He's Really Not Into You

“Don’t spend your time on and give your heart to any guy who makes you wonder about anything related to his feelings for you.” – Greg Behrendt, He’s Just Not That Into You

So I’ve been doing the dating thing for a little over a month now. It feels like a freaking full-time job, and an unpleasant and exhausting one at that. I keep telling myself someone will make this all worth it eventually.

I had previously mentioned my involvement with my neighbor and how fond I had grown of him and his little girl. He had been increasingly distant in the weeks that followed that post. I don’t pretend to know why.  Then came the dreaded words: It’s not you, it’s me. Oh. My. God. He refused to offer any other explanation. Ouch. I thought that was a line that was conjured up in middle school when we simply grew tired of the other person and wanted to move on. And the little girl – I’ve seen her once since then, just last night. She was looking for her cat. There wasn’t an excited greeting or hug.  She looked at me like she didn’t even know me. I felt like a dagger had been thrown at the center of my chest. I’ve missed her. I don’t know what her father has told her – I don’t even know if this is a common occurrence in this young girl’s life – I just know that life feels emptier without her.

I suspect this is what he really meant, but was just too cowardly to have a face to face discussion with me.

I’m angry because I feel like my neighbor used her as a pawn to get my attention and I’m hurt because I know she won’t be a part of my life anymore, and I had no choice in the matter. It’s not really him that I was attached to, it was her. I miss the impromptu playdates, dance offs, and bows. I miss her excitement when she saw me come home in the afternoon and the immediate hugs. That’s just not my life anymore.

She literally had my heart the second she put her tiny hand in mine. 

So I move on because I don’t want to waste my energy on crying over it. There’s nothing I can do to change it . . . .  and once the waterworks start they just won’t stop. For now I’m telling myself to be grateful that it happened sooner than later. He showed his true colors and I didn’t become more enmeshed in her life. That would have devastated me.

I’ve moved on to other distractions. I’m still biking on a regular basis. That’s proven to be a good thing for me. I feel invigorated when I get to work and at the end of the day anything that bothered me is gone because I’ve exerted every last ounce of frustrated, angry energy on bike pedaling. I’m getting stronger, too – it’s worth it.

Channel the rage, Lass. It will go away eventually. 

Life has blessed me with some truly wonderful people. I’ve mentioned my tango friend before – the one who encourages me to get out because he knows I have a tendency to draw into myself. While it’s tempting to do that, I know it’s not healthy, and I’m grateful to have the luxury of knowing someone is in my corner and looking out for my best interests.

 Last week my friend convinced me to play volleyball with a handful of other dancers. It’s been a blast. They call it ‘laughter therapy’. That’s an accurate description. I think ‘rage therapy’ works as well. I had no idea that I was so competitive until I started playing with them – and volleyball is something I haven’t done in over a decade. I never have a voice the entire day afterwards because I spend my entire time yelling at my opponents, hurling insults and cursing in general. My only complaint is that I’ve somehow managed to jam my toe two weeks in a row and today in particular it hurts quite a bit . . . . but I work at a hospital, so I’ve got my bases covered. J

We mean business. 

The online dating saga continues. I made up my mind after my experience with my neighbor that I am so done with older men. Seriously. If he’s more than ten years my senior I want absolutely nothing to do with him. Does this prevent older men from contacting me? Absolutely not. I had someone sending me messages in his 50s. Why?! When he asked me to meet him for drinks I asked him what his intentions were and made it openly known that I was not interested in being someone’s plaything. He responded that it was obvious that I have wounds to heal and he does not . . . . Dude, I think the fact that you’re trying to get in the pants of someone less than half your age speaks volumes about your issues.

Sure I have issues. At least I am honest about them and don't deflect mine to the rest of the world.

I’ve met a handful of guys in person. One really was a pleasant surprise. I’m not sure if we’re a good match, but he did not bore me to hell and back like I initially thought he would . . . and I also turned out to not be the stuck up snob he thought I might be. Our conversation went something like this, “You carry weapons? Me, too! Let’s see if we fight to the death!” I exaggerated that a bit. We just had more in common than I thought. I also very much appreciate that he has respected my statement that I need patience. I don’t warm up to people right away. He doesn’t go for a hug unless I offer. Bonus points for you, guy.

I draw a pretty clear line in the sand. Anyone who tries to blur my boundaries gets nixed. Just don't do it!

On the flip side, there’s the touchy feely types and excessively clingy and needy in general. One bragged about his stellar kissing abilities . . . . . and then he tried to lick my damn face off and plunge his tongue down my throat. My face felt like a toilet. I’m also wary of men who claim that we share a strong connection when I sure as hell don’t feel it and men that use pet names like ‘sweet baby’, ‘darling’, ‘sugar’ or anything along those lines without being a close friend makes me feel like throwing punches. It takes me a while to retract my talons and I really have no rhyme or reason as to why that gets under my skin, I only know that it does. Lastly, there was the guy that seemed genuinely surprised that I actually looked like my photos and yet spent the entire time checking out every other female that walked past him. What the hell? 

A walk in the park with the hound. He was pretty much doing this the whole time. He's just not that into you!  He did ask me out to dinner today. I told him I just don't feel a connection - because there obviously isn't one.

On more than one occasion I’ve been asked what I’m looking for. It took me a while to put it in words, but I think it’s something along these lines: I’d like to find someone to share life with, but I don’t want him to be my life – and I don’t want to be his, either. Maybe our paths will blend more as time goes on and we find similar interests and things we enjoy doing together. I don’t want someone to waltz in and completely unhinge my life by taking me away from things that are meaningful to me and try to mold me into something I’m not. He has to adore my dog because I adore my dog. He needs to be patient with me because I have a tendency to be skittish and can feel like a caged animal if he moves too fast for my comfort zone. I need to take my time to get to know him.

I'm also playing for keeps. I'd like to get it right this time.

What amazes me about my stance on dating is that most men are surprised by my answer. It’s as if they’re expecting me to say I’m looking for my soul mate, I am looking for the ‘one’ to make my life complete, yadda, yadda, yadda. Have we become a society of parasite that feed off of one another because we’re so starved for attention and insecure in our own lives? Heavens! That’s why I took a break from dating in the first place. I needed to be comfortable with who I am and where I am in life. I needed to learn to love myself. I needed to learn to quit attracting the wrong kind of person into my life.

There are a couple of men who have caught my eye. I have yet to meet them in person . . . . and I’m really in no rush, either. I’m mostly looking forward to a summer of biking, dancing, volleyball and the hound. These are happy things for me and life feels complete as it is. 

I'll always be evolving, but that doesn't change my sense of fulfillment. 

Change

“Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.” – Mahatma Gandhi

Life seems to be falling into place. I’ve been wondering how it’s all going to play out. Sure, I’m still stressed out from time to time because I worry about not quite being able to pay a bill on time or something else along those lines that’s really all not that important in the grand scheme of things . . . But we all do that, don’t we?

Yes! While it doesn't solve all of life's problems, it comes pretty damn close.

After coming to the realization that my actions were going against my own moral compass causing a chasm in my connection to the Universe and guilt that nearly broke me, I made a drastic change. Suddenly the world felt less oppressive and scary. I’m standing alone and completely content with where I am in life.

I reconnected with a very old and very dear friend with whom I was very close in high school. Unfortunately, we lost touch over the years. I had lived with family that didn’t want me to have non-Christian friends and then we moved to another city. I’ve thought of her often and my heart jumped for joy when she found me through facebook. I laughed to myself when she asked me if I was still breaking hearts. Me? No freaking way! Her nonjudgmental query as to why there was no significant person in my life got me thinking. Am I ready this time around? Truth be told, I still don’t know for certain.

Uncertain, but blissfully content. 

I’ve been fortunate to have a few stellar males in my life who I trust, who truly understand me,  who have challenged me to be better and who give me their unfailing support . . .  and also tandas (that’s very important). The time spent in reflection during my period of single freedom has granted me a clearer vision of what I want/need in another person. I’ve also had to be honest with myself about how deeply rooted some of my insecurities really are and even come to terms with some of the more petty aspects of my character: I’m extremely afraid of change and need consistency in my life. I have extremely deep attachment issues and need to be reassured that the other person is in my corner.  

Personal issues aside, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not opposed to sharing my life with someone at this point. Merlin and I are perfectly content. We don’t need anyone, but we wouldn’t mind the company. So, with the encouragement of my friends and brother (who insists no one will ever be good enough for me), I started an online dating profile. I admit having that filter to weed out the creepy guys has been a huge relief. Sexually suggestive user name: Blocked. Try to talk to me when you live half way across the country, why the heck are you wasting my time? Blocked.  Asking for my number when you are probably a stalker: Blocked.  Sending me inappropriate photos whether or not a conversation has been initiated: BLOCKED!!!

I'm not involved with match.com . . . . but sometimes I ask myself what the hell I'm doing with this online thing. Is this what my generation has become? 

My very old friend gave me one piece of solid advice that I really needed to hear: No pity dates. She knows me way too well. With that topic in mind I went through the list of men with whom I had been speaking and blocked about half of them. I made tentative plans to actually meet one guy in person. He seemed nice and normal, which seems to be difficult to come by these days. Additionally, he has a disgustingly cute smile.

On a different tangent entirely I realized that I have a few pity friendships. They are draining and offer no enrichment whatsoever to my life. I intend to remedy that soon. Now, back to my tale.

I've grown pretty tired of the emotional vampires and there will be no pity dates or friendships!

The events that followed were something I could have never anticipated. I have a neighbor across the street with an adorable 6-year-old daughter. She and I have had several play dates. She’s confident, she’s fun and she definitely knows what she wants. I’d been spending a lot of time with her. I assumed her and her father pitied the young lady living across the street from them with no washer, dryer, or kitchen to cook in. I particularly had the latter in mind when the young girl’s father asked me over for dinner.

I jokingly refer to my place as my hovel. It's nothing even remotely close to this. I tell people it's like luxury camping or something along those lines.

It soon became clear that my neighbor was definitely interested in me. Not only did he cook for me, but he obviously put a lot of effort into it. We spent the evening playing hide-and-go-seek and the two of them walked me to my front door with a couple of roses he cut for me from his garden. I’ve had many nights like this with them lately. Recently, while the young girl was staying with her mother, I visited her dad. He kissed me when we parted ways after he walked me to my front door. I didn’t stop him.

To set the record straight, I was going for his cheek and he went in for the kill. Still, I didn't stop him.

Who the hell saw that one coming? I sure didn’t. I look forward to seeing them when I get home at the end of the day. I look forward to having dance offs with a 6-year-old girl. I look forward to running around like a maniac because I’m too big to fit into a lot of the really good hiding spots. I even look forward to that exhausted feeling just before going to bed because a tiny human has demanded every second of my attention.

There's also piggy back rides, coloring, dancing, singing and giggling. 

So where’s it going? I don’t know. We've agreed to move slow, particularly for my sake. I don't want another fake fairy tale. I’m still afraid. I have a lot of things running across my mind, but I’ve learned to put them on mute. I can’t consume myself with the ‘What ifs?’ I guess I’m just waiting to see how it all pans out and running with it in the meantime.

"None of us knows what the next change is going to be, what unexpected opportunity is just around the corner, waiting a few months or a few years to change all the tenor of our lives" - Kathleen Norris 

Shelter From the Storm

“Never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset.” – St. Francis de Sales

This last month has been stressful and chaotic. I had pushed myself so hard while still following through with most of my commitments that I drove myself to sickness. I also had people comment on how calm I was. I internally laughed at them. I certainly didn’t feel calm; and now that most of those stressful events and commitments have passed I find myself feeling and reacting like someone in a heightened state of agitation. I’ve been here a million times before.

So what’s the Irish Lass to do? I read an article on grounding techniques. A suggestion was to ask oneself, ‘Am I breathing?’ I ask myself this question several times a day and instantly feel myself connected back to reality as I sense myself breathing. Then I remind myself that I’m here. I’m okay. I’m calm. There is no threat here. Keep breathing.

A deep inhale to remind me . . . . 

I still intend to drop off the radar for a couple weeks in the near future. I’m just too tired and worn out to deal with anything, really. I’m still going because I have to – but I really need to take a ‘staycation’ in the near future. The effect of so much stress is pretty obvious right now. I’m forgetful and even though I hide it extremely well I feel like going for the jugular of about half the people I interact with throughout my day. I lack patience for others and I think every minor thing that I don’t know how to solve immediately is a disaster of epic proportions. Just keep breathing.

The sky isn't falling. I can breathe now. 

I have people in my life that keep me grounded as well, the main one being Spaniard. While his tactics are questionable, it’s working. I danced tango after a few days of him making me tell him I’m beautiful, I’m loved, I’m amazing, etc. The end result was something far better than I had expected: I was calm when I danced. I was so calm that others noticed and asked me who I was studying under to help me improve so much. I wouldn’t say that there was really any improvement, only that I was able to quiet my mind enough to actually listen to what my lead was signaling. The reptilian part of my brain actually shut off for a while. Word.

Beautiful tango. I've missed you. 

As Spaniard tells me often, ’Don’t disparage yourself and NEVER disparage yourself in front of me.’ I made the mistake of berating myself for something. He literally popped me on the mouth for speaking negatively towards myself. As he’s lead me through his methods of madness at least I’ve learned to question what I say and eventually question what I’m thinking, particularly when it comes to me. I have had the lowest self-esteem for a while now. Spaniard won’t let me continue to live life with that.  I guess to get over that hurdle someone had to force me to do it. I’m not completely over it yet, but I’m getting there. Heck, maybe I’ll be ready to take off my buffer ring sooner than I expected. For now, it’s still my security blanket . . .  and I’m still breathing.

I've been getting so many compliments on this bad boy lately. 

Then there’s my brother who often talks me out of crises mode. He tells me not to worry. Everything will be fine. I’m not alone. While we’ve developed our own language of affection that consists of trash talking each other, we do so in jest and he’s far better at it than me. When I was sick last week he sent me a text saying he tried to poison me and needed to send it back for a refund. He makes me laugh randomly and reminds me that I don’t have to be so serious and so intense all of the time. The hound reminds me to calm down, too. I see him when I’ve had a long day and am worried about several things simultaneously and tell myself that I need to stay calm for him. I have to recognize that I need to be calm for me, too.

This would have been us in our younger years.

What I would love more than anything in the world right now is to snuggle up next to someone and just be for a few hours. There’s no significant other in the picture, so what’s the next best solution? TANGO!!! I’ve missed a couple of weeks and consequently have missed its therapeutic qualities. I miss the folks that I see on a regular basis and my handful of favorite leads who I adore because they are kind and good people.

I need to get back to this passionate form of dance! Also, her dress looks like mine . . . . and I still can't dance like this. Just in case you were wondering.

I’m tempted to say that I feel like the eye of the storm is coming –but that suggests more chaos and nonsense. Instead I’ll tell myself that the storm is passing and I don’t see another one looming in the horizon. My reptilian brain and shut off for a while because I don’t need it. I’m not fighting for survival, I’m living.

Blue skies are on the horizon. I miss nature, too. I need to fix that.

“The language of excitement is at best picturesque merely. You must be calm before you can utter oracles.” – Henry David Thoreau

Spaniard

“Alice came to a fork in the road. ‘Which road do I take?’ she asked.

‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat.

‘I don’t know,’ Alice answered.

‘Then, said the Cat, ‘it doesn’t matter.’ “– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

So many changes have been taking place. I know it’s all mostly for the best, but it has certainly pushed me out of my comfort zone a good deal. I’m managing to stay grounded and persevere to keep myself that way when I catch my thoughts racing to every possibility that could go wrong. Even though I’m stressed out and stretched too thin, I’m doing okay.

I’m about 99% moved. I still have a few odds and ends in my former house – but nothing that I desperately need. Ideally, I would have had the time to sort through things and donate accordingly. That’s exactly what didn’t happen and the other day I found myself not even wanted to sort things, but throw random boxes the f*ck out! Not because they aren’t things I don’t care about, but because I’m not sure I have the room for them, and, in the end, they really are just things. For the most part, I’m cleaning . . . . a lot. The previous tenant was a smoker and I’m not sure the place has been given a good scrubbing in several years. I’ve had to force myself to take a break this week because my wrists and carpels are literally knotted from overuse. However, I only have so much time to get this done and use borrowed resources while I have access to them (i.e., washer and dryer during house sit stay). I’ll more than likely be back at it next week even if I feel like I’m dying in the process.

I don't know who this 'Rob' is . . . . but someone needs to help me! 

I reconnected with an old friend recently. I still haven’t decided if this is a good or bad event in my life. He has been and can be both what builds me up and what unravels me.  He is a complicated scenario. He’s a friend, a mentor and so much more on many facets of my life. Since first learning of his heritage, I’ve never addressed him by his first name; I’ve always called him ‘Spaniard’. It suits him.

The Spaniard and I hadn’t spoken in a couple of years. There was a point in my life when I felt things between he and I were too complicated, and ‘complicated’ wasn’t something I could emotionally handle in my life. He came over to help me clean my new place. Instead of cleaning, he and I spent several hours catching up and talking over coffee. I mostly told him about this last year of my life: loving, losing, grieving and finally reaching a breaking point that was a huge red flag that it was time to move on. I know deep in the back of my mind he’s always wanted the best for me. As I gave my account of my actions after pushing someone away I cared so deeply for, Spaniard listened emphatically and responded, ‘So – you’ve forgotten how a man should treat you? Back to the School of Spaniard with you!’

This is someone who tells me I’m beautiful and forces me to look him in the eyes and respond with , “Yes, I am.” Spaniard won’t let me take myself for granted. Perhaps in another lifetime he and I could be something else, but not this time around. He has his life, I have mine. That’s all there is to it. For now, I have the comfort of knowing I have someone in my corner and a patient teacher when it comes to weaving in and out of life. Where I tend to be scatter brained and emotionally ebbing and flowing, Spaniard has an amazing ability to compartmentalize his life. I envy that, but he doesn’t think it would suit me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he envies my ability to feel as much as I do.

As he says to me often, "Don't disparage yourself. Ever!" Also, "Look me in the eyes when you say you're lovely!"

He has seen the worst sides of me and has never judged me for it. I think he understands because the same kind of fury exists within him as well. He has seen where my demons hide, and he’s lived there as well. Considering everything that’s occurring simultaneously right now, it’s a comfort to have the presence of someone like him back in my life. Spaniard challenges me to be a better person and to dream bigger. I know he and I are destined to part ways eventually, but I’ll just simply take it for what it is right now. Sure, I never intended to be involved with anyone on any level whatsoever for a while longer – but I guess sometimes life knocks on our door and we can’t hide away from it forever. He’s has his own life and I have mine. That’s where it can stay and that’s probably what I need right now.

In all honesty, I have no idea where I’m headed. Spaniard asked me if I have a plan in place. Tentatively I do, but nothing is set in stone. I’d like to go back to school; however, I don’t think that would be fair to the hound right now. He needs me and I would feel awful about leaving him for hours on end. Merlin is getting older and I want to be with him as much as possible.

Who wouldn't want to spend every waking moment with this guy?!

I also have some loans to pay off. My friends loaned me money to pay for Cassie’s substantial pet hospital bill an a little extra to help me move out. I’m grateful to them, and I always will be. On the same note, I’ve gotten the impression lately that they think I’m trying to take advantage of them. My agreement was to both work for and pay them at a rate of 10 percent a month until the loan is paid off. I didn’t plan on everything coinciding all at once and me having a mess to clean up in my new place in addition to a long commute, an extra dog, and simultaneously moving while working full time. I had to ask her for a couple of months off, but kept hoping I’d find the energy somewhere to clean a little bit for my friend and her husband. Eventually, I had to send her an e-mail asking for leniency. She responded with, “For the sake of our friendship, we have to agree that this is the last time.” Wow. So . . . for the sake of our friendship I asked her not to count one of the jobs I did for her towards my loan and consider it a gift. That’s all I can give her right now. In the meantime, I might start looking for a weekend job so I can pay her off faster. I don’t want something like this looming over my head. I don’t need something like this looming over my head.

Probably a bad move on my part. I'll live and learn as well as honor my word. 

It’s not just the exhaustion from a long commute and constant cleaning, but also money that I’ve needed to put into the cost of moving and things I need for my new place like a dog door, dishes, a bike for commuting (I still need a helmet and a few other things for it). So, I’m next to broke and had to remind myself that I really do have the essentials for now and other things can wait.

Not perfect by any means . . . but it's coming along. 

I haven’t had a chance to dance much tango lately. I miss it and I’m hoping yet again to make it out tonight. I pondered to Spaniard the other day how his presence will affect my dancing. How am I going to channel my passion on the dance floor?! He thinks it will only improve. If I make it out tonight I can put his theory to the test.  

So . . . . I'll be dancing like this in no time, right? 

On the topic of tango, I signed up for the first Portland Tango Marathon. I’m now wondering if that will prove to be a huge mistake because I haven’t had the time or funds for practice lately. While the Irish Lass is growing rusty and simultaneously missing tango, I’m noting that a number of very advanced dancers are signing up. It would be a pity of my last tango splurge involved me sitting in the corner for the most part because no one wants to dance with the one on the black list. Truth be told, I’m not sure if there is a black list, I just take note of how people look at me . . . and I still keep smiling . . . and dancing like an ungraceful amateur. 

I'd love to boast that no one denies my cabeceo . . . . but they do. Damn it! 

"Please do make your decisions in life and feel confident that they are right. However, if fate is involved, feel just as confident even if they aren't." - C. Elizabeth, Absolute Obsession

A New Chapter

“We must be willing to get rid of the live we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.” – Joseph Campbell

I know I’ve been posting a lot lately – but I take it as a good sign because I’ve got nothing but good news these days. I’m starting a new chapter. Just knowing this has lifted a huge burden off of my shoulders and I feel light and free. I woke up this morning and it’s the first time in a long while that I didn’t feel like waging war on myself by being self-destructive. I didn’t feel defeated; I didn’t feel as if I was losing the longest battle I’ve ever fought. I feel relieved – happy even – and that’s a pretty good feeling.

Let there be light! It's kinda a big deal for those of us who dwell in Portlandia - HUGE actually.

I’m growing suspicious of my Celtic Spirit meditation book; I think it’s reading my mind or something. Today’s reflection was The Prayer of the Spring Equinox, of darkness fading to light and new beginnings. I’m grateful for those words and I’m grateful that the sun is shining today. I’m not even upset anymore over not fitting into my jeans due to the pounds I packed on after Cassie died. It’s not permanent. I’ll get back to where I want to be soon enough. Also, I’m pretty damn lucky because I carry it well and no one seems to have even noticed the weight gain except for me – or they’re being extremely polite because I’m my own worst critic.

On the topic of criticism I struck up a conversation with one of my gal pals last night regarding how insanely self-conscious we females are. For every good quality that someone points out to a woman, I can guarantee she has a list of at least five things in her head that she thinks is ‘wrong’ with her. I’m not sure if this is built into our DNA or something engrained in us when we were little girls, but women tend to have insanely unrealistic expectations regarding their appearance; and not just their features, their size as well. I’m making a commitment to myself to not criticize every single imperfection and focus on the things that I can change – like the weight gain; and this is something I’m doing for me and no one else. And I also need to take my own advice and start noting my good qualities and what I’m doing right.

Ladies, let's stop striving for the unrealistic perfection that others tell us we should be. 

There’s this hilarious song by Flight of the Conchords called ‘Business Time’. This song mentions business socks. I wore my business socks last night – but within an entirely different context. I went to tango to meet with a friend I haven’t seen in a few weeks. I missed him. Guess who forgot her dancing shoes? This gal. The funny part is that I actually had two pairs of shoes in the bag that I took with me and I somehow managed to leave them behind when I was shuffling things in and out of my bag. So there I was. In my business socks. Dancing. It was challenging, but still fun.

Dancing is serious business. 

I may have had a small victory over my relentless reptilian brain as well. I danced with a guy my age and I was at perfect ease (even though I was dancing in business socks). I’ve given it some thought because I want to know what was different about this experience that made me feel so comfortable with him. I had a shot of bourbon; I had spent the entire day consuming caffeine to keep myself awake. I was still too wired for bourbon to knock me down a couple of notches, so that was most definitely not the reason. Before he and I danced he spent some time talking to me. He shared his art; we talked about hobbies and a variety of other things. I’m thinking that’s why I felt at ease – and it was lovely . .  . and yet another reason for me to wake up feeling grateful.

Did I mention it was close embrace as well? Thank you fellow tango dancer!

Tonight is another tango adventure. I have a feeling I won’t be dancing much because the crowd is going to be insane and I volunteer on Friday evenings. I’m slightly nervous. Beloved is going to DJ – and I’ve missed him. While I’d love nothing more than to hug him and talk for a while, I’m going to refrain from that urge. I’ve got to get my head on straight and deal with all of the baggage that I kept stuffing down so it doesn’t latch onto someone else, so I don’t lash out at anyone close to me. I’m working on forgiving myself for that as well.

I have a good feeling about my new chapter in life. I’m marking it with a tattoo I’ve been coveting for years, Says the gal that just got an apartment and needs to save money for practical things. I asked for some insight from my co-worker and jogging partner. Her thoughts echo my own – everything is aligning so perfectly and it should be honored. So I’ll be keeping the appointment I made on Tuesday and not worry about spending a small chunk of change on myself for something that isn’t practical in life, but honors a spiritual aspect of myself. 

This awesomeness is going on my back. 

(dis) ability

“Part of the problem with the word ‘disabilities’ is that it immediately suggests an inability to see or hear or walk or do other things that many of us take for granted. But what of people who can’t feel? Or talk about their feelings? Or manage their feelings in constructive ways? What of people who aren’t able to form close and strong relationships? And people who cannot find fulfillment in their lives, or those who have lost hope, who live in disappointment and bitterness and find in life no joy, no love? These, it seems to me, are the real disabilities.”  - Fred Rodgers

Those that are close to me know that I have worked long and hard for many years to overcome a very traumatic past. This doesn’t mean that I’m still not affected. I have relapses from time to time, usually triggered by a combinations of stressful events that occur simultaneously and are  a little too much for me to process at one given time, or a trauma has repeated itself. For women with abusive pasts in particular, this is not uncommon. We find ourselves repeating the same patterns over and over again – regardless of how educated and self-aware we are that this happens. We think it will be different this time around; the ending is the same.

I've given considerable time to reflect on these instances in my life. The end result is almost always the same every single time - I refuse to admit it's happening and then I'm ashamed to admit that it's happened. I'm taking a very long break from dating for now. 

I don’t share my story with many, mostly because it’s literally one sob story after another. I choose not to dwell in the past, but strive to move past it. From my experience, most people attempt to understand and don’t treat me like a fragile piece of porcelain that will fall to pieces at the slightest crack.

As I’ve documented my experience with tango, it’s been no secret that I often come across women who seem to hate me for no reason whatsoever. I also come across women who love and accept me as I am – they do not require explanations, but offer an understanding that I am rarely granted from my gender. I am grateful to these women because they understand the concept of sisterhood.

We are there for one another. While sometimes envious of another’s beauty, we are genuinely happy for her, her talents, and the light she gives to the world. I sincerely wish I could say all of my female sisters shared this mentality. Sadly, they do not and strive their hardest to rip one another to shreds because they are so unhappy and insecure in their own lives – because this is the only thing that will make this type of woman feel better about herself.

While some have made it crystal clear that they despise me, I pity them. What a sad way to live life.

The woman on the left: I've lost count of how many times I've seen that look directed towards me. It's easy to hate ourselves and emanate those feelings on our fellow females. Learn to love yourself instead. Life is too short for that kind of pettiness.

“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.” – James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

Valen Tango 2014 has consumed the last several days of most tango enthusiasts. While I had sincerely hoped that this was something I could have participated in fully, I knew I could not because I had promised friends I would care for their very energetic dog over the weekend.

I attended opening night of Valen Tango. Before I go further, I would like to explain what a PTSD relapse is for those who may not know. The most basic, reptilian brain takes over – regardless of what my higher thinking, prefrontal cortex says. I am driven by instinct, which is mostly fear – because my early life taught me to fear.

I walked into the doors of the opening milonga. The door shutting behind me startled me. The two women at the desk thought this was hilarious. I’ve always been embarrassed by my over reactive startle response, particularly when it is PTSD induced. While the woman laughed, I tried to brush it off, mumbling something about being pathetic. She replied thusly, “Yes you are!” and laughed even louder.

I attempted to hold my true feelings in. I said, “Actually, it’s a side effect of PTSD. Thank you.” I should point out that this was not a polite ‘thank you’. The other (younger) woman chirped in, “Was this before or after the door?” Both had a good laugh at this one. I paid my fee and walked inside, wondering to myself what on earth I had ever done to offend either of these women.

I don't view myself as broken and I sure as hell don't consider myself lesser than just because I react differently than the vast majority of people to certain things. In fact, there was a time in my life when my senses were so high that I knew if someone was standing behind me and I could tell just from their presence if the person was male or female. Depending on the gender, I would sometimes tremble out of fear. I'm not as hyper-vigilant anymore. Overall, I'd say I've come a long way and see the 'symptoms' of PTSD as badges of strength. Not everyone in the world can boast they've survived (and thrived) under circumstances such as mine.

It's far easier to laugh and point fingers rather than took a good hard look at your own reflection and consider what kind of energy you are sending into the world.

I ran into the younger of the duo on Friday at a milonga mixer. I dragged my brother along to tango for the first time. He seemed to enjoy himself and this made me happy. I hope he tries a few more outings with me. When I ran into the younger woman again, without saying a word, she looked at me as if she wanted to slit my throat. I still have no idea what I have done to offend her. Perhaps it was the fact that I had one hell of a time regardless of her looks of disdain.

It’s a pity, really. While I’ve never known her name, I always thought she was a very unique beauty. I no longer see her that way now, but as someone who is plain and insecure in her own sense of being. Someone close to me with whom I confided about this ordeal told me that this is just something I’m going to encounter from time to time, because he thinks I’m lovely, outgoing and almost always smiling. Granted, I'm no raging beauty - but attitude definitely goes a long way.

In the eye of the storm, there is till a constant peaceful form of bliss. This is what I cling to when life feels overbearing. 

What I ultimately hoped to achieve by attending the milonga mixer was the ability to be near my male cohorts without fear. Mission accomplished. I think that was the perfect setting to test my own boundaries and address some of my fears.

I have come across plenty of ladies in tango who I have thought far more beautiful than I. I admire them and I always think, “Good for you.” Good for you that you have smoking hot legs and are confident enough to show them off. Good for you that you have a curvy figure and don’t try to hide it. Good for you that you are outgoing, clearly loving life, and shine a light on others. These are lovely things and no one should try to snuff those out . . . particularly one female to another. I think we need to stick together.

If I could reach out to her in love, I would – however, I’m quite certain this would only result in more insults. I’m working on healing myself and there’s no point in putting myself out there for more abuse.

We should be fighting the patriarchy instead of each other. Just a thought. 

If there was one thing I sincerely wish I could get women who don’t consider themselves to be a mainstream beauty (which is a horrid thing to strive for) is that it comes with a price. Prettiness, particularly at a young age with no one to protect you from the world, comes with a very heavy price – and that is a debt I’m still trying to pay just so I can feel whole again – because I want to trust instead of fear.

On the topic of fear, I am quite certain my most recent relapse can mostly be attributed to one person: the constant distrust he held towards me, the names he called me, the blame he always pushed towards me – and the grandiose life he felt he would live someday that I somehow hindered him from living because I chose to ‘bow to the corporate gods’. I see him in reality now – away from his influence. He was no one special. He attempted to contact me recently. My immediate response was to change my phone number. It’s really a no win situation. Had I engaged him, the conversation would eventually lead to my faults and shortcomings. By not engaging him, I would most likely be called a cold heartless bitch who thinks only of myself. Instead of doing either, I just changed my number. Problem solved. Soon I’ll be moving and he won’t know where to find me, either. That’s a double win, I think. 

"Let no man pull you so low as to hate him." - Martin Luther King, Jr. 

The Search for Tranquility

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” – Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral’s Kiss

I’ve been a little jumpy lately. Something that I really don’t care to talk about set off yet another relapse of PTSD. I’ll be grateful when I can calm down enough to not think a certain someone is going to bash my car windows in, follow me home, or just show up somewhere I happen to be in an uncontainable rage. When I get to the root of that irrational fear perhaps I can feel a sense of peace again.

The fear I have of this unnamed person is only half of the equation. Two nights ago, a woman ran in front of my car while I was driving on my way to tango. I still can’t quite put it all together to make one big picture. It’s come to me in pieces. I saw a bike on the sidewalk and her on the other side of my car. I thought I had killed someone.

I pulled over at the first opportunity and ran back to see if she was okay. A crowd had already gathered. The woman was standing and I was hysterical. The EMTs and law enforcement arrived. All witnesses supported my account: she literally ran straight in front of me. I had slammed on my brakes so hard that my back seats came unhinged and the contents of my trunk were scattered in the back of my car.

All I could do was cry and I wasn’t the one who nearly got bowled over by a vehicle going 30 MPH. This is one of those times in life where I’m convinced some sort of divinity was looking out for me. The witnesses to the accident stood around me, telling me it was going to be okay and that I’m a good person who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. I also think it’s worth mentioning the kindest of them all was a gay man out celebrating his birthday with his mother and his fiancé. I’ve literally lost count of how many times a gay man has come to my rescue. For those of you who still live in the stone age and view these lovely human beings as sinners and something less than human, F*CK YOU! Seriously. I have a lot to say about my own perception of the struggle for equality. I’ll save it for another time in the near future.

As it turns out, this woman was darting in and out of traffic because she thought she saw money in the road. Holy f*cking hell. I’ve felt desperate from time to time in life, but I don’t think I’ve ever been that desperate. There was some speculation that she was high on drugs. I make no moral judgments. We all deal with pain our own way. Some of us can face it, some of us ignore it, and some of us just need an escape and find that escape in very bad places. I gave her all the cash I had on me. I hope that went to something that was beneficial for her.

The entire situation makes me sick to my stomach. This woman who was ready to sacrifice her life for pocket change in the road had a man with her. My instincts told me something wasn’t right about it. She seemed afraid of him and that made me feel even more badly for her. I think what upsets me the most is that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do for her.

I was too shaken up to drive home. The wonderful man who was the greatest comfort to me called my brother from my phone and he and his fiancé gave me the world’s longest hug while I sobbed myself to exhaustion. My brother came to pick me up and drove me home. Since this ordeal, I’ve felt as if I’m barely in touch with reality. My hound is a comfort. Tango is a comfort. Even my job is comforting. Despite these wonderful things, I’m feeling quite detached from the world . . . I also feel as if I could cry for days. The effects of these lovely aspects in my life are only temporary. I guess I’m still in some form of shock.

In other news – the question that seems to be on most people’s mind is my dating life. If people are asking me when I’m going to start dating again they’re asking if I need to be comforted . . . . sickos. No thank you, sir. I do not need your comfort and I don’t want the comfort of whomever else you have in mind for me, either. I'll be just fine. 

"Nothing if permanent in this wicked world - not even our troubles." - Charlie Chaplin

The Perfect Trifecta

“So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.” -  Slyvia Plath

When the dust finally settled from the departure of my beloved Miss Cassie I returned to tango with the urging of a great friend. I am so very happy to be dancing again – even more so at the moment because I’ve been experiencing withdrawal symptoms due to the gift that keeps on giving: the wretched flu. The damn thing knocked me on my arse for a little over a week.

Since returning to tango I’ve had an entire new set of observations. Perhaps the most startling epiphany was the realization of how very shy I actually am. It’s a bizarre thing. I’m outgoing enough. I make a point of talking to people who are obviously new to tango, have come alone, or are just having a tough night. What’s killing me at the moment is the cabaceo. I only dance with a person I’m comfortable with – which is generally with men who are old enough to be my father. It’s my comfort zone.  I find myself not only making extreme attempts to avoid eye contact with a lot of people, but also blushing and quickly turning away if eye contact is accidentally made.

I do this, too. Lame.

I’ve reflected a little on my strange reaction to men my age. The only conclusion I can come to is that my male counterparts intimidate me. I don’t pretend to know why and I foresee more years of therapy in my near future. I have to remind myself from time to time that I have come a long way. There was a time I couldn’t bear to be around a male presence because I was terrified. My only grievance with this part of my personality is that I’m quite certain I come across as a snob and this couldn’t be further from the truth.

I might have been a shark in my past life.

I judge myself enough for ten people. I don’t need anyone else to add to the mix. I recently discovered that one of the trademarks of PTSD is survivor’s guilt. That new little bit of knowledge explained quite a bit. I feel guilty about damn near everything and am always asking ‘Why?’ What have I done in lifetime that warrants the life I have now compared to others who were brought up in similar if not identical situations? I cry for the people I knew who barely survived it and are left with severe emotional scars, a dead end life and drug addictions. I cry for the sister I haven’t seen in nearly 20 years. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I’m afraid to look because I’m afraid of the answer. I have to keep telling myself that their lives are out of my control and there wasn’t anything I could have done differently to make things better for them. I have to keep repeating that to myself until I finally believe it. I’m not there yet.

"The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt." - Ayn Rand

Something else from the tango realm has been a bit of a grievance. Since I’ve returned to tango I’ve crossed paths with a couple of folks that I never cared to see again. It’s not a huge community. It was bound to happen eventually. My grievance is that they ask me to dance. When you know I don’t like or trust you, why bother? I don’t turn them down because I don’t want to make a scene. I dance with them and am on my highest form of alert the entire time. In fact, I’m working extra hard when I dance with them so I’m not the recipient of some a**hat’s short fuse. Not only do they ask me to dance every time they run into me, but they also close embrace me and I do not like it. My assumption is that one person forgot that he did not treat me with kindness when I first started tango and the other is trying to get under my skin in the most underhanded way possible. Still, these are assumptions and not proven truths.

I'd much rather do this when I'm asked to dance by an unsavory character. 

All grievances aside, tango is still something I look forward to every week despite being a wretched shy, blushing thing and catering to a couple of people I really don’t care for. I can’t wait to snuggle up next to one of my favorite people and share a wonderful dance.

An ethereal form of serenity.

I was raving to a friend about tango recently. I had a breakup but wasn’t upset about it because life is so pleasant at the moment. I have a job I love, a basset hound that I adore and tango. As she pointed out, it’s the perfect trifecta. I’m not bothered by being single. In fact, it’s nice to not have someone demanding that I cater to their every whim. It’s nice to have the freedom to do my own thing and just be. It’s a lovely life. Nothing beats a doting dog, a fulfilling job and tango cuddling.

Who could ever resist this face?!

Sometimes I think I should start dating again; this is mainly because the society around me thinks I must be flawed because I’m single. I have issues with this because I have no desire whatsoever to invite another person in my life and anytime the thought of dating even crosses my mind I immediately browse through the dating ads on craigslist just to remind me that there’s mainly smut and bottom feeders waiting for me. No thank you. I’ll take my simple, perfect little trinity.