precipitating events

Love, pretty things, soulfood

Trying to stay present. Soak in all of the glorious sensations of new love. Let go of my instinct to recoil when a man sings my praises. Silence the voices in my head ringing the warning bells of, that’s what they all say.

Somewhere deep down I’m confused as to why the beginnings are filled with eloquent soliloquies about how I’m an angel and so much of everything that they’ve ever wanted. The ends come riddled with stone cold projections about things that I have never been. We both know the truth, and it’s not their version of the story most of the time. But, I let go these days. Remember.

Today, the place that I live now.

Today, I dig claws into my reservoir of optimism, syphoned and over tapped some time ago. Just a woman naked under the full moon of lust. Dancing for heavy rains of abundant care. Prayers that this time, he really means it.

Tempering my heart with intentional inner dialogue: even if it doesn’t work out, I will be a better person for loving.

Just here, now, balanced on the edge of fear, attempting to translate this visceral feeling that somewhere between our mutual words of adulation is an incredibly viable promise of lasting love, and still, me, searching for words.

Living in incredible awe of you, of me, and the phenomenon of falling in love. Kissing good night my attempts to rationalize magic. I am so sorry for doing that to you.

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Humming bird

Love, soulfood, therapy

When I showed my ex-ex boyfriend my archetypal piece, where through tears I explained the parts of my destiny that I could not yet understand to a room full of people, he sat there silently. It was a turning point, I would tell my therapist. He didn’t even care enough to say anything at all.

When I showed my ex-boyfriend my archetypal piece, I was explaining that it was a turning point last spring. The image that clarified that I want to be married, I want more kids. My vision of a very wholesome commitment to a joyous man. Someone really sweet. My professor was really hung up on it having this big all seeing eye.

I said I think it’s you. He said, it can’t be me, I don’t have blue eyes.

Turns out it couldn’t be you, you’re not sweet. You are not the promise of eternal love. And both of your eyes are sewn shut.

You know who has blue eyes.

silly rabbit

Love, pretty things, silly goose, soulfood, therapy

Ya’ll know I’ve been kissing frogs, for a while. I’ve officially been single for a year. Let me do some finger counting like a 1st grader realllll quick…. I’ve been on dates with TWELVE different men in a year. Of those seven made it to second dates. (That’s actually way more than I thought, now that I review the facts). Surprisingly decent odds, but I’m also just a really nice person who likes to give people ample opportunity to let their pretty little personalities shine. For only three of the seven was there any real potential for a meaningful relationship. One out of twelve made it to official boyfriend territory that quickly corroded into a land mine of manipulation, deception, and horrors, but who’s counting.

And then there was lucky number twelve. 

Twelve is an auspicious number meaning that this dude if wholesome as fuck. Someone that I look at and think, now here’s a man who stands up to the grandpa test. 

So, what’s the grandpa test?
My Papa who is absolutely the love of my life. The corner stone of positive male influence for me. The man, who when it comes down to it, I’ve been desperately trying to find. (Uhhh huh, that’s how attachment to our opposite sexed caregivers work, if you’re lucky, you try to recreate healthy relationships in your life and not toxic or disregarding ones… been there too.) I’ve been working on my daddy issues like it’s my job for years, ’cause it is.

This past summer I had the absolute blessing to spend a few days with my Papa. Time crawled by, I savored every moment of it. One summer Kansas evening, we were sitting in lawn chairs on his back porch, and my Pops was telling me about how he had made a number of loans to people who blatantly did not pay him back based on their agreement. My grandpa is savvy, it’s not that he didn’t understand that there was risk in loaning friends money, it was that he couldn’t fucking believe that people were systematically so God-damned shitty these days. Long held acquaintances. Family friends. People from his tiny close-knit community. Ohhhh you gonna do me like that. (That’s what my grandpa sounds like in my head, not reality).

He just explained it all really sadly. Like right in front of his eyes as the decades ticked by he watched as morality completely eroded. Disbelief. But, still he shows up to the next person ringing his doorbell in a terrible bind, with the benefit of the doubt. Still helping people. Still hoping that there will be a few more someones that behave honorably.
That conversation has been a lump in my throat ever sense.

Maybe that’s the word, the sentiment, the everything: honorable.
For a year I have been searching high and low for an honorable man and I didn’t even know it until it was just right there staring me back in the eyes.

I’m learning and learning and learning to listen to my intuition. To stay tuned into my senses. To be careful about getting ahead of myself, be careful about having too many drinks, being careful about over sharing, over promising, over fantasizing about how wonderful it all could be. Learning because the reverse of all of those things is like playing with matches in a kerosene bathtub. And I’ve taken many a self-induced fire bomb bath over the years.

Number twelve, who I shall now rename to number one, because it’s a new year, and a new even more intentional and present me, truly seems like a really good person.

My mantra/prayer/manifesting process before meeting him had gotten super clear:
I just want to find someone who is good to me, consistently.

That’s all. Time will tell. But you know, I’m me, and he’s probably the one.

The Bumble Chronicles

silly goose

I have been single for exactly two weeks. Two days ago I decided to start Bumbling. What in the hell is bumble you ask? The (theoretically) less creepy version of Tinder. I’m unsure of the set up for same sex couples, but for the hetero-crowd the women call all of the shots. They pick who they like, the woman chooses to ­­­­message that person, she asks them out on a date. Conceptually it’s the better situation for a woman I think, but I’m feeling like I’m going to bail.

 

So men pop up on the screen and there are a few pictures of them and they say very little in their profile section. Just one thing, or even just a series of emojis. It’s clear that this whole online hookup thing feels like swimming in stagnant water. You might catch a leach, get dysentery but hey at least you made a concerted effort to get wet. Everyone is brief, just trying to preserve their anonymity, myself included.

 

There’s the full gamete. Doctors, lawyers, business executives. Men named SoliderofGod who have gold fronts and look like a skinnier version of Snoop Dogg. I didn’t make that one up. It’s not the most horrendous activity that I’ve ever been part of but it’s pretty close.

 

I had to Google which way to swipe. Had to ask friends for advice. Had to read a number of profiles aloud because they were better than stand up. My friend consuls, it’s the fucking worst. But what are you going to do? These days it’s pretty much the only way to meet guys. Maybe you should try Tinder, at least you could get fucked quickly.

 

For fucks sake (literally) this is what life has come to. Am I really that washed up? That undesirable? Is it entirely unfeasible to move out of state? Where in the world are all of the single men? I’m not even picky at this point. Just needs not be a serial killer, holds mediocre conversation and isn’t physically repulsive. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK? Apparently.

How To Be Single

Love, science says, therapy

If the word single reminds you of the number one, or an old sitcom from the 90’s, or a hot new Beyonce track then this post is not for you.
For the rest of us:
If the word single sounds like a metaphorical probation officer strapping your ankle with a bracelet of how in the hell do you portion a meal for one, piling the other side of the bed high with pillows so that sleep doesn’t feel so hollow and the constant impasse of dragging yourself out in public alone, again, then have a seat, let’s talk.

Singledom… singlehood … is a spectrum really. There are all kinds of ways to be single, maybe it’s working for you maybe it’s not. Single feels to me like skinny dipping on a pitch black night all alone. I’m not quite sure if it’s wholly exhilarating or if it feels like I might accidentally crack my head open on a rock and bleed to death right there next to the dock, fishermen stumbling over my corpse in the morning. (I thought about being less dramatic in that illustration, but it’s actually pretty accurate.)

Where ever you fall on the single spectrum here’s some advice, from a professional.

 

Step 1: Take Care of Yourself-

This means so many things. At the very least you need to maintain the status quo of standard of living, attention to hygiene, time in nature, amount of exercise that you were gifting yourself while you were still in a relationship. Derailing into a bowl of pity soup is not helpful. It is helpful to increase your self care from the tinniest things to the big ones. Those things are quite literally the antidote to depression. Think you’re above becoming depressed, well you’re wrong. Also, take some fish oil, it can’t hurt.

 

Step 2: Put Out the Word that You’re Single-

but also that you have a black belt in Karate and a ferocious guard dog. Your people might know their people. Seriously.

Gone are the days of the small hunter and gather community where one moment you’re gathering sticks for the fire and the next moment Fred Flintstone comes over and clubs you over the head drags you back to his cave and has his way with you. Not that any of us are upset about that. But what I’m tryin’ to say is that humans have not evolved to comprehend solitude. Our psyche, our physical bodies, our hormonal bodies were not wired for you to sit your ass on the couch and binge watch Game of Thrones every weekend. Neither can we make any sense of Tinder, isolation, self-loathing or the sinking sense of hope inching further and further away on a physiological level.

All of that is to say, do not allow yourself to be alone all of the time. Put some thing exciting on your calendar and…

 

Step 3: Go Out in Public-

Maybe your goal isn’t even to get into another relationship. That’s totally fine, great even. But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t seek human contact. We are social creatures, surely you know that. Every single thing about life that matters in the end are the relationships that we created at this phenomenal meeting of place and time. Don’t miss a single day of the opportunity to be you in relationship. It’s the why.

 

Step 4: Make Friends Above All Else-

The wind might blow South one day and that guy or gal that you were ‘talking’ to, might just fade away. All of those pieces of yourself that you hooked into them, because you were grappling and any hand up would do. Those just get ripped out. And it will be fine, but it will be just you again. Well you and your friends. Make sure they’re there first.

 

There’s more, I’m just figuring those parts out still.

on your break up

Love

*this is a vintage post, still happily relationshiped…  but I’ve noticed a lot of friends cyber and real have been going though tough breakups during the holidays, that’s just shitty, maybe this will make you feel better*

This is me being nice: 

Sometimes you have to be really honest with yourself. Not all at once. But enough that you can be rational when things get sticky. And by things I mean: it’s dark out side, that song sounds like our love, your birthday, a smell, a road you drive past every few days. Those little things and sometimes bigger things. When you quiver a little. It’s hard always being the tough guy. Sometimes you, I, just want to break down. Pick up the phone and beg for them to take me back.

But I don’t.

I’d defiantly lose all of my cool points if I pulled some shiz like that.

Here’s what I do. I think about the last time that we were actively in love. I think about those last few days. They were bittersweet. He held me, we didn’t say much. It was the end and we knew. We broke down. We cried together. We said good bye. And he said to me that he just wanted me to be happy, and that he wanted me to find someone that deserved me. And whatever I did don’t be with him, you. That might have been the biggest thing that anyone has ever said to me.

And because I’m an asshole I didn’t listen. That worked out well.

Somewhere though the paces of pleasantries and the ruins of a great love he completely stopped talking to me. It’s amazing to be on this end of the stick. Someone really has that much reason to make you disappear from their life. And I can’t blame him (entirely).

I could be the gross girl blowin him up until he changed his number. Which he might have I don’t know. But I don’t. I haven’t. I respected that that’s what he needed and it’s the one thing that I can allow after I threw it all away. I don’t completely buy that he likes the silence but he knows it’s what’s best for him. And because it’s 6 8 years later (and when it was 2,3 and 4 years too) I had the hindsight to stop being the jerk. But it still breaks my heart.

Because I really do still care I send him a message on his birthday every year. Maybe I’ll get to the place in my life when I don’t even realize that day is important anymore. (That has happened now, 2 years in a row, victory? Not really. A sign that I’m in a better place, definitely.) Maybe my messages will detail the good things of my life. Maybe not. It’s probably the worst part of his day. But maybe he likes that I still care and likes having the upper hand so that he doesn’t let on like he heard. And that’s ok. And I’m still presumptuous.

Love is really powerful. Try not to dwell in the pain and find the good. I have to remind myself of that most days. I really think that one day it won’t be hard anymore.