Creating space

In my life and in my heart-for something different, something real, something more.

Perhaps.

Go figure

My spam folder consists primarily of offers for a bigger penis and a better tortilla.

Unsolicited advice from me

Don't believe a man when he tells you all he's going to do for and to you...just be open, pleasantly surprised, and appreciative when he shows you.

Could you be loved?

Although it's peculiar, how easy it is for me to open my heart to men with closed hearts-yet easy to close my heart to men who are open, I'm starting to believe that though it's unfortunate, maybe even tragic, this is far from an uncommon human experience.

Thought in real time

Everyone wants a piece of what's sacred, until nothing is sacred anymore.

Sweet dreams

Owls

The signs were there

His door was shut long before I ever arrived.

Mystery (movie) solved

Me: I've been seeing a lot of good movies lately.

Elisa: I saw a really good film about a paraplegic and his African attendant.

Me: I heard about that one-Mom, you saw that didn't you?

Mom: Yes I did-it was with Dustin Hoffman.

Elisa: The one I saw wasn't with Dustin Hoffman-we must be talking about two different films.

Mom: The movie I saw was about a man in a wheelchair and the relationship between him and his African caregiver. The man in the wheelchair was played by Dustin Hoffman.

Elisa: That's so strange because that's the same story of the movie that I'm talking about, but the star wasn't Dustin Hoffman-it was a French actor.

Me: Wait a minute! I watched a French film last night called "Tell No One." It was sort of a mystery-thriller and I thought the male lead bore an uncanny resemblance to Dustin Hoffman-even his mannerisms were like Hoffman's. If Mom saw a film that appears to be the same film as the one you saw, Elisa, and you are certain the lead was a Frenchman, might it be possible that the actor in question is the same one that starred in the film I watched last night?

Mom: Maybe, but I would be very surprised.

Me: Let me Google his name.

I show my mother and Elisa a picture of French actor, François Cluzet.

Elisa: That's him!

Mom: That's him!

In real time

In a room with closed windows and no air conditioner on-I am perfectly cooled by the fan overhead. No one home, quiet outside-I am at rest on the bed, looking up at a cracked yet solid white ceiling-feeling my still back, my body flat and stretched-street sounds, a car driving past, the steady hum of the fan going round-peace and me and nothing more.

Beauty

In my dreams

Last night I dreamed I was being held captive by a man who I soon discovered had stolen a human heart. I found the heart hidden behind a plank in the wall of the little room in which I was trapped, and once it was in my hand, I laid down on the floor by the door.

Stand up, I kept telling myself. If you don't stand up, when he discovers you have the heart, he's going to kill you.

I suddenly found myself outside of the house in the night. I had the heart in one hand, a set of keys in the other, and I ran toward a metal gate that surrounded the compound. I fumbled with the keys until I realized there was no lock-I was free to go, but my car was gone-my captor had taken it so I wouldn't get far.

Fact #1,203,316

A man who makes it a habit of walking 5 steps ahead of you on the street, and standing 5 steps above you on the escalator, is not a man you should spend 5 minutes of your time with.

Loud and clear

Lately I haven't been feeling so good about my body, and as I stood in my underwear and bra, looking through my closet for something to wear tonight, my mother said, "You're so beautiful."

I turned around and saw her there smiling.

"I don't feel so beautiful these days," I said. She looked at me up and down and still smiling she replied,"You don't know the value of your youth. Someday you will."

Realization #467,912

There are people who are artists who don't make art, and there are people who make art who aren't artists. I believe, if I ever expect to be seen and appreciated again by a man, it won't matter if he makes art or not, but he will most certainly have to be an artist.

Never stop smelling the roses

"Being tender and open is beautiful. As a woman, I feel continually shhh’ed-too sensitive, too mushy, too wishy-washy, blah blah. Don’t let someone steal your tenderness. Don’t allow the coldness and fear of others tarnish your perfectly vulnerable beating heart. Nothing is more powerful than allowing yourself to truly be affected by things-whether it’s a song, a stranger, a mountain, a rain drop, a tea kettle...a footstep-feel it all-look around you. All of this is for you. Give it and feel love."

~Zooey Deschanel

There can be such freedom...

...in not caring about someone you used to love, and not loving someone you thought you could.

Beauty

Time of my life

With nothing in order I'm well prepared
More closed and more open
Without Him with me.
I have a vision of home now
And I'm almost there
Courageous,
Rare and radiant.

The lotus flower

It floats upon the water-it is, among other things, a symbol of rebirth. But regardless of its beauty and fragile appearance, its roots are buried deep into the mud. Despite its constant state of openness, it remains one of the strongest flowers in nature.

Although I can’t even really explain this image, this is exactly how I'm beginning to feel about men.

Just like that

After experiencing disappointment away, and then a loss (separate) when I returned home, I had my first moments alone tonight, and the effects of it all came through in a flood of tears. It felt as if it would never end, this feeling, this me lying on top of my bed, curled into a position that one might be instructed to assume in a trench while bombs were dropping overhead-as if that would save you.

But then without a conscious thought, I got up, went into the shower and washed myself clean. Later, as I stood wrapped in my favorite pink towel, I looked in the mirror and my heart lifted.

No doubt before I'm old and then gone, my heart will be heavy again many times over. But it's that moment in the mirror that I know so well, and that reminds me of how, for no apparent or obvious reason, the spirit can be freed-just like that.

Thought in real time

I didn't miss out on a great big love...I just dodged a great big bullet.

Unsolicited advice from me

Never consider someone a friend (and certainly not a potential lover) who, when you mention to him that you're writing a book, doesn't ask a thing about it.

Don't travel 6,000 miles because someone you hardly know tells you how much he wants to see you.

Try not to share your loveliness with someone who doesn't appreciate your loveliness.

Only have almond milk with your morning coffee if you really like that sort of thing.

This Woman Wonders...

...if there is such a thing as a Super Man.

All in a day

Yesterday I met a man named Dallas, drank a bad Margarita with salt, and watched a little boy skipping through a field of fireflies.

Reflection

Today when Annie and I walked from 42nd Street to 86th along the river path at sunset, it was like magic. Silent and cool, a breeze blew the flowers and willow trees against the backdrop of sunlit water. My daughter was radiant and the love we share, the connectedness we feel cannot be described. Together we laid our eyes on the face of a sweet puppy, a regal dog, a family of geese and a stunning black couple. Our mutual affection traveled through our holding hands-my daughter, an unusual and magnificent creature, an exotic bird who was born to fly, and me, her mama-the lucky one given the chance to love a girl as rare as she.

As I know who Annie is and what she is worth, I know who I am and what I am worth. As I know I will only ever want her to accept the love of a man whose heart is open, a man who is deserving of her, worthy of her, and who sees her as the gift she is, I know I will only accept the same for me. A man with an open heart and a playful mind-and who sees me as clearly as I see myself at sunset-being reflected back through the eyes of my child.

Confession #456,998

London has been great, even the weather has been beautiful. But what I really feel is that Saturday can't come soon enough.

Thought in real time

Whereas I once found great satisfaction in blogging publicly, lately I find that blogging more privately, and with anonymity, is quieting somehow, and comforting in a whole different sort of way.

Confession #24,612

I almost never ask my teenage daughter to go to the store for me because I'm afraid that as a result, something terrible will happen to her.

Appreciation

The only times I think of an ex"boyfriend" of mine, are when I'm suddenly and overwhelmingly aware of how beautiful life has been since I left, which for the record has been 1 year, seven months and 12 days.

Real woman

A real woman has curves, but she can also be as thin as a rail. What makes a woman real is that she has a mind and a voice, and a loving and breakable heart.

A real woman is powerful and vulnerable-as gentle as a lamb and as strong as a lion. She’s imperfect and flawed and has dry skin on her elbows.

A real woman can make you laugh and make you feel loved, and sometimes she turns to ice, talks back, and even gets mean.

A real woman is both confident and afraid. Afraid of being ignored or consumed, or worse, replaced-so she guards her heart while longing to set it free.

It’s not curves, or long hair, or tanned skin, or straight teeth that makes a woman a real woman. What makes a real woman a real woman… is that she’s a real woman.

Having it all

I love a gray day, a wet ground, my kid and my coffee. I love my window, my work, and making plans to travel far.

From this day forward

Nothing that doesn't fit, match, make sense or feel good.

Evolving 301

I have this morning and the cherry blossom trees-
The steady wind,
My coffee,
A view of the street.
I have my work, my hands, my legs and my pride-
And a vision of life without sacrifice.
Moving closer to reality,
I move closer to the dream.

Moment in real time

Working from home today, taking a break to spoon feed my little girl Earl Grey tea with milk and honey.

I've been cured

I recently became hooked on Season One of Downton Abbey, and couldn't get enough. That is until tonight, after episode 5 of 7, when I realized I was just watching General Hospital in disguise.

Evolving 301

It began when I quit a bad man, then a year later a bad job, and now, in more than a symbolic gesture, my account on facebook. I'm no longer looking out, I'm looking in, because I'm ready. Ready for deeper work, deeper connections and deeper love. I'm ready for a life of even greater substance.

I deleted my facebook account

And it feels like I just walked out of an overcrowded prison. After years of noise, all I can hear are the sounds of my own footsteps.

Freedom.

Thought in real time

There's something about the hint of, and the onset of spring that has always made me sad. Unlike the melancholy of autumn, it's as if it would be better to be indoors than out in the sun, alone if not in love, at least for now until the change of season wears down a bit like something too new.

Thought in real time

I just want to be treated to something, taken somewhere. It's not about money, it's about value.

Had to

Quote

"Men learn to love the person they're attracted to and women become more and more attracted to the person they love."

Sex, Lies, and Videotape

Unsolicited advice from me

Unless you want to start all over again, don't get lost in thoughts about a man when you're sewing patches onto your daughter's jeans.

Gratitude

How fortunate I am to have people in my life who, when I reach out... are there.

New Year's Resoultion

Freedom.

It's all I really want.

Thought in real time

An evolved man knows and honors the power of his true masculine essence, therefore he has no need or desire to objectify, demean or degrade women. An evolved woman knows and honors the power of her true feminine radiance, therefore she has no need or desire to use her body as a weapon or a tool, or turn herself into an object for a man to use for his superficial pleasure and then discard.

Sitting at the sidebar

Comes to the Light (Everything)

The way things aren't

A friend's facebook post said, "The calm before the storm," but at first glance I thought it said, "The clam before the storm."

One day

But it starts with this.

Evolving 101

Originally posted March, 2010

Not long ago, I was with a man who called me a Goddess. He told me there was no one more beautiful, more wonderful, more lovely than I. We were like drug addicts together, and our drug of choice was romance.

Carl Jung said that romantic love was designed, among other things, to draw us together for the purpose of procreating, and every few years top news periodicals recycle this headline: Understanding The Science of Love. Although I'm convinced chemistry plays a big part in the pairing of people, I've always rejected the notion that science is the puppeteer, hiding backstage and pulling the strings, that surely matters of the heart are more mysterious than that.

The declarations offered by the man who thought me a Goddess felt like needles in my veins, and they fueled my seemingly insatiable desire to be adored. Every stroke, compliment and whisper in my ear made up for my father's absence, the vacant look in an old lover's eyes, and the string of disappointments I'd suffered since the search for my Knight-In-Shining-Armor first began. I thought the gestures of my beloved were meaningful, but at best they were his feelings in the moment; if they had been meaningful, we could have built a life on words alone.

I know a man who calls Hollywood romance movies "Love Killers," and though it may sound extreme, I think he's right. Every story is an adaptation and a reincarnation of Cinderella, and they add more and more fuel to the romantic fire that burns in most western women. But it's not a real fire, it's more like one of those petroleum-based logs you buy at the grocery store. You don't have to chop a tree or carry the wood. You don't have to cover it in crumpled paper to help it ignite. There is no work to be done, no mess to clean, just poof, like magic, the flames burn eternal.

I've always been a fan of the poet, Pablo Neruda, and anyone who knows me would understand why:

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me all day.
I hunt for the liquid measures of your steps.

I know what it feels like to crave someone, but whereas I once considered these sentiments the essence of passion; raw, untamed and unbridled, I now see them as limited versions of love.

I understand the intense feelings that would make me (or Neruda) go "... hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma...," but what I'd rather have is a man who considers my daughter, drinks wine with me while I cook stew, and stands beside me at a funeral. I no longer need him to see my hands as "... the color of a savage harvest...," I just want him to see me as a lover and a friend.

There will always be women younger than me, prettier than me, and smarter than me, but there will never be another me, so why would I want to be something less than me? Why would I want to be a goddess, or a girl in a dream, or a song, or a sonnet? I am already, as we all are, so much more than that.

I used to want a man to knock me off my feet, but now I want a man who inspires me to stand. I used to want a man who would take my breath away, but now I want a man who allows me to breathe. I used to want a man I couldn't live without, but now I want a man... I can live with.