Brad

Brad, you taught me so much. About the importance of family, friendship, loyalty, unconditional love, and lifted trucks. I'd never been with someone who was so completely my opposite, with such a different background from me. He had a large, unconventional family, was from the Southwest, more Motocross than SEC football. He was so laid-back, playful, fun-loving, and hilarious. He was good at everything. He had the unique ability to make friends with anyone. And he was bold, as he rolled up in his white Mercedes and asked for my number the first time the we met. 

I felt shocked and honored that I'd somehow tied down the infamous, footloose, and fancy-free, Brad Walters. He confirmed to me just three weeks in, "I'm going to start telling people that you're my girlfriend now, okay?" Full of surprises. He turned out to be such a homebody, enjoying evenings at home making ceviche and salsa, taking long baths, repotting our plants. On weekends, we'd sleep in until 8am (he never did learn how to sleep late) and cook up large, elaborate breakfasts for just the two of us. We enjoyed the little things like running errands together as a formidable team, formulating a plan of action, and executing what we wanted to accomplish that day. 

He was also extremely smart. He could take apart a car and put it back together again; he could build a house from the ground-up. He always kept himself busy, even installing a literal iPad into his 4Runner dashboard. He cared for his animals and his people. If Brad's in your corner, you're taken care of for life, and you are his family now. Even in our break-up, he made it explicit that he was always here for me. I feel like I've been waiting for him to come to his senses and realize all that he is. See what we all see in him. A quote that I'm holding close, "What is grief, if not love persevering?" He's gone too soon, but he loved and was loved. 

feels fade and flicker

I guess feelings are truly transient, and maybe that's their beauty and their downfall. All it required was one friend to snap me back into reality and dish out the crusty, dusty dirt. She said that he wasn't someone that she'd set a friend up with. She confirmed with me that I hadn't gone too far. She talked about his past, which we all have, myself included, so how much stake do I place in this past. 

It feels good to have my feet under me again because I knew that something wasn't right. I knew that it was complicated, and I was already losing my logic, as the hopeful, romantic side conquered my thoughts, as created a rich fantasy of a person that I didn't actually, truly know. The other shoe dropped unpleasantly from the sky, and it was only a matter of time before I would be disappointed. So, looking at my post from yesterday feels pretty ridiculous, way overblown and romantical, but those feelings were real and flowing, and it was nice to have my hopes up--even for just a week. 

"I want someone to make a big deal out of me"

I have large crush. On a real, living human, who is cute and kind and so completely unavailable to me that it almost physically hurts. We hung out a week ago- it was our second time in each other's space. I felt like I was giving my best performance. I wanted to be fun, charming, smart, outgoing, and wise. And CULTURED- oh my gosh, I wanted to seem so freaking worldly, ew, like chill out!  I was juggling several, revolving, thriving personalities to impress a person that I'd met one time. Of course, that one previous meeting lasted half of a day and all of the night. We both struggled to sleep innocently next to each other in a tiny double bed. I could feel the warmth of our shoulders touching each other, the full weight of his bare shoulder rested on top of mine and it was magic. His shoulder literally sent me to heaven. The bed moved when he moved, and I had microscopic awareness of his every shifting movement. I willed him to put his arm around me, but never happened. I watched him kneel down and adjust the room temperature. He breathed, he dreamed, he mumbled the word "sorry." 

I've singularly romanticized an experience that has catapulted my fantasies and intrigue into a human that I want to know more about and be around more and simply have more of. But why- after only one or two events, do I like this guy so absurdly much? Who, mind you, disappears into the ether every time he leaves Nashville, which is often, too often. He moves into another life, with potentially another woman (who knows!), and doesn't speak to me. He's neither asked for my number nor given his. It's like a strange, bewildering, wonderful mirage. A guy with growing, glowing potential for something that may be quite nice, fun, maybe even something resembling infatuation or love or passion- who envelops himself into the world, almost like he's absorbed away- into another life, other cities, or countries, and I'm instantly in the past and assumedly forgotten. He doesn't belong to me and never will, judging from what I've experienced thus far. Though I secretly (not so much secretly to innermost sweet and romantic self) hope I'm wrong- though I'm not wrong. I'm rarely wrong on my intuition; I just rarely listen to it. He doesn't belong to me, and he's not beholden to me just because I feel such immense interest and hope. And I think I may enjoy being around him? He belongs to himself. I belong only to myself and I need this blog to remind me of this every second and every time my hope wants to peek through the smog of my lonely (but quite lovely) hallow of the world.  

 It's funny, but I'm trying to breakthrough into my spiritual side again. I've missed it. Taking those small moments, in-between the chaos and sensory overload, to notice and feel all that's around me. It's not easy to do. 

Every day that drifts by is a day that I get to be here. On this Earth, in this particular reality. I'm alive, my heart beats strongly and passionately. I'm extremely lucky to be living my life. I should always appreciate what my elders and ancestors have done for me, to make me this strong, to make me this intelligent, to give me character and humor and bravery and an ambition to live boldly. My grandmothers and their grandmothers, my grandfathers and their grandfathers have played a role and lived a life that led to mine. And for me to look in the mirror and ever see anything less than someone who is lovely and worthy and wonderful is to scoff at them and forsake them and what they went through to get me here. I feel immense gratitude and pride in all of the journeys, past and present, on this Mother's Day weekend. 

when people ask me if I'm dating...

Why in the FUCK would I ever want another fucking boyfriend. Another person to humiliate me? Yell at me that I'm a dumb bitch or a cunt? Break my possessions? Cheat on me and put me at risk for STDs? Ask for sexy snaps from other women while I am CONSTANTLY accused of cheating? Buy and do drugs behind my back? DO you know how many girls have told me that you would send them snaps of yourself naked in bed while we were together??? Asking them what they were up to that night?  And those girls told people, and it was this big fucking joke among groups of people- when was Brad gonna send another half-naked bed selfie, hahahahah. Fucking embarrassing. Each guy I've dated was worse than the last, and that's on me- accepting fucked up, weak behaviors and forgiving people when I should have walked away. Please move on because this relationship will never happen ever again; I have promised myself to hold and keep higher standards for the people that I allow into my life. Maybe someday we can be friendly, but I've finally learned a lesson.

 Getting better at this!

You still email me. I don't know why. I don't know why, after almost a year, you think I'll change my mind or come to my sense and be with you again. I don't think I was ever truly happy. I wanted a relationship because I feel stronger and more secure when I'm not alone. Standing on my own, as ONLY me, sucked.

Being in a relationship was something to be proud of. It shows a worthiness, desire, completion. Being alone was shameful, embarrassing, no one finding worth in me. My aloneness was a testament to my failure. I always valued love and relationships all my life- I was the girl watching the rom-coms, observing the princess being whisked away by a prince, listening to all the love songs, reading books that relied heavily on emotions, sentiment, sweetness, and candid, fun conversations between two characters who'd soon find themselves infatuated. 

Maybe that's why I have a hard time letting go. That's always been my point of interest- human relationships, especially romantic relations- it's what I gravitate toward. It's important to me to be important to someone, being reflected as valued and worthy and lovely. Of course, I could take the place of this external voice, pulling my sense of worth from the inside out and wrap it around me like a soft blanket or steeled shield. There's all types of love. Companionate love, platonic love, familial love, love from a pet (GOT THAT!), and self-love. So, in order to get through life being alone, it's essential that I learn to spread my idea of love and not heap it all into one category of ROMANTIC love. Sure, it's important, and I've experienced many romantic things, heard romantic words, that poetic, high-hearted experience of complete joy. 

Sometimes breakdowns can be breakthroughs. I've experienced this in my life. Especially because I tend to hide and deny my true feelings. I push myself into being a supporting character role instead of taking charge and honoring my needs, desires, dreams, and- frankly- my plans, for someone else, who may have the stronger will or a louder voice. 

In yoga, we crunch ourselves into tiny balls, thighs on top of chests, on top of arms on top of heads. A tiny ball of energy and life- but also, withdrawn into darkness. The next pose counters the tininess, as we open up our hearts, necks and throats ("chakras"), chests, and arms and explode into life and feeling and existence. It's says "I'm here, and I'm the main character in my story." The posture is a dreaded camel pose. This one is so much harder than the little ball of one. It feels nice being small and safe in that fetal state. Not moving, not seeing, not connecting, closed and contracted within our space. However, we need the camel! The camel pose brings forth effortful opening. It's so vulnerable that it hurts.  But there is honesty in doing difficult things. There is honesty in vulnerability. Attempting difficult things drives us into vulnerability without even asking permission from us! One simply leads beautifully into the other, a stretch and a contract, just as bird of paradise, an open and vulnerable "hello!" to the world, eventually leads us draped into our safe blessing of a forward fold.

Chest-openers, in general, are hard for me.  I err on the side of closed, withdrawn, reserved, and distant. It's more comfortable for me to be closed to vulnerability. Posturing myself as small to escape notice. One of my ongoing difficulties with having a significant other was having someone always observing me, noting my behaviors, providing generous critiques, and giving unsolicited opinions. My last two boyfriends were especially unforgiving in this way. 

But the more you practice this effortful opening, the uncomfortable posturing, the easier it becomes. It feels less strange on you. It begins to attached to you comfortably like a warm, buttery vest that's melted onto your body. The cactusing arms are dreamy and smooth. The back widens as you inhale your open presence. I once had a very wonderful yoga teacher who suggested sliding my shoulder blades down the back like two broken egg yolks. Broken and yet open.