The Three Wise Men

For my entire adult life I have pondered the age old question Is He or She The One? In all honesty, I didn't actually believe there was such a thing.  Despite my doubts, I got engaged in my early 20's to my 'high school sweetheart' from whom I'd be estranged, and reconnected... I took that reconnection as a sign that it was 'meant to be'.  I still wasn't convinced of the whole 'The One' thing, but many of my peers were getting married and it seemed like the logical next step. Through out the course of that engagement, I attempted to convince myself that this was it... to no avail, I called it off.  I spent better part of the next 4 or 5 years in relationships for all the wrong reasons, then I spent the next 4 or 5 years detaching from relationships completely. 

By the time my 30's hit, I was pretty convinced that there was no such thing as 'The One', or at least if there was, there certainly wasn't a 'One' for yours truly.  By now, many of those same married friends were trudging through divorce and some were marching on to their second marriages.  And I was just as baffled by the entire idea as I'd been a decade before.  And look, I am well aware that we all have different paths... and I have said more than eleventy billion times that I believe it all happens for a reason. Sure, there has been a lot of self doubt sprinkled throughout the last 5 years... I asked myself the same questions over and over again... what in the fuck am I doing? what in the fuck is wrong with me? and on and on, if you have been around this blog for even a little bit, you will have realized by now that I spend a whole lotta time in my head.  I decided that marriage was nothing more than a social construction to keep us all on the neat and tidy path of the straight and narrow. At the same time, I couldn't shake the thought that it seemed as though I was doomed to be solo for life, no matter how I tried, no one 'measured up' and I was through trying to make myself settle for the sake of some couple-dom utopia that I was fairly certain all my coupled-up friends were faking anyway. 

Throughout that time, all the self doubt, the questioning, the fear, bewilderment, you name it... I had some fucking amazing support from stellar friends and family. They supported me in whatever way they could.  Through the good, the bad, and often times the ugly... my Dad and my Brother remained my champions.  I knew that all they wanted was for me to be happy, and they would've done just about anything to help me make that happen for myself.  They let me cry and snot on them, sometimes fighting back their own tears, they listened when I wondered why this person was such a douche or how someone could have such little concern for anything outside themselves.  Of course, I also analyzed all this shit in my head (and a lot of it on here) then I reanalyzed it.  I complicated every single damned thing, and while my dad and brother are the kind of people who are puzzled by this self deprecating process, they recognized it to be my process, and honored the beautiful disaster in me, as best they could.  Many a conversation I had with my brother or my dad where they were just so frustrated at how I couldn't get IT.  But never once, did either of them show even a sliver of doubt in me. Of course, I took care of that piece all on my own, haha.

Up until that point, I had built a pretty exhaustive list of what I did not want for myself. I had 'no' down to a science.  I can remember endless conversations with my brother, ever the pragmatist and protector... Well, what do you want? And all I could ever think was- not this or not that.  Many a night were spent imbibing and diatribing about life and love, he trying so desperately to understand where I was coming from, and I blurry eyed, mascara running down my face, and tear stained cheeks, attempting to grasp his perspective.  With my Pops the conversations were more the cheerleading variety- always quick with the 'there's somebody out there for everybody, sweet pea, you'll find em...', he would show up at my job, just to give me a hug and remind me that I was ok, that things were hard but would eventually work out.  On and on it went, for years.  And today, I can safely say, those moments were what allowed me to cling to any sliver of hope... Even if I seemed to find every jack-ass, detached asshole in a 30mile radius, at least I had two shining examples of what the good guys looked like. I always knew I was fortunate to have them in my life, but I suppose here lately I am realizing just how fortunate I am.

At some point I just decided to say fuck it. No more game. No more self doubt. No more wishing or hoping or any of it.  Pretty sure it was that fuck it clarity that finally shifted my perspective because it wasn't until then that I realized... what I wanted was a blend of what my dad and my brother have been modeling for me my whole life- loving, supportive, creative, concerned, funny, hard working, honest, loyal, and real.  Not too tall an order, eh?! Well as the old and very, very trite saying goes- that moment I stopped looking, however unconscious it was at the time, I found him. Or, he found me? However you want to say it.  If you read that article I linked in the beginning of the post, he is it.  Over complication out the window-I love him and I believe both our lives to be better with each other in them (and yes, I'd give 'em a kidney, haha). It's as if there is a certain amount of unconsciousness that has to be present in order to be conscious... and that balance is very, very, delicate.

In the last 4 or 5 months, conversations with my dad and brother have shifted.  Recently, I went out to have a pint with my dad, as we are sitting there, I am yammering on a mile a minute about how I am still pinching myself everyday that I found someone so amazing, and my eyes are welling up, and his eyes are welling up, and I just stop, and I stare at my big, strong, rock of a daddy... with tears of joy in his eyes, cause I am happier than he's ever seen me.  My brother has shared the same sentiments with me, and all I can say is that I am fucking floored to now have what I consider to be the three finest men on the planet in my life.  I don't know how in the hell I got so lucky, but I know enough not to question it, and to never, ever take it for granted.  I love you guys, so much.  Thanks for loving the beautiful disaster that is me, I am grateful for all three of you every single day. <3

Provocations

I am comfortable... which is strange, as I used to fear being comfortable... I attributed comfort to laziness, I thought it would evoke complacency in me.  Conversely, contentment seems to have acquiesced a sense of warmth within me... It's renewed me as opposed to bringing me down... It's ignited a passion for the intricacies that are normally so engrained in my day to day, that I often missed them.  Each sunrise and sunset seems to be more radiantly awe-inspiring these days.  The details of those austere moments have been electrified.  I am hyper aware of each moment... savoring them on the tip of my tongue, like a child catching snowflakes for the first time.  I'm suddenly acutely cognizant of all those little things I had closed myself off too, and I am so humbled to be able to experience them with this keener vision. 

I think, at some point, I had convinced myself that my 'fairytale' was long ago written, and the sooner I accepted the alternate ending, the better off I would be. I think that is what I have been doing these last few years... living out that alternate ending... there were no white horses, and I was the one wearing the armor.  As a writer, I told myself that tinge of bitterness gave me an edge, it's what fueled my sharp tongue and often times shrill tone, but living each day of that story made life a little more dull.  Each day, another tiny piece of me withered and decayed.  Despite having kept myself occupied in order to ward off that complacency I feared so much, I actually sank right into it... I totally bought into the finality of that alternate ending.  I completely dismissed that my story continues to be written every single day, and discredited myself as the author...

Then one day, suddenly things changed.  My world-view was flipped on it's end. Having that jadedness flushed out of me has been a scary, but refreshing, rush and I have never been so obliged to be proven wrong.  While I have always been grateful for the time, perspective, and consciousness afforded me, that gratitude has been reaching new heights as of late.  To say this was worth the life time wait is an understatement that dwarfs Mount Everest into a tiny pile of pebbles.

The view is stunning from up here.  It's serene and limitless.  Vast and panoramic, as I survey the landscape, it takes my breath away- time and time again.  Whereas this site would have previously exhausted me, in this moment, my energy abounds.  I want to explore every single inch of it with you.  I want to discover every cave, peak, and valley.  I want to sink into the depths of this... into the depths of you...us.  Basking in the ataraxia that exudes from each moment spent with you... even when we are apart I can't help but revel in how amazing this is, how inspired I am.

The inspiration piece is intense... I'm bubbling over with it, and yet I can scarcely get it out. It's the most obscure sort of writer's block I've ever encountered... ideas so fleeting I cannot possibly commit them to type, the next flies in before the last scampers off... multiplying like rabbits with each tick of the clock.  I supposed I am more accustomed to brooding then musing... Don't get me wrong, I am in no way lamenting, I am just learning what it is to surrender to this state of mind... I haven't lost my voice, but merely found another intonation, each separate, but dependent upon one another, the task is now to teach them to dance...

I wanna lock arms with you and get lost in this... find a tiny cabin on the side of a mountain and just soak it all in.  Stripped of the burdens of day to day...if only briefly...construct our own blanket fort,  untethered from work, technology, time, and responsibility.  Just crisp air, brilliant stars, you, me, and this intangible euphoric propensity .  I wanna lie next to you and forget the rest of the world even exists. Losing myself in the cadence of your heartbeat, commingling with the swirling of my own...moving to the provocative symphony composed from two souls pulsing to the same oscillation ...a synergy that arranges itself and produces a sound so silently sweet. 

Ataraxia

After years of fighting I find myself no-longer holding back... hanging on every moment... letting each one drip from the very depths of the leaky faucet of my soul. Never have I found myself so at ease in someone's arms...I find Tough Bitch has all but disappeared.

I've dueled with her for years, my body and soul bruised and scared from battle, beaten until I scarcely have a Pulse.  But when you walked in... it's as if none of that ever mattered... like she never existed. And it was completely effortless.  The armor that once encased my heart, dismantled without my even knowing it. There is no need for it. No need to front, or pretend or hide or run.  For the first time ever, I surrendered from the start... and it feels amazing... no defeat and no need for strategy, because this time it's not a battle, it's a complete infiltration of my soul. 

Spilling over with an energy that until now, I kept steeled away.  My heart skipping multiple beats and my insides knotting so as to capture the butterflies that seem to have been released inside me.  Swirling in the intensity that is my heart soaring and my brain scrambling and my voice hushed... because given the words of the entire English language still,  I can't even begin to scratch the surface as to what I am experiencing.

I love your silliness- The way you can turn a serious moment into a burst of laughter in seconds flat, and I love your laugh, and your smile, and the way your eyes light up when you're telling a story.  I love your nerdiness... that you seem to have limitless knowledge about all sorts of things, and I love that you are not only willing to share it, but have the patience to catch me up when I don't understand.

I love your sincerity- that you are not afraid to say what you mean, and I know that you mean what you say. I love your kisses, passionate, sweet... never rushed or forced, slow and gentle, always leaving me wanting more. I love that I can't get you out of my head. I love your patience and insistence. I  love that you hold my hand, I love that you open the car door for me.  I love that you let me know when you are thinking of me. I love the little ways you protect me. I love that you'll talk about it.

I love your emotion, and your depth.  The way you connect with people and situations and life in general.  I love that your soul is both tender and seasoned with life experience.  I love your passion... the way it pulses through you with each beat of your heart, and how you do everything possible to nurture it. I love that it knows no bounds, and your innate desire to honor it by sharing it with the world. I love the way you think, the way you write, the way you play.  I  love your voice... singing softly... your words dancing in my soul...

I love that you walked into my life and disarmed me completely. I love your touch... how you have this way of melting every inch of me into a shivering puddle. I love that your eyes have this way of penetrating every brick in my Wonderwall.  I love the feeling of shelter that I find in your embrace.  I love the experience of complete peace I get lying next to you.  I love that after years of paralyzing fear about it, vulnerability seems easy and natural with you, it's with you I feel at ease being truly Naked. I love that my little girl in the Freshly Pressed Dress feels totally free to come out around you. 

 I love the way you love.

Crazy Life

Holy shit. I just read THIS and every single bit of it blew my mind.  Ever stumble across the right thing at exactly the right time?!

For the last week, I have been piecing together my next move and as if my other posts haven't spelled it out...it has been incredibly scary and draining.  Being torn as to whether I should stay or go... having to take a long hard look at where I am in my life thus far and judging myself so hard on all the shit I have not accomplished.  Wondering if I will ever accomplish anything that is anything at all.  It has made my head swim, made me feel totally and completely insecure and inadequate and enveloped me in a thick blanket of self doubt.  And goddamn did that piece put into perspective why it is such a struggle.

That first bit about not having found my life niche- that shit has bothered me forever... it seems as though every single fucker I know has some undeniable talent, gift, or passion for something... and I enjoy many parts of that in others... I wrote about this all the way back in 2011 in a post called OPP.  Here I am 3 1/2 years later, amidst practically the same struggle... that is where I have my head has been... and then I read this-

"It is in these seemingly unlivable opposites that we are most ourselves. This is where we question the world around us and the world within us, and it is only when we question everything that we start to know anything. Our questions are what shape us. Where our wonder lingers is where our heart lies."

Sometimes. I forget that I am where I am because of the principles I have for myself, and my present situation is no exception.  What I have been struggling with is whether or not I have the energy to fight for what I believe to be right or if I am ready to fold and run.  The fact that I am wondering if I have the energy to (essentially) stick up fop myself is laughable.  Just because my ego got bruised, does not all mean that I am broken, and I will be goddamned if I go out without a fight.  I have worked far too hard to just roll over and submit.  That is not how I roll, never has been, never will be... even if I got the wind sucker punched out of my sails for a minute. Of course, that does not mean I know how this will end (and fuck man, I am a great lover of limbo, really).  Maybe I will stay, maybe I will go, but either way, I will play this hand all the way through. As she so beautifully puts it-

"This process is slow going, and quite probably never ending. It is imperfect, far from foolproof, and there are no shortcuts."

Maybe we all need that reminder once in a while- I need to take a step back and give myself some mother-fucking-grace.  Even if I am uncomnfortable because my core seems to be in juxtopostion at the moment, I need to remember that this is where the real work is done... in the end, it ain't about a paycheck, it's about self... and if I can't be true to me, what the hell is the point?

Fuck, I needed that.

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 :)