It’s a break-up, ladies and gentlemen. I guess you could call or consider it that. I hate being the one to pull the cord on a relationship. It goes against every fiber of who I am. I’m always willing to fight for someone I love, to put everything and every part of my heart at risk. And we took a risk. A big one, being friends. I’m still trying to figure out if that risk was worth it. In every relationship, I just tear it to pieces. I bust it on the ground. This precious, precious beautiful relationship- like a damn baby that I just wanna cuddle and kiss and coo all day and night. So pure and wonderful and doting and obsessive. I rot it out. I sabotage it. I fuck it up. I jam a stick of dynamite up its ass and light the fuse. And then stand back and watch the quick flash of fire and then the slow burn.What the fuck is wrong with me. Or is it the men I choose? These inexplicable projects, and challenges that I accept and try to make fit with me. Why do I even try anymore? I know the outcome already. Brad and I were both doing just dandy before we decided to get together. We were living our lives, separately but as friends. And then, we took something good and simple and easy, and somehow adding feelings and emotions and love to it, made it combust? How? How does loving someone more create such chaos? We added something good to something good. Shouldn't that make it better?

Yes. However, as something gets better and better, I guess there's more and more to potentially lose. People get scared when their vulnerability and trust is on the line and they start prepping for a battle that may not even be there. They are in peaceful territory with AK-47s locked and loaded. We buckled under the heavy and serious challenge of loving each other and having a life together. It was too difficult, or we weren't brave enough to say, "Let's put it all on the line. Breaking up will never be the option again."  We were too reckless with it and with each other's hearts. And now we are left with the shards of a relationship, lying limp and dead on the pavement. What do we do with what remains? How do we grow and learn from so much sadness and disappointment and hurt? How do we overcome?  What we were so scared of happening...happened. We were so afraid of the idea of losing each other that we forced to happen. We pushed ourselves off a cliff with hands held, and now we are at the bottom, broken apart, and I'm left here alone crying in my cubicle. 

Upon entering a new relationship

Well, like I've always said- firsts are always difficult.

With every person, being an original, unique creature, crafted by Someone, so much larger and greater and more brilliant than myself- everyone is a first. I have to offer myself grace in this. I must learn to offer others grace in this. Having expectations are unavoidable, yes yes. Have them. But most importantly, having hope, holding hope gently in your heart, is unquestionably critical to living a great, full life, which I imagine is the goal. It's both the goal and the baffling, topsy-turvy, winding road of this absurd journey.

I'm embarking on something new and scary: this relationship of opposites attracting while also clashing. I talked to a client today, as she sat on her bed, about the fear of living a sober life. A life where she is forced to sit with herself and feel feelings again. I can relate as I'm reconciling myself with the vulnerability of having feelings again too. I'm realizing exactly how much baggage I'm truly touting around with me, hoarding these old memories and experiences and relationships. I'm not really sure what I need to let go of.

In order to help foster the growth of my new relationship, what needs to be discarded? What isn't useful to me anymore? "Eat the chicken, and spit out the bones," said a supervisor of mine once, years ago. Take what you need, and toss out the rest.

I told this guy, "I want to know what's important to you." This comes with a price, this knowledge of a person. They're no longer an idea or a fantasy. And oh, I do love that fantasy. I can spin the most sprawling fictions, creating something from nothing. A gift and a curse.

My thoughts aren't connecting tonight, but oh well.

Goal for the night. Pump the breaks, be present in the moment, look up and see the flashing stars in the night sky and welcome all with these crazy firsts with the gratitude of open arms. 

WKND

This weekend was like something out of a confusing movie, where there's plot turn after plot turn, and you're bewildered as hell, and everyone else is running about twenty feet behind you, yelling at you to keep going, keep going, keep going. So you do. You keep going. I kept going.

Now, it's Tuesday. And I thought it was Monday all day. I can't believe I've made it to the end of Tuesday. I'm a long processer, internalizing an experience and then laying it flat like a road map, unfolded, while I peer at it, squinting, to figure out where I took the wrong turn. However, it's not that simple. It wasn't one wrong turn or one bad decision, but about a zillion wrong feelings, urges that needed squashing, and patience lost completely.

Well, hm. Actually. Maybe with every thought that enters your mind, it comes with two decisions, two sidebars, two tree branches. You either act on the thought or you don't act on it. Maybe it is actually pretty simple, and I'm just too blind to want what's best for me.

But beneath that thought, before any action is ever taken, there's emotion that lives under the thought. It wakes the thought into life. Sometimes it's a soft, gentle, little voice that whispers, "Hey, check it out- this is affection. This is infatuation." Other times, emotion bangs on your heart like a gong, "You freakin' LOVE this person. HURRY UP." Both of these emotions feel so real, but how reliable are they? What does someone do with them? Do we believe our emotions?

Trying to make time to write!


The world is getting progressively more beautiful and alive around me. I feel energized and grateful for the change of seasons and pace. I've been making efforts to slow down, when I drive, when I walk, when I'm working, I make efforts to slow down my day. I ask myself, "Why am I rushing right now? I'm not running late." That grueling pace and pressure to GET THERE is the autopilot upon which I direct and my life. I feel that "JUST GET THERE" mentality in many areas of my life. The pressing need to finish up fast, meet the intended goal, and then continue to the next thing, without even a second glace back. Without a mention of thanks or job well down.

And don't get me wrong, it's not bad to be ambitious and driven, but I don't want to miss the journey. The world is beautiful around me, even in the backdrop of stress or traffic or hurry. And I guess that is sort of it: don't let stress control you, by allowing it to dictate your focus. You focus on what's important. Stress or whatever is causing the stress is not what's important. Whether money, a guy, a boss, or yourself, stress cannot overcome the good that's happening.

I'm slowly, gratefully settling into being 28, feeling 28, letting it sink into my soul and my bones. I feel many changes coming, good changes. I'm excited for my FOURTH summer in Nashville. It's pretty unbelievable that I've created a home here all on my own.

I'm turning 28 at the end of the week. Wowza. I'm twisting and turning this whole crazy notion of me being older, getting older, becoming old- I'm twisting and wringing it out, looking for significance, and some hope for what could come, or really: Of who I could be. However, the real question, the quest, actually, is to figure out what the hell do I want in this life?

I've been alotted some time here. It's temporary, as we know, and it's fast, fast floating away from me, from all of us. How quickly I've gone from an adolescent to an adult. From a college kid, with limited world experience, to a professional person, who has a valuable role in an office, with the heavy responsibility of parenting myself and creating the life I want. There's nothing holding me back, and I feel a grave accountability to make my life and moments worthwhile.

Let's assume that miracles to do happen, and I actually make it to my seventies. What do I want to show for myself? How good can my life be- and what are the essentials that make a life good? Yes, yes- there are the external things, children and marriage, etc, which I've pushed onto God for leadership. Submission onto God and a prayer...and an apple booty.  But what can I work on within? Who is the person that I want to be?

I hope to have a strong spiritual relationship. I hope to be wise, with integrity and knowledge of the hearts of others. I hope I'm comfortable- physically healthy and free of pain. I hope I'm able to give and receive love. I feel like that's a good life for me.

when did this blog become so difficult

...and when did it become so difficult for me to even sit down and write words, for that matter?


True, I'm at the Green Hills library. I had no intention of writing words and sentences, but here I sit. Doing it. Giving this life its life. I purged last night...of social media apps. I've not ventured onto any site, where others are sitting back, observing, and judging. Question: what's worse than being judged?


Answer: Not being judged. Not being acknowledged by anyone. Irrelevancy.


This becomes our culture. Our lives are at stake for attention from strangers. And that's a terrifying prospect. Our lives being lived through the lives of others who neither truly know nor truly care for us.


Anyway. It's a temporary boycott. A "cleanse" of this culture of squinting eyes and stolen glances. So, I'm using this basically anonymous blog as an outlet for a small but strong voice. Not many still check up or write on theirs. Xanga's become a piece of history and memory, erased from the boundless blackboard of the Internet. It feels good writing to no one, for a change. There's no audience or special person to impress, or scene to create or filter to brighten or shade.


Now. On to my favorite topic: myself.


I think I'm going to really enjoy my new job. It's fun and thought-provoking and confusing and interactive, with a vigorous combination of teamwork, clinical skills, and argument. I love it so far. Though the cumbersome part has yet to begin- the files and files of paperwork. The pre-cert rejections that are fated upon me. Bad days will be. I hope I accept them with patience and hope for better tomorrows.


Gnight all my wanderers. Love.