Thursday, October 28, 2010

Higher learning

In February of 2009, I wrote this.

I had gone through things, learned things, and overcome things, and I declared it graduation day. The only thing I had yet to understand was there were more doors to walk through, and more work to be done--so much more. So whether I liked it or not, I was signed up by my life to learn harder lessons, which I did. And along with spring breaks and glimpses of a bright future, the work was as grueling as it gets. I was thrown into fire, and just as soon as I would stand to recover, I'd be thrown back in again, until burning became too familiar.

In February of 2009, I did graduate, I just didn't know what it meant. I thought I was finished, done, complete, and free, only to discover I knew nothing about myself in relation to what I needed to know, or to be worthy of my diploma.

It's October of 2010, and tonight I sit surrounded by packed boxes in an apartment where he and I dreamed of, but could not build a beautiful life. But I feel empathy, not empty, resigned, not resentful. I'm disappointed, not in despair, and I'm not disillusioned because I no longer have them. Illusions.

I have something better--an education, a master's degree in Me. And when the day comes that I am surrounded by boxes unpacked, it won't be the thing that was lost in storage, unmarked, or broken. It will be the thing that reminds me there is only one direction for me to go, and that I've done my time standing in fire.

I get it now. I know who I am. I know what I'm worth.

In real time

Late night, dishes done, my sweetheart sleeps. The end of one story, the beginning of another--sorrow and hope at the very same time.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Sunday night

Sitting on the sofa...

Annie: "You're a piece of crap."

Me: "I am?"

Annie: "We're gonna sell you in a garage sale because you don't work anymore."

Me: "Hey, I paid for your birthday party yesterday!"

Annie: "Mom, I'm talking to the lamp!"

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

One good thing

Following a day of distractions and peace, a cloud found its way to me. I lay on top of my made, empty bed, and sent a text message to my friend in California.

Tell me one good thing, I wrote, and she replied, The scent of eucalyptus trees.

And the scent of eucalyptus trees was delivered to me by my memory, and it filled the room. So I sent the same text to another friend, and then to many friends, and here are some of the responses I received:

You are beautiful
Yankees won today
I'm going to Miami on Friday!
You are funny and smart
I got a 91 on my Human Sexuality test!
It is a beautiful evening
I love you
Moon is like a silver penny

Monday, October 18, 2010

Thought in real time

It's surprising and sad, how someone's face, and the way they look at you, at your face, and the way you look at them, can change so dramatically in only one year.

Thought in real time

Teach people how to treat you, but do it right the first time, so you don't have to spend the rest of the time giving refresher courses.

Sunday, October 17, 2010


"Sometimes life gets really small and all you want to do is find your Muenster cheese"

~Ann Bowen

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Shadows & light

A year of storms with moments of calm--a month of shadows with so little light. I talk of surrender, but I never surrender, so I'll try again this time. I'll remain open to remaining open, to the calm after the storm, to the light we share inside the shadows, and to the continued possibility of us.

Monday, October 11, 2010


When you fall in love in your forties, you cherish every moment of feeling that way again, and since you don't have much time, you waste no time drawing up plans. You decorate your life together on paper, and choose colors for walls you have yet to build. You drive up the coast with the radio on, and when you arrive you make a nest, drink ginger martinis, and wake up early the next morning because you can't wait to start another day.

But when you fall in love in your forties, your baggage might feel more like cargo, and its weight might exceed the limit allowed to fly. When you return from the coast and get ready to board your flight to the future, the outside world stands waiting--hands on hips, with needs, wants and demands.

When you fall in love in your forties, it feels like time is running out and standing still. You've been here before so you see clearly, but you've never been here before so you've also gone blind. Like a lucid dream, you're awake enough to know what surrounds you, and asleep enough to be blissfully unaware--that no matter how many seeds you plant in your new garden, or how many beautiful colors you choose for your new walls--no matter how much anticipation and hope you use to fuel the engines of your pending flight, if the weight of your baggage exceeds the limit, you may never have the chance to take it off the ground.

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

What we forget

I remember the winter, loving the sight of his brown leather shoes on my living room floor. I remember the summer, his shirt hanging above me in a tree on a mountain. I remember last fall, wrapped in his arms, shivering from the cold and hopeful--and soon I'll remember his tanned, strong legs, his warm breath on the back of my neck, and all the times I knew he loved me.