Me, a Romantic? No....

For the first time in a long time, I don't know how to start. There are so many emotions swirling inside of me that I have a hard time placing my finger on one at a time. And they run a range too, from my old standby-disappointment, to happiness, hope, a sense of loss, awe and some things in between. 

The morning of May 23rd, a young man asked a lovely young woman to show him her special place along the river near her home. This spot meant something to her as, years before, she read one of his letters there--at a time when both of these young people were trying to grapple with what they felt for one another and how they wanted to precede about their future. 

She took him down to the river where she glanced out around the surrounding landscape, and by the time she turned around to look at him, he was down on one knee, asking her if she would marry him. 

Ten seconds of surprised silence later she fervently exclaimed "Yes!" and history was made. 

Though I've always felt like Annie was my soul sister, somehow, her marrying makes it feel like she will be more my sister than before. And I will now have a brother in Lee. 

In a short, sweet, and heartfelt ceremony yesterday, Dan married his English rose Cat. On one of those beautiful days, in the way that only Los Angeles can resemble paradise, I found myself at the Greystone Mansion, looking out at the city I love and barely know, blooming roses, lush lawns and an infinite blue sky. With the warm sun and it being late May it would have been probable to have a very hot and uncomfortable day, but it was not, as perhaps the Eye of Heaven looked down on this special day and granted us a breeze. 

Two older people found each other and made a commitment in their first marriage, all after finding one another in speed dating. Cat said though she only had five minutes with him, she knew he was something special. And after dating for awhile they stood there in front of family, friends, coworkers and presumably, the Divine, to pledge that they were filled with faith---in their marriage, in each other, in themselves and in love. 

So friends, I suppose by now it should come as no surprise, that I am an unabashed romantic. It crept up on me, it really did--and I've come to realize that I am hardwired for love--a difficult place to be. Because here's the thing--so many people, especially at my age are looking for tail, or a career, or themselves and most are not looking for commitment or a relationship or that feeling in the heart. But I am, which means that every time someone special comes along, which is typically few and far between, my heart leaps into my throat before I can even try (and fail) to control my heart with my mind. I try desperately to tell myself not to get worked up or to hope that this time, really, things might lead to love. And when they don't I chide myself harshly for even hoping, because I'm the one that ends up hurt in the end. Disappointed and destroyed, after I knew it wouldn't be what I wanted it to be. 

After an amount of time dedicated to self pity and "poor me" commentary, I pick myself up, as a warrior does, and march blindly, and full of faith into the future that is my own. I continue to leap, though as Gavin DeGraw says,

Mounting the trail

but you got it in sight

sometimes I'm always jumping 

hoping I'm not afraid of heights 

Leaping into Faith, Wrestling with God and Finding Certainty

I will be reposting some old blogs of mine from xanga to here. I do this because these are pieces that either lend more insight into who I am, or I'm fiercely proud of them. Or both. 

July 22, 2008----My personal philosophy

Faith Leaping, God-Wrestling and Certainty-Finding

I was talking with a friend of mine today and I came upon something that is very truthful and I've been giving it more thought throughout the day. 

We often hear that there are circumstances in life where we have to take a leap of faith; I believe, however, when you really think about it that everything we do is a leap of faith. 

When talking with a friend and saying something that might or will probably bring about conflict, we leap; we place our faith in the fact that the friendship can overcome the conflict. When we are small and we go from Pre-K to Kindergarten, we leap; other people tell us that we are capable and ready to move on, but to a certain extent, at least that 1% of ourselves, our internal, unique, independent voice that can't be guaranteed by others, no matter how many times our parents and teachers encourage us, we leap, simply believing that we really are capable of moving on to the next level of schooling. 

No one guarantees us happiness or love or success in life; to think about it, no one even guarantees us that we can be brave enough to know and love ourselves; no one guarantees us that we will live the life we dream of. There is no guarantee that we will ever fulfill our potential or ever come to know, while we are living, the immensity of who we are. But we march on, literally blindly, with only the faith that we can move forward into our lives. We simply believe we can, and so we do. 

Everything we do is a leap of faith, because no matter how much life experience we gain, or how much history we accumulate, or how much encouragement we receive, in the end it is only us, our own core selves that push us into the future. And history and precedent cannot, in any way guarantee anything, let alone something positive about the future, because the future is always different and ever-changing. 

I wrestle with God on a daily basis and sometimes He (or She or They) win and I have to submit to Their will; sometimes I win and I can shout in the face of God and tell Her (or He or They) that I am in control and that they are foolish indulgences of the imagination; that nothing is above me and that I make my own fate. 

But this is what I do know: I know that there is a magnificently good and kind and loving and nurturing and caring divinity, because the basis of faith is believing without seeing, going blind and leaping. And since everything we do in life is leaping, it makes only logical sense, at the least, to me that we should leap and believe the best in life and the best in people and nature, in the future, in the divine and, most of all, ourselves.

Details

Often it is the details in life, the extra $5 bill you find in an old pair of jeans, the feeling of soil on your hands, that perfect cup of coffee that someone left in the coffee pot that makes a difference. Of this, I am certain. 

While the cruise I recently went on wasn't all I thought it should be, the details that carried me and my two gal pals through those fabulous five days was what made the difference. 

When I was in Nassau, my fall lead to a bloody knee, which lead to a vendor who soaked a cloth for me to wipe the blood away, and who also gave me a free bandage. 

The plane ride to Ft. Lauderdale found me sitting next to a guy who was kind and who coincidentally enough, had some background in The Biz. We sat chatting, and at a time, much like any other, where I find myself growing ever more anxious of my future in terms of writing and work, he had the nicest words for me. 

"Figure out what you want to do, plug away at it, and you'll make your way." 

All things countless people have told me, but listening to his life story and how he got involved from being a risk assessor in Missouri for an insurance company, to owning his own entertainment insurance division really stoked my fire. Here, sitting next to me was a man who's life turned out quite nicely, all from strange and humble beginnings. 

Had I been sitting next to someone else, I wouldn't have heard those words with the same conviction, the same belief that stretched across the armrest located between us, to enter my brain where I would take it to heart. 

Back in Ft. Lauderdale, unbeknownst to us, the restaurants near our hotel sponsored music nights, which meant I got to hear some great bluesy guitar and groove with my friends. The music filled the air, making the night that much better. Did I mention there was a delicious ice cream place just down the road from our hotel? Didn't plan that one. Nor did I plan that a very nice gentleman at the hotel would cut down coconuts for both Anne and I. I didn't plan drinking from coconuts, but there I was, sun bathing after swimming, doing a completely tropical thing.

It's the details that made it so cool. 

This Is My World

I sit here in this cafe typing when I look up and see something hanging from the wall. A cardboard frog is attached to a cardboard crest which announces "This Is My World." And as I sit here with my fingers hitting the keys, I realize this is a perfect way to start. 

From our earliest years we are raised in a kaleidoscope of structures; the family structure, the religious, the school, the government, and perhaps most permeating--the gender and culture roles that surround us. 

The hardest thing, or at least the hardest thing for me, is to find where I fit in these varying worlds while constantly constructing a personal truth of my own. I'm not knocking these structures. They serve as vital roles and make things interesting as we now have a world that is filled with different schools, religions, governments, cultures, etc. 

But when does the one leave off and the next begin? It comes as some surprise to me that I am a people pleaser of sorts. I don't like getting pushed around and if something really offends me I don't back down or bend to others' whims. But amidst all of the variations I put out there with the silently asked question of "is this okay? Have I scared you off? Do you approve of me?" I try to feel my way to a more original and truthful version of myself. 

In the end, it is I, and no one else who is living this life, and therefore I owe it to myself to be the most, well, of me. I believe Sartre called this "being authentic," and as one who has strived to do just that over the last few years I can say that it hurts like hell and is a road full of pain, but it's also kind of cool. 

Some people, as I was reminded on Monday night are wired for particular things; I am wired for monogamy. I am wired for emotion, for hope and optimism, for anxiety and nervousness, for personal cynicism, dreaminess and romanticism. All of these combine to be uniquely me and I have recently tried to refrain from asking others for their opinion about pieces of my world. Because, after all, this is my world. 

Beaches and Revelations

I have just returned from paradise. What more does one need, but a sandy beach, waves lapping the shoreline and friends?

Parting is always hard, and it finally hit me at 5 am this morning, that once again my best friend Anne, is on the other side of the country. 

We have talked about how hard this past year has been; this year out of college has been so dramatically hard and sad for most of us. And while commiserating makes me feel better in the moment, I can't help but feel bereft of such a big part of my life as I lay awake at 5 am this morning. Is the early morning insomnia an effect of jet lag and Eastern time zone changes, or is it something more?

I guess in the end, I've had a lot of happy memories and a lot of laughter in those golden days of school; I don't laugh as much as I used to. And I hope that one day soon life becomes as happy or happier than the college days. I refuse to believe that the best days of my life are behind me. 

So here is to starting anew, to keeping old memories but letting go of their burdensome weight, their weight to impact the present and the future. 

And here is a wish that I might see Emily and Anne before Emily, my first close girl friend, gets married next April. Oh how we used to be carefree girls; when the sun flashed across our sunburned and golden skin against beaches of white, I realized, we're rapidly becoming the women we'd hope to grow into. 

My Promise

The words didn’t part my mouth or breach my lips before they were something I lived by. While I hadn’t at this point, told someone besides myself, I had made a promise to look after Miss Kitty; I had made a promise to make sure that she had shelter, water and food. And I wasn’t going back on that word.

This promise was silent. It was one I communicated to Miss Kitty on a daily basis, as I refilled her food dish and made sure she had enough clean water. With every stroke I gave her, I wanted her to relax in the knowledge that she was no longer alone, and that she could give her daily care to a mature adult who was looking out for her.

I don’t know what it was that touched me about her so much. Just an average, run-of the mill grey tabby cat, her only unusual and pretty markings were the cream running around each eye and the vertical eye of striping on one side of her belly. Almost as if I had called her to me, at a time way back in January when I was thinking of taking care of an animal, she showed up, sitting in the sun on a chair underneath my window. From that moment on, I was hooked, feeling she was meant to be mine.

Her small feet made me think she was female, along with her expanding belly. I wanted her so badly to come inside and warm herself on carpet because I feared for her safety in freezing temperatures and dampness. She hooked me with her bold nature, the way she would inch herself inside my apartment and stick her neck out, popping her head up to look around furniture and room corners.

It wasn’t long before this average feral tabby was talking, meowing and demanding more attention from me. They weren’t cries for more food, as I knew she ‘d had her fill; they were cries for me. For hands to pet her and make her start purring.

She hooked me when she started getting desperate, her little face showing in the back sliding door, her petite feet fiercely banging on the glass as she stood on her high back hocks, trying to guilt me into opening the door and petting her.

I made a promise to this cat. I made a promise to the nice folks that did their best to have her fixed, instead of making me wait an extra two weeks for the next clinic. I told them, as I told her, silently, with petting and with the way I looked at her, that she was mine and I was hers; I would take care of her to best of my ability and I would make sure her basic needs were met. I pride myself on being a straight shooter, of meaning what I say, and this was one promise I meant. It’s one promise I mean. And it’s one promise that I have recently started saying out loud.

My hand lightly scratching her back, in my soft, high pitched voice, “Miss Kitty, you’re mine. And I’ll look after you and feed you and pet you, because you’re my cat now.”

The fact that in the end I am wiling, though not looking forward, to living alone so that I can keep her instead of my options of giving her to a barn or farm, or unthinkable to me, the Humane Society, shows two things. It shows that I have a compassionate and large heart, and it shows, that while I may not know myself as well as I should, or as well as I had thought, I know that animals need to be a part of my life.

So, Miss Kitty and I are together, and will be moving on with our lives at a new location.

An Experiment in Love

I saw love over the last week of April, 2009. 

Love came in the form of over three generations of geographically scattered family coming together to mourn for a distant relative and to support a close one. Love showed up more than 80 years after family left from Italy for promise in the U.S.

Love came when Donna, my uncle's ex-girlfriend insisted on being with him when he learned his medical diagnosis; he was stricken with throat cancer, the spring of last year. Love was when Donna drove said Uncle to the hospital, even though, years before, they'd been through a traumatic break-up. 

Love shone in every action of a healthy 79 year old man who diligently looked after his ailing wife. Love was there through hip fractures, and breaking collar bones and dissipating brain function and countless hospital visits.

Love was there when two gal pals saw each other for the first time in a year; they embraced and walked stride for stride and spoke word for word as if time hadn't passed. 

This is love; so don't fucking tell me it doesn't exist!