Castles Made of Sand

I spent the last three-four days working on a post in draft mode.  Sometimes I have this overwhelming need to get something out and when I sit down to open the flood gates, only a trickle comes out.  Ugh, the old mental constipation-such an uncomfortable and dis-satisfying feeling... So I sat down today to finish what I had started 7 million times over and instead, I  deleted the whole damned post.  Maybe whatever it was I had been trying to say wasn't what I needed to say at all.  Instead here's the dump that came out-

Mental masturbation- the temporary unraveling of the intricate labyrinth woven into the patterns of my mind.  Sometimes, I catch it before it frays completely out of control, and other times I entertain it like the itch that refuses to be scratched.... the more I scratch, the more it itches and the more it itches the more I feed the urge to scratch it.  Bloody and scabbed, picked, and then bloody again... There is something about that secret self-torture that draws me back time and again.  And I know, this ain't no new revelation... it's not as if this is an awakening I am experiencing for the first time, but every fucking time it's so raw that it feels like the first time.

Over the years, I have come to embrace my mental masturbation, I have accepted that I over think constantly, but the wear and tear it takes on my soul is exhaustive at times.  This is probably where the extreme introvert in me was born... that need to remove myself from the outside world for periods of time so that I can collect both my thoughts and re-tune my energy.  It's weird because while I know it to be necessary, it is not always the most pleasant experience.

Most of my posts are a direct result of said mental masturbation sessions.  Sometimes I'll ruminate on something for months before I even realize what (or for that matter why) it is that I my consciousness is hung up on.  More often than not, I'll write about it, presume I have worked through whatever it was and move on, only to have the subject resurface weeks, months or even years later... then I go digging in my archive, find the applicable post and expound upon it if necessary. 

The most recent theme in my consciousness has been about intimacy.  I may as well call it the big I word, because I treat it like the plague.  I have been scared of it for a long time, while craving it at the same time.  When I wrote Naked a little while back, I mentioned that I had finally come to the realization that I had been running from intimacy... and that I was ready to own that intimacy is in fact what I want.  A real and true connection with another, based upon building an authentic relationship.  Once I made that admission to myself, it was as if pieces of the old wonderwall began to crumble, like a castle made of sand... and all the skeletons that had been hiding in my fortress came out to play, and what a ride that has turned out to be.  Vulnerability scares the ever-loving-shit out of me,  but I am convinced that is what my soul has been craving. 

I am diabolically opposed at all times on the inside... there is the part of me that allows vulnerability to slip in through the cracks, the part of me that cannot help but love with my whole heart every second, despite the other part of me that stands at the gate, arms crossed, shouting that I am a fool, this never ends well, and happily ever after is for fucking suckers.  For years now, I've let that cynic rule my mind and close off my heart.  Sure, every once in a great while, my heart wins out for a moment and I will entertain the idea of being vulnerable (but rarely does that translate to the act of me actually following through) most of the time, Tough Bitch swoops in and poisons my mind with self doubt... and usually, I get too tired to fight and let her win. 

Not this time though.  Falling is Like This is my ode to outing Tough Bitch once and for all, and since writing that, she has tried to make me pay, and I continue to refuse to take the bate. I may not always recognize the traps she sets right away, but I am getting better at not letting her occupy as much real estate in my mind.  Not allowing others to treat me like shit seems easy compared to not allowing me to treat myself that way, but I have become aware and ever more vigilant.  I have taken to sinking into the awkwardness my mind produces and really exploring it.  Becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable... it's tough, but I feel as though that is the only logical next step... this is the epitome of viscerally ruminating, it has only taken me my lifetime to get there. At the end of the day though, I am good with it all. Tough Bitch served her purpose and I do not live in the kind of fantasy where I think she is going anywhere soon...and I am also aware that the girl in the freshly pressed dress is no where close to setting up permanent residence. What I do know is that everyday I am a little closer to embracing the redeeming qualities of them both.

Falling is Like This

Press play


The process of coaxing the Girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress out of the depths of me has been a slow and arduous process.  For the last 3 or 4 weeks Tough Bitch and I have been sparing and MOTHER FUCK can that bitch fight.  She'll reach right down my throat and rip my fucking heart out, and hold it in front of me, still beating and bloody.  Just to prove a fuckin point. She knows I don't fucking want anything to do with her anymore.  She knows I am over the games she makes me play with my own damned head.  And she ain't goin out without a fight.  She's been working over time filling my fucking brain with doubt, and insecurity.  She's takes every opportunity to remind me that I am not worth it and never will be.  She's wearing me down by making everything visceral as fuck. And I am tired. And I am angry. And that is what she wants.   

And just as I begin to wonder if our dueling has scared off the girl in the freshly pressed dress forever, she comes padding out of the darkness... and I am so relieved to see her.  I immidieately run up and embrace her.  I want to hold her tightly, protect her from the frightening spectacle that tough bitch can put on if she feels remotely threatened.  I want to melt into the crisp lines of that freshly pressed dress and dissappear.  I want to drink up that raw and unharmed innocence. I want desperately to find a way to make space for her to stay. 

But sometimes it seems like that freshly pressed dress, those innocent eyes, that firey hair... it's all just an illusion.  Like she is the mirage in the desert hell that Tough Bitch rules, and I will forever be her prisoner.  Some days, the venomous bites Tough Bitch inflicts are too much.  I feel like I am doomed to that desert forever.  Yep, more often than not, I succumb to my own fucking fortress of defenses, and yet again I let the little girl down.  I hate that feeling. The fucking sinking feeling that comes after a brief time spent with that little girl and the excruciatingly painful punishment that I allow tough bitch to fucking inflict. 

I look at my peers and I wonder how they manage to get through life without totally succumbing to their own tough bitch? How is it that some people just trust (and then seemingly don't get screwed) while others of us are bound so tight in the fortress that is our Wonderwall... I believe it is probably 97% self fulfilling prophecy... I had a conversation today about how girls who date douche bags are just as much to blame as the douche bag themselves... and I gotta say, it is totally true.  At the end of the day we all choose how we are going to allow ourselves to be treated... I allow tough bitch to walk right into my soul and rape it... violently and repeatedly.  And, by not standing up to her I also send the signal to the girl in the freshly pressed dress that I am not willing to stand up for her. God. Fucking. Damn. It.

If I stop and think about it, and I am truly honest with myself, this has not a god damned thing to do with getting beat down by my defenses... it has to do with not standing up to myself for myself (I feel like I am writing my own pledge).  It's time to dissolve the fucking metaphors and stop riding some fucking fence I created in order to not take responsibility for my own shit. I can be happy or miserable... I can be vulnerable or guarded.  I can be brave or a coward.  I can love me or I can hate me.  I can own my beautiful disaster or I can run from it. What I cannot do is play both fucking sides- because doing that- is driving me in-fucking-sane. 

She's Alright

Ever come face to face with a personal pattern you were either unaware of or had forgotten about? It's definitely a weird sort of out of body experience to have someone point something out to you and it suddenly become totally illuminated.... So recently I had a couple of friends point out a pattern in me (that I knew was there, but had forgotten about) concerning work...I am a self proclaimed adrenaline junkie, control freak, and workaholic at times. After talking to my friends I dug back in my blog archives and found this post from a few years ago- Adrenaline. Re-reading that was a great reminder of how deeply embedded my patterns are.  All of those adrenaline junkie, control freak, workaholic characteristic work pretty well for me in my chosen profession of promotions/event coordination...  What those things don't work well with is the fact that I am a fucking crippling introvert. The two are like oil and fucking water!

Sure, I can put on the face, I can turn up the energy when I have too... but not generally for extreme stints of time without a break of some sort to re-charge.  I have written about how I am often envious of those of you who can somehow harness your energy from being around other people... goddamn, if I could do that my job (and life, really) would be a piece of cake!  But unfortunately, I am on the opposite end of that spectrum... while I can display those extrovert qualities if I need to, it totally drains me. People drain me.  No, that doesn't mean I do not like people (although... some days I don't, haha) it just means that in the Olympic sprint that is any given day, I have to find a way to conserve my energy...Sometimes, I just wanna sit in silence.  Sometimes I just need to retreat to my cave and recharge... sometimes I just need to be away from people so that I can shut my fucking brain off for 14 seconds and stop over thinking every fucking thought that runs around my mental hamster wheel.

The funniest part about this is that I FORGET ALL OF THIS about me when I am back on the adrenaline junk.  In the weeks leading up to an event, I take on every single solitary responsibility possible.  I wake every morning (if I am lucky enough to sleep), take that first hit, and I am off to the races so to speak.  And I shove that proverbial needle back in my vein 100 times or more in the course of a day.  Occasionally, I will find myself clenching my jaw, or notice my heart is pounding right out of my chest, and shit will catch up to me.  There are definitely crashes... there are also solitary moments of peace, however few and far between they are...

Yeah, yeah, what's the fuckin point already? The point is that having had my neurotic tendencies pointed out to me, it reminded me that I REALLY need to appreciate those people in my life who have not only recognized this pattern in me, but do everything they can to just support the fucking cyclone that is me before an event.  I have friends who check on me in 50 different ways everyday... it's like they have all silently taken on a role in helping keep me afloat in the weeks leading up to events...some help me remember shit, some know what I am thinking and speak it when I am too wound tight to speak, some people anticipate things that need done, some listen, others talk, one friend knows I am an insane insomniac when I am stressed, so she keeps on me about attempting to keep a regular sleep schedule.  Another friend knows that I tend not to eat when I am stressed, and constantly (in the sweetest way possible) badgers me about that.  Others will just cuddle with me in silence... some people are the huggers, and when it is alllll tooooo overwhelming, I have designated people who will just let me fucking cry and snot it out without judgement.

As always, it comes back to my fucking soul tribe. You all continually remind me that my life is really the best fucking show I will ever attend...this is only one leg of an extensive world tour... and I have the best fucking crew EVER!!!!  They say it takes a village, well, I will take my tribe ANY FUCKING DAY.  Because without you all, this crazy little introvert would cave in pre-production ;)  You all are the most amazing fucking rock stars ever, and I fucking love all of you.  Thanks for hanging in there with me, 10 more days, and I will be back to my usual neurotic self :)

Naked

So for the last month or so, one of my dearest and best friends and I have been having this discussion that I wrote about in Connecting the Dots.  We talk often about what it is like to 'date' in your late 20's early 30's... ESPECIALLY in the age of instant gratification, fueled by texting, facebooking, instagramming and whatever other fucking ridiculous means we use to converse rather than actually communicate or (heaven for-fucking-bid- CONNECT). The beauty of dating and the intricacies of getting to know someone coupled with delaying gratification is quickly fading into oblivion in favor of late night texts for hook-ups and one night stands. Like everything else in our culture... people and connection are becoming more and more disposable. In fact, she recently wrote a similar blog about this same shit- check her out... Tight Pants, Half Shirts and Hook-ups.

  Now, I will be the first to admit that in my life I've done the hook-up thing. I've done the one night stand thing, I've had friends with benefits and fuck buddies... and they all served a purpose, at the time.  But at some point, without my knowledge or permission, all those surface 'relationships' began to shift my view of what it means to be intimate with someone.  It created a big void that no amount of great sex could ever fill.  It took me a long time to realize that the reason I felt empty was because I was essentially tossing experiences into the abyss.

Honestly, until recently, I have never challenged myself to really experiencing that whole delayed gratification thing... because there is a huge amount of vulnerability that goes along with that.  It's pretty easy to just pick a persona and be that when the extent of your relationship with someone is the late night hook-up.  It is also pretty easy to paint the other person in whatever light you want... because there is only one dimension to the relationship.  In order to keep that surface game up, ya gotta grow thick skin and pretty much detach... people have to become objects or conquests in order to keep up the mutual I use you, you use me contract.

What I had to deny in that abyss was the sappy romantic that I really am... it made me jaded and, it fueled that surface-relationship-fire, and mostly, it made me doubt myself and what I really wanted.  There is no space for having feelings and ESPECIALLY no space to talk about them... because the minute that happens, the surface contract has been broken, and there are only a couple of ways things can go from there...either the contract is severed and both parties resume regularly scheduled life programming, as if nothing ever happened, or...(and this was generally my route) you shame yourself for having said feelings and apologize to the other party, and you both pretend like the subject was never breached in the first place, and lemme tell ya kids, that kind of shit will eat your soul, even if you don't know it...

The process of realizing how I have been slowly etching away at my own soul and self worth has been a slow one, but I am glad to be on this side of that awareness.  No doubt this is part of a larger cultural paradigm shift, but with this awareness, I can now safely say it's one I want no part of anymore.  So, a couple days ago, amidst this most recent glimmer in consiousness, I stumbled across this quote-

“Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep…wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you’re just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky his is to have you….The one who turns to his friends and says, ‘that’s her.’”
~ Chuck Palahniuk

It struck me in such a way that I threw it up on my facebook page with the disclaimer that if that were unrealistic, then I'd rather stay in my fantasy world.  Because really, I am coming to the place where I will no longer be ashamed or apologize for wanting that or for having emotions or for craving connection.  If wanting that scares people off, then good on them.  Because I am over the surface game... in fact, I am over the game in general. The responses to that quote were all over the map... some people responded with that same, old, familiar jadedness, others suggested that it was not at all unrealistic, but the best response was this-

"Those people are out there - just remember it goes both ways!! It is worth the wait and you are worth waiting for ."

For some reason, the thought that it goes both ways hadn't really crossed my mind... and I have been looking into that, but that is a post for another day.  All I can say is this- I am so fucking glad to have a few awesome people in my life who are self-evolved enough to have these conversations with in real life, because otherwise, I'd prolly still be spitting surface game.

Glimmer

Normally, I am not the one to jump on the celebrity death wagon (I don't even think that is a thing, but after seeing all the buzz about Robin Williams death, it seems to me it should be a thing.)  I just find it incredible to see all these responses to the death of someone none of these people actually knew.  Maybe it is because his work touched so many people, maybe it's because his death touched so many people... perhaps its a smattering of both.  I would venture to guess we all have some sort of experience with depression... either we've experienced it ourselves, or someone close to us has struggled with it.  So we all have a common place from which to draw empathy to a certain degree.

I have waged the inner battle with depression since my early teens. I spent most of my late teens and early twenties in a pharmacological haze of anti this and that meds.  At a certain point I decided the drugs, albeit prescribed, were actually doing me more harm than good.  So I went through the long and arduous process of getting off of them, which was no small feat, considering I was on enough drugs to tranquilize an elephant at the time and had been for a good long while.  In the decade or so since cleaning out my system I have had my fair share of lows, some frighteningly low, there have been moments (which have seemed never-ending) of what I can only describe as the darkest depths of desperation.  They are impossible to predict, difficult to manage and sometimes equally as difficult to climb out of.

It's a pretty tough subject to breech in conversation.. already plagued by the anxiety that seems to come as an added bonus with the depression I experience, thinking about telling someone or even thinking about trying to find the words to talk to someone about it drain every single of iota of energy out of me.  I don't want to be a downer to those around me. I don't want people to think I am crazy, or weak or any other of the labels we dole out to people dealing with the intangible issues of the mind.  There are moments when I can stand in a crowded room and feel as though I am the only one there... standing amongst the crowded chaos... hoping that someone or something will distract me from that black hole that seems to be sucking the life force out from within.

In the space between those dark stretches, I am entirely aware of the fact that those anxiety riddled depressive moments are just that- fleeting and temporary. BUT, when you're in it, the mind becomes a long, narrow, tunnel... and although it's path is linear, there seems to be no light illuminating an end.  Appearing as though the darkness will stretch on forever, the mind can be at once a powerful tool, and a debilitating enemy.  The more you try to talk sense into yourself, the faster the train car seems to travel down the track... with it's speed climbing, and what seems to be miles upon miles covered in milliseconds...reality begins to distort at this velocity.  The space between remembering what it feels like out of the tunnel and what it feels like in it begins to widen so much that the memory of what was is as intangible as the idea that this ride will pass.  Anxiety fuels the vortex, engulfing everything in it's path.

The swirling thought pattern that is depression is a lot like listening to a song that has begun to skip- at first it's a momentary interruption, and then it skips again, and I have that conversation with myself- it will pass, just let it play out. The skipping becomes more frequent.  The song, ever more mangled from it's original beat.  What may have started as a remix becomes a complete melodic mess, the familiar tune now an indistinguishable cacophony, and instead of reaching over and skipping to the next song, I sit there, entranced by the noise, unable to pull myself out long enough to recognize whats happening.  There's something about that song. It's draining and alluring simultaneously. It's deafening and soothing.  It's paralyzing.

At a certain point, there's a fleeting glimmer of hope.  A blip of light will illuminate the radar of the mind's eye.... and, depending on how strong that dark, powerful vortex has gotten, there is a chance it will be enough to alter that destructive thought pattern.  When it happens, its as if the track restarts, and I snap out of that maddening trance, like just as I was about to free fall into that super massive black hole, gravity grabs me, defying it's own laws, and hurls me back down to reality.  And I can't tell ya what triggers it, because if I knew, I would make it happen, I am not even sure it is a particular thing.  I know that my thought pattern changes, but I have yet to figure out how to make that happen of my own volition, and trust me, I have tried. I have tried every single fucking trick in the depressive handbook... exercise, eat right, sleep well, change your attitude, be around people, don't be around people, meditate, be grateful, stay in the moment, am I missing any?? Everyone's got advice, everyone wishes they could help. But the truth is, they can't. And sometimes, I can't help myself-to the best of my knowledge, it's as much a waiting game as anything else. Sure, I can check the shit off the self care list, but sometimes, none of that helps. And when all the normal tricks don't work, all I can do is white knuckle through, and hope like hell that I can remember that this time, like all the others times, it will pass.  'Shhh, baby listen. Hear the train?'

Connecting the Dots...

Every now and again something sparks my memory and I go on a dot connecting conquest.  Welcome to one of said conquests... we shall see if combing through all this shit actually helps me make a connection.

So, I recently read a couple of things that fired my consciousness up.  First- it was this- We Are Not Here to Fix Each Other which was a really refreshing reminder for so many things, I am pretty sure I was also absent on the day they taught us how to 'close our hearts off'.  If I am not super vigilant about it, I am prone to let other people's shit overwhelm me.  This is why I am so fiercely protective of having one day a week to unplug and not be around anyone.  Gives me time to re-center myself, gather my thoughts and get hold of all the crap that isn't mine that I may have collected over the week.  Being empathic aint all that glamorous, I feel as thought I have a responsibility to myself to keep my shit in check... ya know, so as not to inadvertently spill it all over somebody else's shit.  And, I will be honest, it still happens. In fact, it still happens far more frequently than I would like, but I am definitely ever more conscious of it.

Sometimes, the empathy thing can be overwhelming- like in crowds or even at parties, it's as if I accidentally tune into somebody elses frequency... and sometimes it's multiple people's frequencies at once.  Trying to have a conversation with someone while picking up 32 other signals at the same time is fucking frustrating and confusing! Not to mention, all that unintended mental chatter can make it tough to concentrate on whomever I am actually interacting with.  This used to be a lot worse, especially because I, like the writer of that piece, continuously felt compelled to 'help people'.  I thought it was my calling.  I worked in the 'helping field' in any number of capacities for years... working with everyone from juvenile sex offenders to adult inmates to drug addicts.  And, ya know what? It was a pretty short crusade.  When they say the social work field has a high rate of burn out, they are not fucking joking.  All the 'worst' cases flocked to me like white on fucking rice.  If there was a borderline in ANY of the facilities I worked at... they would find me.  And suck every last fucking drop of energy from me.  And I let them.  Because at some point I subconsciously decided it was my calling to save them from themselves. All of them. And, I had yet to learn how to keep my own shit in check.

Anyway, so I took a 180 with my career path and thought that would make it better... but it didn't.  It was like I had some sort of beacon, if a person was damaged, or hurting, or emotionally unavailable or just down right crazy... I couldn't go to the fucking grocery store without having someone pour their heart out to me in the fucking checkout line.  And I began to really resent the whole empath thing.  I felt as though I were (if I may be so trite) carrying the weight of the world on my damned shoulders and it was fucking exhausting.  I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out how to make it stop, at the grocery, at the bar, at work...  And then, one day in conversation, a wiser, older, soul than I helped me to see that it was me luring them in. That by not being conscious about my own shit, I was seeking these people out.  After all, if you surround yourself with people who 'need you' all the time, then there's no reason to look at your own shit, because my life was a fucking cake walk compared to some of the stories I heard on a daily basis.  But when I stopped and evaluated the whole thing... it wasn't everyone else using me, it was ME allowing it.  My ego was in the drivers seat, and we were charting a course to save the world.  When I realized that, I immediately felt an immense amount of shame.  All I could think was who the fuck am I to think I have that kind of power over anyone?!!!

It took a little bit of time to get over the shame in realizing what I thought was doing good, was really doing harm... I do no one any favors by trying to fix them, in essence, none of us has the power to cheat another out of this experience we call life.  The shame was in the fact that in my crusade to 'fix it' I was actually cheating myself.  I think we as humans do all possess the capacity to be empathic... some of us have the skill more finely tuned then others, and some of us work really hard to ignore it... but it's there.  It all boils down to our own level of consciousness. 

So all of these realizations have been recirculating in my brain and then I read this- Sexy Consciously Awake Women the two are seemingly unrelated, but in my mind, they are.  A few weeks back I was able to reconnect with a dear, dear friend I hadn't caught up with in over a year, our conversations are generally part hilarious, part ironic, part stimulating, and always real. This one was no exception. As we laughed and caught up a few things became apparent to me- I fucking love that chick- she's raw and empathic and we are FRIGHTENINGLY similar.  We both wear our hearts on our sleeve, but front like tough bitches, to mask our insecurities...  The downside to that is that we both experience the same sort of unlucky-in-love relationship bullshit. 

The connection between my own conscious journey and connecting with others pinging on a similar consciousness level has LONG eluded me... Beginning this conscious journey was pretty much the final nail in the coffin of my last serious relationship 4 or 5 years ago... so, really I only know how to be conscious and single, because thus far, doing the work on myself has not meant that I am instantly attracted to conscious people, or that I attract them... in fact, the few people I have casually dated in the last few years have been anything BUT conscious.  And the funny thing is, my friend and I discovered we both do it.  It's like we have some beacon for dating partners that are in need of 'emotional potty training' as the Sexy Consciously Awake chic phrases it.  The kicker, for me, is that NEITHER of us want to potty train.  In fact, we both got fired up by that SCAW piece (and it's follow up, did you catch that second piece? Dude. Read it- An Open Letter to Men From Sexy Consciously Awake Women). 

In these last 4-5 years of singledom, and nearly as many writing out my observations on this blog, I have made so many realizations... but we all know there is a marked difference between making realizations and putting those realizations to practice in our lives. I would really like to connect those dots in my own life. I want to be in a space where I feel comfortable letting myself just be.  Someone called me out on my 'fronting' this weekend and it's true, at my core, I am not the person I present at first, or even second, third, fourth meeting.  Sometimes I feel like I will never have the courage to be able to just be...I have made this realization eleventy-gillion times, what I need to remember is-

"You are what you do, not what you say you’ll do.  Knowledge is basically useless without action.  Good things don’t come to those who wait; they come to those who work on meaningful goals.  Ask yourself what’s really important and then have the courage to build your life around your answer."

I think I am coming to a place in my life where I only have space for real and meaningful connections... I don't want or need time fillers or place holders.  I want to share a meal and great conversation.. I want to hold hands. I want to snuggle while watching PBS.  I want to laugh with someone. I want to drink the last drops of summer up, whilst swinging in a hammock at dusk...reveling in a moment shared. I want someone to be as genuinely interested in me as I am them. I want to give myself the freedom to cry in front of someone and not immediately feel as if I am a burden or an emotional basket case.  I want to recognize when the opportunity to do any of these things presents itself, and EMBRACE IT instead of running away or being awkward.  I want to take Tough Bitch, find the girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress and  go dance in the rain with them both.

Soul Tribe Gratitude

About a week and a half ago, I fucked up my back pretty good.  So good that a week and a half later, I am still unable to do even the simplest of tasks by myself- picking my clothes up off the floor, mowing my postage stamp lawn... grocery shopping etc.  I am in general a fiercely independent chick- I LOATHE having to ask for help.  But these last few weeks, struggling with my back, have made it impossible not to give in and accept a little help.  It's given me the opportunity to be humble, and spurred ENORMOUS amounts of gratitude. Seriously, I have some of the best fucking friends a person could ever ask for, it makes my heart full just thinking about it.

In the first year I started this blog, I wrote a post about what I call my Soul Tribe. It was an attempt to flesh out the inter-connectivity that I experience in relationships with people... to remind me that in my life I have made some fucking fantastical connections, and I refuse to believe those connections were made coincidentally. I wanted to remind myself that having some of the super deep relationships I have are gifts- ones that if treasured, can lead to more deep connections, in effect, we reap what we sew.  So, if I sew the seeds of meaningful interactions a sort of domino effect happens- out of one great connection the energy is spawned to forge other meaningful connections, even if they are seemingly unrelated.

And that is pretty much what continues to happen in my life- my tribe is more abundant today than it was years back when I first wrote about it.  What I  realize now is that while the magnetism that is pinged out of soul tribe connections is undeniable, it doesn't mean that every magnetic interaction will be with a member of one's soul tribe. In the last 6-8 months this whole concept of attraction (as in who I am attracted to and why) has been a recurring theme for me.  It has come to the surface of my consciousnesses that in almost any interaction I have, I am attracted to some intangible aspect of the person. For instance- in a conversation with a stranger, I may be highly attracted to what they say, or more subtly, maybe I am attracted to their body language or their tone.  Conversely, there are other instances where something someone does instantly repels me, and I am unlikely to continue a conversation with them or further pursue a friendship.  All that said, I would say I consider myself a decent judge of character when it comes to the people I will give my energy to in terms of friendship. 

Those same visceral ques I pick up on when conversing with someone on a platonic level seem to get muddled to the point of being indiscernible when it comes to being attracted to a potential romantic partner. Firstly- it's rare that I find someone attractive on a romantic level.  I mean sure- I am a 32 year old chick, sexual attractions are copious.  Romantic attractions are different.  These are the multi-level attractions, where I am interested in what a person has to say, what they think, obviously, being physically attracted to them is important, but it is nearly always secondary... like the attraction to the mind spurs the physical attraction in an almost synergistic way. And looking back, this is the way it has been most of my life.  Line up all my past partners and it would be tough to find a physical 'type'.

Really, it's the mind that attracts me to anyone... people who think deeply... people who feel deeply. People who strive to continually experience the depths of what life has to offer. Consciousness. That sort of connection is far more rare and endlessly more desirable to me then some spur-of-the-moment physical attraction.  Minds that happen to meet on the same ruminating plain, in the same moment, however brief, vibrating at the same frequency. That's the kind of shit that can make my knees weak. The connections where silence has just as much meaning as the verbal interaction. Where nothing is forced or rehearsed, there is a flow that can be felt between the two people, but the words to describe it escape them. 

Since I've hemmed myself up, there have been countless moments where being single has seemed like a real burden... I have thought many times over about how it would be so much easier to accomplish the silly little routine things if I had a significant other- but just as that thought enters my mind, on it's heels I am reminded that my soul tribe is always here for me-my friends who have helped me out in countless ways this last week...  It has truly put the whole independence thing into juxtaposition for me. I often pride myself on doing things by myself, Ms. Independent, blah blah blah... but ya know, when I think about it- the whole independence schtick is pretty ego centric. I read somewhere that there is a difference between loneliness and solitude- loneliness is born out of fear, solitude is created out of the confidence in ones self.  The former driven by ego, the latter anchored in authenticity... Damn! It seems sometimes like every damned thing I write about is interconnected. Without my soul tribe, I would be dead in the water right now, and it's my tribe that demands authenticity of me.  Significant other or not- I have an entire fucking tribe pulling for me- and that, it pretty fucking amazing. 

Now, I am reminded just how fucking grateful I am for you all- seriously.  I have certainly had my moments of frustration, but when I stop and actually take it all in, I think I needed this little reminder that we're in this together.  I needed a little restart with the energy I had been vibrating... out with the stress, out with the ego, in with gratitude. So long as I've got my tribe to feed my soul, things will flow- and there is no need to force any connection-romantic or otherwise.