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

Only Kindness Matters

“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Word can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.” – Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

I’ve become extremely sensitive to kindness lately and have had a few more of those moments when a fellow human being shows me one iota of genuine compassion or sincere kindness I start to crumble. I don’t know the reason behind this, but I have a few ideas.

I was at tango on Friday and the topic of me moving came up. One of my fellow tango dancers offered me his place for less money and it’s closer to my job and most of the tango venues. His kind offer made me bawl my eyes out. Upon further discussion, I learned that he will be away from the home for 5 months, but will return after that and we would be house mates. While I’m sure he has nothing but the best intentions in mind, I can’t risk putting myself in yet another potentially harmful situation. I know him, but I don’t know him that well. While my new place may be a bit of a hovel with no real kitchen, I am one of the most innovative people I know and am certain this is the best scenario for Merlin and me.

He's my love and the one thing I care about most in this world. 

One of my friends wasn’t so convinced. She mentioned jumping from one frying pan to another. Sure it’s not ideal circumstances, but here are my options: continue to live in a toxic environment or get the hell out. I chose the latter. Where I’ve lived the last several years have never truly been a home to me and I’ve not really been able to use the kitchen for the most part anyway – so what’s the difference? I’m trading a little bit of convenience, but that’s really all I’m giving up. I just can’t live under the same roof as someone who is unpredictable, angry and negative. I’ve been pretending in this environment for a long time and I’m quite certain I’ve reached a point where I can’t pretend anymore.

This. I just can't.

I’ve had a long standing record of issues with maternal figures in my life – the women who were supposed to care for me and have my best interests in mind used me to manipulate others, financial gain, or as a buffer to their public image. Granted, I’ve received motherly care from very unexpected places and they’ve loved me, cheered for me and have been a constant source of support without expecting anything in return. My current maternal figure has been no exception. While she did legally adopt me, it became apparent to me soon after that it was to boost her own image so her social circle and colleagues could see what a good person she was for all of the things she did for the little orphan lass.

Because I never know what mood is going to greet me at the other end of the door, I dread going to the place that I’ve called home. It feels as if all the negativity, anger and hostility she’s ever felt towards any single person or situation is set aside and saved specifically for me. The last straw came when she told me she wished the hound dead; this coming from the woman who displayed herself as supportive when Cassie died. That was it. I haven’t been able to pretend to be even slightly content in that environment. In fact, I’m sick and tired of pretending. I’ve seen what a lifetime of her verbal lashings have done to her son who is nearly 20 years my senior: he still lives at home, has no motivation of leaving and does none of the things that most responsible adults would do: own a car, pay rent, buy food, etc. I refuse to let her wear me down to the point that I’ve given up on life.

No knock on my brother. I love him. On the same note, I'd rather live in a cave in the wilderness than have to live one more day in that house. 

I made another trip to my favorite shop this weekend with a friend. As usual, the owner knew exactly what I needed and had nothing but love and support to give me. As I told her about my current transitions in life and the hurtful, threatening words towards the living being I love most in this world, the shop owner said this, “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’d be thrilled to have a daughter like you.” Once again the flood gates opened and there I was bawling my eyes out – in public – in the middle of a store. I think I’ve become so conditioned to negativity that I don’t know how to handle kindness and every negative thought I’ve ever had about myself has been consistently reinforced by the current environment in which I’m living.

The smallest form of kindness and I can't stop crying.

For a brief time I felt guilt over having no concern for my adoptive mother. She was hospitalized. It was nothing serious – a condition that causes some really nasty headaches. While it was a painful condition, it was nothing that was life-threatening. While this was going on and the doctors were running a battery of tests to determine the root cause, I had no concern whatsoever that she was in the hospital. It’s not that I didn’t visit and it’s not that I didn’t go out of my way to do nice things for her – I just realized that my actions felt forced and disingenuous. I felt worry over the fact that I may have turned sociopathic from my constant exposure to such a toxic environment – and that was the only thing that concerned me. When I saw my therapist later that week she told me that I shouldn’t spend any more time saving, just get out. That’s exactly what I sought out to do.

While I found a place and have been consumed with packing boxes instead of fawning over my adoptive mother, she only comes across as resenting me more for it. Any time I enter the house (which she reminds me is hers on a regular basis) I’m bombarded with a plethora of her, ‘You need to’ and ‘You’re not doing this right’ among many other things. Recently I responded by telling her that I’m an adult and I am confident that I’ll figure it out. She’s basically ignored me since and has resorted to her own special form of passive aggressive action: she knew I will be moving the last weekend of April/first weekend of May. She knew that her husband and son wanted to help me move. She decides that the last weekend of April/first weekend of May should be the best time for her to take a two week trip to Hawaii with her husband. The end result has been a lot of pressure to get all of my things out NOW. Because I’m working full time and house/pet sitting in a neighboring city that gives me a little bit of a commute, this has been a considerable source of stress to me.

It’s almost over. It’s almost over.

Reflecting on the last several years of my life combined with the conditioning I received at such a young age, I’m not surprised why I’ve failed so much in relationships and why I tend both gravitate towards and attract what proves to be harmful to me in the end. I'm working on breaking that. I can do a lot about my own outlook on life, but very little on others. It's an individual process. I know that once I’m away from her influence I’ll not only feel better about myself, but other aspects of my life will improve as well.

On another note,  I survived an interaction with the Beloved and it was nice to have one of those rare moments when we can sort of talk without scrambling in opposite directions. He seems content in life and I wish him the best . . . . and then there was the brief moment I saw a pretty young lady sitting on his lap while he played music in a rather intimate manner. My first immediate reaction was the realization that I desperately wanted to punch this girl in the face. The other realization came a couple of days later and it was this: despite how much I cared for him, I was really nothing but a number among his long list of admirers. When I’m ready to date again, I think I deserve to be more than a name on a list; and I won’t be ready for that aspect of life again for a while. I’m hoping that bearing witness to that brief moment will be the nail in the coffin and I can finally lay all of those feelings I bore for him to rest. I need to move forward in life. Deep down, I’ve known this for a long time and perhaps I’ve finally reached a point in my life that will enable me to do so. 

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. 

Self-Awareness and the Subconcious

“Seven long years I served for thee,

The glassy hill I climbed for thee,

The bloody shirt I wrang for thee,

Will you not waken and turn to me?” – Scottish Lore: The Black Bull of Norroway

One of the recurring themes in my life lately has been love, and what love truly is. My morning meditation book spoke of a young woman from Scottish folklore who went to a seer to gain knowledge of her future love. The woman suffers many trials to save this man, who has come to her in the shape of a bull. She must climb a hill of glass with shoes made of iron. She obtains these shoes as the result of a seven year long apprentice service to a smith and in the end must wash her lover’s bloody shirt to disenchant him. One moral of this story is that love is not equal – at least not usually in the beginning; one partner may need to be patient while the other discovers a similar depth of affection. The ability to be constant, consistent and reliable is learned over a long period; during this time, many relationships falter or come to grief. The glassy hill of love presents a great challenge to the faithful lover. The spiked shoes of iron are not made overnight; and many shirts filled with wounds may have to be laundered before old loves and hates learned in past relationships are leached out of the present one. Constancy, perseverance, and patience are the skills we learn in the apprenticeship of love.  

I do my best to live my life with nothing but love for others. It's a lofty goal and I fail at it often. 

Needless to say, my morning meditation blew my mind – it offers the truth of what it means to love another. These are honest truths and I think we have to deal with our own baggage that drags us down until we can truly open up to someone else and provide them with consistency, patience, and a willingness to tough out the bumpy patches in the road. I’ve been doing this entire process for a very long time; not just by lacking in patience, but also by putting unrealistic expectations in my mind. Of course he’ll love me as genuinely as I love him. Of course he’d never hurt me. Why on earth wouldn’t he want to spend more of his free time with me? Of course he’d keep my best interests in mind . . . . . No. That’s just not how it works. The reality is that it takes a hell of a lot of work on both sides to build something beautiful and both participants have to be willing to bend and challenge one another.

I always think back to the analogy the Buddhist gave me about the pumpkin vines. We are connected. Love one another and share in both joy and pain.

Of course, dating in any way shape or form is the last thing on my mind right now. My plate is pretty full these days. I’ve just found an apartment – and my own space is something I’ve needed for a long time but couldn’t obtain until now. It has the perfect set up for the hound and I. It’s a bit farther away from work – but I figure when I can afford a bike and am cycling back and forth I’m going to be in wicked awesome shape. Also, the hound has a fenced in yard and a dog walker; I couldn’t have imagined a better scenario.

My sweet boy. We've made it, hound. 

While I’ve paid for rent for March and April, I won’t really officially be moving in until the very end of April or first week of May. I’ve committed to house/pet sitting for an entire month. I didn’t intend to even start looking for a place until I was done with that commitment, but I stumbled across this ad for an in-law cottage and knew that it was something I had to have. It has a small fenced in yard and a sliding glass door for an insert-able dog door. Also, the landlord has a teenage daughter who loves basset hounds. I’ve found a yard for Merlin, a dog walker, and a place to live all in one fell swoop. I literally pestered the landlord until I was first in line and went straight to the bank to give him rent and a deposit the very next day. I beat out the one gal that was on top of the list by my endless persistence. 

I’m not sure if it’s the excitement of the last few days or my commitments that leave me feeling exhausted. I feel as if I’ve literally been going nonstop since February. I’d love to have a weekend to just pack, or sleep, or lounge about for a while. That hasn’t been available to me in a very long time. I’m always doing something. If it hasn’t been apartment hunting,  trying to cross off items of what feels like an endless to-do list, it’s been catching up with friends. I love my friends dearly, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a breather and disappear for a week or two just for the sake of my sanity. Emotionally, physically and psychically I’m nearly tapped out. There’s not much left there to give. I just need to get through a few more days and then I can allow myself some much needed down time before I keel over from exhaustion.

My secret fear is that my boss will walk into my office one day only to find me curled up under my desk fast asleep.

I’m still working on being in the moment as well. Since I’ve had my new place, my mind is already scheming ways to section off a part to make a ‘room’ for my bed, where I’m getting furniture and also where in the hell am I going to get a fridge because the previous tenant ruined the one that was in the unit. Rather than driving myself crazy by thinking about how I’m going to pay for x, y and z and in what order these events should unfold, I keep reminding myself to let it go. It will work out. It's not worth losing sleep over as the result of me driving myself to madness with worry.

My slow decent into madness! I feel like I'm half way there already. 

While I’m grappling with my mind go to stay in one place, I’m wrestling with it on a subconscious level as well. I went to tango last night and noticed it for the first time. Perhaps this has been going on all along and this is the first time I’ve achieved a level of self-awareness that had allowed me to see it. What my cognition was telling me and the message that my subconscious was sending my body were two very conflicting messages.

 I do know that I tend to struggle when I dance with someone I’ve never met or danced with before. I had a new dance partner. I’ve never seen him before. He was polite, kind and didn’t display any kind of behavior that would make me feel uncomfortable. I knew he meant me know harm, yet I couldn’t get my body to feel that way. I could hardly follow because I was so tense. It wasn’t until the very last song that my subconscious got with the program and started cooperating – and then I was able to follow at least for a little bit. It’s a frustrating thing when I know what’s happening and just can’t get the subconscious, reptilian part of my brain/mind to turn off. As I’ve found common ground with others in my life, I can only hope my cognitive side and subconscious side will meet somewhere in the middle. 

I really have no idea what's going on in the vast subconscious of my mind - only that those two parts of me need to start working together.

Wrapping up, a brief tangent on tango. I've hooked my brother in for a second time. Last night had a lot of good dancers. I spent most of my time watching and still dream of the day when my boleos don't look like someone scraping dog poo off of their shoe. I'm either too tense or too self conscious - or maybe a combination of both. The good news about my new adventure in life being on my own is that I'll actually have room to do things that are good for me at home - like yoga and dancing. Life is looking up. Thank you for your support and words of encouragement; the power of a few kind words is immeasurable. 

"We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves." - Buddha

The Answer Is No

“Being challenged in life is inevitable, being defeated is optional.” – Roger Crawford

Last night was the true test of my fake engagement ring to my fake fiancé. The outcome wasn’t quite what I wanted, but it will do for now. I missed dancing most of last week; my mother was in the hospital. Needless to say, I was very much looking forward to hitting the floor for some close embrace dancing.

First I chatted with a guy that was a few seats over from me. He looked at me the wrong way. I’ve heard it’s a fairly normal reaction for men to steer their gaze straight towards a woman’s cleavage – which is exactly what this guy did when I bent over in my seat to adjust my dance shoe. Not okay. I excused myself saying I needed to refill my water bottle and went to the opposite side of the room where there was fellow tango dancer that I know to some degree and trust him not to eye boggle me or make me feel threatened at all.

Dude, come on! I wasn't even dressed remotely close to this revealing.

Then there was the extremely angry, two-faced tango guy who I’m quite certain asks me to dance for the sole purpose of getting under my skin. I can tell him no, I know this – and yet I never do because I’m still not absolutely certain this action won’t come across as 1) insulting and 2) the Irish Lass looking like a cold-hearted a**hole. So I sat there as I saw him walking towards me thinking to myself, “Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact . . . . Crap! I just made eye contact. Then there was the cabaceo – and my immediate reaction is always a smile and a nod. So there I was, dancing next to the devil himself counting down every song and hoping it would be a short tanda. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I like how he looks at me, either – I really need to make a point of avoiding him as much as possible and for the life of me can’t figure out why I haven’t given him the cold shoulder, regardless of how mean some may perceive that act on my part. Is it really worth it? My guess is no. I don’t want to dance with the devil and I certainly don’t want him to touch me, either. Note to self: channel rage.

Yeah . . . That's pretty close to what I felt like.

Later on, I danced an amazing tanda with someone I had only met that evening. That’s one of the beautiful things about this dance. There’s an amazing synchronization of music, movement and synergy in tango that makes it so addictive. It was perfect – until the end when he asked me for my e-mail address. Who the hell are you, guy?  I told him I don’t give my contact information out to people I don’t know.

 . . . or my e-mail, or my real name.

I pride myself on nearly making it to the end last night. I headed out as the last set of the evening was playing. I ran into an acquaintance on the way out. He mentioned he had been in California. I said I was jealous and he told me I should go with him next time. Granted he and I have talked during tango and often have a good time together. He’s carefree, has a good sense of humor, and I laugh and smile a good deal when he’s around me – but still, I really don’t feel like I know him enough to pack up and head to California for a weekend. All I could think was, ‘Why?!’ I said nothing in response; I merely stared blankly and walked off – perhaps with a shallow smile on my face.

Did I mention he could probably be a stunt double for Chris Hemsworth? I want to be a stunt double, damnit.

I think I’ve reached the ultimate state of paranoia. Seriously, any male presence that is unfamiliar to me is perceived as a potential threat – even some that I do know but haven’t made a decision on whether or not they are a trustworthy person who has no ulterior motive or ill intention towards me.

Just in case I ever feel lonely and am tempted to seek comfort in the arms of another, I remind myself that no one else can mend my wounded heart . . . and also that tango is a great source of comfort in the arms of another without the emotional turmoil and wreckage that usually comes with it.  I remind myself how emotionally painful it’s been since the Beloved – and for now I’ll simply accept that my depth of feeling for him will make an excellent deterrent from even thinking about dating for a while – a very long while. 

I just want a life that's not entangled with someone else's for a while. 

When I'm not preoccupied with paranoia from fending off unwanted attention, I find that I have to remind myself more often than not to mentally stay put. Stay here. Stay now. This is where I am. I'm the type of person that thinks of every possible outcome before I make a move. Sometimes this serves me well, and sometimes this practice causes me to worry more about things that I don't even need to act on yet . . . and now know why I feel like I'm always running in circles. I've been thinking about the upcoming move and apartment hunting. It occurred to me that the hound has never been alone. He's always had Cassie and since I've been in Portland, I've lived in a very busy house in which there is almost always a human presence. I soon found my mind ridden with anxiety wondering how he would cope with this change and how he's coping with Cassie's absence and how the heck was I going to afford a dog walker or doggy  daycare? Stay here, Irish Lass. You're not there yet. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. For all I know, Merlin the hound will probably be perfectly content to have a couch all to himself all day.

They've attempted to block him from the couch . . . . I know he's quite proud of himself.

Sweetest Downfall

When god (aka tango instructor) spoke to me during my emotional breakdown, she said something that I’ve been churning over in my mind since, “Don’t’ live with regret.” She mentioned the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah; the characters were turned to salt when they looked back. Moral of the story: don’t look back. Look forward instead. That’s a lot easier said than done, but I’m still trying. This doesn’t mean we don’t learn from our experiences and mistakes, it simply means we don’t live in the past – in what has already taken place – in the things we cannot change.

Live in the moment and make it beautiful - I'm still trying to get there.

I’ve touted a good deal of regret with me for many years; and not just regret, but also guilt. I feel guilt for the life I live sometimes – because I ask myself why I’m a college graduate and my sister has been swallowed by life and I have no idea how even start looking for her. I regret that I don’t know how to find her and I regret that I couldn’t do more for her. Then I have to look at it like a rational person, What could I have possibly done differently? The answer is nothing. I have to let that go. We were children. There’s a very unpleasant feeling that comes with being a powerless child. I keep reminding myself that I’m no longer a powerless child, but someone who has a say in her future and her here and now.

Then there are the people from my past I carry with me like heavy weights – because I feel guilt over having some measure of success in this life and know that they suffer for their choices. I’ve made choices, too – I just feel that somehow it was luck of the draw. I have to remind myself that while that is a small part of the equation, it’s not the whole equation. I didn’t choose the same path and that’s why I have no criminal record or teenage children before I make it to thirty or in a really bad marriage. Granted, I almost made that mistake once. I dodged a bullet.

Then there’s regret over lashing out at the wrong person. My sweetest downfall in life was loving someone deeper than I knew myself capable and seeing the beauty in life again. Before that time in my life and before the Beloved and I crossed paths again I felt as if my life was drifting in a black sea. It’s still mind blowing to me that joy can be a trigger simply because it’s as emotionally strong as fear. I regret the words I said when I was both confused and in pain and even still now I wish I could take it all back, but there’s no rewind button to this life we’re living, is there? I’m quite certain that’s my biggest regret in life. And there are times I regret hardly being able to speak to him the few times I’ve seen him since . . . . so I remind myself that regret is a destructive force and I can’t keep living if I’m too busy beating myself up.

"You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first, I loved you first

Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth

I have to go, I have to go

Your hair was long when we first met . . . 

Samson came to my bed 

Told me that my hair was red

Told me that I was beautiful and came into my bed

Oh I cut his hair myself one night

A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light

And he told me that I'd done alright

And he kissed me 'til the mornin' light . . . " - Regina Spektor

So while I honor the practice of not berating myself, I have noted things that I most certainly do not regret. I don’t regret ever being owned by my dogs; those two furry babies have been my constant joy and comfort since one precious little lady literally walked into my life and the other was a treasure I sought out. I don’t regret ever purchasing or wearing a fake engagement ring. It’s either boosted my confidence because I don’t feel like I have to hide away or it really does have mystical powers that ward off predatory douchebags. I don’t regret all the times I tried and failed. I don’t regret starting tango only because I wanted another means of connection with someone; the dance turned into one of the best forms of therapy. Overall, I don’t regret moving to Portland. Sure, the sun practically never shines here – but my time here has been far more enriching than any experience the Central Valley could have possibly offered.

I confess my quads are killing me - but I am so going to own this mother f-er

I don’t regret starting a couch to 5k challenge with my co-worker; I was quite certain I was near death on day 1 – yet here I am and we’re still chipping away at it. I don't regret that my hardest lesson learned in life was also my sweetest downfall. I don’t regret living, losing, loving or crying. I don’t regret who I am, either – quirky gal with occasional meltdowns, PTSD rage and hesitation blended with a whole lot of laughter. I often say ‘I regret nothing!’ in jest – I’m thinking that’s something I should start taking seriously. Lastly, I don't regret the expensive dress I just ordered so I can showcase the tattoo I'm getting in a couple of weeks. 

Okay . . . not quite as dramatic - but it's still going to be awesome.