Commentary on life

Sometimes I am slow – part 2 of 2

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And now, the letter…

Mmmhhh… so continuing from the previous post, here’s the letter that I wrote. Somehow I am not as enthusiastic about it as I was before. I don’t even know why it was so important for me to write it or even post it. I guess it’s me needing to be heard.

I am of two minds now. Not sure if I have resolved anything. Except maybe the chance to have a one-sided conversation and make up for being really slow… Anyway, here’s the letter:

Dear Lover,

You know one of the most beautiful things about me, I think, is how much I love love… it’s kinda my thing. 

My biggest wish has been, and remains, to find this Big Love. The other night we spoke and I was not clear about the things I thought I wanted. You insisted that I knew what I needed. And I said I was not sure. I was not being disingenuous— my processor was overwhelmed by you and so things were just not ringing true in that special inner place where true wishes do.

Afterwards, nearly a week later to be honest, I was able to access myself in a way that I have not done in a long while.

It probably does not matter but I finally realized what I want. Lover, I desire to be loved deeply and truly. Being with you the other night showed me how intimacy could be. How much I missed being connected to someone. How much I really wanted to love someone back, to touch them, to nurture them, to fulfill their desires, to be close — and perhaps to give them the things they secretly wish for too — and maybe help them uncover bits and pieces of themselves they thought were lost to life experiences and disappointments.

Sometimes, like now, I am overwhelmed by how romantic and idealized my thoughts are regarding love. I am afraid that my desire to be loved in such a specific way stands in the way of me finding love. But while I know there is a good chance that these could remain longings (I am so aware of time passing), I am so totally convinced about the one thing that I cannot possibly give up: I deserve to be loved fiercely and decisively— not to be someone’s ambivalent number one. But to be wholly and boldly desired. To be chosen as the One. 

Despite being now so clear about what I desire and seek — I am terribly scared to admit it — sometimes, even to myself. 

I want to thank you, Lover, for helping me realize how important it is for me to be loved and wholly accepted and to be able to bear witness to this showing of love without confusion.  Without hesitation. And without shame of the sometimes bearing of my insecurities and neediness. 

(I am so incredibly aware of my own imperfections and inadequacies).

So you were right. I do want to be able to point and say, “Mine.” But above all this, I want the chance to be loved and to love unconditionally — and desired too — with unwavering conviction!

Conviction… Not a very romantic notion, huh?

xoxoxo

So now…

So that was the letter. I am so hopeful that I will find someone who will be sure about me.

And one who will (gasp!) give me their heart. 

And that I shall be in the privileged position of loving them too and hopefully doing it in the way they desire the most.

Exposed

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I have been trying this honest confessional thing for a few posts now.  I think it is quite refreshing.  But it is also quite bare.

I think, sometimes, that being vulnerable creates the most beautiful and relatable art. I suppose my world view has been colored by watching many hours of America’s Got Talent and perhaps The Voice.  But I think this view is largely true. Beyond just being relatable, I feel like being open brings me closer to myself.

I don’t know when this happened but I got it in my overthinking head that I needed to be this perfect person — and that I could only be good or worthy if I maintained certain standards of propriety. So on the outside there’s this little Proper Miss of myself that parades herself, seeking everyone’s approval and relishing in receiving it.  Then deep inside me is a more open and free-spirited version of Proper Miss who sits waiting for the day when she’ll be let out to play — because she’s the embodiment of every longing, dream, and being that Proper Miss wishes she had.  Hidden Miss holds the dreams, inner fulfillment, wisdom, innocence, enchantment, and essence that would make life that much lived. Hidden Miss believes in magic and kismet and the importance of softer things. Proper Miss believes too but she’s a realist and her priorities are pragmatic. Proper Miss has little patience for unfolding and letting things that’ll be, be. Hidden Miss holds life in wonderment and enjoys every morsel of life’s simple joys. Hidden Miss wouldn’t think twice about jumping off a cliff to dive into crystal blue waters or taking a walking tour in a foreign country to discover a writers’ cafe — she is all about adventure.

I am not naive. I understand that I can’t walk these streets as Hidden Miss all the time.  I would be chewed up and spat out before I could say, “YOLO” … no matter how important it is to create a life that is true and “authentic”.

Besides, Proper Miss has accumulated experiences and skills that have been equally enriching and useful in navigating through this ride. Proper Miss is a winner but also knows how to wear the scars of defeat with the grace of a warrior.

So in a way, the best version of me is both Hidden Miss and Proper Miss.

I have also found that these two versions of myself couldn’t be farther apart from each other. And what’s more, some of my most miserable life experiences have been because I was trying too hard to be one or the other.

This also affects how I write. Proper is about technical ability and getting it right from a craft perspective. Hidden is about telling the story because it is crying out from within my soul. I think it’s clear that both have a place and a purpose.

This past year has been quite interesting because I have been experimenting with trying as much as possible to be honest with myself and make decisions where truth rings internally. I have found that this exercise of being honest with myself has narrowed the distance between Proper Miss and Hidden Miss.  I have felt rewarded in my soul. I have felt incredible peace about some of the most difficult decisions I’ve had to make this year. My sister insists I am a much nicer person to know. I think my compassion for others has increased.

The exercise of being honest with myself requires more reflection than I thought. I process a lot through writing — and documentation can be jarring. I feel exposed and uncomfortable in the moment when I feel I have hit an especially difficult truth. But I feel rewarded when I think I am one step closer to bringing Proper and Hidden together.

Gawd I hope the lesson is mastered now. I want the next phases of my life to be less miserable and more peaceful. Is this what they call “finding yourself?” — that shit ain’t for kids.

Damascus experience

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So I talked about changing direction in an earlier post and how this year was a major year for me.  In the post I talk about having a “Damascus” experience — yet another biblical reference — been so full of those lately.  But my use of the expression was really to capture the life changing aspect of the experience I have had this year.

I have been struggling with grief and depression for a while.  It’s been nearly three years of being in this deep dark hole.  You know the kind where you sit in a corner, knees to your chest, and wait it out because there’s just nowhere to go except to sit in the muck of sadness.  I swear I cried so much in the shower, wailed for God to help me, and called upon every ounce of will power in order to make it through the last year.

But earlier in the year I also realized that I needed to get better.  I kept looking for a solution. I wanted to try anti-depression pills but got spooked out the first time I took a dose.  I continued with talk therapy but I wasn’t really getting through.  We tried this technique with my therapist and it was a success.  I was able to get to the root of my immediate issues and I am not sure how it all works… all I know is that I have relief.  It’s been a process of peeling back the layers and dealing with the surprises that I find.  Now, the burden of sadness that plagued me everyday, making it hard to do even the littlest of things, is loosening its grip on me.  I feel like I can breath.

It was tough dealing with depression and for such a long time.  I can do the moods and the depressive episodes — I know that we are not promised all sunny, freaking-hippy-happy days.  I can do the ups and downs like everyone else… I just couldn’t do the every day of it.  It was draining and it was like this secret I kept inside… not because I was keeping things secret but because depression is isolating.

The breakthrough with the treatment has been slow but steady.  I definitely knew something had changed but it wasn’t until a few weeks after the treatment that I realized how badly I had been doing.  I can only describe it as waking up the morning after a whole night of storms and walking through the damage.  I didn’t realize how much my writing had suffered.  I had neglected my physical health too — my quality of sleep was bad, no exercise, wild food binges — and well, I was just not happy.

As I am getting better, I am also realizing how much work has to go into reclaiming the time… the reflection, the focus back on my physical health, writing, and staying healthy. The change in direction for me is about this effort and it extends to about what I write, how I share myself, and experience life in general.

 

About dimensions

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It’s quite human — and somewhat convenient — to paint people simply.  It’s much easier to label someone as all good or another as all bad.  I am learning that people are far more than just one “thing.”

I am also conscious that this is the same thing for me… it is possible for me to exist in these seemingly contradictory spaces. I have had a hard time understanding for instance that being angry and expressing my anger does not make me an inherently evil person.  I have a lot of guilt when I express anger — and I don’t know where I got this false belief that being angry equals being a mean person.  Especially when I know that anger is a healthy emotion and that it is basically a way of signaling that I feel an injustice has been done or that I object to how a story is unfolding.

But I think what I have learnt that is truly humbling is that because I was previously opposed to letting myself comfortably occupy these contradictory spaces without losing my identity, I was unable to lend this grace to others.  And it is really sad.  I think I used to see the world as black and white — and in some ways, I still do (but hopefully less so). Living that kind of life can be quite difficult…

I suppose with age I am softening and learning to live in the grey areas and getting more comfortable with not having this purist view of life… It is both refreshing and terrifying… but it fills me with great compassion.

Fringe benefit – this realization of dimensions makes it easier to really enjoy the Meredith Brooks “Bitch” song as popularized by Alanis Morrisette:

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover
I’m a child, I’m a mother
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I’m your hell, I’m your dream
I’m nothing in between
You know you wouldn’t want it any other way
So take me as I am…

Adventure

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Creating adventure.  I want to be one of those people that embrace adventures – right to the point of pursuing them relentlessly.  I think having adventure can help my writing process even as it helps me to live a little.

Sometimes I am extremely disappointed with myself.  I am a typical hermit.  I love being home.  I love sitting on the couch and watching a good show.  I love reading a good book and just chilling.  Writing and the hermit are a match made in heaven.  But I also feel like the hermit is missing out on things — not sure what but I just feel like there is a whole world out there and the hermit is not there.

I wasn’t always the hermit, you know and there’s a part of me that used to enjoy finding new things to do. I believe adventure fuels imagination — and imagination crafts good stories.  Writing and adventure could be a match made in heaven as well.

So I think as I craft a new collectible hobby, I will also write the new adventures I want to take on.  I want to scuba dive.  Maybe do a zip line.  I want to take Pooch to the beach.  I want to see if skydiving is compatible with the hermit.  I want to do a hot air balloon ride. I want to go abroad with Pooch to a dog friendly country. I want to paint on canvas in an artists’ commune.  Maybe learn how to ride a motorcycle.  I want to ride at ATV across some sand dunes.  Camp in the wild. I want to bathe in a river.  Ohhh skinny dip in some warm, natural swimming pool. I want to get lost in a corn maze at Halloween. Prayerfully walk a labyrinth. Maybe read some badly written poetry on an open mic night.  I want to join some random music band’s jam session.  And bring along my dog to make people both uncomfortable and happy.  I would love to be a storyteller — finally do the performance I have crafted. Buy an old gramophone, play some records in the night, listen to this music, and drink champagne while seated on a blanket.  I want to write for four, five, six days at a time… really give myself over to this process of writing and writing and writing.

And… I could go on and on… I want to create adventure and then write about it.  I want to live.

Changing direction

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So there are many life defining moments that a writer like me would bookmark.  The first time I read a book and was so moved by the emotions that little butterflies roamed my tummy and I had to catch my breathe.  The first time I felt emotions of love and adoration. The first time I was told that I was loved.  You get my drift…

But there are other firsts which are so significant that they change how you experience life and therefore how you express yourself.  I think I had one of those “Damascus” moments this year.  I want to write differently after this experience (no doubt will be a confessional post one of these days) and the only regret I have is that I hadn’t been writing consistently so that I could see the change.  I’m guessing it would have been awesome to see.

Nevertheless, I think because I have changed how I see life and a lot of my core beliefs have been challenged, my writing will change and indeed has changed.  I feel bolder and find it easier to access my voice.  And I had been searching for an authentic expression of myself for a while – so that’s a relief.

Anyway, I am happy that I am evolving.  Let’s see how it changes my stories.

New habits and hobbies

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I wrote in one of my other confessionals about the need to go beyond my own experiences in order to write about compelling and interesting characters.  Along with understanding my own limitations as a writer, this process of trying to expand my world view has actually prompted me to seek out new experiences.

I want to have new hobbies.  Of course music and reading and indie movies are at the top of my lovely things to do… but I am feeling like I need to get a hobby that promotes physical well being.  I am lazy dog owner which means that I outsource majority of my dog walking responsibilities.  But I would really love to do more with my dog.  So my big goal is to start walking with Pooch.  (You can meet my imaginary version of Pooch on this page – check out Today’s Special). I also feel like it will help me with health goals.

Then I want to explore a new take on music and create a collection of sorts.  And so I am thinking of getting a vinyl habit. I am still stewing on this because I need to have a plan for storage, care, and use.  I love my books and they have a system… I will need a system for the vinyls… but I am so excited to get started.

Then.  I have a secret wish to do roller skating.  Now I am a bit scared with this one but oh! how happy it would make me.  Just thinking about it makes my insides soar! I can see myself moving around and around – such graceful movements. If I was super aggressive, which I assure you I am not at all, I would be especially thrilled to seek out and join a roller derby team.

Maybe this exploration into new bits of me will give me new ways of seeing people and how they view the world.  Certainly how they see it all. By expanding my view of me, I could possibly discover others who I can draw into my world of writing.

Everybody’s story is delicious

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Sometimes I can be quite nosy.

As I have confessed before I love everything about love.  I enjoy hearing about relationships — between parents and children, siblings, lovers, could have been lovers, best friends who secretly wish that they were lovers — all those delicious little bits that reaffirm that love makes the world go round.  So… I can’t help myself when people tell me they’re married or dating or in a lifelong committment or not dating — I want to why, know when, how did it happen, what did you say, what did he/she/they say, and then… And for me, it’s like one delicious slice of red velvet cake.

And I keep these little stories with me.  Every so often I will refer back to them.  Visit the imagery in my head — hear the words, remember how the stories were told to me, how the teller looked, how their eyes moved, and what I felt when they shared… Sometimes to break up the conversations in my head or to occupy my bored mind.  Other times to enrich a story that I am writing or to give color to a character.

My confession today — these little stories also give me hope that the Big Love that I desire so much and long for so much will soon be mine as well.  Surely with all these wonderful stories going around, one day I will be able to have my own.  Hopefully, it will be about living it daily for a long, long time — instead of daydreaming or wishing or longing… delicious.

Growth

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One of my favorite musicians is Damien Rice. He sings from somewhere deep and well, I connect to that.  So in one of my favorite live albums, he talks about recognizing a strong relationship between his creative spirit and depressive state.  I mean, talk about the fringe benefits of melancholia.  He goes on to say that he is unsure of how he would continue touring because he really was not planning on being depressed.  But his audience could identify with what he was saying and there were chuckles all around.

I have been thinking a lot about Damien and this conversation because it speaks to one of the consequences of growth.  Growth means that we shift and move – we go beyond our artificial boundaries of comfort – sometimes, we are literally thrown into places we never thought we could move.  And suddenly, it’s as if this new environment is carrying us – and in my case, shifting my creativity along with it.

Not too long ago, I lived in fear of this experience.  I generally like things I can control – or situations that re-affirm my position of control.  Growth and change have been, in the past, quite difficult for me – maybe it’s all the flux that’s involved – but I think it is mainly the feeling that I needed to walk blindly for a while.

Because I am growing, I am encouraging myself to embrace the idea that I can trust myself to be in any space and to retain my creativity, my drive, and most of all – my self.

I remember when I first got Pooch, my fear was that I would not be a good enough dog parent and worse, that after a few weeks, I would grow tired of this creature that I had brought into my world.  I was surprised when actually my affection for this puppy grew. I was even more surprised when I shifted my lifestyle to accommodate him and all the feelings that I project on him.  (I even went as far as creating little rituals that allow me to feel like Pooch is living his best life, too!).  I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I didn’t lose myself but instead that I expanded – that I was more. I had texture and dimension.

So I guess, for me today, growth is not about discomfort so much as it is about trusting myself.  Trust that I will be carried when I require, that I will expand when I need to, and that I will discover all sorts of pleasures when I allow myself to be more.

I don’t know how growth will shape my creativity as a writer and as a person in this year – but I am sure I will be more. And that is enough.

Sighing heart

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So today was a good day.  Pooch had a day out and I felt like a good dog parent.  I also woke up early – did my writing – did some work – all in all, I felt like an accomplished human being.

While driving back home – Pooch and I were alone in the car – I turned to look at him.  He had the most searching look in his eyes. I smiled with such tenderness because I felt at once, loved and pitied to no end.  I know I was projecting my feelings on the poor dog but the adoration was real.  And while my heart sighed with the knowledge that my dog really does love me, I felt incredibly alone in this moment.  I had to turn my eyes back on the road – but I silently wondered the last time that a human looked at me the way my dear Pooch did.

I honestly can’t remember.

This made me sad.  Sad because longing is a powerful emotion. Sad because as a romance writer, having a powerful, earthshaking love is par for the course… or in my case, should be part of the deal.  Sad because sometimes it takes a long while for love to circle back around. Sad because I hate having to ask the universe when it will be my turn (because, of course, my love story will be epic-ly laden with kismet and lots of universe conspiring nonsense).

I have to admit – I am feeling a little bit of a pity party coming along – honestly and truly, today was not a good day for my sighing heart.

And so now I will do what every good writer does: I will sit in this feeling because I will remember it again – and maybe it will inspire me when I write.