Black (Friday) Sunshine

So it's Black Friday again.  The day we're all supposed to arise from our tryptophan coma at 0-dark-30 and set out with our game plan to trample each other in a race to get a bigger, better deal than the next person. I love to shop, and I love me a deal, but I just can't deal with the traffic and crowds and front-row seat to the lower side of humanity.  I'm not that desperate to own anything that I'll put myself through that kind of unnecessary stress.

As much as I like saving money and getting a bargain, I don't hesitate to invest in something that I need, adore, or feel compelled to buy, even if it's still full price.  Maybe that's why I don't put myself through Black Friday hell.

I was told by this guy, on the first night that we discussed having a (non)relationship, that every person sets their own price.  I believe his quote was, "even if I have a million dollars, if I can get you for two dollars, I'm only gonna give you two dollars."  Sounds shitty, but he wasn't actually insulting me and insinuating that I was only WORTH $2, he was saying it in a friendly warning/advisory manner, giving me advice that I determine my worth to others, or I guess what the cost of entry into my life is.  I'm not sure what brought us to that particular conversation at that moment.  I have always known my worth and value, and even at those times when I chose to make an exception, I never left it up to others to make that determination.  I hold the pricing gun.

But I guess you could say this guy found me on my own personal Black Friday.  I had a fire sale.  "ALL ITEMS MUST GO!"  "LIMITED TIME OFFER!"  "NO EXCHANGES OR REFUNDS!"  Even though I had never had a (non)relationship like I had with him before, I was willing to lower my price temporarily, let go of some of my typical high pricing (transparency, fidelity, exclusivity), to give it a shot.  It might be worth it.  You never know what you're going to find at the bottom of that neglected, half-empty bin back in the corner that has been overlooked.  Maybe there's some tchotchke or gadget that you wouldn't normally look twice at, much less consider taking home with you, but if it's cheap enough, well, what the hell?!  Let's try it.

Do I think of myself (or him) as some leftover trinket that got relegated to a dark corner of a cheap store?  No.  Not at all.  But sometimes, if you rummage through those discount outlets, you'll find a designer piece in perfect condition, marked with a tag that says, "last season".  Maybe it didn't make it on the shelves when it was more in demand last year, or maybe the market was flooded with cheaper knockoffs and it was excess.  Who knows how it got there, but its original value is still marked on the tag, just stamped over with a temporary discount to get it back out into circulation.  But the recipient of that bargain still gets to strut down the street with that designer piece on their arm - nobody needs to know the new owner paid less than everybody else who has one.

Now this isn't to say I lowered my standards by going out with him - that is not what I'm saying either.  This is a person I would have gone out with at any other time in my life - not just at what is a typically vulnerable, overwhelming time like I was expected to be  having when this thing started.  One would think I would have been in that expected broken-down state right then, considering the pending divorce and everything that had led to it.  But actually, I was fine, and I told him that.  A little shocked at the speed with which things were changing in my life, but I felt pretty stable.  I wasn't sitting home crying at all.  I was busy being independent and happy to be free of the negativity that had saddled me for the past 5 years or so.  I wasn't looking for anything or anybody.  But that day I had decided to show up at a social event I don't frequently attend anymore, almost like I was being driven to go there by some other force.  I remember feeling like a puppet, just going through the motions completely numb, but knowing that getting out and seeing friends would be good for me.  I have to wonder what it was that drove me to go there, to see him, and to reconnect.  And then take it a step further when I saw that he made it a point to open his doors to me.  It did all happen with dizzying speed, but it was good.  I have to think that it was what I needed, a pleasant distraction, a kind of human band-aid or salve for something that was actually healing pretty well on its own anyway.   Although the way it ended up, I guess it turned out to be another bruise that just distracted me from my earlier one.  That's ok too, sometimes a different kind of pain is a relief from the one you're used to.  And it didn't turn into pain until somewhat recently, when I realized my fire sale was over and my prices were returning to normal.  That's when I think we both realized he wasn't carrying the type or amount of currency required to keep this particular trinket in his life.

I guess the fire is dying already (thankfully), because I'm not quite as focused in my message or my metaphors here.  I guess that's a good thing.  I think that upon hearing some random commentary about some 'sightings' from mutual friends that I realized that I didn't lose to 'nothing' after all, there's definitely still a 'something' (or rather, 'someone') else in the picture, that he didn't want to (and rightly, didn't have to) admit to, this gives me the piece of the puzzle I was missing.  It doesn't hurt any less, particularly when you know your competition's flaws and feel like you still came up short against them.  But when words and actions don't jive, a red flag gets thrown on the play.  Then when words and more words don't jive, my brain calls 'foul' and just goes into complete overdrive, hence my overanalysis of the situation.  It was my gut, telling me something ain't right.  I'm missing information.  THIS is why I was in the JAG Corps.  THIS is why I like forensics shows.  My brain can't rest until it all makes sense.   So now that it seems to be falling into place, and the scabs are becoming less painful scars, I'm reflecting on how and why I got myself into that situation to begin with, and how it managed to turn from a fun and pleasant distraction into an emotional rollercoaster.   So I don't do it again.

The how?  That's easy.  I put myself out there, and I am an open person.  Open to receive what somebody tells me, and because I do not lie or obfuscate, I never assume that others (particularly those known, liked, and respected by me) would do it either.  I give them the benefit of the doubt that I want given to me.  I'm also open to trying new things, even if they seem a little out of character or uncomfortable at first.  That's how I ended up in a college beauty pageant, the Army National Guard, a fire department, a motorcycle association, and several tattoo parlors.  I put myself out there.  It's the only way for me to live - fully.

The why?  I guess I felt the need to socialize and distract myself from the onerous tasks I was faced with:  finding (and paying) a lawyer, drawing the lines of what's mine vs. what belongs to my ex, packing it up, facing the enormity of it all...who wants to wake up, work, deal with that, go to sleep, wake up, deal with that...?  Nobody.  Certainly not I.  So having not been in the dating pool for over a decade (!!), I was willing to try something different with someone unexpected just for shits and giggles, even though I wasn't looking for anything.  Never expected anything to come of it.  Just welcomed the distraction.  And if you read my blog, you know the rest...it seemed to become much more.  'Seemed' being the operative word here.

Upon reflection, it 'seems' that this guy is quite the bargain shopper, and knows that the best way to find hidden gems at a sale is to shop early and often.  Always have a backup, in case the first one you bought doesn't work out.  And he got himself one hell of a deal for a while there (LIMITED TIME ONLY!).  The price of entry into my life wasn't the typical 'top shelf' fee I feel I'm worth (DEEP DISCOUNTS!).  I decided to hang out with the well liquor and cheap house wine, the white zin and moscato, for a while, since they seem to have a lot of fun and get invited to the dance a lot more than the dry pinot grigios and malbecs.  I put myself there, in the bargain bin, and opened the kimono to someone who got a majorly discounted ticket to the show.

And you know what?  It's ok.  It didn't kill me.  It did distract me.  Taught me a hard lesson or eight.  People don't always mean what they say.  People don't always have my best interests at heart.  People don't always understand how their actions can have a profound and/or damaging effect on others.  People don't always CARE if their actions have a damaging effect on others.  People will take as much as you will give them, and then they will ask for more.  If you're stupid enough to give it to them, they will take that too and still not say thank you or change their greedy, selfish ways.  And just because you give them what they want does not mean they will suddenly become a better person or want the same thing as you.  

Maybe the universe was trying to give me some tough love, a velvet hammer of sorts.  Like, "ok, JC, you're going through the worst of the shit right now, so I'm gonna give you this fun thing to distract yourself with for a while.  But when the worst of the divorce is over, the fun part is going to start causing you a lot of stress, and I'm gonna hit you over the head with some shitty life lessons so you don't stagger around for the rest of your life being an overly trusting idiot who gets used by manipulative people who don't have your best interests at heart.  You're welcome."

And I'm not necessarily saying he is a shitty manipulative person - on purpose.  I don't want to believe his actions were done with malice.  I still think this is an inherently good human being, with many redeeming qualities.  But in addition to not being at the same 'place' as me in terms of relationships, he's been doing this a lot longer than I have.  My girlfriends refer to his type as "smooth operators."  They know just when to find you, pluck you, what to say to you to draw you in, how to treat you, and what to do to keep you coming back for more, all the while also doing it with others to make sure they are never really alone nor fully emotionally invested in just one.  Hedging their bets.  And that's their right, and they will get incredibly defensive and shitty if you try to call them out on it, since they never promised you ANYTHING.  (Nevermind that their behavior did not uphold that verbal agreement and led you down a different path.)  If surface-level 'micro-relationships' featuring false intimacy is what nurtures their ego, they can go ahead and do that.  And keep doing that, and doing that, because they will need to keep juggling to meet their emotional needs quota.  I'm not judging them for it, but from my perspective, they will never get to experience the fulfillment from a deep level of commitment or partnership - that true intimacy that we as companion-craving human souls are truly nourished by.  They certainly have the right to keep everybody an emotional arm's length from their hearts and their true selves, to protect it from whatever perceived danger they aren't willing to risk, or the hard work of being in a committed relationship that they aren't willing to do.  I just wish they came with warning labels, because they think they're operating above-board and all is kosher, but I'm willing to bet they leave behind them a trail of broken women who don't fully understand what hit them.

Strangely, this guy even asked me once why that happens - why do women always try to turn these non-relationships into something more. So I called him out on his behavior, told him his actions did not jive with his words.  He puts on the boyfriend pants real fast and they looked good on him and they were comfortable for him.  Did he pull back after I told him that?  You betcha.  About 10 minutes after that conversation ended. And it lasted for about 12 hours, then he was back to the extremely confusing behavior that kept me wrapped around the axle of a train to nowhere for about 4 months.  

But I enjoyed the first part of the ride, I have some really great memories that one day I hope will not be too painful or anger-inducing to access.  I'm trying to desensitize myself to all the memories attached to the music I associate with our times together.  That's a tough one for me.  But I'll get there.  I'm better every day, getting used to the quieter phone.  Not having my mind chew the confusing bits over and over anymore.  Not worrying about what he's doing or thinking.  It's liberating, and I'm starting to seek, feel, and enjoy the sunshine again, even on Black Friday when everyone else is inside bargain shopping.

At the end of the day, you get what you pay for.  We only paid part of the normal entry fees for a relationship, and that's exactly what we got - the cheapest parts of a relationship.  I'm going to follow Apple's model and keep my prices high - there's always a selective market of people who are willing to pay for high quality.  I'll just have to make sure they have the type and amount of currency I require, and are willing to part with it, to get me off of the shelf again.

   

   

...hello?...is there anybody out there?...

Ever checked your phone - repeatedly - because it was SO silent you were SURE there was something wrong with it?  Guess I'm having one of those 'adjustment' days, getting used to having emptiness where an interactive, interesting person used to exist.  No texts. No calls.  Email isn't even coming in to make me feel needed.  And the few that do, I pretty much ignore, because all of my available bandwidth is being spent on other unproductive but necessary things, like licking my emotional wounds.  Actually I am making a valiant effort at working from home, but what I'm doing is so technical and over my head that I'm left feeling useless and overwhelmed all over again, which isn't helping the ol' ego so much right now.

Mama said there'd be days like this...actually, that's not what my mom said at all.  What she DID say when she found out about what happened was, "dropped gems still sparkle".  I got choked up for a minute when she said that, but I tried to cover the involuntary sob with a laugh.  That was very sweet of her. And I know that.  I swear I do.  This isn't some ploy to get everyone who knows me to pat me on the back and point out how awesome I am until flip that switch over to the "YEAH, F*** HIM!" phase.  I don't even really want to go there, although it would make my life easier.  I'm trying to work through the pain, not ignore it or deny it.  Hence all the near-maudlin, mawkish verbosity seen here and on my FB page lately.  No way around it but through it, folks.  You can always click the 'x' if it's too much for ya.  I'm trying to learn whatever lesson I'm supposed to learn from this. 

At first glance, the lesson here looks like it might be "you're not as sparkly as you think, old girl."  But I don't think that's it.  Real life lessons don't usually float right on top of the situation like an oil slick in a puddle.  They tend to lurk at the bottom, under the water, where you have to wade in deep and get shards of them stuck in the bottom of your foot.

So that's my explanation (or excuse, however you want to see it) for why I'm wallowing in this pain and being open about it a lot more than is comfortable or even typical of me.  Also because he's completely anonymous, so I'm not putting a known individual's 'stuff' out there, aside from my own.  I know several friends are going through very similar challenges right now, so I'm hoping we're helping each other out by sharing.  

One of the last things he said to me was "some things aren't meant to be understood, they just ARE" or some cryptic shit like that which only left my brain hurting more for my lack of understanding of his WHY.  He gave me the old, "it's not you, it's me" and mentioned that he's just broken in that way.  But c'mon.  You know me.  I want to know why.  He had shared anecdotes of the shitty things shitty women have done to him throughout his life.  And yeah, they did suck muchly.  Many shitty things have been done to this man.  As have been done to me by equally shitty, destructive men.  But it's sad to see that someone chooses to close off future opportunities for non-shitty women to show him a different side of relationships and humanity in general.  I don't know if it's from fear of being ripped apart again, or just sheer exhaustion from having to clean so many stiletto prints off of his heart.  The exhaustion is recoverable, I think.  And if that's the reason, it's a damn dirty shame that I came along in the midst of it.  Just my luck.  If it's fear - that's a whole other matter.  (And YES, I know, there's another option - he's just not that into me.  I know.  More on that later.)

Every man and woman has to face their own fears in their own way, in their own time.  It's like anything important in life - you can't will somebody else into doing something they don't want to do, no matter how good you know it would be for them (and/or you).  You can't make an alcoholic go into recovery and actually recover.  They have to want to recover.  You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.  Ultimately, it feels like a failure, some lack of spectacularness on my part that I don't inspire him to take the leap.  He swears that's not it.  Says I'm "AMAZING".  (His caps, not mine.)  But clearly I'm not AMAZING enough in some respect - to him.  Maybe I am to others, maybe even to myself sometimes.  But to somebody who I thought was a really good fit for me, and me for him, he obviously doesn't feel the same, and I am just having a very hard time accepting that.  Is rejection (real or perceived) from a paramour (or anyone else, for that matter) ever easy to accept?  For anyone?  Or am I just a really sore, disbelieving loser who argues with the referee every time?

I think it's because I go with my gut feelings a lot.  It's almost never wrong.  I think that's what's tripping me up.  In previous posts, I said that my heart and my brain do not agree on this issue.  My Disneyfied heart holds out hope, while my logical, analytical, computer-geek brain tries to shout louder than the romantic ninny in my chest cavity can whine.  The heart is located nearer to the gut.  Maybe that's where it's getting all of its ideas.  Overheard rumors.  I'll need to install better soundproofing between my guts and my heart, I think.  I can tell you that the two times there have been in-person confrontations about this matter, when I was going to ask him something and everything depended on his answer, my gut reacted BADLY from the moment the 'date' was set.  I was physically ill.  Almost instantly.  Like I knew I wasn't going to like the answer, or I knew that it was going to be negative.  My gut knew before my brain was ready to process it.  Some would just call that nerves, but I don't.  I'm not a nervous person by nature, even though he has a way of unhinging me.  I truly believe that our gut is an emotional center, and science is starting to back me up on this.  And on those two days, my gut was dead on about what was going to happen.  Shit went sideways, bigtime.  Exactly what I was dreading.  

The difficulty I am having is that this selfsame gut of mine is what 'felt' the connection with this guy.  I can only speak from my side of the table, but it was unexpectedly electric.  And not just the new-love novelty jitters, it wasn't like that.  It was a comfortable but deep connection, a knowing, a familiarity of "ahhhh, yes.  THIS is what we never knew we were looking for."  And believe me, I was NOT really on the market or looking when I (re)found this person.  I was not lonely.  This was not some rebound thing I sought out to heal me after my divorce.  I was happy to be free of a shitty husband.  Happy to be alone.  I thought we'd just date and have fun, but, at least for me, it started to feel like something way bigger than I had expected.  And apparently bigger than he wanted.

At the end of the day, I have to respect that.  Maybe he didn't feel it to the extent that I did, but he basically confessed to me in an email that he's human and did feel something too, and I DO trust my gut on this one.  I wasn't making that connection up.  But I'm not going to chase it.  I have my pride, what's left of it, after pouring my heart out in some very honest (and predictably long) emails he was patient enough to read and respond to.  I've told him from the beginning, "I will always be honest with you, because I like you and respect you, and I have nothing to lose.  You aren't mine to lose."  So I have been brutally honest, even when the brutality was only directed at myself, and didn't serve to make me look in the least bit cool or aloof or even in control.  I just let it all fly, maybe seeking to give him the understanding denied to me.  

Maybe "acceptance" is the lesson at the bottom of this murky puddle here.  I know that's a 'zen' thing, to see an emotion, acknowledge it, separate from it, and let it go.  Stop trying to swim upstream against it or fight it or deny it.  Just observe and detach from it.  I have accepted many things that I think others would have had difficulty with.  I've let two marriages go, with very few tears shed afterwards.  (The tears fell during the relationships, maybe I was just dehydrated and exhausted by then.)  I realized one of my husbands was - is still, and always will be - a sociopath, and that he fooled me for almost 6 years.  Makes me feel stupid, but I accept it for what it is and I don't beat myself up about it.  Those are pretty major things to just let pass by my mind without glomming on to and exploring the pain like you do with your tongue in a hole where your tooth had once been.  But THIS?  Mere rejection from 'some guy'?  That I didn't even have a 'real' relationship with to begin with?  Until my gut and my brain can agree, I'm afraid the WHYs are going to continue to eat up my mental bandwidth.  Of which there is precious little to begin with these days.

So I will do what Dory told Nemo to do when things get tough:  "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming, swimming..."  That's how fish get oxygen.  So it shall be for me.  Not swimming, per se, but putting one foot in front of the other, keep Zumba-ing, house music -ing, cat-loving, cooking, cleaning, house makeover project-ing, computer geek-ing, until the memories aren't so sharp and painful and the "WHY" fades into a "what was I thinking about again?  I forgot.".  I hope.  I don't like beating dead (or live) horses, but I kind of just want this carcass to disintegrate so I don't have to step over it every time I turn my thoughts inward.  I have learned more physical discipline lately while I work to get in shape.  Now I need the mental and emotional discipline to stop sticking my tongue in the hole where that tooth was so I can feel the pain again.  I'll tell myself that tooth wasn't that great anyway, it probably - obviously - had something wrong with it, or else it would still be there, right? 





       
  

snow in florida

My grandmother has this crazy snowball bush in her backyard that we used to play under as children - it's half honeysuckle, half snowball, all glorious and fragrant.  My little sister and best friend and I would sit underneath it (since the two halves arched together and created the perfect small cave-space where we could put an old rag rug to sit on) for hours and have tea parties, plot our next adventure, or just lie down and look up at the flowers.  I used to like to put my feet near the roots and shake the branches so the little white petals would flutter down on us like snow and get stuck in our hair.  I think there may be a faded, dog-eared picture of us sitting there, but sadly, haven't been able to locate it.

A few years ago, I was driving through my neighborhood and saw a beautiful hydrangea bush in full bloom.  Since I grew up in the northeast, I am sometimes surprised to see familiar plants here in the south.  The hydrangea, although technically a different plant, reminded me of the snowball bush (which is a viburnum) from my childhood, so I made a mental note that the next time I was motivated enough to tackle my yard improvement project, I should put a snowball bush in and see how it does.  I found one at my local home improvement store, and planted it right on the corner of my house near the driveway, so anybody driving or walking up to the house would one day be greeted with the fluffy, rounded flowers that just begged to be touched and batted around.  I think I particularly liked how the habit of the shrub itself is naturally random.  It doesn't seem to clump or default to a pleasing shape.  It just tends to wander in its growth until it decides, "ok, this is far enough, I'm going to bloom right here right now."  But the clusters are so orderly and predictably round, a perfect counterpoint to the random craziness of the plant itself.

My little snowball had an uphill climb.  I had planted it on a not-very-fertile corner of the driveway, in full view of the scorching sun, also directly in the path of my garden hose, which would frequently get dragged across its pliable branches nearly uprooting it every time.  I guess that wasn't very nice (or smart) of me, since for the first year it just struggled along, barely surviving.  I apologized to it (in my head) regularly, and frequently muttered something about needing to relocate it somewhere safer, but I never did.  I just let it struggle.  This is Florida, folks.  You usually don't need to encourage plants here.  Upon asking a friend about the secret to his beautiful gardens, he advised me, "you don't have to work at the growing part.  You have to get yourself a machete and cut away anything you DON'T want growing with regularity, or the weeds WILL take over the plants you DO want."  He was right.

It eventually did get a little bit larger, but it was spindly and awkward-looking, and never bore flowers.  I was ok with the diminutive size, but always disappointed to never see those glorious clusters of fluff.

But the saying is true that strong storms make trees grow deeper roots.  After a year or so of watching the little guy struggle, I emerged from my winter hibernation (ok, I don't really hibernate, and it's not really 'winter' like we have in the NE, but I do go through a period of time every year where I completely ignore the plant life on my property) and looked at the corner where the poor thing was usually slouched over, clinging to life.   

I had to look twice, because where I had planted a little scraggly bush was now a soaring, tree-like plant!  It was immense, easily more than ten times it's previous size.  I stared in awe, trying to figure out exactly how and when that crazy growth spurt had happened.  I also had thoughts like, "Hmm. I had really wanted something more short and shrubby.  I don't know if this fits the look I was going for."  But far be it from me to tell Mother Nature how to do her job, so I just kept an eye on it, anxiously awaiting for the much-anticipated blooms, and making sure the branches didn't interfere with my new gutters.

I tried to appreciate it for what it is for nearly a year, never giving up hope that I would once again have handfuls of my favorite childhood flowers.  I watered it every time I thought about it, always anticipating the result I had planned for, only bigger and better now that it had taken off.

Unfortunately, what I think happened is that this was a grafted plant, and the grafted cultivar (snowball) had probably died off during the difficult first year, and only the hardy (but ugly) rootstock lived on.  Once the rootstock didn't have to worry about supporting the invading scion, it was able to grow deep, strong roots and start reaching for the sky.  

For months, I tried to value the ugly, crazy-looking wild rootstock I had received and apparently nurtured into existence instead of pining away for the compact, flowered shrubby plant of my expectations.  I waited and waited, and it grew and grew.  It started to invade my new gutters.  It hampered guests from fully opening their car doors when parked anywhere near it.  Its leaves started to look worse for the wear, with rusty-colored spots and ragged yellow edges.  Apparently, it was no longer thriving after that initial growth spurt.  It may have outgrown the resources available to support it.  Maybe there was too much sun, burning its tender leaves.  Not enough nutrients in the sand-heavy soil, causing the infertility which deprived me of my long-awaited flowers.  I realized that this was not fair to the plant.  It had done the best that it could with what it had been given.  I had thought it was going to be one thing, but when it became another, I realized it was a bit too much for me and I wasn't willing to put more resources into this bastardization of my initial plan.  I felt bad doing it, but I cut it down today.  That corner looks empty, but also clean.  No more ragged leaves and invading branches sullying the view.  I'll have to get used to it though.  And now I know better than to expect something to survive in conditions it wasn't really meant for.  Next time, I'll make sure it's not a grafted plant but grown from seed, and I'll plant it where it will have the shade it needs and plenty of water, not just when I remember to give it some out of guilt over the unfair struggle I've put it through. 

As with all of my writing, even though the above is 100% true, it served as yet *another* metaphor that actually brought me some enlightenment today.  [Before you get hopeful and excited for me, know that enlightenment is not an additive, happy-making process, as I learned this week on  Pinterest.  It is the stripping away of untruth to reveal what actually IS, like it or not.]   The non-relationship I just had that ended so sadly in flames is a really good parallel.  

He and I had entered into a kind of agreement about what 'we' would be, foolishly thinking we were in charge and could control it, limit it.  The setting was fertile for something, but maybe not what we wanted.  So rather than the predictable, acceptable experience we were expecting, something else took hold and grew when neither of us was looking.  When I did take a peek and realized, "oh, shit.  This thing is bigger than me now.  I can't control this!", I didn't really know what to do with it.  So instead of calling his attention to it so we could deal with it together (probably because I knew that could be an early ending to something I was still hoping would turn out ok), I just kept trying to enjoy it for what it was since it didn't seem to bother him too much.  I didn't want to point out just how big it had gotten in case he realized it was something that probably needed pruning, or worse.  Thinking we would eventually appreciate it for what it had become, I kept watering and nurturing it.  Problem was, water isn't enough.  It needed some vital nutrients that just weren't there. That patch of soil hadn't been prepared to support something so big and so needy.  There wasn't space for it.  I gave it too much sun and instead of soaking it up, it shriveled at the too-hot touch of something it didn't want.  It's not that it wasn't a perfectly good plant, it just wasn't the plant that we were expecting, and that wasn't the appropriate place for it.  It wasn't my fault or his fault.  Sometimes the timing or placement in life is just off, and you have to decide if you're going to try to be a slave to this thing that just kind of grew out of hand, or if you're going to realize that even though it seems wasteful and maybe even heartless to just cut it down, it wasn't living its best life anyway, and may never have had the resources it needed to become what either of us was looking for it to be.  (Its roots were far too deep to dig up and relocate, in case you were wondering.  Plus, that doesn't work with the whole 'love' metaphor.  I can't just take the feelings I have for him and turn them elsewhere.)  

Yes, it was hard to cut down.  It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears on my part (don't worry, the blood is pure metaphor here, the sweat and tears entirely too real).  I have never had to do this before, kill something this big that had grown out of control of its own accord, and therefore I do not have the appropriate tools in my shed.  I had to find what I could and hack away at it.  I ended up using a mitre saw, which is ill-suited to the task.  The blade is too thick, the teeth spaced too closely.  It was an ugly, frustrating, violent and manual process.  There is still the stump and the root, I haven't found a way to get rid of the most stubborn parts yet.  I know that eventually, it will either find enough resources and decide to grow again or it will rot and die.  

I'm not going to fool myself into thinking I can predict which one it will do, nor am I foolish enough to hope for one or the other.  

But this is Florida, folks. 




  

"and in the red trunks, winning by a TKO, we have NOTHING"

I read somewhere that if you take a piece of paper and crumble it up, you can never perfectly flatten it back out again.  This was used as a metaphor for love or trust or some such debilitating affliction we all suffer from eventually.  I think it's true for both.  If you give someone love and they reject it or worse, pretend to accept it but then stomp all over it, even if you make up, are you right back to the initial level of love?  Or a lesser, slightly rumpled garage-sale-quality level love?  And is it still good enough?  I've found some pretty good things at garage sales.  Well, estate sales, anyway. 

I'm learning that you really have to be careful of what you ask the universe for, because sometimes you get it.  I asked for closure over my latest (non)relationship, which was more or less a top-secret kind of gig that, to say the least, took me by surprise and swept me off my feet.  Neither one of us were really looking for anything of that depth or intensity, and I am sure I felt more of it than he did, since I always seem to feel things more intensely than others, and certainly more than men do.  It makes me vulnerable to a lot of pain, but I kind of don't have a choice but to experience life in the only way I know how, by being authentically me, even if it's not something everybody around me is prepared to deal with.  It's part of the package.  I fall harder, love deeper, suffer longer...and yeah, maybe the highs balance out the lows.  Hard to remember that when you're at the bottom of one of those lows though.

I asked the universe to help me get closure.  And I got it.  He was man enough to come see me face to face after a week of complete silence, even though he knew I'd be looking for answers, and he knew that his ultimate response would be disappointing and hurtful to me.  Of course, what I secretly was hoping for was that through our discussion, my calm logic would help him see that I admit my faults and my mistakes, and I'm sorry for them, but that I am worth taking a chance on.  He didn't agree.  Everything boiled down to his final words to me, after I finally cornered him on why we couldn't just give this 'thing' a chance:  "I guess I just don't want any commitments".  Well, there you have it folks.  I walked away (in tears) and told him to see himself out.  It was very, very sad for me.

I can (and of course do) translate his words to, "You, JC, are not compelling enough for me to overcome my fears [because I believe that's really what this is about] of opening up to another potentially disastrous relationship where I put up with a bunch of bullshit and in the end only end up getting hurt."  Not enough.  And yeah, I hear you, my cheerleaders, saying, "but JC, you're terrific!  You ARE enough!  He's just a commitmentphobic douchebag!"  Thank you for the ego boost, I do appreciate you trying to make me feel better about how things ended up.  While I'd like that all to be true, in this case, it isn't.  For this particular person, who I just really seem to click with on almost all levels, I'm clearly NOT compelling enough.  Not worth it.  My good doesn't outweigh the potential bad.  I am on the losing end of the equation.  To him, freedom from a commitment (even with a pretty amazeballs chick who would have done almost anything -except compromise exclusivity- to make a relationship with him work), and the potential (or reality) of other, better partners outweighed anything I could potentially have to offer.  And even if there aren't other partners I'm losing the battle against right now, that means essentially, I lost to NOTHING.  In the heavyweight title bout of ME vs. NOTHING, NOTHING won.  He chose NOTHING over taking a chance on ME. 

Ouch.

That smarts.

Actually, it doesn't just smart.  It really, really fucking hurts.  It rends the sides of my optimistic (and clearly myopic) little Disneyfied heart into stabby-looking shreds that don't want to come back together in the same order to form the same shaped heart it used to be.  Maybe that's a good thing, because clearly the last configuration it assumed didn't work so well for me.  I picture it coming back together like the graphic here, haphazardly stitched up and patched, with some ragged edges and gaps where more heart pieces used to be.  Those pieces are lost now, been all used up.  

So like the paper, once it's crumbled, it won't be the same paper ever again.  Optimists would look at it this way:  now that paper is far better for something exciting and different, like papier mache.  Or starting a fire.  It has texture and interest now, a more intricate landscape that has more traction than just an ordinary flat, smooth, dime-a-dozen piece of paper.  Now, that paper can aspire to different, better opportunities than merely being written or colored upon.  Now it can be a part of something.  Realistically, we have to acknowledge that this "something" could just be a big old Dumpster it's about to get thrown into.  But even though it's physical mass didn't change, the order and shape of it has, and it won't just slide nicely into the side of the trash bag and leave room for others.  It's going to take up space and insist on being noticed because of what it's been through.  Other garbage will have to move over to make room for it.

Does this rejection make me hate him?  I wish it did.  It is so much easier to go from love to hate, but they are really just the same thing - passion.  I have to walk away, let it go.  I'm not going to chase it, I've already humbled myself enough by putting it all out there and being rejected.  I won't further humiliate myself by begging for something that's not going to happen. If he isn't moved enough just by who I am and what he's already experienced with me, and isn't willing to go out onto that ledge and risk it all for me...fuck 'em.  I don't want him, and he doesn't deserve me.  

Sorry, that was my logical brain that took over those last few sentences.  My heart is horrified that I could even say something like that, when clearly, I DO want him.  My brain and heart are going to have to learn how to agree to disagree until the heart realizes that there's really no use in feeling warm and fuzzy towards someone who can't or won't return it.  It will lose interest eventually, and that's when I'll start feeling better and believing the things my brain tells me.  Until then, I shall suffer.  

And he's not a douchebag.  He's a really, really nice guy, or else I wouldn't have fallen for him in the first place.  Should he have warned me ahead of time?  We weren't entering into a big 'thing' as far as we knew, and neither of us expected feelings to develop, so why would he think to warn me?  He doesn't have a crystal ball.  Should I have warned him, "hey, I'm gonna want a commitment eventually..."?  No. I didn't think I was going to.  We were just dating, for shits and giggles.  Nothing serious.  It's all fun and games 'til somebody loses an eye...or a heart.

So now, that space he was starting to take up in my life, the person who greeted me every morning and evening, checked in on me, discussed work and friends with me, got drunk and laughed with me, even stroked my hair like a small child's once...now that space is empty.  And it's BIG.  It's a big, cavernous, echo-filled absence.  And since I never had anyone like him before, I now feel like I'll never find anybody to fill it ever again.  And I won't.  It's HIS gap.  Shaped exactly like him.  The next person will have to make their own space, they won't be able to fill his, and it wouldn't be fair of me to expect them to.  

But for now, all I can hear are his echoes and all I can see are his shadows.  And I want them to go away and leave me and my tattered heart alone, so I don't have to continually picture him at home, going to bed alone (or not), thinking, "yeah, this is MUCH better than having JC here with me.  I'd rather be alone because I'm used to it and it's comfortable.  I made the right decision by passing on that one.  She was too intense for me anyway, and already showed me that she's kinda crazy by losing her shit once and jumping to conclusions.  Yeah, I'm better off."  That's the monologue I imagine he'll be having with himself tonight.  Then he'll drift off to sleep easily and immediately, as he does, and wake up in the morning feeling refreshed, and the first thought that jumps into his mind won't be about me.  He won't wonder how I feel, what I'm doing, won't reflexively grab his phone to see if I've texted or to send me that "good morning" I had gotten so used to.  He won't look in the mirror and see puffy eyes from crying too much and straggly hair from the salty tears that soaked it all night.

But by making his choice, he also won't wake to me rubbing that nagging pain out of his back the way only I know how, since I have the same one on the opposite site.  He won't wake to me making him coffee just the way he likes it and bringing it to him while he's still in bed.  He won't wake to me returning his soft brown gaze with my intense blue one in the bright light of morning, even though I hate being seen without makeup on I know he prefers me that way so I'd let him stare.  He won't wake to me scratching his hair and his face and lovingly touching all of his scars and tattoos, wondering what made them and why they look so perfect on him.  He won't wake up knowing that no matter where he went or what he did that day, a good woman was off doing her own thing but always thinking about him, sending him positivity and good thoughts, and looking forward to seeing him the next time they could both arrange their busy schedules.  

He won't get any of that, because he chose NOTHING.  

I hope they're very happy together.   



   






   

There's a reason it's called "falling" in (or out) of love

I have never liked the physical sensation of falling.  That out-of-control, heart-pounding, disorienting sensation that I AM GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW.  But then your foot hits the next step, and turns out that was only a 7-inch heart attack.  Or the roller coaster ride is over, and life returns to normal.  But when it's an emotional falling, it's far, far, worse.  

You can't see where the floor actually is to know you'll only be suffering for however long it takes your lost foot to travel the 7 unexpected inches to the next step.  You can't see the end of the track to tell yourself, "ok, just one more exhilarating high climbing that hill, and one more unbearable, stomach-churning drop, then I'll be ok."  With emotions, you just fall, twisting and turning, hoping something will appear on the horizon that you can fix your gaze on to get your bearings back and estimate how much longer you'll be floating, untethered, unsecured and insecure, dreading the landing.

The only recurring dream I have had throughout my life (truly, since childhood) has been one where the dream begins and I am already mid-flight.  Or more accurately, I think it's mid-jump. I must have decided to jump off of something, a roof, a steep flight of stairs, the edge of a cliff, whatever.  The dream begins and I am already airborne, but not soaring gloriously through the air.  I'm plummeting.  Madly.  Like gravity has a grudge against me for trying to defy it, and it just found me cowering in the corner and is about to beat my ass BAD.  

And that's exactly how the dream ends.  Every. Single. Time. For the past 40 years, every time I have the 'falling' dream, it ends with the hint of a violent impact that of course causes me to jerk awake before it can kill me in the dream, gasping for air, sweating, clutching the covers, and usually scaring at least 3 cats off the bed.  

I'll move on from the dream, since I know it's considered extremely gauche to discuss one's own dreams.  Social faux pas.  But the relevance here is that in life, the fall always ends, and we (usually) live through it.  In the dream, I don't know what happens, but it jars me to the core every time.  Exactly like an emotional falling.  Whether you are falling in or out of love with someone or something (a job, a hobby, etc.), you really never can predict how it's going to end.  Sure, you can TELL yourself, "ok, I'm going to allow myself to get 'x' level of involved/invested in this person/pastime, but NO MORE THAN THAT."  If you think you can actually control an end result when emotions are involved, you are either accustomed to being in control of everything and everyone around you (or at least thinking you are, since none of us can truly control anything beyond ourselves), or you are very very young and inexperienced at life.  Or delusional.  That option always exists too.

The problem with emotional falling is that it's much like my dream - it begins when you aren't expecting it or looking for it, sometimes before you're even aware that it's happening.  Like stepping in a pothole in a completely dark alley.  Disorienting.  Jarring.  Alarming.  But boy, does it get the adrenaline going, eh?  One minute you're just strolling along, enjoying the night, minding your own business, then BAM!  You are WIDE awake, possibly lying on the ground, or rubbing your twisted ankle, going "WTF just happened!?"  You might even be a little bit angry.  The nerve of that pothole being there when I wasn't looking for it!  (I get pissed at all kinds of inanimate objects for their perceived malicious actions.)

I guess that's just how life happens to us.  Sometimes you're not looking for anything at all, you're just doing your thang, and BAM!  Someone causes you to fall.  You get sucked in like they are a black hole, a vortex of adrenaline and adventure and terror that is so exhilarating, you barely even flail around trying to regain your balance.  You may even cling to them for stability while you're trying to get your bearings.  Which is nice.  Feels safe.  Until they, too, realize that you're BOTH falling, with no safety net, and they let go of you so they can stick their arms out and create a feeling of protection for themselves with no regard whatsoever to the fact that now you're plummeting alone again.

If you're really unlucky, you might land first, and they land on top of you, Acme anvil style, flattening you out completely like a cartoon character.  And may even lay the blame on the fall squarely on your head as well.  Clearly they wouldn't have fallen as hard if your extra gravity hadn't pulled them in!  You may have even tripped them in the first place!  They will continue to try to flatten your spirit as they refuse to take responsibility for their own private gravity field that is in effect whether you're with them or not.  

But sometimes, they own their part in it, and realize that they would've gone down with or without you.  If you're lucky enough to have fallen with someone like this, maybe they help you get up off the ground and brush yourself off, smile at you, and tell you they're glad that at least the two of you are at the bottom of this hole together, so you can start figuring out how to get out of it.  Together.

Those are rare, though.  It's usually just me and the anvil at the bottom of the hole at the end of the day.

THIS is a link to a much nicer perspective of what it's like to fall.  Sadly, I'm not there right now.

And THIS is a link to someone whom I think may just be a kindred spirit.  We share the same kind of folly, always vulnerable to the whims of infatuation, knowing it, and yet being either unwilling or just unable to change that seeming character flaw.  So we both embrace it.  

If I'm gonna fall, I'm going down BIG.  There will be bruises.  It will (eventually) be funny.  I'm gonna own that shit, one way or the other.  I hope there's some kind of twisted beauty in knowing one of my major faults (that hurts myself more than anyone else, so it's not THAT bad, right?) yet embracing it rather than working against my nature to change it.  At the end of the day, I guess that's my 40-some years of hard-earned self-acceptance finally standing its ground.  Yeah, I fall.  I fall hard. But I will always help those who end up at the bottom of the hole with me.  I'm a good person to fall with.

be here NOW (also quite possibly the longest metaphor you will ever read)

Having suffered with shinsplints for the past 20 years (thanks, uncle Sam and US Army!), I have never been much of a runner.  The seemingly untreatable shinsplints (which have resisted massage, anti-inflammatories, and ultrasound therapy), and the fact that I was quite accurately told by my drill sergeant in bootcamp that I run like I have a refrigerator strapped to my back, have given me all the excuse I needed to stay off the treadmill.

Recently, I decided to get my act together and lose weight.  Over the past year and a half, through a combination of a few things, I managed to shed a little over 20 pounds, then I hit a plateau.  Nay, a WALL.  I just couldn't lose any more.  And I hadn't reached my goal.  True, I was closer to it and feeling and looking good, but I just wasn't where I wanted to be yet.  This is the preface to why I started running on the beach, which has become not only where I broke through my own self-imposed physical limitations, but also the inspiration for a lot of self-reflection as well as the backdrop for some metaphors to other things going on in my life, like the one you're about to read.

After a particularly intense evening, I needed to clear my head and decided to talk a long walk on the beach by myself as the sun came up.  I rode my motorcycle down there, and walked up and down the beach in my boots and jeans, listening to Blue Six's Beautiful Tomorrow.  I was amazed at how beautiful and serene it was.  I felt like I had missed out on what Florida had to offer me for the past 7 years or so.  I also noticed that a lot of people were running, and thought that the lower-impact force of running on sand might be better tolerated by my finicky shins.  I decided to give it a try, so the next day I came back with running shoes and did my best.  I now do a 5.5 mile route, and I do run/walk intervals.  I don't time myself.  I don't care about that.  But through the process of using more and different muscles to run in the sand than on hard pavement, in just 3 weeks, I believe I have healed my shinsplints.  I was able to run 3 straight miles on a treadmill a few weeks ago - anybody who knows me is aware that this is like a marathon for me, and a minor miracle.  So I have found much healing at the beach.

But on to the story.

Doing my usual beach walk/run today, I noticed that there were many more shells on the beach due storm surge last week.  I always keep one eye on the ground when running, especially on the beach, since you never know what you'll step on or in, and running with wet shoes is no fun.  Occasionally, I'll see a beautiful or interesting shell or remnant from the sea.  Typically, unless it is absolutely stunning, I'll just admire it as I pass and maybe make a mental note to pick it up on my way back, should I happen to remember where it was and if the tide hadn't taken it out to sea again.  This almost never happens, the beach is constantly depositing new treasures and reclaiming old ones.  So I'm sure I missed out on many unique shells because I figured there would be a never-ending supply of them wherever and whenever I ended my run.  

The shells were so numerous they were actually making my running path a little difficult.  I saw a sandbar that had been created by the same storm surge - a huge deposit of sand, hardpacked from the recent tides, that looked so much easier to run on.  Less shells in the way, a harder surface to help me move further with each step.  Sandbars are tempting - a pristine surface, surrounded by water, that calls to you to be the first to put your footprints in it, and see what it has to offer that nobody else has seen.  But we also know that it's easy to get stranded if the tide comes in.  It's risky.  But having had enough of crunching and slipping on shells in softly packed sand, I took the chance and jumped the small stream of water separating me from that glorious sandbar.  I ran and ran, and when I couldn't run anymore, I walked.  A few times I had to jump another stream, and got my shoes wet.  I finally came to the end of that sandbar, and sure enough, my fear had come true - I had been stranded.  The tide had started to come in, and the amount of water separating me from the beach was not something I was willing to wade through with my shoes on.  So for the first time in almost 3 months of running on the beach, I actually ended my workout a little shy of 5 miles, and took my shoes and socks off, and waded in.

No, it wasn't my plan, to get my feet wet and sandy, but since when has the universe ever let us successfully plan anything to start exactly when we are ready for it?  That's right, never.  The water was deliciously cold but not uncomfortably so, since the sun was already up and keeping everything above the water line warm.  I waded through the deepest part of the stream and got back to the beach, and continued down the beach with my feet in the water.  I know from previous experience that there are many sharp-edged shells embedded in the sand that would love to slice me open.  Not because they are malicious, evil shells out for blood, but because that is just what they are good at and used to doing.  But these feet have seen 40+ years of rough terrain, and have developed their own protection.  It doesn't always work, sometimes I still get cut, but for the most part I know my limitations and will walk on a shell-lined beach but not a city street lined in broken glass.  Some risks are worth taking.  

As I looked at the shells I was so accustomed to running past, even though I had at least another mile in my route, I decided to stop and pick up the ones that stood out for their beauty and individuality.  I wear a small running belt to keep my phone and keys in, and there's one extra pocket for findings, but it's very small.  I have to be selective with what goes in there.  Sometimes, I'll have to take out a shell I previously thought was the most beautiful one on the beach to replace it with one that is even more spectacular.  Sometimes although they are beautiful, they are weatherworn and cracked or chipped, and a newer, more perfect one will take their place in my belt.  That's never an easy choice, but always felt like a necessary one.  But not today.  Today I decided that not only would I pick up whatever caught my eye, but I would make room for them all.  Cracked, weatherworn, imperfect, and chipped.  Since I was no longer wearing my shoes, I used them as impromptu storage and was able to bring everything I wanted with me.  I took my time and really looked around slowly and appreciated exactly where I was and what I had to choose from.  I took only what I needed to make my collection complete, and was grateful.  

When I returned to the part of the beach I had parked near, I realized how fortunate it was that I had taken advantage of all the beautiful shells a mile or so back, for on this part of the beach, there were none.  Had I waited for the perfect shell, at the perfect time and perfect place, I would have gone home empty-handed.  Instead, I had to change my planned route and take a risk, shorten my workout a little, and really just be in the here and now to find those treasures.  And I'm glad I did.

Meanwhile, in a related metaphor, Icarus knew that by flying too close to the sun, there was a very good chance his feather and wax wings would melt and send him plummeting into the sea below.  But he decided that the reward, even short-term, was worth the risk, and he soared into the sky and enjoyed the intimacy of being enveloped in the rays of the sun while he could.  It ultimately led to his demise, but it was a consequence he had looked square in the eye and decided to face anyway.

One would hope that the sun was only doing his best to give Icarus what he was seeking, and was not just testing his power to melt wax, since it meant the demise of one who was only seeking to get closer and experience more of what was being offered.

“Love, n. A temporary insanity curable by marriage.” ― Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary

Well, here we are again.  I'm back, and it didn't even take me two years!  But oh, how things have changed...

For one, I'm (happily) single.  Again.  I'd say "divorced", but I don't like that it bases my current status on one from my past.  Technically, they are both true in my mind, I just use the one I prefer. Not to hide my past, but to embrace the idea that I have moved past it and will not have my present or future be defined by it.  Moving on...

I always tried to keep it fairly neutral and humorous here, but the past 5 years of marriage were very difficult.  In retrospect, I should've ended it sooner instead of letting it devolve into something ugly, then unspectacularly implode on itself through an act of extreme cowardice on his part.  Instead, I stubbornly clung to what I believed to be the good in a fellow human who I had pledged to love, trust, and support (turns out I did a whole lot more $upporting than loving and trusting, but that's another post for another day on another blog).  

Suffice it to say, although the FOQ (Formerly known as "OH" Other Half, which turned out to be more of a Quarter, so he shall heretofore be referred to as "FOQ", Former Other Quarter, conveniently pronounced "FOCK") actually got the divorce ball rolling by basically running away to his home country for a few months under the guise of "taking care of his mother" (didn't happen), then informing me via FaceBook chat a mere 96 hours after my visit there ended that he didn't want to return to our house, our marriage, his children, or my country, I saw a window of opportunity and it smelled like freedom from this resource-sucking parasite of a man.  So I spent exactly one night crying about it, and about two weeks staggering around in a shell-shocked daze asking myself, "am I really gonna do this - AGAIN?!".  Yes, you read correctly.  This is not my first time at the divorce rodeo, boys and girls.  I have successfully failed at marriage not once, but twice.  See how I spun that into a positive?  That's just how I roll these days.

But after the shock wore off, and finally realizing I'm dealing with what is most likely some form of a sociopath, I didn't play around.  I got a lawyer.  An expensive one.  And I'm going against my natural inclination to be kind and fair and give him more than he deserves.  Quite frankly, anything is more than he deserves, and far more than he earned, but in the interest of enabling him just ONE MORE TIME so he has the resources to GTFO of my country and therefore my face, it's worth parting with a few inconsequential things and dollars that I will quickly replace.  There's of course no guarantee that he'll flee (other than many past years of cut-and-run behavior), but I have already kindly informed him that if he sticks around in this city that he spent the last 4 years bitching about, he'll have a front row seat to the new fabulousness that my life without him will bring.  And oh, am I bringin' it...

I may or may not have had a little bit of a 'wild phase' since pulling the plug, I will not confirm or deny.  But let's just say that hypothetical 'wild phase' *did* happen... I think I probably would have gotten a few things out of my system.  And I certainly have found out who my real friends are-- and aren't.  That was almost more disappointing than the marriage itself falling apart.  Because no matter what you tell yourself while it's happening, you KNOW at the core of your soul that it isn't working.  But sometimes there's mitigating circumstances that make you decide to stay there.  But when people who have spent years posing as close friends betray you and clearly don't give a damn?  That shit stings.  It's always shocking to have a closeup view of extremely dysfunctional human behavior, especially when it's directed right between your eyes.  But I'm ok.  It's like removing a festering splinter from the palm of your hand.  Hurts while you're doing it, but eventually it will heal and you'll be better for it.  I know I already am.

So stay tuned...more fabulousness is yet to come.  I shall return to my blog!  More frequently than quarterly!  I promise!  I'm sure I'll have some dating foibles to rant about eventually.  There's something to look forward to.