I Surrender

"Success is not measured by what you accomplish, but by the opposition you have encountered, and the courage with which you have maintained the struggle against overwhelming odds." - Orison Swett Marden

This doesn't have much to do with anything.  LOOK AT THOSE LITTLE FLUFFS!! *LOOK AT THEM*

I’ve missed this. I’ve missed this a heck of a lot. Unfortunately, my schedule hasn’t permitted much room for creativity. I’ve been working 2 jobs since July. I work on the weekends at the airport. I thought I’d help us get ahead financially. What happened with that is just one thing after another that demands the extra money. So, I tell myself to calm down, pick up another debt tackling book (I hear Dave Ramsey’s methods have done wonders for people), and try again when I can now that I’m finally starting to find some form of a ‘groove’ in my life.

It’s not the 2 jobs so much as it is a lot of other things in life that manages to drain my soul dry. My commute is long and frustrating. I’m looking at a minimum of 1 hour no matter which method I choose to use traveling to and from work and home. I’ve been sticking to my bike as much as possible because that at least gives me a good amount of exercise during the week and serves as a stress outlet for my work environment. I think the main issue I have with that commute is that it just makes for a really long day. Now that I’m working 4 10’s instead of 8 hour M-F, my days feel even longer. The plus side is that I now have a day off, and I’ve been working 7 straight for months on end.

And I’m tired. So very tired. There’s a lot of factors that contribute to my lethargy. My work stress, my work load, my family, and also the fact that I feel as if I’ve never really had time to process just the events of the beginning of the year. I lost a baby; and I was elated beyond words at the thought of that baby. I moved in with The One, Micheal. Just a couple of months after that Micheal’s son, Kolby, came to stay with us for 9 weeks. And in the middle of that I was planning one killer surprise birthday party bash for Micheal.

Get it?! It was pun themed and karaoke. Two of his favorite things. 

On a side note, I have to give myself bragging rights. I spent months planning that party, putting together favor bags for guests to take home, coming up with ideas, etc. While he has considerably more time at home than me, I still managed to get it all together without him knowing. I am awesome. .  . or he’s just really good at pretending to be surprised. Touché, Sir. Touché.

With Kolby there for the summer, I had my first shot at being a step mom to a tween boy. He’s recently turned 12 and caught in that space between childlike and paving on into adult hood. I found I really suck at it. I’ve done youth support groups, but all of my work with children and teens has been with females. What on earth was I going to do with a boy?! Also, I was certainly the Debbie Downer. Father’s stance: Sure! You can watch tv and play video games while I’m at work. When I’m home, we can play them together until 12 AM in the morning. My Stance: Heck no! What have you done to better yourself or contribute to the greater good?! Go outside and learn something!!!

 I just wish I could have been around to provide some form of mentor or companionship. Heck, I wish I could have afforded to send him to a really cool learning camp during the day. But I can’t; so I was the voice of reason most of the time: well balanced meals, do some chores, I don’t care if you don’t like the look of that vegetable you’ll try it anyway, etc.

And I feel for that kid. His situation sucks. It sucks for everyone, really. I try not to think about it too much because there isn’t anything I can do about it. I can only hope something gives and that I’m doing what’s best for him. I felt like I was far more neurotic with him with us. I had to take far more care to what I wore around the apartment, locking doors while in bedroom, shower, etc. He’s at an age where I need to be cautious with those things. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just that it felt like an impossible adjustment while I was trying to process my loss.

Loss wasn’t my only experience. The other was abandonment. My adopted family decided to sell most of their possessions and buy a house in Hawaii. Of course, the biological son moved with them (the one who hasn’t had a job in decades or paid his way through life) and there wasn’t even a mention of ‘Sorry we’re moving so far’ – like no remorse whatsoever. I suppose I should have expected that, but I was also holding onto some shred of hope that my entire situation with them wasn’t the sham that I thought it was.

Abandonment: that awful feeling of being unloved, unwanted, not good enough. 

They would call me every so often after their move. I was working 7 days a week and they’d make me feel guilty for not reaching me right away and tell me about tiling their backyard. I was riding my bike home one evening, thinking about how I was going to find time to take my car into DEQ and register because I was overdue. I was worried about getting a ticket. I started to take note of the things around me: the smells, the shops, the types of buildings. I realized this was something that wasn’t seen in an affluent neighborhood. My adopted family wouldn’t allow anything like that to be anywhere near where they lived. None of the residents of an affluent neighborhood would. And I realized that tickets are really only given to the poor and I wouldn’t have to worry about my registration being overdue if I had still lived in the same neighborhood as my adopted family. That was when I realized this family wasn’t even on the same planet as me and I needed some space.

So I backed off. I changed my cell phone number and didn’t give it to adopted mother or brother. They kept calling Micheal’s phone. Then their calls increased to where they were calling several times a day. I wound up writing them an email asking them to stop and saying that I needed space to sort out how my relationships will be defined going forward. I give them credit for honoring my request. Yesterday, I received a Christmas card in the mail from adopted mother that was all about family. I had no reaction to it, really.

And there was a span of time where I questioned if I’m doing the right thing. My therapist has been telling me to get out of that situation for years and reiterated that I absolutely am doing the right thing. Before I establish regular contact again, I’m told it’s important for me to determine every single reason I’m angry with adopted mom. And that’s something I’ll need to process on my own, because that family isn’t the type to ever admit error. I have to put myself first here, so it will be a while before I’m ready for a full relationship with them again.

"Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go" - Hermann Hesse

In the work front, I’m trying to get in with a clinic that’s an extension of the large hospital. This clinic is closer to my home and caters to underserved populations. Everything about it aligns with my own moral compass. It just seems like a win/win to me, so I keep trying to get them to take me on. I’ve interviewed several times for different positions. I’m not selected in the end, but they do keep having me back. In the beginning, I asked for honest feedback.  I half joked with them last time that I’d have to resort to subliminal messaging to get them to hire me. I think they thought I was literally joking. No. I wasn’t. I spammed them several times within a week. Part of it was following through with my words and the other part was my own frustration and disappointment that I’d been passed up again. The email itself is fairly amusing. I might post it here.

I was contacted by the clinic again last week. They’ll be having me back for another interview. I’m giving them to next week for word before I commence with spamming once again. The emails consist of some random photo of me and what that says about my character. I figure before this is all over, they will give me a job. Or a restraining order. Either way, I will feel as if my work has paid off.

Back to major life events: moving in with Micheal earlier this year. It was an adjustment to come home to someone else every day. He’s always the calm one while I flitter about worrying of some impending apocalyptic doom that’s entirely made up in my head. We learned some ground rules early on. And between my needing space to process and him wanting my presence when I get home, we’ve found an equilibrium. We’ve found a common ground on most things.  There was a day when I felt hungry before I jumped on my bike. As I neared the end of my 15 mile trek home from work I thought I could devour an entire village. We had pizza the night before, so I knew it was waiting for me.

1 slice. There was one damn slice of pizza.

That’s when Micheal learned that I require 2 slices or none at all. Of course, had I not been so hungry I don’t think I would have cared at all. And I laugh about it every time I tell that story because I was still hormonal due to HCG taking a million years to leave my system, under slept and dressed out.

I think what’s important is that we can laugh at ourselves at the end. There are days when I’m temperamental and there are days when he is. We can always come back to one another. That’s a habit we haven’t had to put much work into, and I think that’s because we both wasted too long not being together. There are times when I look at him still and think I’m dreaming; somehow this isn’t my reality. Just last night I thought to myself, “This must be what surrender feels like: perfect and genuine trust.” And when I had that thought, I realized I haven’t genuinely trusted a single person in a very long time. I guess that has to do with my own guards: waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the other person to turn on me, trying to outdraw someone and shoot first. Micheal sees the best in everyone and I see some of his behavior has rubbed off on me. And he deals with the aging and grump basset hound like a pro. He has my heart. I surrender.

There have been so many ups and downs this year that I can’t recall now because I’m too far removed. The gist of most of that is that my work environment is fairly toxic and I’ve found beauty in the smallest of things. Those are the things that help me push forward to another day to face the madness again.

The biggest event of this year was our engagement. I confess, he caught me by surprise and I didn’t see it coming. I had actually set this outing in motion. It just so happened that no one else could come with us with the exception of David and Mary (Micheal’s brother and brother’s fiancé). I’ve always loved the festive lights this time of year. That was probably my favorite part about Christmas when I was a little girl. Several years ago Micheal took me to Peacock Lane. This year he took me to Festival of Lights at The Grotto. It was raining, so he bought me an umbrella on the way. I had wanted to go for some time. In hindsight, he looked at me differently. As I went on and on about the lights, the music, how lovely it all was, he looked on at me and smiled.

Before leaving the lights, we were to stop for a picture together. He asked me to pick a spot. I chose the Christmas tree, which I thought would be perfect for holiday cards. We smiled for the camera while his brother and brother’s fiancé took photos. He then turned to me and said ‘that’s not all’ as he pulled out a small box. True to my character, I was overcome with emotion. I didn’t say yes or no right away. Instead I said, “Are you going to make me vomit?! I’m going to vomit” dozens of times. Of course, the answer was a big fat yes.

Look at that expression! It's genuine joy. As a friend said, "I can't tell if he's just proposed or given you a puppy". 

Since he had planned this out, we were fortunate to have photos. We went through them when we got home. In the first photo taken of us, he’s holding the ring behind my back. I was still clueless when that photo was taken. Everything about that night was perfect, right down to him calming me before we left when I got home right after work because I thought I’d make everyone have to wait on us. The ring is a testament to how much this guy understands me, because I know no one else could have possibly picked out something I love this much.

Just a week or two prior to this, I had finally finished a gift I’d been working on for Micheal. It took me the course of several months. Whether or not he remembers, he gave me the idea. It’s  a soundtrack of our love story, complete with break up songs since this is our third time at this. I picked out songs that told our story from my perspective, tweaking it until I had everything arranged to have the right blow. It wasn’t just the song or the lyrics, but also which version I thought was best. And then I fought with the dang thing even more when I couldn’t figure out how to actually get it onto CD because of some dumb error message I kept getting from the computer I was using. I gave him the files, he burned them onto discs, and then I made them pretty with things I had purchased on Amazon specifically for this gift. We joke that if we have a wedding we’ll make everyone listen to our soundtrack.

As the year comes to an end, I can look back with nothing but gratitude. Gratitude for the blessings and the hardships that resulted in my own growth. Gratitude for the tough decisions I had to make and the learning I still have yet to do. Gratitude for this wonderful human being that has come back into my life for good, one who has shown a patience and tenderness that has not been granted to me for many years. As he’s told me over and over again, he’s got me; he has my back. Indeed you do, Sir. I surrender. 

The Grotto was originally simply a refuge of peace to me. Now it has taken on another meaning. 

“I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” – Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

Loss and Love

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” – Maya Angelou

It is with deep and mixed emotions that I write these words. I didn’t know if I ever would share, but I can’t deny that I write to process things. And I hope that any woman with this experience will find some comfort in my words – if only to know that she’s not alone in her grief.

2 weeks after finding out we were having a baby I started bleeding. I had been out running errands, came back home and saw that my cotton pants were soaked.  Naturally I was freaking out. I called The One in hysteria. While he was on his way to see me I called the local hospital (and also where I work) in hysteria. We spent the next couple of days in and out of doctor’s appointments and diagnostics. The end result was that it was too soon to tell anything and we’d have to wait and see.

The doctor did observe the interactions between The One and I. He said we were obviously very supportive of one another and to take some comfort in that because he rarely sees couples on our level. Looking back on this experience, I still take comfort in this.

I waited. I was worried, anxious, and even neurotic at times. There were more visits, more diagnostics; even more blood drawn. My HCG levels had not gone up as they should have. It was not a viable pregnancy and I had experienced an incomplete miscarriage. I had to be scheduled for a D&C and wait another week before the procedure would be done. I guess my body was trying to hold on because psychologically I wasn’t ready to let go.  

I give him as much credit as I could possibly give another human being. The One was as supportive as he knew how to be. He acknowledged that he couldn’t quite relate to how I felt. It’s true . . . one can only really relate if one has experienced it – the slight changes my body was making: the mood swings, the increased heart beat due to a vascular system working even harder to pump blood down to a growing cluster of cells, the random cravings and the tiny little things that were uncomfortable and inconvenient – yet still brought a smile to my face because I knew it was all for one tiny growing baby bean sprout. Sure, it was just a cluster of cells; but it was my tiny little cluster. Sure, it’s a common experience for women; but that doesn’t make it any easier.

The One didn’t question me when I’d sob uncontrollably before drifting off to sleep. I never had to explain myself. Part of it was hormones and part of it was grief and sadness.

I had missed a considerable amount of work. I knew that life would carry on and I would need to carry on with it. When I’d start crying I looked at the clock on more than one occasion and told myself I had 5 more minutes to be sad. Five more minutes to allow myself to cry. Five more minutes to grieve and feel sorry for myself. It took a couple of weeks and an unnecessary amount of retail therapy before I stopped needing 5 more minutes.

It’s a form of sadness that has been genuinely difficult to describe. It’s a loss of the feeling of life and a loss of the excitement over what could have been. It’s a form of sadness that is understood only by other women who have experienced the same kind of loss. It was through this experience that I felt a sense of sisterhood I had not yet found among women. In fact, I had doubted that type of bond even existed. And it was this grief that somehow served as a conduit.

“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.” – The Beatles.

It was on my last memorable night of grief that I finally finished Women Who Run With the Wolves. For the public record, I’m reading the footnotes . . . and then I’ll probably start the whole thing over again from the beginning. Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote a footnote on the 2^nd or 3^rd chapter about a figure in Mexican folklore that is known for collecting the souls of miscarried babies and planting their seeds in another womb. So the little one never really goes away, it’s just given a new home. It’s a nice thought. And maybe Baby Bean Sprout just wasn’t ready to join our world yet. I’m ready when you are, Little One.

I lit a candle for you. Until we meet again, Little One.

And it was through this experience that The One showed me just how many forms love can take. Love is when he held me because he knew why I was crying. Love is when he held me and had no idea why I was crying. Love is understanding my need for writing, biking and retail therapy. Love is accepting a cantankerous old hound because he knows how much I love that hound. Love is his amusement when I offer him a key to my bike lock instead of my car because I’m not paying attention. Love is picking me up on a rainy night because I managed to get lost on my bike. Love is finding the best possible attributes for my worst idiosyncrasies.

Love was dealing with my hormonal mood swings of tears and bouts of anger. Love was telling me I’m beautiful even though my breasts were tender and overly engorged. Love was (and is) checking me out when I’m cringing in the mirror at my stretch marks. Love is joking about how when we were young and cute and thought we’d stay that way forever.

Love is choosing to see me in the best possible light and this is a choice he makes every day. Rather than chalking my forgetfulness to an air-headed person, he tells me I’m forgetful because I’m a writer and I’m too busy remembering the very important details that most others won’t notice. And obviously there’s only so much memory one person can hold. 

"The best love is that kind that awakens the soul; that makes us reach for more, that plants the fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. That's what I hope to give you forever."  - Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

Begginings, Endings, and Retold Stories

“Travel far enough, you meet yourself.” – David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

If I had more sense, I would take the advice of friends as if it were the word of God, Holy Grail, or something of equal eminence. I have a few in particular who are brutally honest and consistently call me out on my bullshit.  Admittedly, I need people in my life to do just that. Admittedly, I have tried to scrape by in life settling for what I have thought I deserve in life, which isn’t much – because I thought nothing good or whole was warranted and happiness just wasn’t in store for me. Of course, I wouldn’t even admit to myself that these were the beliefs at work on some level of consciousness, forming what took place in my waking life. 

On Friday I was out with a friend from England. She loves to meet with me to catch up on life – particularly mine – because from an outsider’s perspective it’s blatantly ridiculous and unnecessarily chaotic. She kept prying about this older man from California who obviously wanted to reestablish some form of a relationship with me. Her response to every answer I provided was this: It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.

She asked me about my visit with Mr. California. I told her about the stress of that week, of the wedding officiating, of the time with the older man and how we had conversations we needed to have a long time ago, but were only having now. I told her that he reminded me of just how heartbroken I was at a young age – he recalled a memory of me being slumped over the steering wheel of my car, balling my eyes out and inconsolable. I was barely 19. The hurt that I had forgotten suddenly felt very real and raw at that present moment. I told her of his reasons for doing it: another woman (it sounded like it could have been a few) who threw herself into his life. He didn’t think I could understand such things at such a young age, so he told me nothing at the time. 

 Apparently the concept was far too advanced for my young, tiny brain.

My friend asked where I stood with Mr. California. He and I were still talking. He was planning another visit. One thing that struck me as odd during his visit was that he asked me about a guy several times over the span of a week. I’m not sure what to call him at the moment, but said guy in question and I had tried a relationship not just once, but twice. I didn’t think I was in it for the right reasons the second time, and I told him as much. He was more understanding that any guy would be; and, as I knew it now, happy in a long term relationship. This is the account I gave Mr. California several times. Mr. California’s comment was that he thought said guy was ‘The One’.

As I’m giving my friend these events shaping in my life, wondering why Mr. California would ask me so much about one person in particular, she stops me in the middle of my fragmented melodramatic tale and asks me point blank how I feel about Mr. California. I pause for a moment. I don’t have an answer. She tells me it’s simple: I either do or I don’t – and the fact that I don’t know is yet another tactic I’m using to convince myself. She asks me to tell her about The One. I tell her how Mr. California’s questioning caused me to think of The One so much that the idea of him was in my head and wouldn’t leave. I tell her that I reached out to him because my dreams were flooded with his presence and he was my first thought every morning. I told her how happy I was that he and I were talking because I’d missed him so much. She looks me straight in the eye. That is a real emotion, was her reply. 

 Shit's about to get real

Indeed, it was a real emotion. I soon learned that The One wasn’t in a happy relationship like I had thought. I hate to admit I did a small victory dance we he told me they were no longer together. I didn’t want to admit how much I envied her for having someone so wonderful in her life. I didn’t want to admit that I had missed him as badly as I did . . .  I didn’t want to admit that life wasn’t the same without him and I knew life would never be the same without his presence to some capacity.

“ . .  We cross, crisscross, and recross our old tracks like figure skaters.” David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

 We've done this dance - this routine before. It's not unfamiliar.

So he and I started talking. I’m not sure he and I could possibly stay away from one another even if we wanted to. Not everyone gets a second chance in life, let alone a third.  I am counting this as one of the most precious blessings life has given me and I wonder how I even survived without him. Recounting the last few years, it’s obvious that he is one of the few people that understands me and one of even the lesser few that keep me grounded. Every moment without him was mostly empty and meaningless.

Mr. California was planning another visit to see me over the weekend. Last night I told him I didn’t want him to come. I should mention that I tried to back out of that, using the excuse that I’d left a voicemail and will follow up with an online message. The One was with me to give support . . .  and also to make sure I handled things like a grown adult. What I really wanted to do was to throw my phone off of a bridge; or underneath a moving semi so that it was crushed into a thousand pieces. I wanted to change my number, move to a new zip code, and live my life under an assumed alias. I did what I needed to do – because I had The One’s support and he knew I had it in me. 

 I sometimes wonder if we truly had a choice in the matter . . .  has the story already been written for us?

I recently wondered aloud to him if the time apart was necessary. From my end, it was brutal, but probably needed. We both needed to grow separately. We needed to overcome insecurities, egos, and other unnecessary traits. I can’t speak for him, but I’m certain this is it for me. There are, nor could there ever be, anyone else in my life. His voice is one of my favorite sounds. He knows me at my core and accepts it; I’ve never had to be anything other than my true self when I’m with him . . .  and what exists between us is something I have yet to find words for. 

That would explain why, as he said, 'We've been at this for 6 years and we're in our 30's now'. It certainly hasn't been a linear path. I'm grateful for each opportunity we had.

“Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.” - David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas