it.  I want to understand (everyone, everything).  And I want to be understood.  It seems that I want the impossible, therefore the crushing awareness that what I want I can’t have.

I don’t know.  I’m blathering on about I don’t know what.  Today is my departed brother’s birthday.  Probably that has much to do with what I’m thinking and feeling.  He would be 44 today.  I miss him.

And I’m tired.

All in all, 2014 was beautifully and wonderfully life changing. Today I took a moment to open my gratitude jar, look through all the notes, and relive the joy.

a year of gratitude

I am smiling.

And so the jar, now empty, is ready to capture the joys of 2015.  It’s off to a beautiful start, and with this start, a new word to focus or define the year.  I’ve found my word for 2015.

A S S U R A N C E

I feel compelled to take some time to sort through and summarize the mancapades of 2014.  My girlfriend lovingly advised that I should take a man break so that I could tune my good guy radar.  Of course I didn’t listen.  Well, I listened, but I didn’t heed.

The rocky road upon which I traversed for so long solemnly and completely reached its end, some time during the summer.  I don’t remember exactly when.  From then until now there has been sporadic socialization and relational pursuits.  I’ve posted three ads to Craigslist, for masochistic entertainment purposes more than anything truly serious.  Two of those posts were simply cut and pasted from this blog:  an affair to remember, and the sum of a life.  One was just a snarky counter offering to the ridiculous expectations described in the majority of the m4w ads posted.  That one hit a nerve because it was flagged and removed within 4 hours!  But it was up long enough to produce quite a flurry of activity, considering I posted it around 1 am and it was removed by 5 am.  Fun times.  If self torture is your thing, that is.  Actually, my ads spawned some reasonably good conversations and banter, so they served their purpose.  I also put a Tinder profile up, which was mostly laughable.  I think that I made about 4 possible matches for over 2000 passes.  Granted, I’m particular, and pass almost everyone.

All told, there were some rootin’ types, some shootin’ types, and even some marrying types.  How many of each?  There has been rootin’ without shootin’ and shootin’ without rootin’, and those who just might be the marrying type are, well, technically still married –so there are boundaries best left untread under such circumstances.  I don’t have any regrets, really, for any of the experiences.  They weren’t necessarily all good or without anguish, but there were some beautiful moments to treasure, and they all contributed in some way to the healing journey.

Cue Marvin Gaye, crooning in the background.  At the end of that long and rocky road this summer, I was told with certainty that intimacy could never be better than what I was walking away from.  I almost believed it.  Maybe his goal was to break me and cause me to doubt.  I don’t know.  But I’ve since learned that that was so very far from the truth.  Happily so.

In fact, I am absolutely positive of the possibility of truly fulfilling intimacy.  Without a doubt in this world.  I still have no idea how to fully relate with another, or how to mingle lives in a positive manner for all involved.  Hope definitely prevails, though.

I still believe in love.

With a capital L.

I don’t have to peruse through the various categories in this blog to be keenly aware that my life seems to be like a broken record, stuck on repeat, skipping at the same track over and over and over again.  I would rather call this life journey an exercise in perseverance, not failure.  Always looking for the bright spin, you know.  Glass half full.  That sort of thing.  I do learn, bit by bit and here and there.

This blog tends to capture more of my struggles than my victories.  I don’t suppose I feel the need to write when I’m rockin’ my world.  So, to the random reader (ha ha, no such thing as a random reader, considering that search engines are blocked so those who get here arrive because at some point in time I said they could come here), I may seem scattered and a complete and utter wreck of  a person.  Indeed, that’s often the case when I’m drawn to write.  Processing.  This is what I do, to sort through my stuff, for my own mental health.

It’s been a healing journey.  I think that I’ve actually come quite far in the last year or so.  I’ve formed a wonderful new friendship with another single mother, and it’s been so life filling to have a nearby woman friend with whom I can connect.  My dearest women friends are scattered far, far from me, from the East Coast to Australia, so a local friend is a treasure indeed.  I’m also learning how to accept the course and flow of the various relationships, short or long, that I’ve been involved in over the past few years.

I always hope that the next one will be the last one.  Hence the sound of that broken record, because, so far, the next one hasn’t been the last one.  Hope remains, though.  I’ve wondered somewhat if the immersion in the dating pool and recently attempted relationships has only been some form of rebound from the last long relationship.  Perhaps I haven’t been as ready as I’d hoped.  I don’t know.  Definitely there has been need of healing –a need to process through the whys of those three years.  Actually, now that I reflect back on things, I have indeed come a long way down the healing road.  Certain doubts that I had fostered have clearly been resolved.  I’ve mentioned the burden of broken hearts in other posts, and yes, I feel badly for those with whom I’ve walked for a time who have wished that we could continue down that road, but I am comfortable in knowing that any of them are adult enough to accept that the fit is not there and not allow the closure to feel like a stab wound.  I’m gentle but intense in my approach to the possibility of love.  I begin any introduction with any man with a full measure of honesty, respect, and openness.  I give full benefit of any doubt (once I’ve done whatever due diligence I am able to do prior to actually deciding to meet in person) and walk forth under the assumption that he is good, kind, honest, trustworthy, respectable, respectful, responsible, hard working, thoughtful, and intelligent.  I begin with no walls.  Completely open.  Honest, forward, direct, and loving.  I go forth, openly, all the while watching and listening, looking for signs, attitudes, behaviors –things that could begin to reduce that full measure of respect.  I may begin to raise the wall between us, as things reveal themselves, and the full measure begins to diminish.  When I recognize this, there comes a point where I ask to talk about things, and I call an end to the journey.  Sometimes it comes as a surprise, but I suspect that usually it’s no surprise at all.  Not that it feels any better, but it’s necessary.  Life is such a precious gift, and if you know that the path you are on is not on a trajectory that maximizes joy, then it’s so very important to alter that path.

To the outside world, this probably looks like I’m a woman with a bright neon “Commitment Issues!” sign blazing above my head, because that’s the evidence that shows.  Maybe that’s true, but I have no problem committing to my work, or my family.  Maybe what this truly reflects is a commitment to myself.  Life is too precious to squander on a wrong fit.  I’ve gotten so much better at recognizing a poor fit, but I’m at a loss to recognize a good fit.  It’s uncharted territory, really.  I want peace and harmony.  I want kindness and love.  I want comfort and understanding.  I want deep and meaningful intimacy.  I want laughter and silliness.  I want enthusiasm and wit.  I want respect and contentedness.   I have all of these things and more to share with my one and only.  I want us to not only bring these things out in each other, but to amplify them!

I wonder how I will know.   Maybe I will just know.  Maybe he and I will just be, as if we never were anything but who we are, together.

I guess one of the most important things for me to acknowledge at this stage of the journey is that I am truly healed and healing from both the old and the fresh wounds, and I am not in any sort of rebound mode.  I feel strong within my core.  I am at peace with myself, and I am at peace with all the men who I’ve let go.  Not that I know whether they have made their internal peace with me, but I am not harboring guilt or sorrow or fear or concern over the fact that we do not fit.  I never mean harm, and the last thing I ever want to do is hurt another.  I know my heart has been pure.  My intentions have always been good.  This isn’t to say that no harm has ever been done, that no hurt has been experienced.  It’s only to say that my intentions have always been for the best.  And always, always, I hope that the next one will be the last one.

breaking brokenness