I'm so afraid
I broke us.
And I'll turn around
one day
and
you
won't
be
there.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
And so it begins
So Tuesday, April 19th, I start rehearsals for the stage production of "Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", putting this blog on stage.
I'm very excited about this. I think it's going to be an amazing production. I have a great cast and the script has come together very well.
So be prepared for updates along the way. The show opens May 27th here in Los Angeles (North Hollywood, actually) at Eclectic Company Theatre.
If you'd like to contribute to the production fund and help the show out, please go to:
IndieGoGo.com/Diary-of-a-Mid-Life-Crisis
Thanks!
I'm very excited about this. I think it's going to be an amazing production. I have a great cast and the script has come together very well.
So be prepared for updates along the way. The show opens May 27th here in Los Angeles (North Hollywood, actually) at Eclectic Company Theatre.
If you'd like to contribute to the production fund and help the show out, please go to:
IndieGoGo.com/Diary-of-a-Mid-Life-Crisis
Thanks!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Not broken
Thank you for handing my heart back to me without breaking it. Though I do believe a small, special, precious sweet spot will remain with you as long as you’re in my life - and beyond that - because of this.
You taught me a lesson, whether you knew it or not. You taught me that I can love just as fiercely and just as ferociously without being in love. That it’s okay to still love you that much and that you wouldn’t run away from that. You’re stronger than many men I’ve known in the past to stand up to my ferocious love and not hide from it.
And that you love me as much as you can, without being in love with me. And just the fact that you’re still here after what was said and what we said and how much was put on the table makes me know that you love me and that much is true.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish it turned out the other way. If I said I didn’t wish for the rom-com moment where you come to your senses and realize I’m the only woman for you. Because a part of me still wishes for that, still hopes for that. But I know it won’t happen because that’s not what life is about. Life is about hurting and growing and changing and discovering and surviving. Life is about tough choices and hard answers but that doesn’t mean it can’t be good in the end.
And I’m glad we’re okay - better than okay. I’m glad we never missed a beat after all of this. That we’re exactly where we were, without my ridiculous, crazy, muddled heart standing in the way. We have something precious and special and it has survived what has killed most in my life.
And I hope that we stay this way for always. Close, special, true. There is a quote from Brian Andreas from storypeople.com that always makes me think of our friendship:
“They came to sit & dangle their feet off the edge of the world & after awhile they forgot everything but the good & true things they would do someday.”
But I know so much in my life is transient and wayward and that you may not always be there, despite your best intentions. And if you decide to leave, just drop me a note before you do so I can say good-bye. Because I would let you go. I just need a little advance notice.
You taught me a lesson, whether you knew it or not. You taught me that I can love just as fiercely and just as ferociously without being in love. That it’s okay to still love you that much and that you wouldn’t run away from that. You’re stronger than many men I’ve known in the past to stand up to my ferocious love and not hide from it.
And that you love me as much as you can, without being in love with me. And just the fact that you’re still here after what was said and what we said and how much was put on the table makes me know that you love me and that much is true.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish it turned out the other way. If I said I didn’t wish for the rom-com moment where you come to your senses and realize I’m the only woman for you. Because a part of me still wishes for that, still hopes for that. But I know it won’t happen because that’s not what life is about. Life is about hurting and growing and changing and discovering and surviving. Life is about tough choices and hard answers but that doesn’t mean it can’t be good in the end.
And I’m glad we’re okay - better than okay. I’m glad we never missed a beat after all of this. That we’re exactly where we were, without my ridiculous, crazy, muddled heart standing in the way. We have something precious and special and it has survived what has killed most in my life.
And I hope that we stay this way for always. Close, special, true. There is a quote from Brian Andreas from storypeople.com that always makes me think of our friendship:
“They came to sit & dangle their feet off the edge of the world & after awhile they forgot everything but the good & true things they would do someday.”
But I know so much in my life is transient and wayward and that you may not always be there, despite your best intentions. And if you decide to leave, just drop me a note before you do so I can say good-bye. Because I would let you go. I just need a little advance notice.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Almost... but not quite
You were almost. Just so close to almost. And I was willing to wait, despite my many denials that I would. But you were so close…
And we were so close. Your hand on my face, your arms around me, the way you looked at me that one long night. So close. So very close.
And I was willing to wait to see how close we’d get, to see if we could get past so close and just be whatever comes after that.
Because you’d look at me that way, your eyes so full of your heart. And my heart would look back out my eyes at yours and we’d be thisclose. So close.
And I thought we’d get there. I really, truly did. Despite the red flags, despite the wondering and the waiting and the what the fuck. But we were so close.
Your heart pounding as you held me. The touch of your hand. All those little silly, ridiculous, wonderful things you said, did, showed me.
And I thought you were almost. Just so close to almost.
But you’re not.
Because you showed me that we’re not almost. We’re not so thisclose. You showed me by omission that I’m not in your heart or your mind. You showed me that I’m chicken soup for your soul - there when you need me but otherwise, out of sight, out of mind. Not almost. Not even close. Nothing.
It was a simple thing that a single call, a single text, a single email could have shown me that I was almost.
But I guess I don’t get to be that for you. And you no longer get to be that for me.
And I almost forgave you. Because that’s what I was taught to do. I was taught by years of abuse to be passive, to take what I’m given and make that almost. To be willing to be invisible, to be willing to be unimportant, and to say, thank you, sir, may I have some more?
And I went there. I forgave and was ready to hand my heart back to you and say, please sir, may I have some more? Because you’re almost…
Until I got my shins kicked soundly by those who see me and love me and know me. They made me see how not almost you are now. And how almost will never happen because you don’t choose to have it.
And you probably won’t even notice that almost is gone. Because I’ll still be there on the periphery. I’ll still see you and I’ll still talk to you and we’ll still be friends… almost.
But the almost will be gone. And the special connection that we had will be gone. Because I choose it. Because I don’t want any more, thank you, sir.
Because I deserve more than almost. I deserve someone who will make that call when it should be made. I deserve to have someone who doesn’t see me as chicken soup but sees me as something beautiful and delicious and wondrous to be savored and cultivated and cradled as often as possible.
And I’m so sorry you weren’t that. Because you were almost…
But I have to let go of almost and of you because I deserve more than.
And it hurts like a motherfucker.
And we were so close. Your hand on my face, your arms around me, the way you looked at me that one long night. So close. So very close.
And I was willing to wait to see how close we’d get, to see if we could get past so close and just be whatever comes after that.
Because you’d look at me that way, your eyes so full of your heart. And my heart would look back out my eyes at yours and we’d be thisclose. So close.
And I thought we’d get there. I really, truly did. Despite the red flags, despite the wondering and the waiting and the what the fuck. But we were so close.
Your heart pounding as you held me. The touch of your hand. All those little silly, ridiculous, wonderful things you said, did, showed me.
And I thought you were almost. Just so close to almost.
But you’re not.
Because you showed me that we’re not almost. We’re not so thisclose. You showed me by omission that I’m not in your heart or your mind. You showed me that I’m chicken soup for your soul - there when you need me but otherwise, out of sight, out of mind. Not almost. Not even close. Nothing.
It was a simple thing that a single call, a single text, a single email could have shown me that I was almost.
But I guess I don’t get to be that for you. And you no longer get to be that for me.
And I almost forgave you. Because that’s what I was taught to do. I was taught by years of abuse to be passive, to take what I’m given and make that almost. To be willing to be invisible, to be willing to be unimportant, and to say, thank you, sir, may I have some more?
And I went there. I forgave and was ready to hand my heart back to you and say, please sir, may I have some more? Because you’re almost…
Until I got my shins kicked soundly by those who see me and love me and know me. They made me see how not almost you are now. And how almost will never happen because you don’t choose to have it.
And you probably won’t even notice that almost is gone. Because I’ll still be there on the periphery. I’ll still see you and I’ll still talk to you and we’ll still be friends… almost.
But the almost will be gone. And the special connection that we had will be gone. Because I choose it. Because I don’t want any more, thank you, sir.
Because I deserve more than almost. I deserve someone who will make that call when it should be made. I deserve to have someone who doesn’t see me as chicken soup but sees me as something beautiful and delicious and wondrous to be savored and cultivated and cradled as often as possible.
And I’m so sorry you weren’t that. Because you were almost…
But I have to let go of almost and of you because I deserve more than.
And it hurts like a motherfucker.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Can't do it again
I can’t do it again. I can’t be the one to fix and to hold and to solve and to help. I can’t look at you and see the wounds and want to heal them. And I can’t look past the things that are right in front of me that scare me about you, because I’ve done that before and I can’t do it again.
And it’s killing me because it’s so familiar and it’s so exactly what I know that I don’t know how not to do it. How not to be drawn to it and to you and to that.
I need you to want to heal me and to chase me and to solve me. And you’ve done that a bit, enough that makes me hopeful and hopeless, but I guess I want/need/have to have more. And I don’t know how to do that either. To let you know I need more because I’m not sure you can give more.
And I can’t do without more again.
And I adore you, and that’s familiar, too. And that’s what gets confusing and difficult and heart-breaking. I adore you. And when I get near you, I lose all my conviction and just fall into your eyes and into your embrace. And I adore you. And I forget about the flags and the warnings and all the rationales. I just see you and your eyes, looking back at me the way I want to be looked at. And I adore you. And there in your eyes, I see you adore me, as much as you can.
And you’re him and you’re the other him and you’re a bit of the other him and that’s just… too many hims maybe. And I got lost in their eyes, too. And I wanted to heal and to help and to fix and to hold and to solve. And I got lost in them. And they left me standing here, broken, alone, wanting, needing, hoping… and then there’s you…
And there are those moments that are so clear, so crystal, so present, where I’ve seen this in a future moment a while ago, where I’m where I want to be with someone I want to be with and it’s beautiful and it’s perfect and it’s right. And there are moments with you that are so clearly from that vision, from that moment where I saw it, and it takes my breath away.
But the echoes of the past blur the edges of the future and I don’t know what to do.
I want you to get lost in me. I want someone to get lost in me. And maybe I’m so afraid of that never happening that I let myself get lost instead.
And maybe this is where I learn to break this cycle, step away from the familiar, pulling my reluctant heart away from your eyes. Still care, still be there, but just not be all the way there. Stand on the periphery of you so you’re not left alone, because I think you’re very alone and I would never leave you like that, like I’ve been left. And I will continue to adore you, just maybe from a safe distance.
Because I can’t do this again. As much as I wish that I could… as much as I wish you could let yourself go and make this into something, take the chance, take my heart. But you won’t and you can’t.
And I can’t either.
And it’s killing me because it’s so familiar and it’s so exactly what I know that I don’t know how not to do it. How not to be drawn to it and to you and to that.
I need you to want to heal me and to chase me and to solve me. And you’ve done that a bit, enough that makes me hopeful and hopeless, but I guess I want/need/have to have more. And I don’t know how to do that either. To let you know I need more because I’m not sure you can give more.
And I can’t do without more again.
And I adore you, and that’s familiar, too. And that’s what gets confusing and difficult and heart-breaking. I adore you. And when I get near you, I lose all my conviction and just fall into your eyes and into your embrace. And I adore you. And I forget about the flags and the warnings and all the rationales. I just see you and your eyes, looking back at me the way I want to be looked at. And I adore you. And there in your eyes, I see you adore me, as much as you can.
And you’re him and you’re the other him and you’re a bit of the other him and that’s just… too many hims maybe. And I got lost in their eyes, too. And I wanted to heal and to help and to fix and to hold and to solve. And I got lost in them. And they left me standing here, broken, alone, wanting, needing, hoping… and then there’s you…
And there are those moments that are so clear, so crystal, so present, where I’ve seen this in a future moment a while ago, where I’m where I want to be with someone I want to be with and it’s beautiful and it’s perfect and it’s right. And there are moments with you that are so clearly from that vision, from that moment where I saw it, and it takes my breath away.
But the echoes of the past blur the edges of the future and I don’t know what to do.
I want you to get lost in me. I want someone to get lost in me. And maybe I’m so afraid of that never happening that I let myself get lost instead.
And maybe this is where I learn to break this cycle, step away from the familiar, pulling my reluctant heart away from your eyes. Still care, still be there, but just not be all the way there. Stand on the periphery of you so you’re not left alone, because I think you’re very alone and I would never leave you like that, like I’ve been left. And I will continue to adore you, just maybe from a safe distance.
Because I can’t do this again. As much as I wish that I could… as much as I wish you could let yourself go and make this into something, take the chance, take my heart. But you won’t and you can’t.
And I can’t either.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Get the f**k out of my way!
This has been an interesting week of discovery of how I manage to get the hell in my own way all of the freakin’ time.
As I’ve mentioned before, the years of emotional abuse have left me constantly trying to figure out all angles of any situation before I get into any situation. So I spend a lot of time just going, okay, so if he says this, then I’ll say that and then what if this happens and what if that happens, then I should do this and… and… and… and I get on the hamster wheel and run in circles, because there is no answer to any of it.
And because of a couple of men in my life who have hurt me in quiet and vicious ways, I’m so afraid of making the wrong move with someone I care about that I obsess and obsess and obsess over making sure I do everything just perfectly right.
Well, you know where that gets me? That’s right, hamster wheel. I run in circles and circles and circles. And you know what that running in circles does? It generates enough kinetic energy to wind up the clowns and set them loose.
And I found myself there the other day, running in circles, clowns hooting and hollering and circling their little clown cars. All because of a minor change in communication, which was totally understandable and rational, but clowns, when you’re on a hamster wheel, do not allow much room for rationality. So I allowed myself to chase myself into a very dark place, all because of… well… absolutely nothing. Just because he was busy this week and we didn’t talk as much. However, this is how a major relationship with a major OOMA ended - he just stopped calling, stopped returning my calls and emails and just basically faded away, taking my heart with him. It took a while for me to realize this because he was a master at it. But it left me afraid when I don’t hear from a man who I care about because, of course, I’ve been taught that I’m always wrong and everything I do is wrong. And so, I had decided I had done something terribly wrong and he would be angry with me and reject me out of hand.
But, wait. What?
I found myself circling the drain and then finally was able to stop and really think about what I was doing.
I was getting in my own way. Making decisions about what was going on without having any information from the other side about what was going on. There was a big clown-me standing in front of me, getting in my own way.
So I kind of screamed to that clown-me, Get the fuck out of my way!
Wow. Silence. The clown-me stood for a moment, trying to figure out how to fight me. But I pushed that clown-me out of the way and listened to the silence while the clowns retreated as well.
And you know what I heard in that silence?
Silence.
Just pure silence.
No mental math, no algebra. No hamster wheel. Nothing.
Just silence.
And I had a nice conversation with the me that was left. Told myself to just calm down. Just breathe. Just be real and be honest and be true to myself. That’s all I can do. In any relationship. But my relationships with men always seem to get so complicated by the clown-me. The one who’s been taught to complicate things.
And I just want to get out of my own way and be true. Just be me. Just be silent for a while mentally and really listen to what’s underneath everything. How DO I feel? What DO I want?
And really listen to him. Hear what he’s saying, whether it’s out loud or not. Just listen. No matter where this goes, listen to him. To his soul. To his heart. Because otherwise, what’s the point if I’m not listening?
Because if I can’t get out of my way now, when it’s just friendship, when it’s just the beginning of something maybe/possibly/hopefully, how can I get out of my own way if it actually turns out to be something?
I have to learn not to drag the past along behind me and start to let the past go, get out of my way. This relationship is its own creature. It will have its own voice, its own rhythm, its own time. And if I get in my way and drag this shit behind me, then this has no chance of being anything but what has gone on before.
And I want to see what this relationship may be, whatever it ends up being. Good friends, lovers, colleagues, collaborators, something in between all of those things. It almost doesn’t matter as long as I let it be what it is going to be.
And the only way it can be that is if I step aside and let it be, quietly, simply, honestly. Not try to figure it out, not try to force it to be something, just get out of the way of it and follow it instead of driving it.
Huge lesson. Hard lesson. Reeeaaallly hard lesson.
When I get out of my own way, I can hear my heart and my breathe and my soul. And what those pieces are whispering to me is just trust, just be real, just be honest. Don’t struggle, fight, figure, calculate, panic, freak out. His
And then I can hear his heart, his soul, in those quiet moments, sitting on the floor, listening to him talk about his life and his soul and his hurt, without saying it. And that’s as beautiful and true and real as it can get.
So get the fuck out of your own way, stupid, and maybe -- just maybe -- there’s a chance.
As I’ve mentioned before, the years of emotional abuse have left me constantly trying to figure out all angles of any situation before I get into any situation. So I spend a lot of time just going, okay, so if he says this, then I’ll say that and then what if this happens and what if that happens, then I should do this and… and… and… and I get on the hamster wheel and run in circles, because there is no answer to any of it.
And because of a couple of men in my life who have hurt me in quiet and vicious ways, I’m so afraid of making the wrong move with someone I care about that I obsess and obsess and obsess over making sure I do everything just perfectly right.
Well, you know where that gets me? That’s right, hamster wheel. I run in circles and circles and circles. And you know what that running in circles does? It generates enough kinetic energy to wind up the clowns and set them loose.
And I found myself there the other day, running in circles, clowns hooting and hollering and circling their little clown cars. All because of a minor change in communication, which was totally understandable and rational, but clowns, when you’re on a hamster wheel, do not allow much room for rationality. So I allowed myself to chase myself into a very dark place, all because of… well… absolutely nothing. Just because he was busy this week and we didn’t talk as much. However, this is how a major relationship with a major OOMA ended - he just stopped calling, stopped returning my calls and emails and just basically faded away, taking my heart with him. It took a while for me to realize this because he was a master at it. But it left me afraid when I don’t hear from a man who I care about because, of course, I’ve been taught that I’m always wrong and everything I do is wrong. And so, I had decided I had done something terribly wrong and he would be angry with me and reject me out of hand.
But, wait. What?
I found myself circling the drain and then finally was able to stop and really think about what I was doing.
I was getting in my own way. Making decisions about what was going on without having any information from the other side about what was going on. There was a big clown-me standing in front of me, getting in my own way.
So I kind of screamed to that clown-me, Get the fuck out of my way!
Wow. Silence. The clown-me stood for a moment, trying to figure out how to fight me. But I pushed that clown-me out of the way and listened to the silence while the clowns retreated as well.
And you know what I heard in that silence?
Silence.
Just pure silence.
No mental math, no algebra. No hamster wheel. Nothing.
Just silence.
And I had a nice conversation with the me that was left. Told myself to just calm down. Just breathe. Just be real and be honest and be true to myself. That’s all I can do. In any relationship. But my relationships with men always seem to get so complicated by the clown-me. The one who’s been taught to complicate things.
And I just want to get out of my own way and be true. Just be me. Just be silent for a while mentally and really listen to what’s underneath everything. How DO I feel? What DO I want?
And really listen to him. Hear what he’s saying, whether it’s out loud or not. Just listen. No matter where this goes, listen to him. To his soul. To his heart. Because otherwise, what’s the point if I’m not listening?
Because if I can’t get out of my way now, when it’s just friendship, when it’s just the beginning of something maybe/possibly/hopefully, how can I get out of my own way if it actually turns out to be something?
I have to learn not to drag the past along behind me and start to let the past go, get out of my way. This relationship is its own creature. It will have its own voice, its own rhythm, its own time. And if I get in my way and drag this shit behind me, then this has no chance of being anything but what has gone on before.
And I want to see what this relationship may be, whatever it ends up being. Good friends, lovers, colleagues, collaborators, something in between all of those things. It almost doesn’t matter as long as I let it be what it is going to be.
And the only way it can be that is if I step aside and let it be, quietly, simply, honestly. Not try to figure it out, not try to force it to be something, just get out of the way of it and follow it instead of driving it.
Huge lesson. Hard lesson. Reeeaaallly hard lesson.
When I get out of my own way, I can hear my heart and my breathe and my soul. And what those pieces are whispering to me is just trust, just be real, just be honest. Don’t struggle, fight, figure, calculate, panic, freak out. His
And then I can hear his heart, his soul, in those quiet moments, sitting on the floor, listening to him talk about his life and his soul and his hurt, without saying it. And that’s as beautiful and true and real as it can get.
So get the fuck out of your own way, stupid, and maybe -- just maybe -- there’s a chance.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Fight or... let's get the hell outta here...
I want to run right now. Run away. Away from figuring things out. Away from the inevitable hurt that’s going to come. Because I want. Because I need. Because I’m me.
I want to hide away, pretend nothing was ever there. Because I’ve been here before -- and again. And probably will again. And it’s always the same.
Because I want to run. And I usually do.
And tonight I thought, I need to pull away, run away, leave you there because I think that’s what you want… now. After all that, after all the close and the want and the pounding heart, I have now decided that you don’t want it or me or any of it and it’d be easier to just run and hide and pretend there was never a want or a need or pounding hearts.
But really, I have no idea what you want, need, whatever. Because you’re a guy. And you’ll never let on what you want, need, whatever.
So my instinct right now is to run.
But a thought invaded my carefully laid plan to leave you in the metaphorical dirt.
Why is it when it comes to fight or flight, I flight? Why don’t I fight? Why don’t I stand in front of you and challenge you instead of running and hiding? Why don’t I take a risk, take a dare, take a chance and just fight for what is hanging in the air between us? Why is fight not an option?
I dunno.
Because fight means that it means something. Flight allows me to pretend that it never meant anything. Flight means I get to keep myself protected and pretend I never even thought about what was there.
And I don’t know how to fight for whatever is there. Because what if there is nothing there and I’m just shadow-boxing?
Because you’re in flight. Because you won’t fight. Because you’re so good at pretending there’s nothing in the air - no want, no need, no pounding heart. Because you’ve had to be in flight your whole life because nobody ever fought for you.
What would you do if I fought for you? If I stood my ground and made you see it. If I just refused to let you flee. Would you fight for me?
I dunno. Probably not. Because no one has ever fought for me either.
I guess I’m tired of fighting for something that the other person won’t fight for. I’m tired of having my gloves up and protecting myself while the other person fights their way past me, leaving me in the ring alone. Because that’s where it ends up - me alone.
And if I run away now, at least I choose to be alone and it’s in my control. If you leave me behind, then it’s not my choice. And I’m left to close up the wounds left behind.
But why can’t I choose to fight? Why I can’t I choose to be the one to do something about the circling and the shadow boxing?
I dunno.
I don’t know a lot tonight. So I apologize if this blog makes no sense. It just needed to get out.
You may return to your regularly scheduled… whatever.
I want to hide away, pretend nothing was ever there. Because I’ve been here before -- and again. And probably will again. And it’s always the same.
Because I want to run. And I usually do.
And tonight I thought, I need to pull away, run away, leave you there because I think that’s what you want… now. After all that, after all the close and the want and the pounding heart, I have now decided that you don’t want it or me or any of it and it’d be easier to just run and hide and pretend there was never a want or a need or pounding hearts.
But really, I have no idea what you want, need, whatever. Because you’re a guy. And you’ll never let on what you want, need, whatever.
So my instinct right now is to run.
But a thought invaded my carefully laid plan to leave you in the metaphorical dirt.
Why is it when it comes to fight or flight, I flight? Why don’t I fight? Why don’t I stand in front of you and challenge you instead of running and hiding? Why don’t I take a risk, take a dare, take a chance and just fight for what is hanging in the air between us? Why is fight not an option?
I dunno.
Because fight means that it means something. Flight allows me to pretend that it never meant anything. Flight means I get to keep myself protected and pretend I never even thought about what was there.
And I don’t know how to fight for whatever is there. Because what if there is nothing there and I’m just shadow-boxing?
Because you’re in flight. Because you won’t fight. Because you’re so good at pretending there’s nothing in the air - no want, no need, no pounding heart. Because you’ve had to be in flight your whole life because nobody ever fought for you.
What would you do if I fought for you? If I stood my ground and made you see it. If I just refused to let you flee. Would you fight for me?
I dunno. Probably not. Because no one has ever fought for me either.
I guess I’m tired of fighting for something that the other person won’t fight for. I’m tired of having my gloves up and protecting myself while the other person fights their way past me, leaving me in the ring alone. Because that’s where it ends up - me alone.
And if I run away now, at least I choose to be alone and it’s in my control. If you leave me behind, then it’s not my choice. And I’m left to close up the wounds left behind.
But why can’t I choose to fight? Why I can’t I choose to be the one to do something about the circling and the shadow boxing?
I dunno.
I don’t know a lot tonight. So I apologize if this blog makes no sense. It just needed to get out.
You may return to your regularly scheduled… whatever.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Guest blog
Check out my guest blog on Her Film. I get to talk about being a female director who wants to direct like a man.
http://herfilm.wordpress.com/2011/03/26/we-can-do-that-guest-post-by-filmmaker-susan-lee/
http://herfilm.wordpress.com/2011/03/26/we-can-do-that-guest-post-by-filmmaker-susan-lee/
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Wildly optimistic heart
I was listening to my Ipod on the way home from job #342 this afternoon. It’s been a long day and my butt is tired and I was looking forward to coming home and crashing for a bit.
Then my Ipod got the better of me, playing Keith Urban’s “If Ever I Should Love”.
Go to:
http://www.cmt.com/videos/shows/cmt-crossroads/529722/cmt-crossroads-with-john-mayer-and-keith-urban-if-ever-i-could-love.jhtml?artist=1161250
Then my wildly optimistic heart took over.
First of all, I love this song. There is something to the rhythm of it that just makes me twitch. And there’s a point near the end that is so beautiful, so full, so ridiculously wonderful that it almost makes me cry every time I hear it.
So I’m in my car, singing at the top of my lungs and, suddenly, my hands take over. I used to be a dancer, for those of you unfamiliar with me, although I haven’t really danced in probably ten years. Not even at parties/weddings/social gatherings. The closest I’ve come was probably in 2006 at karaoke. Some drunk guy was dancing with all the cute girls and kind of decided to dance with me at the last second. He was actually pretty good, considering how drunk he was, and we danced really well together, ending with him dipping me in the most fabulous way. When I stood up from the dip - which I executed with aplomb - he stood there for a moment and finally said, “Wow.”
But there haven’t been many “wow” moments since.
I also kind of resist dancing because, well, it breaks my heart when I dance. I miss it terribly. But for a lot of reasons, I just don’t really dance anymore. Occasionally, I do what I call “kitchen ballet”, where music will move me, usually while I’m making dinner or something, and I’ll bust out a couple of moves in the kitchen.
But lately, I’ve felt like dancing. My hands get started, marking dance steps, marking rhythm, getting my brain doing on what I could do to this music. And then my body starts to twitch and my feet start finding the rhythm.
The other thing that has gotten me thinking about dancing lately -- well, actually two other things. One is that, in turning this blog into a play (opening May 27th in North Hollywood), a number of dance numbers have erupted in the writing. A couple of fun jives, a waltz or two and a (hopefully) heart-breaking tango in the middle of it. So I’ve been thinking a lot about dancing, in regards to that.
The other thing is that a really wonderful man who is close to my heart constantly refers to me lately as a dancer. Not “oh, you used to be a dancer”. But “you’re a dancer”. Usually associated with me knocking something over and being incredibly clumsy (many things have been spilled in his apartment), since dancers are notoriously clumsy off the stage. But the way he says it… He sees me as a dancer. Period. And that makes my heart soar.
And right now, my heart has reason to be optimistic. So the lyrics from the song really speak to me right now, making my heart want to leap out of my chest and go running wildly through the streets. I feel so close to something wonderful, which I’ve probably jinxed by putting that thought out here in this blog, that I can hardly breathe sometimes.
The last verse of the song builds and builds and that’s what made me dance tonight. These lyrics:
“I was scared to love again
Feel the pain that came when she walked out of my life
I got hurt so bad I swore I'd never
Let another get inside this heart of mine
But you touched my hand and every plan that I had
Disappeared like a falling star
And there's a new beginning
And I'm movin' to the rhythm of a beating, braver heart”.
And I was thinking of this special person and how he makes me feel. And I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve really, truly felt this happy. And I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve danced. And I mean DANCED. Full on, no holds barred. Just let the joy out and danced.
And so, I got out of the car and my feet could hardly hold still. There was a little pirouette at the mailbox, I will admit, which I’m sure made my neighbors wonder even more about me. And I couldn’t wait to get into the house. Dropped my bags, tossed my jacket aside, reset the song to the beginning and danced.
And danced.
And danced.
My heart soared. I know, it’s corny but it’s true. Tears streamed down my face… tears of joy, of pleasure, of hope, of love. All the emotion I hang on to so tightly, all the passion I feel for this hope, this man, this heart let go and I danced. Like I haven’t danced in years.
I’m sure it was ugly. I’m sure it was clumsy. I’m at least thirty pounds overweight for dancing (or anything else, really). I have no idea what I’m doing anymore when it comes to dance. And I'm sure this love, this passion will all come crashing down around me, because that's what it does, and next week, I'll be back to my usual heartbroken, morose self.
But tonight, I danced.
And it was beautiful…
Then my Ipod got the better of me, playing Keith Urban’s “If Ever I Should Love”.
Go to:
http://www.cmt.com/videos/shows/cmt-crossroads/529722/cmt-crossroads-with-john-mayer-and-keith-urban-if-ever-i-could-love.jhtml?artist=1161250
Then my wildly optimistic heart took over.
First of all, I love this song. There is something to the rhythm of it that just makes me twitch. And there’s a point near the end that is so beautiful, so full, so ridiculously wonderful that it almost makes me cry every time I hear it.
So I’m in my car, singing at the top of my lungs and, suddenly, my hands take over. I used to be a dancer, for those of you unfamiliar with me, although I haven’t really danced in probably ten years. Not even at parties/weddings/social gatherings. The closest I’ve come was probably in 2006 at karaoke. Some drunk guy was dancing with all the cute girls and kind of decided to dance with me at the last second. He was actually pretty good, considering how drunk he was, and we danced really well together, ending with him dipping me in the most fabulous way. When I stood up from the dip - which I executed with aplomb - he stood there for a moment and finally said, “Wow.”
But there haven’t been many “wow” moments since.
I also kind of resist dancing because, well, it breaks my heart when I dance. I miss it terribly. But for a lot of reasons, I just don’t really dance anymore. Occasionally, I do what I call “kitchen ballet”, where music will move me, usually while I’m making dinner or something, and I’ll bust out a couple of moves in the kitchen.
But lately, I’ve felt like dancing. My hands get started, marking dance steps, marking rhythm, getting my brain doing on what I could do to this music. And then my body starts to twitch and my feet start finding the rhythm.
The other thing that has gotten me thinking about dancing lately -- well, actually two other things. One is that, in turning this blog into a play (opening May 27th in North Hollywood), a number of dance numbers have erupted in the writing. A couple of fun jives, a waltz or two and a (hopefully) heart-breaking tango in the middle of it. So I’ve been thinking a lot about dancing, in regards to that.
The other thing is that a really wonderful man who is close to my heart constantly refers to me lately as a dancer. Not “oh, you used to be a dancer”. But “you’re a dancer”. Usually associated with me knocking something over and being incredibly clumsy (many things have been spilled in his apartment), since dancers are notoriously clumsy off the stage. But the way he says it… He sees me as a dancer. Period. And that makes my heart soar.
And right now, my heart has reason to be optimistic. So the lyrics from the song really speak to me right now, making my heart want to leap out of my chest and go running wildly through the streets. I feel so close to something wonderful, which I’ve probably jinxed by putting that thought out here in this blog, that I can hardly breathe sometimes.
The last verse of the song builds and builds and that’s what made me dance tonight. These lyrics:
“I was scared to love again
Feel the pain that came when she walked out of my life
I got hurt so bad I swore I'd never
Let another get inside this heart of mine
But you touched my hand and every plan that I had
Disappeared like a falling star
And there's a new beginning
And I'm movin' to the rhythm of a beating, braver heart”.
And I was thinking of this special person and how he makes me feel. And I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve really, truly felt this happy. And I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve danced. And I mean DANCED. Full on, no holds barred. Just let the joy out and danced.
And so, I got out of the car and my feet could hardly hold still. There was a little pirouette at the mailbox, I will admit, which I’m sure made my neighbors wonder even more about me. And I couldn’t wait to get into the house. Dropped my bags, tossed my jacket aside, reset the song to the beginning and danced.
And danced.
And danced.
My heart soared. I know, it’s corny but it’s true. Tears streamed down my face… tears of joy, of pleasure, of hope, of love. All the emotion I hang on to so tightly, all the passion I feel for this hope, this man, this heart let go and I danced. Like I haven’t danced in years.
I’m sure it was ugly. I’m sure it was clumsy. I’m at least thirty pounds overweight for dancing (or anything else, really). I have no idea what I’m doing anymore when it comes to dance. And I'm sure this love, this passion will all come crashing down around me, because that's what it does, and next week, I'll be back to my usual heartbroken, morose self.
But tonight, I danced.
And it was beautiful…
Monday, March 14, 2011
Upon a time
03/14/11 - upon a time
Once
upon a time,
he cradled my face
in his hand
just as you did
last night.
Looking at me
with want
and pain
and true
real adoration.
He held me close
like you did
last night,
our hearts beating
together
together
just as ours did
last night.
And I’m so afraid
you’re going to
be him
and I’m going to
be me.
And I’ll be right back
there
then
again.
But I don’t remember
holding my breath
waiting
hoping
wanting
like I did
last night.
Praying
it will be
different
better
more.
But
I don’t know
if I can
do
it.
Once
upon a time,
he cradled my face
in his hand
just as you did
last night.
Looking at me
with want
and pain
and true
real adoration.
He held me close
like you did
last night,
our hearts beating
together
together
just as ours did
last night.
And I’m so afraid
you’re going to
be him
and I’m going to
be me.
And I’ll be right back
there
then
again.
But I don’t remember
holding my breath
waiting
hoping
wanting
like I did
last night.
Praying
it will be
different
better
more.
But
I don’t know
if I can
do
it.
Monday, March 07, 2011
Fundraising round deux
As time creeps closer to this blog turning into a play in Los Angeles, I have started another IndieGoGo campaign to raise the production funds needed to produce the show.
Here's the blurb:
"Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", written and directed by Susan Lee, chronicles her recovery as she rebuilt her life after leaving a sixteen year long abusive marriage. Based on her popular blog, http://diaryofamidlifecrisis.blogspot.com/, the play will be filled with discussion of abuse, the beauty of discovering lost talents, unrequited love -- and clowns. And sock puppets. And maybe some martial arts. And one beautiful heart-breaking tango. (And, no, Susan will not be performing in addition to writing and directing. She's not that much of a narcissist.) A percentage of any profits from the play will be donated to Sojourn, a shelter for victims of domestic violence - http://www.opcc.net/tabid/88/Default.aspx.
Here's where to give me your dough:
http://www.indiegogo.com/Diary-of-a-Mid-Life-Crisis-1
Any contribution is welcome - $5, $50, $500. There are perks at every step, from a simple thank you on my website and in the program to sock puppets and clown noses to an original oil painting done by yours chumly.
So if you've got a buck or two to spare, please toss it into the IndieGoGo fund and I shall be eternally grateful!
Thanks much.
Here's the blurb:
"Diary of a Mid-Life Crisis", written and directed by Susan Lee, chronicles her recovery as she rebuilt her life after leaving a sixteen year long abusive marriage. Based on her popular blog, http://diaryofamidlifecrisis.blogspot.com/, the play will be filled with discussion of abuse, the beauty of discovering lost talents, unrequited love -- and clowns. And sock puppets. And maybe some martial arts. And one beautiful heart-breaking tango. (And, no, Susan will not be performing in addition to writing and directing. She's not that much of a narcissist.) A percentage of any profits from the play will be donated to Sojourn, a shelter for victims of domestic violence - http://www.opcc.net/tabid/88/Default.aspx.
Here's where to give me your dough:
http://www.indiegogo.com/Diary-of-a-Mid-Life-Crisis-1
Any contribution is welcome - $5, $50, $500. There are perks at every step, from a simple thank you on my website and in the program to sock puppets and clown noses to an original oil painting done by yours chumly.
So if you've got a buck or two to spare, please toss it into the IndieGoGo fund and I shall be eternally grateful!
Thanks much.
Saturday, March 05, 2011
A heart worth breaking
You’re going to break my heart… and I’m going to let you. Because apparently I haven’t learned how not to let someone break my heart yet.
It’s the same thing - I fall, you say you don’t. Yet you do. Yet you won’t. But I will.
And I’ll dream and I’ll want and I’ll wait.
And we’ll do this … whatever this is. This limbo, this nothing yet everything. This thing that leads nowhere yet we can’t not do it.
And we’ll be thisclose and this far. And then thiscloseagain.
And you’ll break my heart. And I know it.
But I can’t wrangle the want and the need and the hope. They all lead me down that inevitable road, where there is nothing at the end but nothing. You going this way, me going that. We’ll smile, we’ll hug, you’ll say we’re friends and we’ll always be friends.
And you’ll be gone. But you’ll linger in the pieces of my heart, where the ghosts of others come before live.
And I’ll go on and you’ll go on. And maybe you’ll remember and maybe you won’t. But I will. I’ll remember the talks and the poetry and the food and the laughter and the want. And you’ll be held dear deep inside, whether you want to be or not.
So I’ll let you break my heart because I don’t know how not to. And maybe next time, I’ll learn.
“This time I’m mistaken/for handing you a heart worth breaking.”
It’s the same thing - I fall, you say you don’t. Yet you do. Yet you won’t. But I will.
And I’ll dream and I’ll want and I’ll wait.
And we’ll do this … whatever this is. This limbo, this nothing yet everything. This thing that leads nowhere yet we can’t not do it.
And we’ll be thisclose and this far. And then thiscloseagain.
And you’ll break my heart. And I know it.
But I can’t wrangle the want and the need and the hope. They all lead me down that inevitable road, where there is nothing at the end but nothing. You going this way, me going that. We’ll smile, we’ll hug, you’ll say we’re friends and we’ll always be friends.
And you’ll be gone. But you’ll linger in the pieces of my heart, where the ghosts of others come before live.
And I’ll go on and you’ll go on. And maybe you’ll remember and maybe you won’t. But I will. I’ll remember the talks and the poetry and the food and the laughter and the want. And you’ll be held dear deep inside, whether you want to be or not.
So I’ll let you break my heart because I don’t know how not to. And maybe next time, I’ll learn.
“This time I’m mistaken/for handing you a heart worth breaking.”
Monday, February 28, 2011
Just to be safe
Just to be safe
Safe
–adjective
1. secure from liability to harm, injury, danger, or risk: a safe place.
2. free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.
3. involving little or no risk of mishap, error, etc.: a safe estimate.
4. dependable or trustworthy: a safe guide.
5. careful to avoid danger or controversy: a safe player; a safe play.
6. denied the chance to do harm; in secure custody: a criminal safe in jail.
Such a small word - safe. S-A-F-E. Four letters.
But so many meanings.
Safe.
To be safe. To feel safe.
Something we all want. To be safe, to feel safe. To be with someone who makes us feel safe. To make someone else feel safe.
Sounds so simple.
Safe.
I have never felt safe in a relationship. Neither of my marriages made me feel safe. My familial experience with safe is spotted at best. I thought that was just the way every relationship was - “safe” was a word that meant something but didn’t apply.
I’m not sure what would make me feel safe. I’m not sure I could ever feel safe at this point in my life. I do have people in my life who I trust -- mostly my girlfriends. But safe?
“Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.”
Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk.
I want a relationship free from hurt, injury and danger. But I’m not sure any of us can have that. We all get hurt, we all hurt. Doesn’t matter our intentions, we hurt. That’s life. That’s nature. We hurt, we get hurt, we get injured, we injure. How can we feel safe if it is inevitable that we will get hurt, get injured and injure those we love?
I threw a life preserver (virtually) to someone last night, hoping to make him feel safe because I know that he doesn’t -- in any aspect of his life. And I want to be the one to make him feel safe, to make him feel secure and whole and valued and beautiful and loved. But I know he probably won’t let me because he’s been hurt and injured and he’s hurt and injured and maybe he thinks he will never be able to be safe again so he lives in the hurt and the injury rather than risk.
And I stand over here, pondering how to maintain a peaceful heart when all I want is someone to make me feel safe. Someone to throw me a life preserver - virtual or otherwise. But I know I won’t let them because I’ve been hurt and injured and I’ve hurt and injured and I’m not sure I can make anyone feel safe anymore because I’m not sure I believe there is a safe left.
And can I love even if it doesn’t feel safe?
Sometimes, I think safe is not trying to love, not letting someone in. If I don’t ever let him in, then I won’t ever get hurt. Or so I tell myself. And maybe he’s not the one hurting me, maybe I’m the one hurting me by not letting him in.
Safe is protecting myself and keeping my heart to myself. Safe is not letting him get as close as I’d like him to because then neither of us can hurt each other. We can stand at this distance, arms at our sides, heart buried deep inside, fighting the urge to risk, fighting the urge to hurt, fighting the urge to just not be safe for one single, delirious, beautiful moment.
Because that would be dangerous. That would be risky. And the definition of safe is “free from… risk.”
So how do we be safe and not safe at the same time? How do we do that? How do we put ourselves out there in the ether, praying it won’t hurt this time, praying we won’t hurt him this time? How do we risk when the cost seems so very high and when it feels safer to just stay home, just keep your heart tucked away, keep yourself and himself safe?
I risk so much every single day in the life I have chosen to live. I risk the system, I risk living the life I want to live. I risk losing everything every day because I can’t pay my rent and I can’t pay my bills, and I can’t even afford gas for my car this week. That’s risk. That’s danger. That’s pain and hurt and all of that stuff. But I choose to do that every single day because of love. Because I love my life. I have chosen a life I love and so I’ve chosen to not be safe.
But I can’t yet choose to not be safe with you. And you won’t choose to not be safe with me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So we’ll both just stand here, at a safe distance, still hurt, still hurting, still wanting and aching and breaking and needing. But “safe”. Without seeing how unsafe we are not.
And maybe we’ll never be brave enough to let go of safety enough to be with each other as more than just good friends. Maybe there’s a safety in that that somehow reassures us and keeps us here. Occasionally, one of us risks the loss of that safety with a touch or a glance or a few moments of holding my hand, unexpectedly, overwhelmingly. Yet we retreat to our safe corners, to watch, to wait, to be safe.
Or maybe -- just maybe -- I say, fuck that and jump. Because I want the way it feels when it’s not safe. I want the risk, I want the unknown, I want the… everything that goes with not being safe. I want to feel. I want to live.
I want what this poem expresses so beautifully. But until I risk, until I stop feeling safe, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.
So I’ll end with a little e.e. cummings, who was never safe and always risked and left behind a legacy of words filled with un-safety and beauty. Because I already carry your heart with me now, whether you know it or not.
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Safe
–adjective
1. secure from liability to harm, injury, danger, or risk: a safe place.
2. free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.
3. involving little or no risk of mishap, error, etc.: a safe estimate.
4. dependable or trustworthy: a safe guide.
5. careful to avoid danger or controversy: a safe player; a safe play.
6. denied the chance to do harm; in secure custody: a criminal safe in jail.
Such a small word - safe. S-A-F-E. Four letters.
But so many meanings.
Safe.
To be safe. To feel safe.
Something we all want. To be safe, to feel safe. To be with someone who makes us feel safe. To make someone else feel safe.
Sounds so simple.
Safe.
I have never felt safe in a relationship. Neither of my marriages made me feel safe. My familial experience with safe is spotted at best. I thought that was just the way every relationship was - “safe” was a word that meant something but didn’t apply.
I’m not sure what would make me feel safe. I’m not sure I could ever feel safe at this point in my life. I do have people in my life who I trust -- mostly my girlfriends. But safe?
“Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.”
Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk.
I want a relationship free from hurt, injury and danger. But I’m not sure any of us can have that. We all get hurt, we all hurt. Doesn’t matter our intentions, we hurt. That’s life. That’s nature. We hurt, we get hurt, we get injured, we injure. How can we feel safe if it is inevitable that we will get hurt, get injured and injure those we love?
I threw a life preserver (virtually) to someone last night, hoping to make him feel safe because I know that he doesn’t -- in any aspect of his life. And I want to be the one to make him feel safe, to make him feel secure and whole and valued and beautiful and loved. But I know he probably won’t let me because he’s been hurt and injured and he’s hurt and injured and maybe he thinks he will never be able to be safe again so he lives in the hurt and the injury rather than risk.
And I stand over here, pondering how to maintain a peaceful heart when all I want is someone to make me feel safe. Someone to throw me a life preserver - virtual or otherwise. But I know I won’t let them because I’ve been hurt and injured and I’ve hurt and injured and I’m not sure I can make anyone feel safe anymore because I’m not sure I believe there is a safe left.
And can I love even if it doesn’t feel safe?
Sometimes, I think safe is not trying to love, not letting someone in. If I don’t ever let him in, then I won’t ever get hurt. Or so I tell myself. And maybe he’s not the one hurting me, maybe I’m the one hurting me by not letting him in.
Safe is protecting myself and keeping my heart to myself. Safe is not letting him get as close as I’d like him to because then neither of us can hurt each other. We can stand at this distance, arms at our sides, heart buried deep inside, fighting the urge to risk, fighting the urge to hurt, fighting the urge to just not be safe for one single, delirious, beautiful moment.
Because that would be dangerous. That would be risky. And the definition of safe is “free from… risk.”
So how do we be safe and not safe at the same time? How do we do that? How do we put ourselves out there in the ether, praying it won’t hurt this time, praying we won’t hurt him this time? How do we risk when the cost seems so very high and when it feels safer to just stay home, just keep your heart tucked away, keep yourself and himself safe?
I risk so much every single day in the life I have chosen to live. I risk the system, I risk living the life I want to live. I risk losing everything every day because I can’t pay my rent and I can’t pay my bills, and I can’t even afford gas for my car this week. That’s risk. That’s danger. That’s pain and hurt and all of that stuff. But I choose to do that every single day because of love. Because I love my life. I have chosen a life I love and so I’ve chosen to not be safe.
But I can’t yet choose to not be safe with you. And you won’t choose to not be safe with me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So we’ll both just stand here, at a safe distance, still hurt, still hurting, still wanting and aching and breaking and needing. But “safe”. Without seeing how unsafe we are not.
And maybe we’ll never be brave enough to let go of safety enough to be with each other as more than just good friends. Maybe there’s a safety in that that somehow reassures us and keeps us here. Occasionally, one of us risks the loss of that safety with a touch or a glance or a few moments of holding my hand, unexpectedly, overwhelmingly. Yet we retreat to our safe corners, to watch, to wait, to be safe.
Or maybe -- just maybe -- I say, fuck that and jump. Because I want the way it feels when it’s not safe. I want the risk, I want the unknown, I want the… everything that goes with not being safe. I want to feel. I want to live.
I want what this poem expresses so beautifully. But until I risk, until I stop feeling safe, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.
So I’ll end with a little e.e. cummings, who was never safe and always risked and left behind a legacy of words filled with un-safety and beauty. Because I already carry your heart with me now, whether you know it or not.
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Let It Be
“Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. There will be an answer, let it be.”
Yeah. I’m not good at that.
Letting it be. Whatever “it” is.
I have to know. I have to know what the answer is. I have to know what the end result will be. I have to know. I have to examine every situation from every single angle and figure out all of the variations that could come from any situation so I can figure out what’s going to happen in the end.
I finally figured out where that comes from.
My family life growing up was chaotic, to say the least. I never thought there was anything wrong or different. I thought everyone lived like we did. Fighting. Arguing. Mom throwing things. Mom being just a little bit bipolar so never really knowing how she was going to react to anything. Whatever I thought she was going to do -- bad or good -- she always reacted the polar opposite of what I expected. And the rest of my family, well, let’s just say there were other challenges within that dynamic.
Then with both of my ex-husbands, who both came from alcoholic families and had all the tendencies alcoholics have, I found myself repeating this pattern. I had to figure out every angle on everything so I would be able to be what they wanted me to be, to do the exact right thing and be the exact right thing. Maybe not so much with my first husband but definitely with my second.
R was volatile at the best of times but if things didn’t go the way he wanted, there was hell to pay. Now, emotional abuse is hard to understand unless you’ve been on the receiving end of a vicious, cruel, screaming tantrum. You live to avoid those situations so you become really good at figuring out how to walk the minefield that has somehow become your life.
So I’ve spent most of my life dodging minefields and tiptoeing through relationships. Trying to protect myself, trying to make sure that everything stays stable and easy and that I don’t get my head ripped off because of some tiny, teeny, little, bitty thing I missed.
“Let it be, let it be…”
But now, when I don’t have that crazy, insane, abusive life anymore, I’m still hanging on to one or two vestiges of that life. And one of those vestiges is trying to figure everything out. Which is not necessary when life isn’t crazy and I’m surrounded by people who love me and respect me.
But when it comes to the men I care about, the ones (oh, let’s be honest right now, the ONE) who I want to be with, who I want to invite into my life, I still cling to those old habits. Figure out everything, analyze everything, make sure I know every angle of every situation and try to figure out how to make everything work out perfectly, no matter what the response from the other person is.
The problem is, the man I am currently interested in is not like my two exes. Well, in some ways, of course he is because there is something in each ma I’ve fallen for that ties them together. But he is not abusive, he is not angry, he is not vindictive towards me. He is gentle and sweet and challenges me just the right way. This goes for all of the men I have fallen for in the past five years. They’re gentle, they’re sweet, they respect me like I’ve never been respected before.
Yet I still walk on eggshells. I’m still afraid that what I’m doing is going to be wrong, going to drive them away, going to end up with me being screamed at and destroyed and ruined, all because I’ve done something wrong.
So I still spend hours and hours and hours trying to figure out what every gesture means, what every word means, what every single interaction means. Because if I can figure that out, then I can make everything perfect.
Except I can’t.
Because there is nothing to figure out. For the most part, these men - including the current OOMA (object of my affection) - are pretty much what they seem to be. They have issues, sure, don’t we all. And some of those issues are complicated and do veil things but not the way my brain thinks it is. So I obsess and I lose hours and create heartbreak in myself because I simply cannot just let this be. I HAVE to know. I HAVE to figure it out. I HAVE to have an answer.
But there are no answers by doing this.
“There will be an answer, let it be.”
I’m trying to learn to just let things be. I cannot control anything but myself, as much as I want to control him. I cannot make him do what I want him to do, no matter how many ways I think about how to do just that. I cannot understand what’s going on in his head because I can’t. I have to just let it be what it is. Friends? Something more? Something less? Every algebraic equation I come up with won’t solve anything. Won’t net an answer.
“There will be an answer, let it be.”
I have to just let it be. In so many ways. Not just with whatever is going to happen with this OOMA but with many things in my life. I have to learn to let go of the patterns of abuse and try to heal that last, lingering part of myself and learn to just let it be. Chanting helps. Since I’ve joined Soka Gakkai International, a lay Buddhist sect, chanting has become a big part of my life and helps me let go some, let the universe know what I’m needing/wanting/lacking and trying to just let the universe take care of me. But I’m not good at that yet so I’m still pushing and twisting and bending.
“There will be an answer, let it be.”
Maybe once I learn this, I can leave the last of him behind me, the last of our life behind me. Maybe then I’ll be able to move forward with someone, whether it’s this complicated, enigmatic OOMA or someone else in the future, and be able to just let things be. Not try algebra for the simplest things, just let it be.
“There will be an answer…
Let it be.”
Yeah. I’m not good at that.
Letting it be. Whatever “it” is.
I have to know. I have to know what the answer is. I have to know what the end result will be. I have to know. I have to examine every situation from every single angle and figure out all of the variations that could come from any situation so I can figure out what’s going to happen in the end.
I finally figured out where that comes from.
My family life growing up was chaotic, to say the least. I never thought there was anything wrong or different. I thought everyone lived like we did. Fighting. Arguing. Mom throwing things. Mom being just a little bit bipolar so never really knowing how she was going to react to anything. Whatever I thought she was going to do -- bad or good -- she always reacted the polar opposite of what I expected. And the rest of my family, well, let’s just say there were other challenges within that dynamic.
Then with both of my ex-husbands, who both came from alcoholic families and had all the tendencies alcoholics have, I found myself repeating this pattern. I had to figure out every angle on everything so I would be able to be what they wanted me to be, to do the exact right thing and be the exact right thing. Maybe not so much with my first husband but definitely with my second.
R was volatile at the best of times but if things didn’t go the way he wanted, there was hell to pay. Now, emotional abuse is hard to understand unless you’ve been on the receiving end of a vicious, cruel, screaming tantrum. You live to avoid those situations so you become really good at figuring out how to walk the minefield that has somehow become your life.
So I’ve spent most of my life dodging minefields and tiptoeing through relationships. Trying to protect myself, trying to make sure that everything stays stable and easy and that I don’t get my head ripped off because of some tiny, teeny, little, bitty thing I missed.
“Let it be, let it be…”
But now, when I don’t have that crazy, insane, abusive life anymore, I’m still hanging on to one or two vestiges of that life. And one of those vestiges is trying to figure everything out. Which is not necessary when life isn’t crazy and I’m surrounded by people who love me and respect me.
But when it comes to the men I care about, the ones (oh, let’s be honest right now, the ONE) who I want to be with, who I want to invite into my life, I still cling to those old habits. Figure out everything, analyze everything, make sure I know every angle of every situation and try to figure out how to make everything work out perfectly, no matter what the response from the other person is.
The problem is, the man I am currently interested in is not like my two exes. Well, in some ways, of course he is because there is something in each ma I’ve fallen for that ties them together. But he is not abusive, he is not angry, he is not vindictive towards me. He is gentle and sweet and challenges me just the right way. This goes for all of the men I have fallen for in the past five years. They’re gentle, they’re sweet, they respect me like I’ve never been respected before.
Yet I still walk on eggshells. I’m still afraid that what I’m doing is going to be wrong, going to drive them away, going to end up with me being screamed at and destroyed and ruined, all because I’ve done something wrong.
So I still spend hours and hours and hours trying to figure out what every gesture means, what every word means, what every single interaction means. Because if I can figure that out, then I can make everything perfect.
Except I can’t.
Because there is nothing to figure out. For the most part, these men - including the current OOMA (object of my affection) - are pretty much what they seem to be. They have issues, sure, don’t we all. And some of those issues are complicated and do veil things but not the way my brain thinks it is. So I obsess and I lose hours and create heartbreak in myself because I simply cannot just let this be. I HAVE to know. I HAVE to figure it out. I HAVE to have an answer.
But there are no answers by doing this.
“There will be an answer, let it be.”
I’m trying to learn to just let things be. I cannot control anything but myself, as much as I want to control him. I cannot make him do what I want him to do, no matter how many ways I think about how to do just that. I cannot understand what’s going on in his head because I can’t. I have to just let it be what it is. Friends? Something more? Something less? Every algebraic equation I come up with won’t solve anything. Won’t net an answer.
“There will be an answer, let it be.”
I have to just let it be. In so many ways. Not just with whatever is going to happen with this OOMA but with many things in my life. I have to learn to let go of the patterns of abuse and try to heal that last, lingering part of myself and learn to just let it be. Chanting helps. Since I’ve joined Soka Gakkai International, a lay Buddhist sect, chanting has become a big part of my life and helps me let go some, let the universe know what I’m needing/wanting/lacking and trying to just let the universe take care of me. But I’m not good at that yet so I’m still pushing and twisting and bending.
“There will be an answer, let it be.”
Maybe once I learn this, I can leave the last of him behind me, the last of our life behind me. Maybe then I’ll be able to move forward with someone, whether it’s this complicated, enigmatic OOMA or someone else in the future, and be able to just let things be. Not try algebra for the simplest things, just let it be.
“There will be an answer…
Let it be.”
Monday, February 07, 2011
Thought for the day... or for life...
I'm currently reading Nick Hornby's "A Long Way Done" whilst trapped on the LA
Metro (which on twitter has become lametro - lame-tro). He wrote the novels
"About a Boy" and "High Fidelity". Brilliant, funny, dark, moving writer. This
one is about four people who climb to the top of a tall building in England to
jump off and kill themselves on New Year's Eve. Instead, they form a twisted,
dysfunctional, poignant family, trying to help each other find their lives
again. I'm not quite finished with it yet so I'm not quite sure how it's all
going to turn out.
But as I am currently going through a very deep, dark peer into my soul right
now (that has nothing to do with "Diary"), there was a passage today in this
book that really spoke to me. Don't know if it'll speak to you but here it is
anyway.
The quartet are meeting for coffee, trying to understand why they each wanted to
jump off the building. They began to talk about what they would do differently
in their lives or what they would want back. If they had three wishes, what
would they wish for, what would their lives be like? Then there's this passage:
"We all spend so much time not saying what we want, because we know we can't
have it. And because it sounds ungracious, or ungrateful, or disloyal, or
childish, or banal. Or because we're so desperate to pretend that things are
O.K., really, that confessing to ourselves that they're not looks like a bad
move. Go on, say what you want. Maybe not out loud, if it's going to get you
into trouble: 'I wish I'd never married him.' 'I wish she were still alive.' 'I
wish I'd never had kids with her.' 'I wish I had a whole shitload of money.' 'I
wish all the Albanias would go back to fucking Albania.' Whatever it is, say it
to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or it'll get you a punch
in the nose. Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying
corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies just for one minute."
I love that.
"Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying corrodes the
soul, so take a break from the lies for one minute."
Take a break from the lies of surviving life today and say "I wish"...
And make it a big one... or two... or twelve.
I wish...
Such powerful words.
If we start with "I wish", where do you think we can end?
I'll start:
I wish I left my marriage earlier, then maybe we both would have been happier
sooner.
I wish I could spend every single day directing.
I wish I had someone in my life to be a partner and a lover and to share this
difficult and amazing journey with me.
Now you go...
(share if you want to, don't share if you don't, but wish)
Metro (which on twitter has become lametro - lame-tro). He wrote the novels
"About a Boy" and "High Fidelity". Brilliant, funny, dark, moving writer. This
one is about four people who climb to the top of a tall building in England to
jump off and kill themselves on New Year's Eve. Instead, they form a twisted,
dysfunctional, poignant family, trying to help each other find their lives
again. I'm not quite finished with it yet so I'm not quite sure how it's all
going to turn out.
But as I am currently going through a very deep, dark peer into my soul right
now (that has nothing to do with "Diary"), there was a passage today in this
book that really spoke to me. Don't know if it'll speak to you but here it is
anyway.
The quartet are meeting for coffee, trying to understand why they each wanted to
jump off the building. They began to talk about what they would do differently
in their lives or what they would want back. If they had three wishes, what
would they wish for, what would their lives be like? Then there's this passage:
"We all spend so much time not saying what we want, because we know we can't
have it. And because it sounds ungracious, or ungrateful, or disloyal, or
childish, or banal. Or because we're so desperate to pretend that things are
O.K., really, that confessing to ourselves that they're not looks like a bad
move. Go on, say what you want. Maybe not out loud, if it's going to get you
into trouble: 'I wish I'd never married him.' 'I wish she were still alive.' 'I
wish I'd never had kids with her.' 'I wish I had a whole shitload of money.' 'I
wish all the Albanias would go back to fucking Albania.' Whatever it is, say it
to yourself. The truth will set you free. Either that or it'll get you a punch
in the nose. Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying
corrodes the soul, so take a break from the lies just for one minute."
I love that.
"Surviving in whatever life you're living means lying, and lying corrodes the
soul, so take a break from the lies for one minute."
Take a break from the lies of surviving life today and say "I wish"...
And make it a big one... or two... or twelve.
I wish...
Such powerful words.
If we start with "I wish", where do you think we can end?
I'll start:
I wish I left my marriage earlier, then maybe we both would have been happier
sooner.
I wish I could spend every single day directing.
I wish I had someone in my life to be a partner and a lover and to share this
difficult and amazing journey with me.
Now you go...
(share if you want to, don't share if you don't, but wish)
Sunday, February 06, 2011
Dark of the night
Bottom of the pit last night.
Very dark, very black.
Darker than I’ve been in a while.
Can’t quite make sense of it all… or of any of it.
Don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.
Can’t figure out if what I’ve done means anything at all.
Dark of the night, dark of the soul.
Not sure I’ve quite shaken it today.
Maybe gotten to indigo from pitch black.
But the pit is still there -- tempting, taunting, teasing me to jump.
Just give up.
Just give in.
It’ll all be fine if you’d just…
Give everything up and just accept mediocrity.
It’ll all be fine.
It’ll all be easy.
Just do it.
Just
do
it.
Very dark, very black.
Darker than I’ve been in a while.
Can’t quite make sense of it all… or of any of it.
Don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.
Can’t figure out if what I’ve done means anything at all.
Dark of the night, dark of the soul.
Not sure I’ve quite shaken it today.
Maybe gotten to indigo from pitch black.
But the pit is still there -- tempting, taunting, teasing me to jump.
Just give up.
Just give in.
It’ll all be fine if you’d just…
Give everything up and just accept mediocrity.
It’ll all be fine.
It’ll all be easy.
Just do it.
Just
do
it.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Comfort food
I am tired of being the human equivalent of comfort food for the men in my life.
I’m the girl they turn to when they’re alone, when they want someone to make them feel warm and fuzzy and loved -- with no strings attached. They know I won’t demand anything of them because, well, because I’m stupid. I’m so happy to have their attention, have their focus, even if it’s just for a few hours, that I toss everything aside just to be there for them.
The late night visits which, in someone else’s life, should turn into a booty call turns into watching “Thomas Crown Affair” and searching Craigslist for someone for ME to hook up with since apparently nothing’s gonna happen with Dude Boy.
The last call of the day from Dark Boy, who wants/needs/desires to have someone be just that, with long, wine-filled conversations and poetry, who thinks I’m amazing as long as I’m doing things to help him out. But when push comes to shove, I’m not the “spice” he’s looking for. But I’m comfy enough to spend time with… as long as someone else isn’t there.
I’m the one they turn to when they just need a warm fix. They don’t want sex. They want soup. I’m chicken soup. I’m warm cookies. I’m reliable and dependable and maybe I smell good.
But comfort food is temporary. Once you’ve been comforted, the empty soup bowl goes into the sink and then back into the cupboard, to wait for the next rainy day, the next cold, lonely night, to be brought out when there’s nothing else to eat.
But I’m done with that.
I will no longer comfort you, unless you’ve lost a limb.
I will no longer answer your last-call-of-the-night calls.
I will no longer be your comfort food. If you need comfort, find someone else. I’m done with warm and fuzzy and good-smelling. Well, maybe not done with good-smelling.
I am moving on to being dessert.
I am that gorgeous, delicious, indulgent cake you see sitting in the dessert case, beautifully lit, just waiting for you. But you can’t reach into that case unless someone lets you in. I am the dessert to be coveted, to be oogled, to be desired and wanted, only to be denied unless I decide to let you open the cupboard.
You have to earn me. You don’t just get to have me. You’ve got to plan and sacrifice and leave room for me.
You are going to miss me, I guarantee that. But I’m out of comfort for you. It’s time for some comfort for me.
I’m the girl they turn to when they’re alone, when they want someone to make them feel warm and fuzzy and loved -- with no strings attached. They know I won’t demand anything of them because, well, because I’m stupid. I’m so happy to have their attention, have their focus, even if it’s just for a few hours, that I toss everything aside just to be there for them.
The late night visits which, in someone else’s life, should turn into a booty call turns into watching “Thomas Crown Affair” and searching Craigslist for someone for ME to hook up with since apparently nothing’s gonna happen with Dude Boy.
The last call of the day from Dark Boy, who wants/needs/desires to have someone be just that, with long, wine-filled conversations and poetry, who thinks I’m amazing as long as I’m doing things to help him out. But when push comes to shove, I’m not the “spice” he’s looking for. But I’m comfy enough to spend time with… as long as someone else isn’t there.
I’m the one they turn to when they just need a warm fix. They don’t want sex. They want soup. I’m chicken soup. I’m warm cookies. I’m reliable and dependable and maybe I smell good.
But comfort food is temporary. Once you’ve been comforted, the empty soup bowl goes into the sink and then back into the cupboard, to wait for the next rainy day, the next cold, lonely night, to be brought out when there’s nothing else to eat.
But I’m done with that.
I will no longer comfort you, unless you’ve lost a limb.
I will no longer answer your last-call-of-the-night calls.
I will no longer be your comfort food. If you need comfort, find someone else. I’m done with warm and fuzzy and good-smelling. Well, maybe not done with good-smelling.
I am moving on to being dessert.
I am that gorgeous, delicious, indulgent cake you see sitting in the dessert case, beautifully lit, just waiting for you. But you can’t reach into that case unless someone lets you in. I am the dessert to be coveted, to be oogled, to be desired and wanted, only to be denied unless I decide to let you open the cupboard.
You have to earn me. You don’t just get to have me. You’ve got to plan and sacrifice and leave room for me.
You are going to miss me, I guarantee that. But I’m out of comfort for you. It’s time for some comfort for me.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Oh, but I thought… cuz you… oh…
Oh, I thought that we were…
Because there was poetry once…
And the four hours we always talk…
And the food on the spoon…
And soup…
And you reached out…
And I reached back…
So I thought…
And we acted like…
And you treated me like…
And there seemed to be an us growing…
But I guess…
But I thought…
But apparently you didn’t…
And then you said…
And then my heart broke.
Because there was poetry once…
And the four hours we always talk…
And the food on the spoon…
And soup…
And you reached out…
And I reached back…
So I thought…
And we acted like…
And you treated me like…
And there seemed to be an us growing…
But I guess…
But I thought…
But apparently you didn’t…
And then you said…
And then my heart broke.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Single word
A single word tonight, from either of us, could have changed everything.
But I think we’re both just so afraid of that single word that we just don’t know how/when/if to utter it.
Just a single, simple word.
Stay.
I wanted to hear that word, even though everything else was screaming it. I wanted to hear it from your lips, to see it in your eyes.
Stay.
Just that simple word.
You, over there, sleepy, beautiful, and, for a very brief second, vulnerable in a way I have never seen you be.
Me, over here, tentatively placing my hand on your leg, you not pulling away. My hand resting there, your eyes closed. The closest we’ve been. The closest we’ve let ourselves be.
I just wanted to hear that one word.
Stay.
And I guess you were saying it by just letting me be there, letting me connect, letting me in for just a single moment.
And I didn’t hear it. Until it was too late. Until I broke the silence and brought us back to where we were.
I heard that simple word just as I opened my mouth and took it all away. Screamed in my head to just shut up so I could hear that word that was hanging out there, unspoken but said.
And I wanted to just take it back, to go back to just being there with you, the simplicity of my hand on your calf, your eyes closed, the quiet of the room. That moment of time, just suspended, just hanging there.
But it was gone.
And I still hoped you would say that simple word. Even as I walked away, I wanted to hear it. I wanted my phone to ring and to hear you say, come back, stay.
But I guess we’re not there yet. And I guess we’re both afraid to say that simple word.
Stay?
Stay.
Because it is not so simple. It would change everything. It would mean everything.
And maybe we’re just not ready for that.
Not yet, anyway.
But I think we’re both just so afraid of that single word that we just don’t know how/when/if to utter it.
Just a single, simple word.
Stay.
I wanted to hear that word, even though everything else was screaming it. I wanted to hear it from your lips, to see it in your eyes.
Stay.
Just that simple word.
You, over there, sleepy, beautiful, and, for a very brief second, vulnerable in a way I have never seen you be.
Me, over here, tentatively placing my hand on your leg, you not pulling away. My hand resting there, your eyes closed. The closest we’ve been. The closest we’ve let ourselves be.
I just wanted to hear that one word.
Stay.
And I guess you were saying it by just letting me be there, letting me connect, letting me in for just a single moment.
And I didn’t hear it. Until it was too late. Until I broke the silence and brought us back to where we were.
I heard that simple word just as I opened my mouth and took it all away. Screamed in my head to just shut up so I could hear that word that was hanging out there, unspoken but said.
And I wanted to just take it back, to go back to just being there with you, the simplicity of my hand on your calf, your eyes closed, the quiet of the room. That moment of time, just suspended, just hanging there.
But it was gone.
And I still hoped you would say that simple word. Even as I walked away, I wanted to hear it. I wanted my phone to ring and to hear you say, come back, stay.
But I guess we’re not there yet. And I guess we’re both afraid to say that simple word.
Stay?
Stay.
Because it is not so simple. It would change everything. It would mean everything.
And maybe we’re just not ready for that.
Not yet, anyway.
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