Love My Way

Isn't is funny how someone comes into your life and changes it by ripples and waves in ways he never even intended?  I am feeling grateful all the way to the tips of my toes this morning for a friend and all of the joys and complications he has introduced into my life.

See, he introduced me to his good friend, who then introduced me to her good friends, and all of this is how I ended up eating meals with two very different but equally lovable groups of humans this weekend.  One of those humans got me to read this article.

Such perfect timing.

I have been thinking a lot about love lately.  Wanting it.  Missing it.  Wondering if I am even capable of it.  Wondering if I have it and I just don't see.  And like so many things, the love I am thinking about is a thing constructed of images, curated news stories and formulaic novels.  (I blame you, Jane Eyre, but I will always -- well-- love you.)

I have love.  Bits and snatches of moments of tenderness and connection which can be very satisfying -- if I just pause and live in them.  Like: the other night when the man-whose-status-I-can't-quite-define just held me tenderly through some whacking great cramps.  Like: Friday when I sat at a crowded table for a friend's birthday and really understood what a warm and true-hearted person he is.  Like right now, when I am thinking of my Heartbreak Tour Guide and how much knowing him has changed my life.

I have love, I have warmth, I have sex and sometimes I even have intimacy.  Mostly, this is enough.  What I am still lacking and missing is companionship.  So, the task for my new year is to figure out how to create and define that in a way that suits me.    Let's go.

Karma Train

A wise woman once said to me: "The Karma train makes all stops."  I had just gotten laid off from a job I loved and did very well, and she was reminding me that those who get rid of a good employee might feel comfortable about it now, but soon (very soon, maybe) they would feel the discomfort of their mistake.

I suppose they did, eventually.  But of course it didn't matter much to me by then.  I kept that phrase, though, and I used it whenever it felt appropriate.  Nothing stops the Karma train.

Nothing.

And now the karma train has pulled in to my station.

A few years ago, my grandmother spent some time in the hospital.  While she was there, my dad and I went to her house and did some cleaning.  I took on the bathrooms.  In my righteous enthusiasm, I emptied all the cabinets and I filled multiple garbage bags with things I thought were just taking up space.  Septic system cleaner.  Rug that smelled like cat pee.  Ear cuff shaped like leaves.  (Still scratching my head about that one.)  Multiple tubes of ancient Avon lipstick in various shades of "Unflattering."  By the time I was done, every cabinet was scrubbed clean, inside and out, and things were organized and easy to see.  Oh yes, and the trash pile was full to bursting.

She got home from the hospital shortly before Thanksgiving.  On Thanksgiving Day, I was on the phone with my family and she made a specific request to talk to me.  I hadn't talked to her since she got home.  I kind of puffed up a little, ready to receive her gratitude with appropriate humility.  Instead, she lit into me.  She was upset by what I had done and she wanted me to feel it.  In my gut.  Like a fist.  I can still hear her saying, "You don't do that.  you don't go through people's things like that."  I apologized.  I hung up the phone.  I felt indignant and weepy and chalked it up to her (in)famous lack of gentleness in expression.

The Karma train had me scheduled.

Over Thanksgiving, I invited a friend to stay at my place while I was away.  He was about to move out of town, in that transition where he could either stay at a hotel or couch surf.  Since I was going to be away for a while, I thought it would be nice to let him stay there and take care of my cat in the process.

About a week into my time away, I got a call from the management company about the smell coming from my apartment.  It was so bad, it caused my neighbors to get sick.  I called my friend and found out he had been burning incense and smoking marijuana in my apartment.  To his credit, he didn't try to hide it and he promised to stop.

The next day I got a call from the management company again because the smell was back.  He had been burning a scented candle.  He and I decided that he would leave a few days early.

Two days later, I got home early in the afternoon.  I looked forward to sitting quietly on my sofa, reading , re-bonding with the cat and generally enjoying a quiet couple of days before I went back to work.  I opened the door to find that my entire apartment had been rearranged.  All the furniture had been moved around.  Most of the pictures were moved.  New pictures that weren't mine had been hung up.  My dance practice space had been completely dismantled.  I freaked out.

The apartment was still relatively new, and I had just gotten it to start feeling like my home.  Now it felt like I had to move in all over again.  I certainly couldn't enjoy my last days off.  I would calm down a little then notice something else that would set me off.  He moved my bookshelves (and all my books) and decided to balance the bookshelves by tearing a paperback book in half and shoving the pieces under the shelf.  He dug through my cabinets and pulled out things I didn't want to see and put them out around the apartment.  (My high school diploma?  Seriously???)

I had dear friends to come and help me calm down enough to see how I could put my place back together, and to let me know that yes, in fact, this was a weird thing for someone to do.    He left me a note which I was too livid to read.  I got through just enough of it to see that he thought he was helping me.  Who does this?, I thought.  Who helps by going through people's stuff without their permission?

Then I realized -- Oh yeah.  I do.  Or I did.  The Karma train had pulled into my station.

I get it now, Grandma.  And I am so sorry.

Little Runaway

Ten days in October.  Two weeks in November.  At least a month in January/February.  An unspecified amount of time in September.  I am getting out.

Not all of this is fun vacation.  There are intense classes and long stints of caregiving in there.  But I am getting out.  I pulled out the underused trampoline of my trampoline life, repaired with duct tape and I am jumping like my life depends on it.

People are telling me I need to relocate.  One friend in particular insists I do not belong where I am, and I only need to come to that realization.  He tells me this without pausing for breath or waiting for my reply.  He is only a "friend" because "guy I sort of know slightly" is too much to type.

People are telling me I need to stay.  Friends (real ones) send me encouraging messages while I am away, and gently remind me that I am missed.  They want to hear about what happened while I was gone flying, and they want to hear about it in person.

I am trying on new places, ten days, two weeks or a month at a time.  But the thing is, I respect Science.  Gravity is a real force.  So I know will land.  The Laws of Physics apply as well.  I am changing shapes while I am in the air.  I take off with a heart and soul tattered and worn, and before I go to land they are not just repaired, they are replaced with a shiny new upgrade.  This changes my trajectory and where I land will be different.

Which is just a long long way of saying, the time has come to indulge my inner runaway.  It is the season of restlessness.

To Whom It May Concern

I'm nearing the end of another improv dance challenge, and this song has been in my rotation for the past 90 days or so.  I dread it.  Not because it's a bad song -- I did like it well enough to purchase it, after all.  But because for me this has been a wallowing song.

A wallowing song is a song I put on when I am feeling depressed or overwhelmed and I would like to wallow in it a little bit before I go out into the world as if nothing has happened.  This particular song featured heavily in the Year of Wallowing, right after the divorce.  Because music is a powerful emotional trigger, every time I hear it I am taken back to that year.

The rules of the challenge dictated that once a song was selected for me, I was stuck with it for the entire challenge.  So every time this song came up on my rotation,  I tried to dance but ended up doing more wallowing.  I think I described the quality of my dance as "trying not to cry" every time.

This week, though, I think I finally shed the last edges of wallowing.  The day I danced this song, I was rushed, not thinking much, and I put it on and just started moving.  About halfway through I realized that I felt different.  I finally got to that other quality of the song -- the hopefulness and the optimism.   I relaxed with it because that is really my nature -- hopeful and optimistic.  It has been a weird, ridiculous, bad time in dating world lately, but that is only one part of life.  And eventually, I am sure, it will come around to the rest of my life, which is pretty good right now.

Meanwhile, why not sing about it ---

Bellydance Changes Lives

I love this picture.  This is me just about to do my first solo performance, clowning around with my travel mates who were all ready to go and support me.  The dance technique in this photo is questionable, but the joy is real.

Before bellydance, this picture would not have been possible.  To appear in front of camera-wielding people with nothing covering my abdomen or my upper arms?  And to spin around in front of them while laughing my face off? Unfathomable.

This is just one of the many ways bellydance has changed my life.  I've written about it before in this blog -- how it launched me into a freer exploration of the world around me, how it showed me the way to letting go, how it reopened the door to my other creative loves.

Later this week, troupe and I will be dancing at a festival in fabulous Las Vegas.  Dancing.  In public. For an audience.  In frickin' Vegas.  The me of 5 years ago would not recognize this woman, but she would want to know her.  Thanks to bellydance, I not only know this woman, I am her.

It's not been all flickery sunshine and dancing on rainbows, to be sure.  I've been clawing my way out of a pretty difficult dance rut lately, trying to find more moments of fun than frustration.  Even in the rut, though, I look at this picture and know that my life has changed.

And I have a short number of days and hours to drill some choreography and pack my bag.  Viva Las Vegas.

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Should you be so inclined to support your local blogger and her dance sisters, here's a message from the troupe:

Help Send Zahara Fusion to VEGAS, Baby!

Zahara Fusion, the student troupe out of Hip Circle Studio, is headed out on their first out-of-state performance adventure to the Las Vegas Bellydance Intensive - a festival that pulls dancers in from all over the country! Taking advantage of this great opportunity requires airfare, lodging, costuming, and more. Get in on the action by participating in our fundraiser! Here's the deal...

Donate $10 or more and receive a limited-edition "Bellydance Changes Lives" magnetic bumper "sticker" designed by our very own Desiree!

Donate $50 or more and receive, in addition to the bumper "sticker", an invite to our After-Vegas Bash, scheduled for Sunday, 9/20 from 7:30-9:30 pm featuring nibbles, sips, and a display of our set from Vegas (live or via video, TBD).

Donations can be made in cash in-studio, or via credit card here. (you'll specify the amount)

Thanks so much for helping this Vegas magic happen!

Pictures of You

I am at my mother's house, and on the walk down the hall to retrieve my book, I saw it.  A last remaining picture of myself and the Ex together.  It's a small picture, tucked up on a top shelf of a tall bookcase, and shows the two of us standing together outside the door of the first home we purchased together.  The door is heavy, dark and old.  The place was a vintage condo in a beautifully maintained building and it was on the very edge of what we could afford.  I remember a brief panic when we made the decision to buy it -- I was freaked out by the absolute permanence of ownership and mortgages and all that.

In the picture, I am dressed in the way I dressed for much of my life -- to hide.  A long skirt just a smidgen too big for me, and over it a man's shirt that was so large the fabric only touched my body at the shoulders and from there hung in billows over me.  I am holding a man's suit coat in my hand -- of a similar size to the shirt.  I have one hand on the door, my body is angled toward the Ex and I am smiling freely.  I know why -- because I felt utterly safe.  The frightening permanence of home ownership very quickly got rolled up into the absolute comfort of stability.  A place to live, a stable job at a large company, a partner to share this life with, clothes that covered me absolutely -- it was all part of my need to be and feel protected.

The moment that picture was taken, I thought I couldn't be any happier.  When I saw that picture today, I paused to take it in and remember myself as I was then.  I have a deep affection for that young woman, but I am so glad that I am miles away from her now.  Not only have I (mostly) gotten rid of the ill-fitting sacks I used to wear, but I am decidedly not safe in the way I used to define it.  Renting a place, working for myself, with no partner (yet) to help me with any of it.  In my life now I am more open to being hurt (emotionally, financially, mentally) than I ever have been.  But I am so much happier than that young woman.

At least I am today. Sitting on my mother's back porch watching butterflies and bumble bees cavort in her unbelievable garden, I am happier.  And, unlike the young woman in that picture, today I know that this moment is enough.  So I will celebrate it.

Episode 4 -- Mercury in Retrograde

Let me be clear -- I do not believe my fortunes are governed by the relative position of a planet in space.  But, all the social media chatter about Mercury in retrograde brought me strange comfort when I found out I had to move.  After only 2 months.

It started with a health setback, and ended with a bloodless coup.  His parent had a massive heart attack*, and his other parent (the one with a progressive, debilitating illness) started to decline rapidly.  The family all came together, as families do.  Finances were examined, old hurts reopened, drama ensued.  I sent some concerned messages,  and went on with my plans to build a trellis for tomatoes on the balcony.

Somewhere in the family drama and financial reviews it was discovered that my friend didn't actually own the condo on paper.  It was owned by his parents.  And it was underwater.  Financial powers of attorney were signed and the place was put on the market.

I had to move.  Soon.

Anxious phone conversations happened.  What if.  Maybe.  Could be.  Possibly. None of it was true.  And I realize now, none of it had to do with the very real burden that was being placed on my life.  I asked for radio silence.  I turtled up and tried to think of what to do.  And inside my shell, I came to a realization:

It's over.

And I wrapped myself inside my shell and I wept like I hadn't done for a long time.  Exhausting, ugly, loud, wracking sobs.  Because in that moment the thing I knew I had lost was a true friend.  A person who, with all his faults, cared deeply for me at one time and helped me emerge into the person I am now.  I couldn't see a way to maintain a friendship when such a big part of it was this strange situation with the condo.

Mercury was in retrograde, and this part of my life was falling apart.  Even though I know that the planets had nothing to do with any of it, somehow there was comfort in knowing that just like this unique astrological positioning, this situation was temporary and would change.

*-- identifying details have been changed

Episode 3 -- Move In Day Premonition

My moving day started with a friend bringing me coffee and talking bellydance while I tried not to panic about the movers being late.  It ended with the guy I just started dating coming over with a bottle of wine and taking me out to dinner.  In between, other than the movers, I was on my own.

Once they got to my old place and started carrying everything out, everything collapsed into a blurry montage.  (Theme song, "Titanium.")  After the movers left and before the new guy came over, I had a few hours to myself.  I used up all my remaining adrenaline unpacking a few boxes, then finally paused to lean against my new kitchen counter and drink a glass of water.

I have made a huge mistake.

I shook my head and took a few deep breaths.  I looked out the window at the trees in the courtyard.  I walked out onto my balcony and thought about drinking coffee there in the morning.  But, when I walked back into the unit --

This is a mistake.  This will not end well.

I'm Supposed to Be Done with All This

Before I drove to my hometown for the weekend, I have a text message exchange with a dear friend. We were talking about visiting the places where we grew up, the oddness of it.  I talked about that parallel worlds feeling I always get when I go back to the hometown.  The feeling of --what would have happened if I had never left?   When everything was new and broken, I went back to that parallel worlds place with extreme longing, wanting to find a way to launch myself into that world where I never would have taken the path that ultimately led to this hurt. 

Eventually, though, happiness emerged and I became more and more grateful for the world I am in.  Hurt and all, it has led to some significant changes and cherished friendships.  So I drove home, still peeking at that parallel world, no desire to dive into it.  

For the holiday, we went to see an outdoor symphony concert.  Beautiful music, beautiful setting, and time with family.  I looked forward to it.  Why then, somewhere between the concertmaster walking out and the beginning of the first piece, did I find it so hard to breathe?  Why was I on the verge of tears for most of the concert?  And what was up with the long moment in the bathroom at intermission, breathing deeply into my hands to calm down?  

Radiation recall.  That's what was up.  Symphonies, operas, all things classical music -- that is the Ex's world.  I hadn't been to anything like that since we split up.  And there I was, looking into another parallel world -- the one where nothing changed, and I still listened to backstage symphony stories and scheduled life around the concert season.  Radiation recall made me vulnerable, wanting again to sink into the comfort of an imaginary parallel world.  

Fortunately, although time doesn't completely remove the weakened places, it does teach you how to heal faster.  A little breathing, a little music, a little grounding in the present moment -- and I was able to let the parallel world go and appreciate my fortunate now.  I'm back again to the place where my friend and I left our text message conversation:  

Me: Amazing, isn't it? I always get that parallel worlds feeling when I go back. Like -- what would I be like if I had stayed? I'm glad I didn't.

Friend: Yah me too. Glad I did not and glad you did not too.

Episode 2 -- Know Your Motivation

"What do you mean?" he said, "You dither back and forth more than anyone I know."
"Maybe," I responded, "But once I've made a decision I move quickly to make it happen."
He made that hrmph noise in the back of his throat that I think means, "You're right but I don't want to actually say you're right."

I had decided to move.  I was in the process of moving, and all those things you have to do to relocate yourself.  Selling a place, purging old items, sorting out mail forwarding, trying to figure out where stuff is in the new neighborhood.  I think I had been complaining about my real estate agent not being aggressive enough, which led to a conversation about the relative ease with which I make a decision.

I had decided to move -- to his condo.  He didn't live there.  He lived in a beautiful house with his partner and her child, somewhere in the same suburb.  (To this day, I have no idea where exactly.)  The reasons I gave were mostly convenience and financial.  He was charging me a way-below-market rent. The place was smaller, easier to maintain.  I wouldn't have to pay the crazy property taxes of my current town.  I could save money, build my practice and travel.

That's not why I did it, though.  Those were the surface reasons, and they all worked in favor of the undertow reason:  I loved him, and I wanted to be closer to him in whatever way I could.

Another conversation, from when I was still dithering about the move:
"I'm just not sure it's the right decision."
"Why not?" he said. "You'll save money, you'll have a secure place to live, you can do all your dance things . . ."
"That's not what I'm worried about," I said.  "I'm worried that if I move there -- into your space -- that I'll just stay hung up on you."
"Well, that would be alright with me."

And it must have been alright with me, too, because I went ahead and moved.  Surface, undertow, and everything in between.

Episode 1 -- Just a Little Bit of History Repeating

Our mutual friend wrote: "I met him as I was going through my first divorce 20 years ago, and he was my rebound then.  It was a very confusing relationship. Probably a good thing he had to leave the country.  Now it is much easier. I no longer see him that way at all." 20 years ago, he and our mutual friend fucked like crazy while he was in a relationship with another woman.  Call her Colleen.

I tried twice to stop the sex part of our relationship.  Once because of his real partner, and once because of mine.  I found it impossible both times.  I actually said to him, in all earnestness, "I just can't quit you."

I asked him if this is just a repeat of his 20-years-ago mess where his current partner is Colleen and I am our mutual friend.  He insists this can't be so because Colleen was a nasty, cruel woman, and his current partner is kind.  But there are so many parallels.  The sexless central relationship.  The supposedly clueless partner.  The recently divorced and slightly crazy Trilby to his Svengali.  And, I hope, ultimately the lasting friendship. 

Will I now have to leave the city, state, or country to ever end this hold he has on me?  This hypnotism that turns me into a confident woman, able to ask for and express my sexual desires.  In that book, Svengali dies of a heart attack, leaving Trilby distraught and void of her talents.  In this life, the outcome is much much messier.  Here is where I try to sort it out as it is happening.

Puzzle Pieces

There is a moment in Augusten Burroughs' Running with Scissors which has stayed with me ever since I read it.  Burroughs talks about returning back to his "normal" life after a stint in rehab.  A therapist had warned him that after rehab, he may find that the people in his life didn't fit anymore.  The therapist described people as puzzle pieces who fit into their world in a particular way.  When people go to rehab or have significant experiences, they come back to their life in a different shape.  People around them either reshape themselves to fit again into the puzzle of this person's life --- or they don't, and eventually find that no amount of pushing will make them part of the whole again.

I am a reshaped puzzle piece.  I know this feeling from many things.  For the past few days, it has been an insistent pressure, right in the center of my chest where I can't ignore it.  My shape changed, and now I'm chafing up against the people and things in my life trying to find the new place where they fit -- if they fit at all.

In quiet moments (in my car, sitting here at night after I've done all the chores I can stand and it's still too early for bed) I feel myself adjusting to my new shape.  I feel like my sternum is folding into a prow-like shape, ready to cut through whatever water is coming my way.  And the water comes.  Some days it's tears I' can't control, some days it's choking on air like it was water in my lungs, and some days it's needing to sit because someone replaced the bones of my legs with fluid.  Both my internal and external environments are changing.

Until I understand this new shape, I am wary of people who used to fit so well with me.  Alone I am reaching further into doubts and fears I never faced.  At some point, this will all have to be integrated into my new shape.  For now, though, raw and watery as I am, I am not yet ready to lean into everyone to see if I can make their shapes fit into mine.  Some of them I can see will not fit -- everyone else will have to wait.

100 Days

Today is a day of celebration.  I am choosing to celebrate as I choose to do most things -- quietly.  Because I am celebrating not only accomplishments, but also clarity.  The accomplishments bring me great satisfaction, and the clarity comes tinged with sadness.

But first, the celebration:  thanks to my ever-supportive powerhouse of a friend, I just finished 100 days of dancing.  Every day for 100 days I danced, videoed the dance and took the time to reflect on the good, the bad and the growth.  I got to share those reflections on our Facebook group, on what quickly became known as the "Wall of Positivity."  Even through travel, exhaustion and difficult career decisions, I danced, videoed and wrote about it every day.  This is what happens when resolve, love, and community support come together.

And because things come together like that -- today I also found out that I passed the testing for the Initiation Phase of Rachel Brice's 8 Elements training.  Resolve, love, community, studying, and delicious Portland coffee.  I am growing into this new community of beautiful artists -- and though I am not yet comfortable calling myself an "artist," I am comfortable calling these wonderful women my dance sisters.

So now, as I am succeeding at these challenges, and accepting new ones, comes the clarity.  There is much in my world that is unnecessary and unfulfilling -- habits, objects, obligations, and, most difficult of all, people.  I have shed my interior skin, and now the exterior is shedding.  Piles of stuff are all around me, ready to be carted to thrift stores tomorrow.  Obligations I kept around for fear of their absence are being collapsed and soon gently let go.  And the people.  One by one, I am removing myself from the people.  People I hid behind, or used like some people use video games -- to distract myself.  People whose support was really a way of draining time energy and attention I should have used on something else.

Like dancing.  Because look what happens when you accept a challenge.  Time to face my fear of the next one, shed more layers, and do it.

Trampoline Life

I am at an airport again, phone off, headphones on, thinking of sweet things to pick up for dear friends.  It feels good -- this feeling of being zippered out of my life for a while, but keeping the zipper attached so I can fit myself back in.  Maybe.

It is more accurate, I think, to say I am starting to feel like a trampoline gymnast.  I do touch down, land, and land, and land again -- because gravity needs me to.  But the real work, the real beauty and flight happens between the landings.  The sins and flips, the turns, the mesmerizing views of a body spinning in space.  This arc up and then down -- that is where the real life is happening.  the landings are points to regroup, gather strength and pull on what I learned in my last flight before I launch myself again.

This.  This is the life I want.  A trampoline life.  And if someday I can do it all while holding the hand of someone who loves to fly almost as much as he loves me -- all the better.

But right now, this moment-- I am breathing into this moment and the freedom of being so much on my own.  No plans but those I make.  No need to answer to anyone unless I choose to.  It is the up side of loneliness -- this freedom.  I am arcing down from my latest flight, having changed and expanded while I was in the in air, glancing down I see my base gently moving towards me. I will sink into it with gratitude and collect all my energy until I am ready for the next jump.

Practice Log

In a small number of days, I am going to do a completely selfish thing. I am going to travel and spend a week immersed in learning my new creative love from a brilliant teacher. Lately, I have allowed myself to block my creative energy, and I have been focusing on all the fear. Things busted up yesterday, though, as I got reacquainted with writing. I am ready to go dance my fear face off, and my open face on. 

Side bonus -- I am writing poetry again. Here's a little bit from today:

Get up in the morning and dance

like your life depends on it

because it does. 

The quivering soft soul battling night terrors

awakes encased in amber

Corseted tight around the ribs

unable to breathe. 

Get up in the morning and dance. 

Tunnel your hands through to open space

Carve into walls with your hips

Crack the amber

top to bottom 

side to side

until it falls into the microscopic infinite. 

Breath deep to fill the space of you

a pulse, your vibrant metronome, ticks again. 

Get up in the morning 

and dance. 

Your life depends on it. 

Woman Down! Send C*ck!

There are a lot of things I have discovered about myself lately, but perhaps the most fun thing is that I like sex.  Kind of a lot.  I have had an amazing time playing with that knowledge and trying out all the wacky things people do in their 20s -- with the benefit of being in my 40s and generally smarter about taking care of myself.

I've been getting exhausted with play partnering lately, though, and am gradually settling in to looking for something more settled -- with  lots of communication and openness about sex, though.  I'm not willing to compromise on that.  Gradually, my friends-with-benefits are fading away, either through active or passive disengagement.  I'm getting lots more sleep, and I have more energy to focus on "serious" dating prospects.

But it has been a while since sex.  I have gone for (much) longer than this before, but that was when I still had this sense of shame and taboo around the whole thing.  Now that I'm comfortable with it, being without it is much less comfortable.

Another thing I have discovered about myself, though, is that I can be patient about getting what I truly want.  So we wait, watch the snowstorm, write filthy messages in the drifts and watch them get covered up again as the snow continues to fall.

anx*i*e*ty

anx*i*e*ty (noun), "desire to do something, typically accompanied by unease."

That is actually not the primary definition of anxiety, but it is the one that lives with me. Remember when I thought I could smell Ativan? Yeah, that still happens. I am meeting people -- actually meeting and getting to know them as people. The common thread in every person I meet is still anxiety of some kind. It even got to the point where a friend who treats anxiety disorders has offered to form a "Survivor"-type therapy group of the men I have met. The man who makes the most progress in the group gets to date me.

This "suggestion" grew from me talking about a date with yet another man who was broadcasting anxiety.  As our conversation continued, though, I realized that I kind of want the anxiety.  I mean, I get anxious about stuff, so that's something to have in common.  And, really, people who never have any anxiety about anything are kind of ---- well ---- boring.

bor*ing (adjective), "not interesting, tedious."

I am in a space where I am actively exploring and nurturing my creative self.  A certain low level of anxiety fuels this, and I find that people without even the smallest levels of anxiety are often not understanding of this drive to be creative.  Of course, high anxiety also kills creativity, so it is a continual balance.  I need my anxiety to be a passenger in the boat with me, and I really need a partner to bring their anxiety along too.  Otherwise, we just end up with an unbalanced boat.

Our anxieties are necessary to allow us to build something new -- a work of art, a structure, a relationship -- anything.  So, I am embracing my anxious passenger as part of the whole flawed tapestry.

Take us out, Kierkegaard:

Defined by Loss

In general, I try to avoid New Year's resolutions. Every day should be an opportunity to begin again, and I just don't like the pressure of the January 1 festival of resolution announcements.  I recently returned from my self-directed retreat, though, and during that time one resolve emerged clear and strong.  Not because of the new year, but because it is time, and I am ready.

Resolved: I will no longer define myself by what I have lost.

As I was walking in the woods last week, reflecting on the last year and planning the year to come, I realized that much of what I have done in the past year I am seeing and interpreting through the lens of what I no longer have or am.  This does not mean the past year was sad -- quite the opposite.  Most of what I have done brought me joy, growth, and fulfillment.  There is a reason why people I haven't seen in a while are all telling me that I look happy and confident -- because I am.

Yet I still define those things by what I am not.  I could travel when and where I want because there is no other person to include in the plans.  I could accept any work that interested me and spend as much time as I want in dance classes because I don't have to think about being home for anyone.  I can take risks because I had already lost the one thing I used to think was unloseable, and I emerged just fine.

While there is strength in measuring my year against all that came before it, I now realize that this is keeping me tethered to a person I have outgrown.  No, not my Ex.  I mean my former self.  That woman who never knew how fun it could be to just dance like an idiot in the street to Sixteen Candles, and who never thought to go free range with her career.  That woman was lovely -- compassionate, kind and even joyful at times.  But that woman lived by anxiety.

So now, even though the anxiety is still a passenger (more about that in a future post), it does not drive.  All that I do this year will not be because of or in reference to what I have lost.  Resolved.  I believe I can keep this one.