Burning Bridges

“It don’t matter which way you go

When you’re callin’ the highway your home

When every old town’s just the past burning down

It don’t matter which way you go.”

Waylon Jennigs, Reno and Me

This is a story. A story of burning bridges, allowing time to pass – settling it aflame and watching it burn again.

Something happened in my life recently that caused me to look back to my more recent past. I’ve felt miserable since it happened – miserable since he tried to walk back into my life. I knew it wasn’t a good time for me to be alone, so I picked up my journal and walked to the pub near my house.

While I waited for my order, I opened my journal. I intended to get back into the habit of expressing gratitude. Instead I found myself flipping through the pages, wondering what had happened to the gal that had written those words just over two years ago. I was stressed, but I was hopeful. I was happy. I was in l in love and I expressed love to so many. I had my heart broken and saw it mended again. I don’t recognize her, the person that penned those words of love, hope and happiness, but I want to be her. She radiates a life perspective that I miss very much.

She felt connected to everything. She heard the heartbeat of the Universe. I'll find you again, Cherished Version of Myself.

I had to ask myself how I got to where I am now. I have been accused of not being entirely transparent (notably by anonymous strangers), of painting myself in the best possible light while throwing someone else under the bus. I see that as an untrue accusation. I’m about to tell the story of what is arguably my greatest shame in life.

Several years ago I met a man. He was mysterious and intriguing. He was intelligent and witty. He brought a sense of excitement to my life on many levels. We had an intense attraction to one another. It boiled down to the most savage sense of carnality; we existed in our own orbit, drawn to each other in a very visceral sense. On another level, we connected intellectually.

I’ve only called him Spaniard. That’s right, Fucking Spaniard. He had a knack for picking up the pieces in my life when I could not.

Then I learned about Her. Not just Her, but others as well. I was oblivious. I had even been in his house and didn’t think for once that there was another woman in his life. I blindly believed what he told me and easily explained away things that should have been regarded with suspicion. The words regarding his own personal life were often few, and that should have sent me packing. I know better now, but I didn’t then. He wasn’t married to Her, but I’m sure he was a key figure in Her life and I’m certain She didn’t know about me.

When I knew his secret I cut him out of my life. 

Fate must have cursed me when our paths crossed again. I found myself a willing participant in older patterns of behavior. Our connection had only intensified by the time we spent apart.

We immersed ourselves in our formed religion of acts of worship for the other.

So, there I was, carrying on with a man that I knew was spoken for. We carried on for a couple of months. I was acting against my own moral compass, causing a growing dissonance between what was at the center of my core and what I was doing. It was literally tearing me apart from the inside out. 

I turned to a poor coping mechanism I relied on after I found myself in the wake of an assault. I'm not sure if it was coping or self harm, but I tried to drink myself into oblivion once again.

The war I was waging on myself escalated. It came to a peak when I woke up one night in a detox center. I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I was afraid. I was shamed. A woman next to me was coming down from her cocaine high. I don’t belong here. All I could think about was Merlin and that I needed to be home with him. He needed me to be there. An officer pulled me aside to talk to me. He told me to be comforted by the fact that I hadn’t hurt anyone and I was unlike the ‘regulars’ he saw come in and out of there. He said this was my wakeup call. I’d made a bad decision.

I had to take a time out. I had to force myself to look inward and face my actions. I was knowingly causing potential harm to a person I didn’t even know. I was the other woman. I was the one destroying someone else’s life solely for my own selfish wants and desires. Spaniard had to go.

I'm not proud of the role I played in this.

I eventually realized he was a danger to me. I don’t say a danger to everyone, because I can’t speak for them. I can speak for his personality type and mine. He has an ability to compartmentalize his life and it scares me. He had me, he had Her, he had others. These were separate lives to him. Perhaps it scares me because I’ve never met anyone with that ability. Maybe it scares me for good reason. I don’t know the answer right now.

Working as a trainer for FBI hostage negotiators, Spaniard has some very potent psychological tools. For his line of work, that’s an asset. For me, that’s toxic. I fail to compartmentalize my own life and I have no basis in tactics of manipulation or psychological warfare. My involvement with him would only lead to my own self destruction – possibly slitting my wrists and bleeding out. He told me that we were linked and would not be severed. For my own survival, he and I could not coexist.

It would only lead to destruction - and it would be mine. Possibly Hers, too.

I pray that She would never now about me. I pray She never knows about the others because I imagine that would be devastating. I don’t know if I could live with myself if She knew that I didn’t consider how my actions would affect Her because I didn’t care. I was only after what made me feel happy.

Then I sent an e-mail to Spaniard. I knew a face to face conversation with him would result in his continued presence in my life to some capacity. I typed out as compassionately as I could that he could simply not be a part of my life – and this was for my own emotional wellbeing. I tried to explain that we simply couldn’t be. His response was that until I could accept unconditional love I was to never contact him again.

Done.

Time passed. I moved to another part of the city. I never contacted him again. It had been a little over a year when he sent me an e-mail. I blocked his e-mail. A month later he sent me a text. I changed my number. Yesterday, he called me at work. At. Work. I listened in shocked silence. I asked him how he found my number. He told me he simply called and asked for me. I told him I couldn’t talk. I was working. He asked if I still had his number. I lied and said I did. He told me to use it sometime and then I hung up the phone.

This is one representation of part of the internal commotion taking place in my psyche.

I’ve thought for some time that if he wanted to find me he would. I hope my assumption is wrong. After Spaniard sent the e-mail, I thought I saw him at the pub near my house when I was out with my brother. I must have looked terrified. My brother noticed me watching the man across the room, visibly worried. I couldn’t see his face, he had his back turned to me, but he had the same physique, he wore similar clothes, his voice sounded familiar. I had to explain. I had to tell my brother about my actions of selfish stupidity. There have been no Spaniard sightings since then.

So, he found me at work. I’d never give him that number. Hell, I’d even moved on to another department since I last saw Spaniard. The bastard called me from a blocked number. I felt myself hit with a wave of emotions I’m still struggling to identify. Offhand, I’d say I feel fear, anger, and shame. The only thing I’m certain of is that he can’t be in my life. He just can’t.

I did the only thing I could think of, which was to call our safety department at work. I explained my situation. The woman who listened was understanding and empathetic. She recommended that I remove all traces of myself online, starting with LinkedIn. I invested my time in that wretched profile so potential employers would hire me. I’m not ready to give it up yet.

My employer has flagged me in our system. No one can look me up in our online database. While administration has my information, an alert pops up to not give any of my information. It’s as if I don’t exist where I work. I’ve turned his name over to our safety department. If Spaniard tries to use his ties with law enforcement he won’t get anywhere.

And that’s my story of burning bridges. That’s my story of paying for my sins on Earth. During my lowest point, when I woke up in a detox center next to people coming down off of some pretty hardcore stuff – I feel as if a part of me died that night and I’ve failed to resurrect it.

I have no secrets now. I’ll work on finding the person I lost during my lowest point in my recent adult life. Maybe I’ll dance in the ashes after I’ve watched it all burn down. 

Puzzle Pieces

“The Troll was well over seven feet tall, and smelled of body odour and Germolene.” – Andrew Barrett, A Splendid Salmagundi

You must pay the toll!

It looks like I’ve made a new friend. There was an anonymous comment left on this blog entry. I inadvertently deleted it. However, look what I found in my e-mail: “’He had our HR person handle the situation. I’m furious . . .’ you are not just furious, you are bat shit crazy. Of course he had HR deal with you. Nobody ever wins an argument with a crazy lady!”

In my attempt to respond to the comment, it was deleted. Then another comment was left. I’m flattered, really. Someone invested that much energy in leaving an anonymous comment and then going back to my blog to see what their handiwork had accomplished.  

That’s as much of a platform I’m willing to give. Anonymous comments have been disabled – so if someone wishes to tell me I’m awful it must be done publicly. I’m sorry.

Just kidding! I’m not. This is my space.

I have a busy month ahead of me. I’m officiating a wedding for a friend, hosting his rehearsal and also mc-ing for the groom and bride. I’m not sure how the bride is fairing, but I can say that I feel like pulling my hair out every now and then. I’m honored they’ve asked me to do this for them, which is why I want everything to go smoothly.

Guess who gets to go back to biking next week?! This gal. My knee is finally healed from my stupid crash. I’ve felt like running in circles a little bit because I haven’t had an outlet for stress due to my knee being busted. I’m looking forward to getting back out there – and also intend to try riding up the hill to work someday. I’ll flaunt my victory when it’s done (it’s a heavy bike!). The next time I see someone with their fancy bike and gear I’d love nothing more than to lean over and whisper I’m better than you.

For the record, I wouldn’t really do that; these are the kinds of thoughts that cross my mind.

I'd say this is a pretty adequate representation of me right now.

Because I wasn’t biking while my knee was healing, I rode a different bus route to work that gave me an extra 20 minutes before I had to leave. I met a man on the bus. I think he has mistaken my friendliness as flirtation and has sent me a couple of email messages (he works for the same organization as me – and it’s a huge place). I’m just not interested and sounded very much like a petulant teenager when I was telling someone about my interaction with this man and exclaimed, I don’t want to!

Any person with common sense would simply say no. I am one of those idiots who has a really hard time doing that – which is why I’m scattered in 8 different directions more often than not. For now, however, I’m just avoiding the issue altogether.

If I can't see you I can't hear you. 

The last few weeks have been fairly intense. I’m in my new position. I love it immensely and I’m scrambling to learn everything as quickly as possible. It’s been an interesting transition. I work with a great and highly organized group of people with a high standard. When they reached out to me about the opening in their division I took that as high praise. I’m a lucky lady.

In other news, the hound and I may be volunteering for a weekend this summer at a camp for children with arthritis. A patient told me about it. I was floored; I thought arthritis was something that only comes with age. I can’t imagine experiencing that kind of pain. The organizer of the events seems happy to have the hound and me onboard. Merlin is going to be thrilled. Basset hounds are social by nature. Merlin has that trait magnified 10 times over. That’s one of the things that makes him so wonderful.

The cuteness! It kills me. Merlin does enjoy a good belly rub. Disclaimer: This is not Merlin.

As anticipated, memories have surfaced as I’ve been working on my blogumentary. It’s unpleasant but not impossible. It’s frustrating, but not overbearing. I’ll speak frankly, because this is my space and there’s something to telling secrets rather than trying to bury them. Clarissa Pinkola Estes touches on this in Women Who Run With the Wolves, “The keeping of secrets cuts a woman off from those who would give her love, succor, and protection. It causes her to carry the burden of grief and fear all by herself, and sometimes for an entire group, whether family or culture. Further, as Jung said, keeping secrets cuts us off from the unconscious.”

Her words are a source of strength while I keep digging. 

I’ve been surrounding myself with childhood things to remember my past. A plethora of things I had buried so far down that I had forgotten about them resurfaced. I was 19 and recently back from Africa. I met a man who asked about volunteering for one of the groups I worked with. I gave him my number because I was trusting and naïve. His name was Rajinder. I simply referred to him as ‘Raja’. He helped distribute food baskets to families in need over the holidays. We grabbed dinner together and I remember him telling me that he was recently released from prison for kidnapping and wanted to be upfront and honest with me. I don’t remember how he diminished that charge with his explanation, only that I didn’t feel threatened by him. I was in his apartment one evening and he started tickling me. He then kissed my neck and said, “It’s either this or tickles.” I have no idea what took place after that because I don’t remember and I’m bothered by that. I do know that I never spoke to him again. I feel as if I left there unscathed. I’ll hold on to that feeling.

Recently, I reached out to someone on facebook because his daughter was struggling with depression and suicidal tendencies. We’ve never met in person, we just know each other from an online group we both belonged to at one point. In his response to me, he referred to me as ‘yummy’ (he was looking at my photos for some reason). I feel nauseous and angry at the same time – not just because I felt objectified by him, but also because he has a wife and a teenage daughter struggling with depression. He’s been blocked and I’ll probably never speak to him again. I feel anger for his words to me and also for what I feel is blatant disregard for the emotional wellbeing of his teenage daughter. That’s not okay in my book.

I, on the other hand, am not a cheeseburger. Don't refer to me as 'yummy', asshole!

Perhaps I overreacted because of the fuzzy memory that resurfaced from when I was 19. I don’t know the answer.

I do know that I'm still putting the pieces of my life puzzle together. I should have been doing this work a long time ago. I am now, I suppose that's what really matters. I'm digging up the secrets I've buried and telling the stories that I never told. 

Something’s gotta stop the flow.

If you don’t recognize that line, it’s from an amazing movie called Ink. If you haven’t seen it I suggest putting it on your list. I’ve always had a hard time explaining it. It’s just that good.

The pathfinder in what is arguably one of the most memorable scenes. 

Now that my knee is better I think I might take up running again. I really need to. I know Merlin would want to join me, but he needs to take it easy. I used to be filled with an immense amount of guilt whenever I left him alone because I leave him alone when I’m at work all day. I’ve just acknowledged recently that I need to take time for myself, too. I doubt Merlin will hold it against me. He’s a happy camper as long as he gets his slow, meandering walks in the morning and evening. 

"I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories . .  water them with your blood and tears and laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom."  - Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

Quandaries

“The curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing now but mask and ghost.” Emil Cioran, A Short Story of Decay

I’ve turned over the conundrum of fairness in my mind lately. I wonder if this is a concept that is purely human made, if this is something that actually applies to the Universe, or if we have a flawed perspective how we think this should apply to our lives and what we perceive as a linear pattern set before us by a deity or the Unmanifest. There have been a few studies that barely scrape the surface of the concept of fairness, and none of these seem to give a definitive answer. Some of these studies examine the behavior of young toddlers, concluding that at such a young age there is an understanding of the morality of fairness. There are many theories on this rudimentary understanding of a moral compass: evolutionary for the survival of tribes, cultural and taught by birth through actions of parents and other figures in the child’s life, some even suggest a Western-invented concept that has nothing to do with biology. I’d agree that this is a learned behavior – and yet this concept, in some form, exists in every single culture. Isn’t that something?

My current philosophical quandary is not that the concept of fairness exists, but how it has come to be that we believe it should apply to all aspects of life. I see this belief as something antiquated that was an ideal that I simply needed to hold on to for the sole purpose of my own survival. If I didn’t believe there would be a silver lining in the clouds someday I would have given up ages ago. Perhaps I never understood the concept of karma, but hasn’t there always been a belief that good behavior, a good life, is somehow rewarded? I just can’t believe that anymore. I suppose it’s because I thought that there was some sort of purpose to my life, some linear path . . . . some force behind all that I’ve lived. That doesn’t exist. What takes place in life that is outside of our control is purely random.

There is no linear projection - no path to follow.

When something awful happens our first thought tends to be, ‘It’s not fair.’ No, it’s not. This is simply life. It’s not fair that anyone we love in this life suffers, or has left us suffering by their departure from this world. Would it be any fairer if that fate had befallen someone else? I ask myself that a good deal, and recently saw something that caused me to pose the question again.

Kurt Kuenne filmed a documentary in the wake of his best friend’s death, ‘Dear Zachary’. He intended this tragically beautiful film as a letter to his departed friend’s son, Zachary, who would never know his father. It’s the celebration of one man’s life, and also the mourning of his passing as well as a tremendous loss that should have never happened. It should never have happened because it was preventable and it should never have happened because these are the tragedies in life that make us say, “It’s not fair” and leave us to question that powers that be.  

It made me think of my own father as well. What are his thoughts on what I've done with myself?

I can think of only two people who live on this earth, aside from my therapist, who know the dark secrets my past holds, particularly regarding my father’s death – and that fact that I know I will never see justice for him is one of the many issues I’ve been working through. For those few that know me in this regard and watch this documentary, I think one could easily make the correlation of why this young boy’s short lived life struck such a chord with me . . . .  There were so many parallels regarding his father and mother, his grandparents, custody, and the blatant failings of the legal system. Nothing is perfect in this life. The judicial system exists to protect most, but the same rules don’t apply to all and this is why something so awful was allowed to happen; because it could have been prevented.

I think I can begin to understand how hard my grandmother fought for me. She never stopped, not even when cancer was besting her. I can't imagine the anger and sadness she felt when she would have to look my mother in the eyes, hand me over to my mother, and know that she was giving me to the person responsible for my father's death. I understand now why my grandmother had so much worry for me when I wasn't where I was supposed to me. I can't imagine how she felt knowing she was grappling with the devil and knowing there would never be justice for her son, my father.

Dearest Zachary - you are in my thoughts and I've never met you.

I have often asked myself what my life has exactly amounted to, and if I would have been better off had I not survived . . .  because at times I honestly feel as if I’ve made nothing of myself and perhaps the gift of life was wasted on me entirely. Please don't think me suicidal. That's not the case. It just raises the question in my mind and I'm searching to find what, if anything, of value I have contributed to the world. I wonder about that boy, Zachary, who happens to share the name of my father. I wonder how his life would have formed knowing what happened to his father, knowing who was responsible. I wonder if the outcome of my own life thus far would be any different had I never known that truth about my own parents.

My grandmother, Patricia, in her young years of motherhood. 

My father, Zachary, just as I remember him. Always smiling. 

This is where they are now.

One thing I’ve heard throughout most of my life that drives me slightly batty is, “You’ve had more than your fair share.” I know they mean well. It’s just something that weighs heavy on me because I know how unfair life can feel and the saying almost insinuates that there is still something better, something somehow deserved solely because life has beat me up a bit. Being good, or trying to be good in this life does not guarantee that good things will happen. Suffering doesn’t guarantee that, either. I remember my babysitter telling me frequently when I was a young girl that I was destined for great things because I had suffered so much. At the time her words were encouraging. Now I feel as though I’ve somehow failed.

It’s during these times in life I work harder to count my blessings because sometimes they are hard to see. It’s far easier to see what is going wrong in life and how unfair it is that someone I loved died; someone I loved lost a battle to cancer, someone I love may not be here much longer because of Alzheimer’s. It’s during these times in life I am grateful to those who know who I truly am and remind me of that.

I have known someone for many years of my life. We lost touch because that’s what happens in life and since we’ve reconnected we’ve been solid ground for one another during our transitions and doubts. I’ve shared with her my spiritual journey of working with a psychic and being protected and guided by the Wolf Spirit through that amazing journey in the spiritual realm. My beautiful Sister reminded me of who I was, who I am now, and what I can be. I’ve re-posted those blog entries due to her words of encouragement . . . . . because these things we experience, even if only small glimpses, really are something amazing and of value – if not to the individual, than perhaps to someone else hearing the story.

We run and howl together, even if from a distance. 

On that note, Beautiful Sister – if you’ve ever doubted (as I have) your purpose in life, how you fit into this world, know that you are the world to me. You remind me that I’m strong, loved, and still evolving in this life. Our spiritual journeys are never over, just as our journeys in life are not. Even though we’re separated by many miles, you emanate such a radiant light in my life. 

I'm Banned From Online Dating

“The beginning is always today.” – Mary Shelley

I’ve been banned from online dating. I can never touch it again.

I was recounting my last date that resulted from an online dating site to my friend over our weekly Sunday hike with our dogs when she turned to me and said, “Your New Year’s Resolution starts now. No more online dating.” I closed my account for good. She’s right, those idiots make me neurotic and for the most part I’ve met guys who are too intense, too weird, want to take advantage of me, etc. etc. Also, I’m sure I saw my therapist breathe a sigh of relief when I told her I was honoring my friend’s request.

Mostly creepy people in general.

My official last date seemed to go well. I was puzzled because the guy asked me to meet him and then expected me to pay for my drink. Perhaps this is the new age of dating – I just thought that the person who asks is the person who pays. For instance, if I invite a friend to dinner, drinks, a movie or all of the above, that’s because I’m buying. It’s a rare occurrence these days that I can afford to do such a thing, but I try.

The guy took the bus to meet me at a local bar near my house. I offered to drive him home – it was quite cold. He asked for my number and I gave it to him because he seemed like a nice, normal kind of guy . .  . and then the red flags started showing. He started texting me a couple of days later. Within the span of an hour there were 30 texts from him and insistency from him that we schedule another date. His intensity and over-excitement about me were off-putting. I told him we weren’t a good match. Then I ranted to my friend, Sandalio (changed, of course – and it means ‘wolf’ which suits him), for days about my frustration for the dating scene in general. I had other dates lined up and my exact words to Sandalio were: “I am not meeting those assholes.”  I thought about contacting them directly to tell them I wouldn’t be meeting them – it just felt like a courtesy I wasn’t obligated to extend, particularly based off of my experience with the online realm thus far.

I kinda felt this way. 

I’m finding that I’m much saner now that I’ve shut the operation down entirely. Also, I magically have more time to spend with people that are meaningful to me in addition to getting my studio apartment in order. Who knew ?

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sandalio. We talk nearly every day and see each other once a week or more unless he’s out of town. We share the same spirit animal. It was a tattoo on his arm that first caught my attention and I was rather disappointed to learn that he had a girlfriend. We’ve been spending a lot of time together since his breakup, mainly because we both felt like our lives had been turned upside down and needed companionship. We laugh and challenge the other to stupid (yet very amusing) things and conspire together with even more juvenile plots. Then there’s my personal favorite: snuggling up next to him watching a movie.

It was last week that I had myself draped across Sandalio’s lap and smiled when he stroked my arm. I realized I might love this guy. Love is a scary emotion for me and the timing is horrid. He needs time to process and heal from his last relationship and I don’t want to do anything to interfere with that or lose a friendship I value. I’ll be keeping these emotions to myself and giving him as much time and space as he needs. This confession wasn’t a surprise to the one person with whom I shared my epiphany. I guess it’s the way I talk about him. Help me Jeebus.

Not just lovely, but wonderful in so many ways. If only he could see himself through my eyes . . . 

I think there’s some solace to be found in new distractions. I spent way too much money recently and bought myself a tv for the sole purpose of playing Dance, Dance Revolution and doing my yoga DVDs. Why would a person of pauper status put so much on a credit card? I figured this was an investment in my emotional well-being so I’m not moping around my studio apartment worrying about money and realizing how financially strapped I am because I can't afford outings with friends. Instead I can do some fun cardio and have friends over to have dance offs with me. It’s a much needed distraction from worry and also from loving someone. I may think differently of it down the road, but it seems like a pretty darn good plan right now. 

So very true - yet I know it can't be. I never knew hiding my feelings from someone would be so hard. 

Dead Weight and Apathy

“People tend to complicate their own lives, as if living weren’t already complicated enough.” – Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Shadow of the Wind

I wrote an e-mail today I dreaded doing, but ultimately had to look out for my own well-being because that’s really what’s important right now. I won’t go into the details here because mention of them may cause hurt feelings and that’s not what I’m about. The important thing is that person is being faded out of my life at least for a time being. When I’m feeling more grounded perhaps I can take on the rest of the world’s problems – but now is not the time. My days are spent with very sick people who are facing death. They are afraid. They are in pain and they need someone to give them patience, understanding, and a smile. That’s where my good energy needs to go. At the end of the day/week, I need to be around others who are going to uplift me instead of pulling me into their own vortex of anger and bitterness. For now, with this person, I’m closing the chapter.

I’ve closed the chapter on a few others as well. I can at least give myself credit for recognizing influences that are toxic in my life. Most I’ve cut out completely and others I’ve struggled with a bit more. I know I’ve rambled on and on in previous posts regarding my delicate relationship with my adopted mother. She’s in the hospital again. I find myself extremely apathetic regarding the whole thing. What’s eating at me is that I’m telling myself that I should be concerned that she’s still in recovery. I should care about this woman. I’m sure I do deep down somewhere, that’s just not what’s on the surface right now and I’ve decided I’m going to stop telling myself how I should be feeling and just ride out the apathy. This will pass eventually, I just need to honor that I need time to sift through years of bullsh*t and work through it; it's another form of dead weight that needs to go. 

I'm ready to fly - I just have to teach myself to cut the cord. 

In the meantime, I keep making mental notes to myself of actual notes I need to write to people. Nothing major, just simple ones to let these random people I encounter on a daily basis know that they make my day. I do make an effort to hand write notes on a semi-regular basis to my childhood babysitter.  She practically raised me and I love her. She was my grandmother’s best friend and so much about her embodies all of the experiences in life that are dear to me. There’s also the lovely woman who works at the bike valet station. She’s mute (Why have I not learned to sign?!). She needs to know that smile is lovely and I look forward to seeing her every day. There’s the boisterous, kind and hilarious woman who works in the cafeteria. There’s the kind chef who asks me about my day and is genuinely interested in my answer. These are people that deserve my energy. These are people that deserve to know they make someone’s day because they exist.

The people I encounter now, the women who looked out for me in the past - they need to know they have made a difference to someone. 

My point in all of this is that I am cutting out the negative to make room for the good, positive and fulfilling things in life. I’ve been saying I’m going to do it forever and a day, but have been skipping around the issue for as long as humanly possible. It’s ridiculous. My time is now. I’m taking it.

Dating is still foreign to me. Like my approach to most things in life lately, I’m doing my best to go with it and not overanalyze to the point that I drive myself to some form of mania. There haven’t been many second dates. There haven’t been many first dates, either. What I have noticed is that I am gravitating towards men who are in the military or have a military background . . . . and I never even knew that was some sort of preference of mine until this adventure started.

I’ve had a few dates with one person in particular. I’ve mentioned him before, and I still haven’t thought of another name to call him for the purpose of this blog. I feel at ease with him. He’s made a point of respecting me when I tell him I need time to warm up to him – don’t cross my boundaries because it will send me either running or flying into a rage – maybe even both, who knows? The other night was the first time he touched me without my own initiation of a hug. He ran his fingers on my arm, nothing more. He hasn’t pressured me into anything more and I don’t have the words to describe what a relief that is. He also doesn’t make me go out of my way to see him, either. He comes to my side of town, offers to pick me up if we go out somewhere . . . chivalry isn’t dead. On some levels he understands me. He’s been upfront about his major life f*ck ups as have I. I’m still not sure; I have my reservations about him and I also have all the time in the world to figure it out.

Whatever the outcome, his willingness to let me approach him at my own pace has already left a lasting impression on me. 

So here are my concerns about him: we seem to have no common interests at all. Seriously, it’s like there’s nothing. We do have a good time when we’re together, so there must be something I’m just not seeing yet. On the same note, everyone puts their best foot forward in the beginning, so I’ll re-evaluate this a few months down the road. Additionally, he has an uncanny ability to compartmentalize his life. I guess that comes with being in a specialized Army discipline. While that’s a pretty wicked skill to possess, it worries me a little bit. It worries me because I know someone with that ability, and that person (no longer a welcome presence in my life) is possibly the most toxic, psychological mind f*ck that has ever crossed my path. The person no longer in my life also has a military background. He’s lived with his long-term girlfriend and has many women on the side in many different countries. I guess there’s this nagging (probably irrational fear) that my life will be that of the long-term girlfriend in 20 years . . . ignorant of the intentions, affections and actions of my lover. It’s funny how an attribute of one person who rubbed you the wrong way can cause such an irrational chain of thoughts. I keep reminding myself that they are not the same person. Not even close.

His ability to compartmentalize shouldn't be so worrisome to me. That's another to add to the list of works in progress for the Irish Lass. 

There’s a guy that I’ve been talking to quite a bit who has the name of a comic book hero. I won’t tell you which one. I’ll just call him Clark Kent. He’s in the Army Reserve and we have yet to meet in person. He understands me on a level that a lot of other people don’t as well, but entirely different from the other fellow that I actually have met in person. Sometimes Mr. Kent wishes me goodnight, but his way of doing so is by saying, “happy hunting”. That probably isn’t something anyone else reading this would understand, but it speaks volumes to me. We share a spiritual connection; and that’s an aspect of who I am that Mr. Kent truly understands. On the same note, when we finally meet in person we could decide that we’re enemies and fight to the death. Who knows? I have all the time in the world to figure it out.

While Mr. Kent is away in training he sends me photos throughout the day of him in uniform and it makes me squeal like a little schoolgirl. Lord help me.

Apparently I've had a 'type' this entire time and have only just now noticed it. 

I’m being careful to not judge myself as well just because I’m taking a different approach this time around. I found myself worried the other day about hurt feelings, breaking hearts, unintentionally leading someone on, etc. and I had to tell myself this: No one has made promises or commitments here. What the hell am I worried about? The answer is nothing. I am worried about nothing. I’ll keep approaching this part of life at a snail’s pace. It makes me happier that way. I think my next step is to figure out what type of connection with another person I want in life. At least I think that’s where I go from here. I’m still figuring it out. 

I intend to change many

The Pack Is Still Standing

“They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still” – William Penn

I stopped counting the days since she’s been gone. It hurts. It hurts a hell of a lot. It took me a while to quit looking for her in my rearview mirror every time I went on a hike with Merlin. I kept thinking I’d see her with him in the back seat. She’s a phantom and I miss her more than I can stand sometimes.

I watch Merlin sleeping sometimes. Lately he’s been wagging his tail while he’s dreaming. I like to think he’s with her in those moments – that he’s found her somehow. I know he misses her, too. I am trying so hard to pull myself together for his sake. Grieving dogs need to know that the pack is still intact. It’s okay, hound. The pack is still standing.  

We mourn. We howl. We heal and move on. Its okay, hound. I'm still here. 

Everything in my life is changing. I’m settling in to a new job. I’m looking for places to live and have realized that it is extremely difficult to find a place in or around Portland. The listings are filled in a second. As it stands, it looks like I’m going to have to move really far out for something affordable and then I’ll absolutely have to find a roommate to offer a discounted rent to because I’ll need someone to help with the hound if I have an hour commute each way for riding my bike. Dang.

I’ve only just started looking. I won’t be too discouraged at this point. Perhaps something miraculous will happen and Ava and the hound will find the perfect spot. The pack is still standing.

Yeah . . .  That's pretty darn close.

 

Someone in my life that I thought I could always count on made it their personal mission to wound me deeply. It was repeated attacks on my character and anything of any importance in my life at all. The only thing I catch myself thinking is, Why? What on earth have I done to you to deserve this? I am now asking myself if this is someone I want in my future. I don’t know the answer, so I’m giving myself time.

The unconditional love of a dog is arguably one of the most comforting things in this world. 

 The pack is still standing. We’re going to be okay. I have to stare into my reflection and remind myself that I’m still standing sometimes. There have been so many wonderful things in my life, I just want the ugliness to go away so I can enjoy the beautiful things for a while.

Speaking of beautiful things, I’ll be returning to tango soon. I’ve missed it. Actually, I’ve really needed it – particularly when scenarios in my life are so dark and painful. I’ve always prided myself on my intuition when it comes to the pain of others because I don’t want them to suffer. I received that favor in turn this morning. A friend offered to talk and reminded me that tango holds us sweetly. It really does and there’s something so very beautiful and healing about it.

The tango embrace. This is what bliss looks like. 

I’ve always thought I’m fairly good at masking how much I’m really hurting. I’ve either convinced myself of a blatant lie or I have the privilege of knowing someone who sees pain in others like I do . . . . I think the dead giveaway was the fact that I was playing with my facebook profile at 3 am this morning and there was a photo with a lone wolf. I wonder what sort of emotions and symbolism these lovely creatures evoke in others. Since I first met my she-wolf, in some other dimension in time, I’ve always seen the wolf as a companion and protector. The pack is still standing.

A friend told me once that she didn’t need to watch soap-operas because I practically live one. She’s right. I don’t know how it happens, but pain and grief and drama find me more frequently than I care to admit. Maybe someday I’ll write a book about what feels like an endless saga, or perhaps the soap opera days will eventually end. However, be it pain, grief, or a soap opera life, the pack is still standing.

On second thought, a book might be a bad idea . . . . because much like this picture, none of these soap opera events make any sense. 

“My grief and pain are mine. I have earned them. They are part of me. Only in feeling them do I open myself to the lessons they can teach” – Anne Wilson Schaff