The tides and the seasons

Love my new place, love my new job, grateful for my freedom, and for the peace I feel.

The way it goes

I had a love who, for the first few months of our relationship, always had a bottle of water for me when he picked me up in his car. Every opportunity he had to show me his love, he did, sometimes in big ways, but more often in little ways, like the water, or the flowers from his garden, placed in a vase on the table just for me. Ten thousand little things he gave, and those were the ones that meant the most.

He allowed me to weep and to break, and then to recover. He never wavered and never ran, he just kept loving me, and my heart opened in a way it never had before.

I once traveled to see him only for one night, and before I left the next day, he slipped a note into my bag that I would find when I returned home.

Thank You, it said. For making the trip to spend the evening with me. For sharing your warmth and laughter and intelligence and loving spirit. For giving me your magic, and bringing your nature to me.

He signed it, Your Man

But today, the man who wrote that note, and who taught me what it means to be loved, is only a few miles from my home, yet no where near my door. And part of me wonders, how could this have happened, and the other part of me thinks, this is just how it happens.

Fly away home

Around the corner from where I live, there's a homeless man who sits in a wheelchair in front of the Starbucks. His names is Sean, and 13 months ago he lost both his legs due to diabetes. Seven days a week Sean travels all the way uptown from the shelter he lives in all the way down town. He sits in front of the Starbucks all day and all night, in the rain, the snow, and in the freezing cold.

I've always noticed that Sean doesn't hold out a cup or beg for money, nor does he ever complain about the weather. Tonight I asked him about that, and he told me he knew enough people from his years of panhandling in the area, that folks helped him out every day regardless. He also told me what was more important to him, was that this street was the only place he had any sense of community and of belonging. He said that oftentimes people don't give him anything at all but conversation and connection, and that this was his main motivation for traveling so far each day.

"They treat me like a human being up here," he said, "Like I'm just a regular human being."

And sure enough, as we were talking, many obviously well-to-do neighbors walked by and greeted Sean by name, and then just kept walking. And I could tell, regardless of his unimaginable circumstances, how at ease he felt. I could see how important it was to him to be greeted as a neighbor, to be known as a neighbor-not just as a man in tattered clothes, with broken teeth and no legs.

Any way, I could easily go deeper and ask the question, would any one of Sean's "neighbors," including myself, be willing to invite him into our lovely, warm apartments for lunch, and then experience the shame and guilt we would all certainly feel when sending him back to the shelter?

But I won't ask that, because all I was really focused on, humbled and awed by tonight, was how someone can suffer and endure so much for so long, and end up sitting outside on a cold, cold night, hungry, homeless, in wheelchair, and not be broken.

Changing direction

I once wasted a year of my life with someone who thought he knew everything, but who actually knew less than anyone I'd ever known. One thing he was sure of, was how to break my dog of her habit of pulling on the leash. When the dog would stop and dig her paws into the ground, the man's solution was to pull on her with full force, and drag her down the street while her nails scrapped along the concrete. No surprise, this was the same man who thought the best way to teach a child to ride a bike was to let her go down a hill, then ridicule her when she fell and cried. He was also the same man who would fly into a rage with me on the back of his motorcycle while I pleaded with him to stop.

But I learned a lot of things after that year. I learned what I already knew. That the way to teach a child to ride a bike is with patience and tenderness. That the way to teach a dog to stop pulling on the leash is to loosen your grip, give praise, and simply change your direction. I also learned that three years later, I will probably never forgive myself for being with that man, but I will also, in some ways, always be grateful to him. Because he didn't know it, but he actually did teach me something, and it may have been the most valuable lesson of my life.

He taught me that when you find yourself in the midst of madness, you can get out. He taught me that when you live in darkness, you can break free. By showing me the wrong way to live, he allowed me to see the right way to live. The right way to teach your child, to train your dog, and the right way to be loved. And although I already knew it, I just needed to loosen his grip. I just needed to change my direction, and I'm so glad I did. So very glad I did.

Just a little bit longer

This morning I climbed into bed with my 16-year-old daughter, the girl who is so often mad at me and not as readily affectionate as she once was. I got under the covers as she stirred-her warmth enveloping my cool body. I curled up against her back and pressed my face to her shoulder; I couldn't stop smiling.

"Life is hard, Katie," I heard my father's words, "And we live for the good moments."

I watched my daughter's tender profile as she slept for some time, and when I stood up to go make the coffee, she whispered to me, "Stay."

Better late

I'm so glad that two men I dated said they would teach my daughter how to ride a bike but never did. I'm so glad that a third guy said he would teach my daughter how to ride a bike, but instead, put her on a hill, sent her down, then lit a cigarette and stormed off, accusing her of being "Too fearful" after she whimpered when she fell.

I'm so glad, because the man who finally did teach my daughter how to ride a bike is a man my daughter loves and respects, who makes her feel cared for and considered, and who not only lived up to his word, but who also felt honored to be the man who taught my daughter how to ride a bike.

Better late

I'm so glad I didn't discover Mumford & Sons earlier than I did. I would hate not to be able to listen to them now because I played their music during a bad time in my life, or in the midst of a shitty relationship.

Thought in real time

All this strength and insight, yet I can still crumble over something like words that weren't said.

Honesty

This morning I saw a woman on the train platform. She had the most drop-dead gorgeous body, and I immediately felt jealous. Then I waited for her to turn around, hoping that she didn't also have a beautiful face. When she turned around, and I saw that her face was not only not beautiful, but that she was actually quite unattractive, I immediately felt relived. And as she walked away, I felt glad for her, that at least, since she was not blessed with a pretty face...she was blessed with a great figure.

This moment right here

I used to title some of my posts, Evolving 101, and sometimes, when I felt I really understood something, Evolving 201, and on even rarer occasions, Evolving 301. I used these titles because I saw (see) myself as a student, and certainly, I can see the proof of that, and the progress.

Love-it's the thing that has delighted and disappointed, confused and so oftentimes consumed me. It's the thing I thought was one thing, then discovered was another thing, and then after that, something entirely different. So now, when I think of the numbers I've assigned to wherever I am in the course, I see that they are completely without weight or meaning. Because just when I think I have learned something, or know something, or "grok" something, that something itself changes and evolves into something else.

I was 43 when I started this blog, when I started waking up in a way I'd never woken up before. And for the years following, I opened, unfolded, revealed and recoiled, until I arrived at this moment, this moment right here.

When I was a child, I recognized love as a combination of adoration and neglect. As a young woman, I recognized love as something steady and unmoving. As a woman awake after years of sleeping, I recognized love as a fire burning so hot, that it left me burnt beyond recognition. And today, I recognize love as something like recognition itself.

It's the reflection of me when I look in his eyes, the expansion of my heart when he looks into mine. Love is motion without chaos, it's mutual and fluid, and funny, and it's dangerous and safe at the same time. Love is hot and it warms me. It's honoring the one I love, and crossing my fingers that he will honor me, not out of obligation, but of his own free will. 

I can't say that I surrender now, but I surrender more than I ever have. I can't say that I've passed a course, or even a test, but I can say that I've been to the mountaintop. It's high up here, and I'm scared of heights. It's hard to breathe up here, but I've never seen a more beautiful view. Never before this moment, right now, right here.

50 and counting

Turning 50 was slightly uncomfortable (the continued emotional roller coaster ride, blah, blah, blah), but at the same time so completely joyful in a way that none of my birthdays have ever been. I don't believe I have ever had, in 3 days, such an outpouring of goodwill and love. Gifts were sent to me via e-cards and emails, voice mails, text messages, parcel post, fedex and flower shops. Greetings and well-wishes were offered by co-workers, strangers, old friends, new friends, family and of course by my beloved who, among many gifts he gave and continues to give me, decorated our birthday hotel room before I arrived. 

I didn't have all of this when I turned 20, or 30, or even 40, because all of this comes from, and is a reflection of, a life that's not just been survived, but that's been lived.

17 years later

I don't know what day it was, the day I stopped thinking about my father every day of every month of every year since he died. But now when I am reminded of him, I can still feel taken off guard-my heart can still break as if it were only yesterday that I learned he was gone forever.

Update

Healthy mother, normal daughter, loving sweetheart, consistent work, hot summer.

All is well.

Hitting pause

Have you ever been unable to identify anything particularly wrong in your life, yet you feel as if your life isn't right?

Have you ever had two or three creative ideas that not long ago excited you, but that you now have no passion for at all?

Have you ever been with your man and had the best time of your life, and then just a few weeks later feel as if you might not want to be partnered with anyone, would rather not have a party for your birthday, or even return to Jamaica, and the thought of swimming with dolphins makes you sad because you know that after an hour or two, you'll just have to stop swimming with them?

In my dreams

Last night I dreamed I was driving a car, and up ahead I saw a little girl walking her red Shetland pony along the city street. A man walking ahead of her took a last puff of his cigarette and tossed it on the ground, The pony stepped on the still lit cigarette and took off running. The little girl was dragged a few feet as she tried desperately to hold on the the lead, but then the pony broke free. I turned my car left and saw the girl being helped by a stranger, so I drove as fast as  I could in hopes of saving the pony. But when I turned right, I looked down onto the highway, and it was too late-the pony had been hit and was dead.

Approaching 50

I want more and I want less. I want what I never had, and everything I used to have. I want love not to hurt, but I want it to sting a little sometimes. I want my daughter to grow up, and be 15 forever. I want to travel to a place like India, and stay safe here at home. I want a massive birthday celebration in summer, and I want to sneak off with my man to someplace quiet, someplace under the stars, and welcome 50 with a whisper.

Better late than never

It's taken nearly 50 years, but I finally understand that pain doesn't equal passion. It's taken nearly 50 years, but I'm finally learning to sink into bliss like feet sink into sand.

Advice to women who like men

Only be with men who honor you. Only be with men who are strong in character, who are hard workers, and who don't want to live off of your money. Only be with men who avoid doing or saying things they know will upset or harm you. Only be with men who make you laugh. Only be with honest men. Only be with men you are physically drawn to. Only be with men who think you are beautiful. Only be with men who only want to be with you.

Unless of course, you want another kind of man.

With and without you

Oftentimes, having a teenage child feels like the person you love most in the world has died, yet they're still walking around in their body.

Happy

The sun is shining, my daughter is smiling, I found the expensive vitamin pill that rolled under my bed. After 4 jobs back-to-back, I have time off, my bills are paid, my mother is alive and well, and next weekend I'm going on retreat to Vermont with my sweetheart.