To Grandmother's House We Go

Whenever I drive away from The Beach and head back to The Ranch there are roughly 3 or more stops that need to happen or else….my world implodes? People will be sad? Not sure, but those stops had better happen or else!

One of those stops absolutely has to be my grandmother’s house.

Now, first of all, I will always refer to her as my grandmother, never my grandma. What is the difference, you ask? In my opinion there is a class difference between the two titles. The word grandmother will forever be classier in my mind. Secondly, she is one of my all-time favorite people. She is one of the most innocent, naïve, classically sweet old ladies I’ve ever known and she just happens to be related to me! I’m a lucky girl. And I mean that relationally and physically, as I could’ve easily been in yet another car accident the other night when I stupidly let her drive us to dinner. In the dark.

I made a comment at the first stop sign about how I bet she never would’ve thought she’d still be driving at 90 years old. Her response: “I didn’t think I’d make it to 90!” That should’ve been my first clue that she is, in fact, fearless when it comes to driving no matter who may be along for the ride, because death is probably a welcome relief from carting around a 90 year old body.

A few blocks later she told me that she doesn’t drive at night anymore. And I’m pretty sure I saw a twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her face. I was starting to get the feeling that my mom and her sister have requested that she not do any night driving and my telling her we couldn’t take my overloaded car just gave her the green light to run wild through the streets at the dark hour of 6pm.




Oh. Shit.

Soon after, we had rounded a corner and I knew we were almost to the restaurant. Piece of cake, right? Wrong. What should be an easy drive down a straight street apparently looked like an obstacle course to this little lady who drives while looking through the steering wheel. We were almost to the end of the street when I couldn’t help myself any longer. My sweaty palms were begging me to say something about how close we were to all the cars on my side of the street.

Me: “So…uh…we got pretty close to that truck back there.”
Her: “Yep, but we didn’t hit it!”

I sat the rest of the way speechless. What else could I say? That darling little 90 year old had a point. Why be scared of what could have been when it didn’t actually happen. There is so much wisdom I have yet to learn from that woman. My all-time favorite person.

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Eight.

Lesson Eight: Let your freak flag fly.

I was sitting on the beach today just letting a slapdash stream of consciousness flow through my mind, when out of nowhere my thoughts landed on a memory I hadn't visited in years. It was almost as if I had invented a past memory that wasn't mine. It was so...out of character for the girl that writes this blog today.

Or was it that this girl just forgot a part of herself that still existed?

This City Girl is sorry to have to admit that in the middle of finding herself all over again and laying down some new ground rules for her life, she wasn't having as much fun as she used to. Even with the quick wit and dry humor, having unadulterated fun was not a part of daily life. Sarcasm and the occasional humorously odd observation does not (necessarily) a fun girl make.

Breaking into a 5 star hotel, stripping down and skinny dipping in a rooftop pool for 15 minutes until you get kicked out by the management, however...

A few months ago I had a short, but funny conversation with a boy I was dating. We were in the middle of a romantic entangling when he pulled away from my lips long enough to say, with an inquisitive tone, "You're kind of wild." I hadn't been labeled wild since high school. In fact, I couldn't really remember the last time I was truly "wild" by the world's definition. I had just polished off a crazy two years full of dramatic situations, haphazardly dating parts of Oregon and California, and heartbreaking lessons, but only once or twice had I acted like a wild child. If that!

Remembering the hotel incident today awakened a small part of me. And I'm happy to say that a new breeze is now blowing through my daily thoughts. I don't know how often my tempestuous side will make an appearance, but heaven help the uptight bystander that happens to be near when it does. Because I make no promises or apologies for where this City Girl's freak flag may fly!

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Seven.

Lesson Seven: Don't get stuck in the moment. This too shall pass. 

Remember how I said earlier this year that I'm cutting all the chatter? Well, sometimes the chatter will all but scream at you. I have learned, however, that you don't have to listen to it or let it effect you. Seems like everyone I run into these days (acquaintance, friend, stranger, you name it!) has an opinion on my love life. My everyday life seems to be in order, according to everyone with a mouth, but my love life is clearly in arrears.

Strangers have told me not to give up on love. The other day my chiropractor announced out of nowhere that he's getting me ready for matrimony by correcting my posture. (Nobody loves a hunchback!) Friends from all corners of the world have told me that I need to start dating men, not boys. (As if I'd known those other guys would turn out to be emotionally stunted jerkfaces.) My mother thinks the last guy could still pull it together and morph into my happily ever after. And others think my Prince Charming is just 'round the bend. (If this is true, I'm worried he's a little stupid and can't figure how to make right turns. He should be here by now!)

The only chatter I've heard lately that makes sense to me, the only words that have resonated in my very being, have been these: This too shall pass. 

I was plagued for days this week with a feeling that made me want to crawl under the covers of my bed and not come out until someone checked my closet for The Boogeyman. The feeling was awful. I felt like I was being chased by it. And I couldn't figure out what it was or why it was haunting me until I met up with a friend for one of our Skype dates. As we were talking, the truth, that unidentified feeling, came to the surface. I was sad. I was sad about getting repeatedly kicked in the teeth by love. And I had been hiding it under layers of optimism and big ideas for the business and other parts of my life in hopes that it would eventually dissipate. I was also tired. Tired of dating idiots, boys, whatever you wanna call them. I was tired of feeling bad about myself. I was tired of still caring about these guys who don't really care about me as much as they care about themselves. I was tired of apologizing for feeling the way I do and not having it all together as per my usual. And, lastly, I was tired of waiting for Mr. Right.

The thing about feelings is they don't go away until you confront them, head on, grab them by the horns and stare them straight in the eyes. And so she let me cry big crocodile tears with her via Skype. (Not too unlike a few nights before when I sobbed to my best friend for reasons I wasn't entirely sure of yet.) And while she said a lot of things that night, the advice that stuck with me was to not get stuck in the moment, because as awful as it was it would pass. And while I'm still living out the last bits of this moment, I know in my heart my friend is right. I can't get stuck here. It will pass...

Go Team! Rah Rah Rah! And All That Jazz...

The worst part about breaking up with someone you really cared about isn't the break-up itself, but all the moments that come post break-up. Don't get me wrong, the moment itself is usually somewhat horrifying and uncomfortable. In most cases there are tears, wringing of hands, shifting your weight while trying to come up with words that have more syllables than uh and um followed by some sort of awkward good-bye. The thing that always sucks worse, though, than that whole parting-of-ways scenario are the days that follow.

Just a quick recap on how one gets to those post break-up days:
Once you round the bend of the starting line you will stupidly start to introduce your current love to anyone who is willing to shake hands. In fact, you'll even go so far as to tell everyone you ever met that your mornings are filled with sunshine and everything your dear lover does just makes your sentimental heart beat wildly. Life is good. Ah yes, the beginning of almost every relationship is always so bliss-filled and lovely that you forget how sad all those previous days were that lingered on and on. What days are those, you ask? Those are the post break-up days. The days spent filling in every person who ever met your ex-douche bag on how you are no longer together and responding to their sympathies with an, "Oh yes, I would love to meet Mr. X and go on a double date with you and Mr. Happy Pants."

Cut to this City Girl's reality:
This has been the past month of my life. Although, I can't really call the last guy a douche bag-a butthead on occasion, but not a douche bag-but our break-up was the awful kind. It could have been amiable if neither of us was "feeling it" or if things really weren't working out and it was just time for us to face facts, but that wasn't our gig. And every time I have to fill in just one more person on the heart breaking details of our he said/she said situation I keep getting the same response, "Huh. I'm still pulling for you guys." You guys. As if both of have been seen together about town lately. I've got news for these people! Hell, I've got news for the random readers of this blog, there is no "you guys"!

I will say this, though....I miss that guy. And I've tried to explain him away. I've had days where I pretend like I don't care what he does or where he goes. I've lied and told people that I'm totally ready to date again. I even agreed with a friend the other day that I was over him. But the truth is there's a cheerleader somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain that is waving her pom-poms wildly, rooting for him. She just can't help herself. She's too busy rah, rah-ing it up...

Don't Be A Hater

Ok, kids, this is just getting weird. I love a good random moment. I mean, c'mon, who doesn't?! But the number of random moments that have crowded my days lately is just astounding. And let me just say this: It usually takes me a solid day or two before those random moments actually register. So, it seems like every two days I am reliving all those random moments over and over again aside from all the new random moments that keep crashing into my daily life.

Let's review what just happened this morning. Mmkay?

I went to one of my favorite coffee shops this morning where I ran into some friends having coffee. The plan was to sit my tucas down and pound out some much needed design work for my new website, but instead ended up getting roped into a ridiculously long catch up/chatty cathy session. Meanwhile, a 78 year old woman (never mind how I found out that little nugget of info...) sat at the table next to us, every once in awhile chiming into our conversation, while she was waiting for her friend to show up. I was starting to think that her "friend" was never coming and that maybe she was just a lonely old soul with nowhere to go and nothing to do. But minutes later her imaginary friend appeared and soon after the three of us started packing up our things to head to lunch. Just as we started to step away from the table the old woman stopped me and told me not to give up on love. Mind you, we hadn't talked about relationships while she was there. In fact, the only time we talked about relationships was to rehash our friends past and now current relationship with a fabulous woman I haven't met, but already adore. A conversation for which she was not present.

Even typing out those very words now makes my breath catch in my chest and my eyes well up with tears. Who was that strange woman? And how did she know what had been circling round my brain and reverberating through my very being? I haven't exactly thrown in the towel on love, but I have definitely made it clear to friends who are eager to play matchmaker that my heart needs a break. Not to mention, I flippantly made a comment the other night that has clearly been owning my subconscious that basically implied I believe all my future relationships will end in ruin.

I haven't gone all out and become some sort of asexual being or tried to join a nunnery, but I may as well have tattooed the words "Love Hater" on my chest since my latest break up session. And I still can't say just how that 78 year old woman knew my story, but she said exactly what this City Girl needed to hear.

Time Wounds All Heels.

Last Sunday I ran into a man who in the past has made my life a misery. Ever since my move back to The Beach I have been avoiding running into this guy as if my life depended on it. Now, I'm known to avoid people on occasion for a number of reasons: too tired to chat, ex-boyfriends (these reasons go without saying), crabby or demanding clients, etc. But in the past few months the very thought of running into this particular person has made my stomach turn, my face contort into a frown and plagued my heart with heaviness. Some people have the ability to make others feel about 2 inches tall in a matter of a few sentences and this guy has had that exact gift. At least that gift shined through every time I was around.

However, all that has changed. I decided to visit a church that I used to frequent and my friends still attend. And when it was time to do the "meet and greet" part of church I was shocked to find that I was sitting only 2 seats away from someone I have considered my arch enemy for the past few years. I've tried extra hard not to harbor mean feelings toward this guy, but it has been a challenge to say the least. And when I was finally let go from my job last year I was ecstatic at the thought of never again having to deal with said guy. That is until last Sunday...

Needless to say, my jaw dropped open almost to the floor. My first thoughts: What the hell is THIS guy doing in a church? And how did he not spontaneously combust into flames when he walked through the door?! I was greeted with such an enormous bear hug and kiss on the cheek I almost passed out from shock. I was overwhelmed and truly swept off my feet by the surprising gesture. In the time that I had been away this man had chosen to change his stars and is now living a life transformed. He had changed. He was happy. And I was in shock. For days.

And in light of past posts about relationships, let me just say that this turn of events, this uplifting chance run-in, has changed my life. It made me realize that it was finally time to let go of all those untruths that have been plaguing me, those little lies that I had let dictate my self worth. That chance encounter was a definite turning point for my self esteem and confidence. It saved me.

In a church of all places, of course! Ha!

Instant Make-Me-Over

On a completely different note, I have discovered something that people base their entire career off of and travel the world speaking about. I have met these people in the past and never truly grasped what they were saying and it's possible I just didn't believe it was for me. Now, however, that's all different. I met someone (a new friend through a mutual friend) who strongly believes in this statement. She encouraged me to find out more about myself and that meeting with her has made all the difference for this City Girl, business owner, friend, daughter, sister.

"There are no limits to what you can accomplish when you know who you are." -Stedman Graham

Absolutely L-O-V-E that idea.

In fact, I bought a book last year that changed my life. Cliché thing to say, I know, but it really, truly opened my eyes to a new way of living and excelling in my own life. Highly recommend.

No Sh*t, Sherlock. Seriously. Weed That Ish Out!

Love is, in fact, a mystery to me. I know how easy it is to meet someone new. I know how easy it can be to fall for someone. I don't know why, however, it is so damn difficult to find someone who will stick around after the butterflies settle.

I was at a dinner of about 15 girls last night. We're talking amazing women full of all the spectacular qualities from which leading female movie characters are based. And my friend this morning pointed out that only about 3 of them had a significant other in their lives. Here are a few possible conclusions that can be had based on the aforementioned details:

1. The Beach is full of stupid boys and it's slim pickin's round these parts.
2. These women are all crazy with a capital C and we all just happen to have befriended one another.
3. There are a bunch of idiot males the world over that wouldn't know a good women if she slapped him in the face. 
4. All of us just haven't found the right person yet. 
5. All of us have found the right person, but the timing sucked.

Too many variables for this City Girl. I need a detective. A love detective. Someone who can get to the bottom of this one for me.

Over Easy or Sunny Side Up?

I've been thinking about my past relationships lately in light of yet another break-up. I was wondering if it was something I did or said. Or maybe it was him. Or maybe as Patti, the Millionaire Matchmaker, says: my picker is off. And while I don't have the answer as to why every relationship I've ever had didn't work out, I did discover something about myself.

Not including the most recent guy, I have never been with someone where I didn't find myself conforming my likes to theirs. In short, I'm Julia Roberts from Runaway Bride. Somewhere along the way I lost myself in all those lovers. I'll always know what style of eggs I like, but when I end up back at square one with way too much time on my hands I have to admit that I have a hard time remembering what it is I like to do.

A few things I can tell you, however, is that I never pay attention to or care about budget cuts that apply to firemen the world over. I will never want to move to the country to raise a brood of children/animals. I don't give a hoot about fast airplanes or cars. I hate talking about math and science. And I'd rather be rockin' a new pair of stilettos in the city than tramping through a muddy hike that always lasts hours longer than I anticipated.

I like pink. And I think I've been apologizing for it and trying to make it look like a different color for far too long...

Hairy Kiri

There's something simply amazing about a girl's hair! We women have way more options to deal with on a daily basis and it's not limited to just our hair: skirt, pants or dress? clutch, over the shoulder bag or wallet? heels or flats? short hair or long hair? straight or curly? blonde or brunette?

I know that men can cut and dye their hair, too, but for some reason it's a much bigger deal for a woman to change her hair than a man. Earlier this year I posted on Facebook my hair's evolution since last summer. I had decided to cut about 10 inches of my hair off and let it go back to it's naturally curly state for a number of reasons-one of them being, I thought I would attract a different type of man if I had a different hair style. So, I tried just about everything under the sun. If it was a possibility (and wouldn't make my hair fall out) I did it! Straight, curly, bangs, long, short, blondish, brownish, dark....I just loved having all those options! And what I found was that my hair didn't attract new types of men because it was different. I attracted new types of men, because of how my hair made me feel.

Here's the catch and my theory: a woman's hair dictates her identity and attitude.

When I had long, straight hair with blunt cut bangs I walked around with my head held a little higher than normal. I wore nicer clothes, always had my makeup and jewelry on perfectly and almost always had a pair of heels adorning my feet. Now that I'm making the transition back to my long curly hair (sans the bangs) I wear clothes that are a little more free-flowing and relaxed and I walk in full confidence that all my cards are on the table at all times. It almost feels as if I'm being more honest with myself and everyone around me to know that my hair holds no secrets these days. I've been walking around with a crazy mop of curly strands that seem to say, "This is what it looks like first thing in the morning, last thing at night and the color is what it is."

Never in a million years would I have thought that anytime I cut a few inches off my hair it would effect my outlook on life, but here I am walking around in more freedom of identity than I know what to do with...

Because I'm Cool Like That.

I've said it before and I'm saying it again today: If you want to discover all the awful, weak and pathetic parts of yourself then, by all means, dive head long into a relationship. And don't limit yourself to commitment. Even those affairs that cannot yet be defined as a full blown boyfriend/girlfriend situation can qualify. Just get yourself involved in any sort of connection with a human you find even remotely attractive, share a few intimate things, and you'll get to see all the sad parts of your inner being present themselves in the most horrifying of ways.

Jealousy. Selfishness. Neediness. Feeling left out. Loneliness. You name it, it will come forth amidst the most bizarre circumstances. And after all of those wretched traits have come to the surface the only things left to contend with will be Humility and Honesty. Humility can be easy to take on, since it only requires you to admit that you don't know everything. But Honesty... Well, Honesty can be a tough bitch to grapple with. It's all about being truthful with yourself, and in turn being truthful with your heart's current interest, about how many levels there are to your craziness.

But fear not! As a good friend said to me awhile ago, "You just need to find someone who loves your crazy." Because, like it or not, we all posses our own version of lunacy. The trick is to find someone who sees it, loves you through it and still thinks you're great. 

Have I found this someone? I don't know. Only time will tell me that and it insists on working at its own pace. In the meantime, I'm learning how to slow myself down, tame my bouts of craziness and try not to fall into that all-too-familiar slump of thinking I'm unlovable, because I know that even on my best days I'm still susceptible to being "cool" like that. *wink*

Confucius say...

Today I had an epiphany while sitting on yet another plane. It sounded like the voice of God and was reminiscent of something I've read on a tea bag tag or the inside of a fortune cookie.

"All good things come with time. All great things come with patience."

I've been wrestling with myself lately, trying to be patient and kind and unassuming of the my new relationship while allowing myself to finish grieving over the last one. I've been trying my hardest to make the best of this year and fully appreciate being in every moment. And this morning I was trying to keep myself from crying from exhaustion.

As much as I would love to blame all the traveling, I am the one who exhausted myself. My lack of patience and my irritation with practically everything has officially worn me out. And, of course, had I had this thought any earlier than today I would have forgotten what I had just realized a moment later. Sometimes, it seems I have to thoroughly drain my very being before I can actually learn a lesson.

Dinner For Two

A man is making me dinner tomorrow night. Making. Dinner. For me. And I should mention, this is the same guy that texted/called me every day he was gone last week. Every. Single. Day. Without missing a beat. I'm frickin' swooning over here!

Did I win the lottery? Am I dreaming? Did I accidentally tip someone $100 and rack up all kinds of lucky karma points?! 

He calls. He pays. He makes dinner. Needless to say, he makes my day.

Ride of a Lifetime

Today's wisdom: Life is the wildest ride you will ever take and anyone who tells you any different is a liar. 

I got kissed this morning. It was sweet and felt long overdue when in reality I've only gotten to know this person over the past week. Never in a million years would I have thought that I would find someone so great, so kind and so wonderful this quickly after calling it quits with a different someone who had, in a way, become my best friend.

I don't know what will become of this. All I can say is that a whole helluva lot can happen in a week's time and I will never again assume how my life will go.

The Truth About Love

I was talking with a new friend yesterday about her current lover and their relationship and I found myself spilling all my secret shortcomings and all that I've learned through love. At one point she looked up at me during our conversation and said, "You're so wise. You know so much about relationships." To which I looked at her with shock and said, "Ha! Listen, anything I know now has been discovered through years of heartache, tears and bad decisions."

I  was thinking about our chat today and decided that I should make a list of all the truths I've learned in the past year from all my sticky and sometimes uncomfortable relationships, just in case I forget. The first truth on my list may seem conceited or odd, but it's a proven fact, kids!

1. Pretty girls don't have to pay. For anything. And they aren't lonely for very long.
2. There really are plenty of fish in the sea and they come along about as often as the wind changes.
3. Every relationship is hard, complicated and messy. All the other possible lovers out there that appear to be more perfect than the functional relationship you're already in are a fantasy. Relationship is just another way to say self-sacrificing hard work.
4. Love is a choice. The beginning of any relationship is fabulous, it's what comes after the beginning that proves whether or not you're made for each. You either choose to work through the reality of everyday or you cut and run.
5. Love is a choice everyday. Once you decide to stick it out with someone you have to consciously make that same decision every morning you wake up.
6. It is imperative that you be able to separate irritation from things that are hurtful. Nit picking someone does not foster a loving relationship. And excusing or purposely overlooking meanness will not bring out the best in either person. 
7. The statement "Long distance relationships are hard" is an understatement. At some point you have to be willing to severely sacrifice parts of your life to have time together. And even then it's sometimes tough to call that time together "quality".
8. You can't try to fit someone else's mold. It's impossible to recreate who you are or who you're meant to be. At some point the real you will come shining through, like it or not.
9. If you want to discover the worst, most pathetic parts of yourself that you never knew existed then get yourself tangled up in a serious relationships as soon as possible. 
10. Life is not like the movies. It's not supposed to be. The movies were made for our entertainment. They should not, by any means, be used as a guide to living life or finding love that lasts. As soon as you feel you are being spoon-fed that kind of crap, spit it out as fast as you can!

Making a List and Chucking It Twice.

I make lists all day long. On my phone, on sticky notes, on my computer, in my iCal app, in my head...it's exhausting. And at the end of the day, I like to double check all my lists to make sure nothing got overlooked or added twice. Essentially, I pride myself on my list making abilities and my knack for keeping all things accounted for.

The other day I was chatting up my mom about the art of moving on and my attempt at leaving certain feelings behind. In the past when I had let love go, each day would get easier and easier. I would think about that person a little bit less as the weeks flew by. This time, however, I seem to have been compiling a list, unbeknownst to myself, of all the things I loved about this last possibility and each day seemed to be plaguing me with memories. Instead of each day of distance bringing freedom to my heart, I had found something new that made my heart sad and wishing I could turn back time. I was in the throws of serious girl talk, with tears of frustration streaming down my face, when my mom pointed out that since having had this time apart I now knew why I loved, why my heart had been so tied to someone.

I'm sure life for this City Girl will get sunnier again in the future. I will wake up one morning and live out an entire day without thinking about him. It has to be possible that at some point I'll be able to go a whole week without a giant knot building in my throat and tears waiting to spill out of my eyes. Maybe someday my heart will throw out that list...

Wanderlust Strikes Again.

Wanderlust/ˈwändərˌləst/ : A desire to travel to understand one's very existence.

So, for the millionth time I find myself pausing at a fork in the road. Once again, I have to make a decision between awesome and amazing as I begin planning for the chasing of my future self through Europe.

Boohoo. Poor me, right?

The question du jour: Do I put my life in storage again for a couple months and travel around Europe? Or do I try to find an affordable place to live at The Beach, which is like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of Texas, so that I have a place to come back to? It's not a super tough decision, it's just a quandary. Which is the smarter move for this City Girl? Hmm.

Ships in the Nighttime

"Ships that pass in the night": Often said of people who meet for a brief but intense moment and then part, never to see each other again.

We were two ships passing each other in the nighttime. The odds of us meeting in the first place...well, it was more than coincidence. It was fate. It wasn't meaningless or for nothing. There was a reason. There was purpose. But the thing about two ships passing each other in the night is that nothing is really clear. Everywhere but the spot you're standing in is hazy. It's clouded and difficult to see. While it's amazing to meet someone in the dark of night, it's not ideal. The timing would be better in the daytime. 

Our ships crossed paths in the night a number of times and every time the timing could have been better, except we hadn't met yet or one of us was flying out when the other was flying in or one of us was living out a part of our lives in other countries or states. Whatever the reason, the timing was never quite on. A little bird told me today that our two ships had passed each other, once again, just narrowly missing one another by a day. The funny thing is it wasn't funny, because this is how it's always been: meeting up at the worst possible times or missing each other by mere hours. 

It's amazing to me how many times your ship can pass another for days or months or years without colliding or ever making contact. Makes me wonder how many other ships are out there that I have yet to pass? Will I sail past the last one again? And will it ever be in the daytime?

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Six.

Lesson Six: He said. She said. Cut the chatter.

When I was a little girl I liked to pretend that I was the CEO of a company on the verge of a hostile take-over. I would hold multiple conference calls all day, shouting orders to lower level employees about how "this" was a rush and "that" had to get done by the end of the work day. My favorite part of the fantasy was the conference calls with multiple people where we all dispensed our wisdom on the subject at hand. I had watched my dad hold a number of professional phone calls as a kid, memorizing his every gesture. So, I knew exactly what to say to my imaginary conversational counterparts. Ah yes, conference calls were the best!

Now, however, my life has become one giant conference call. All day long my phone lights up while simultaneously making noise notifying me of the hundreds of people waiting to have a conversation in about fifty different ways. And I have no one to blame but myself for the constant barrage of communication. I wanted it. I was convinced that I needed it. My daily dose of advice, input, the constant clicking of tongues.

I realized this week that my childhood fantasy of talking all day long had become a nightmare. There was no light at the end of the tunnel that constantly reverberated with the hum of a million voices. No peaceful land in sight away from the white noise of conversing. And while my dad taught me the art of making a well delivered phone call, he also gave me good advice last year: "Stop listening to what everyone else has to say and just do whatever it is that YOU wanna do. Cut out the constant chatter, kid." 

So, I finally decided to take his advice this week. One year later, but I'm taking it nonetheless! I've ruthlessly stopped returning phone calls. I answer only the necessary emails in short and concise sentences that don't signal a reply. I've banished my phone to silent mode and have started leaving it in other rooms of the house, out of earshot. I've turned off. I've shut down. I've cut it all out. And I've come to a conclusion: I've known what to do all along, but stubbornly insisted on hearing everyone else out first. I don't need to have endless phone calls day and night in order to make the right decisions for me. But I do need to take a serious break from all the chatter.

Truth and the X factor.

Being a truth teller is a tricky thing. You want to find the right words, the perfect words. You want your voice to be even and steady. You want your point to be made without making the recipient of your words confused or trying to grasp blindly at your concept. 

I am a truth teller. I don't know how good my skill level is, but yesterday there was no mistaking me for anything but a teller of what is true and honest.

Yesterday, I told the truth to a friend. A good friend. A love. And while I was hoping for a different answer from this person, I was so happy to have spoken words that my heart felt. I was relieved to breath out words that made me feel as if I had been hiding a big secret from one of my best friends.

The thing about being a truth teller is that you don't know what will happen when you say the very things you mean. And then once you've said those things you still don't know what will happen. You may get a reaction. You may even lose things or titles. You may get words volleyed back to you. But when both sides have said all the words they have in their arsenal, sometimes there is still an X factor that hovers over you. There is still the unknown of what will come next...

Honesty is the best policy.

Tomorrow I will be spilling my guts. I'm going to be honest. Extremely, openly, gut wrenchingly honest. My hands will probably sweat. In fact, all of me will probably sweat. Most of my sentences are likely to come out jumbled and half won't make sense. I'll throw in a few uh's and um's just to fill those minuscule quiet spaces that comes between words in a sentence. And if I'm lucky, I'll be able to make my point clear. I'll be able to say what I really feel instead of words that are safe and guarded.

I just got truthful with myself this past month. And I don't know which will be more difficult: when I admitted to myself my true feelings or tomorrow when I own up to my desires.

When I finally came to terms with the fact that my heart wanted The Possibility to become a Sure Thing my whole body was shaking. I had worked so hard to close my heart off again. I had become a master of building emotional walls and playing the role of the aloof bystander of love. Nothing I said was serious. Nothing I did made anyone feel too special or wanted. I was a champion at keeping love at arm's length with both arm's tied behind my back. It was the perfect illusion.

That is until my feelings took over my heart and later my mind. I had no control over how much I cared. Most days I've probably cared too much, been too concerned or worried. It wasn't until this week that I realized that all of those things (the feelings, the hoping, the pining) are so sweet. Torturous, but sweet. And while I don't know the outcome of tomorrow's conversation, I know that my heart is in a better place. It's open again.

Italy

So, I've been saying for months now that I want to go to Italy for my birthday. I'm turning a rather pinnacle age this year and refuse to turn said age in a ho-hum city. I want to be somewhere exciting doing exciting things!

Now, I've been reeeeally good lately and have turned down some very fun adventures and put off the new tattoo all for the sake of having enough money to get my patooty to Italy by September. So far, so good. I might be squeaking by, but I think I'll just make it!

Hopelessly devoted.

hope /hōp/ :A feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. The feeling that what is wanted can be had.

Hope is a funny thing. It's not an emotion. It's not tangible. It's nothing you can wrap your arms around. It's not a place. It's not a person. It's a feeling. An inkling. A special hunch that can swarm your heart and fuel your desires. It can be a strong driving force in your life. It can show up from the earliest of ages and stick with you for an eternity. And if you're not careful, it can get left behind, dumped and forsaken without your noticing.

I cried tonight. In a restaurant. Into my empty sushi plate. And it would have been embarrassing if I wasn't so emotionally exhausted. The past two years of my life haven't been a struggle. They've been a constant attempt at walking through a pit of quicksand. In case you've never seen an Indiana Jones movie, the quicksand always wins.

I couldn't tell you the exact moment I let hope slip through my fingers, but I could point to my own personal timeline and identify when my life started to fall apart and my heart and mind both decided to abandon the hope ship. It was right around the time that I had fallen hard in love with someone who woke up one morning and decided he wanted to take back all the sweet and wonderful things he had said the night before and no longer wanted to be the light in my eyes. That was also around the time that I decided to move away from all my friends and everything familiar to go back home. For what I had no idea. But as soon as I did family members started to die off. And by the end of the year I was let go from a job I had had for the past 3 years and was hoping would stay with me through my next move. In less than 12 months, I had gone from absolute bliss and ecstasy to a sad and angry mess.

Fast forward a couple years and you'll find a girl who went from sad, angry, and later bitter, to hopeless and constantly waiting for that illusive rug to be pulled out from under her. I had moved past the anger and bitterness and went straight into disbelief that anything good would ever happen to me. I had come to expect that life was supposed to fall apart. In short, good things only happen in the movies.

Fast forward a little more to the present day and you'll find a girl choking back crocodile sized tears, mid-conversation, in a sushi restaurant, because her friend just hit the nail on the head. He had just defined all her problems with one word: hope. I hadn't lost hope. I had abandoned it. I left it back in the shower of my old apartment where I cried my eyes out over a lover lost. I had left it in those moving boxes that held all my possessions between here and there. I had washed my hands of hope when all those good things that were supposed to happen didn't.

Ah, hindsight with it's perfect vision...

It's a scary move to make, going from hopelessness to belief. Hope reminds me of the feeling I had as a kid standing on Main Street in Disneyland. Everything was magical and all things were possible. As an adult it's terrifying to put yourself in a position of belief, because the let-down can be agonizing. But here I am, at one o'clock in the morning, typing out tonight's events and hoping.

Hott Mess. Two T's.

My attention is getting torn in about 50 different directions this week. It’s hard to tell what is supposed to take priority during the day. This week is oddly reminiscent of all the times I’ve packed up for another long stint on the road. My brain just doesn’t know where to start. It has so many thoughts swirling around inside it, it feels like a witches cauldron about to run over.

My heart keeps pining over The Possibility, which forces one half of my brain to regurgitate these same thoughts: What are we? When do we have “that” conversation that makes or breaks all relationships? When am I going to see him again, anyway? What if he still wants to see other people? I’ll have to tell him that won’t work for me. I’ll be alone. Again. I hate that girl that keeps commenting on his facebook page. I hate facebook. I can’t believe I’m letting daily thoughts of some guy dominate half my brain Ooh! A text! Aww, he misses me...I think.

Meanwhile, the other half of my brain is on another page entirely: Is everything really packed up? What am I forgetting? I know I’m forgetting something. I always do. I should paint those shelves before I leave. Did I call my insurance guy? That’s all taken care of, right? Oh god, I hope I don’t crash with that trailer behind my car. Sweet lord, I’m moving on Monday! I hope I don’t get back to The Beach and become homeless within a matter of months. I don’t think I could pull off homeless. My jaw hurts. Why does my jaw keep hurting? Have I been clenching my jaw ALL day?? Oh great. I probably have that worry line forming in between my eyes, too. Did I put all of my marketing plans in iCal, yet? Note to self….oh shoot…I forgot what that note was about.

Between the boy and the move my brain and heart may end up simultaneously exploding. I can’t sleep at night. When I do finally drift off to dreamland, I wake up every hour on the hour, as if my body is trying to remind me of all the daily stress. I can’t eat either. My stomach is constantly in connection with my heart, which constantly reminds it how nervous it should be about my impending date with love or heartache. And I'm not sure what my eyes are connected to, but they keep filling up with tears...

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Five.

Lesson 5: Just Let Go

This may be my toughest learning lesson yet. In fact, I know it is, because I find myself repeating a string of words in varied orders lately. I can't help myself. I keep hearing myself saying the same words over and over again and it has far surpassed my level of patience and annoyance. It's just like when you nick your knee while shaving your legs and the blood that just won't stop coming seems like overkill. You think the scrape isn't that bad, but try as you might no amount of pressure or bandaid fixes will stop the flow.

Some things in life are easy to let go of: the fact that you'll probably never win the lottery, getting picked over for kickball, not having the ability to walk through walls, watching some jerk steal your parking spot, etc. Other things, however, can seem like gum stuck to your shoe. It's a process that can take daysmonthsyears before all that sticks to you, all that resonated with you as your "for sure" life plan for so many years, finally falls away and fades into the past where it belongs.

I'm on the verge of another big move, the possibility became something more (although what that is I have no idea!), all the things I was told would happen didn't and I am, once again, working for myself full-time. Basically, everything that was supposed to happen hasn't, absolutely everything I'm involved in has no guarantees of working in my favor and everything I thought was never possible has become a reality. And instead of being happy with where my adventurous life is today, I've been looking back and crying over what didn't pan out. In my head I know that what failed to come to fruition was probably not the best for me, but for some reason my heart has decided to fall into a pit of funk over that fact. It's ridiculous. It's stupid. It's silly.

I had an old roommate who used to say, "Where there's fruit, there's a root." That phrase used to make me cringe, because I knew she was right. She was so, so right. And once again I hear her words in my daily thoughts. So, now instead of repeatedly mulling over the past I will only be asking, "Where is this mother effing gum coming from?!"

Waiting for the phone to ring...

When it comes to big life changes the waiting part, the in between, can be excruciating. Relationships, moving, lifestyle decisions, you name it! It's not the actual change that will kill a girl it's the suspense that will do her in. Mignon McLaughlin said it best, "Even cowards can endure hardship; only the brave can endure suspense."

The excitement, the wonder, the thrill of the unknown...all great things until the suspense has lingered on and on. And then it's only a matter of time before it turns to agony, am I right?

There's no place like home.

I drove myself back to The Beach yesterday. I've been staying with good friends since I got here and waiting for "the feeling" to hit me. The feeling that tells me I'm home. The feeling that makes everything all right, perfect. It hasn't yet. If anything, driving around this place kind of feels like visiting my old high school haunts...or something along those lines. Every street corner is so familiar and crowded with memories, but clearly feels like a place from my past.

After 6 or so hours of driving yesterday I did something I never do. I turned off the radio and drove the last hour in silence. It was beautiful. A perfect hour of peace that surrounded me and filled up all the spaces of my car. I had had ideas pass through my mind all day, or rather day dreams, but in that last hour I thought clear, concise thoughts. Thoughts that mattered. Thoughts that meant something to me then and even now, today.

I realized before I even reached The Beach that no matter where I land next it won't feel like home. At least not right away. The road has become my home. The airport is my living room and hallway. Random couches and hotels have become my bedroom. My life fits best into a 22" x 14" piece of luggage. Wanderlust has become my lifestyle.

Why, you say? I say why not!

The question for me these days that's on everyone's tongue is: Why? Why am I moving back to The Beach?

I wish I had a good answer for this. I wish I could say something that sounds grown-up, mature, responsible. I wish I had some sort of dream job that was leading me back there; something that makes sense of the last year of my hopping from city to city. But the truth is I don't. I usually just stammer through some weak answer that sounds like this: "Um...well...I mean, I guess Portland just didn't seem to line up. And um...I end up back at The Beach every couple of months anyway. So...yeah...looks like all the signs keep pointing me south. I guess."

In person I'm a regular Poet Laureate.

I was thinking today about a friend of mine who is known for moving from city to city, country to country while simultaneously fulfilling her career and adventure desires, but without any set plans. Things always just seem to line up for her as she goes. Years ago when we all lived seemingly happy lives at The Beach, I and everyone else would always ask her why she felt the need to constantly live in different places and her response was always: "Why not?!" As if everyone else was crazy for wanting to stay settled in one place for years and years. I was so confused by her free spirited outlook on life. Now, however, I'm simpatico. I get it! The very idea of having a wonderful life in various exotic or exciting new cities sounds absolutely incredible. Why wait until you're old and grey to travel to new places when you can be living in them your whole life and really enjoying the food, the people, the sights?

Just in the last week, the upcoming move was beginning to look daunting to me. It was becoming a dark cloud looming in the distance. I was starting to get an icky feeling. Am I about to make a huge mistake? Am I going backwards? Ohdeargod, will this be as long-term as the last time?!

I was starting to get tunnel vision that this move was not only a step backwards, but that it could be forever. As if I would slip into a past version of myself and be signing my life away, like I would no longer be in control of my own decisions.

Yeah...that'll be the day!

So, when a friend called today to get the scoop on the rumor that's been floating amongst our friends of my impending return, I still didn't have the all-American, mature answer. I only thought of my free-spirited friend and said, with a sparkle in my eye and a knowing smile on my face, "Why not?!"

This picture has nothing to do with the current post. I just thought it was ridiculously cute! Another "why not?!" ;)

Stolen moments.

Last week someone called me a gypsy. I'm more of a high maintenance gypsy, but definitely a free spirited floater, nonetheless.

Today I ran in my third race; my first all-running type race. I debated, hemmed and hawed, and otherwise procrastinated signing up for this, because I knew in the back of my mind that the minute I signed up for it something would come up that would take me out of town and that I might be inclined to bail. In short, I was nervous to commit to any one place for too long.

Story of my new life.

Anyway, I signed myself and a friend up for our first 5K and was so glad I did. I was proud of myself just for signing up, let alone running it! The run was a little rough at the end and the sun had really started to rise, shine and heat up during the last mile, but I just kept going, all the while thinking about the last 365 days of my life. My mind was racing with how much I had already overcome in my first 29 years, times when I succeeded in spite of circumstances and how I could now survive any new adventures. Panting and beaming, I crossed the finish line with my mom and dad waiting for me at the end with proud parent faces and the camera ready.

It was the first time my parents have attended one of my races and they were awesome! They met me at the starting line, cheered me on mid-way with cups of water and bananas and were at the finish line to tell me how proud they were of my running efforts. And that's when it hit me. Today was a stolen moment. It's not about getting to the next adventure. It's about enjoying the one I'm experiencing today.

Apparently, I'm a giant goof when I'm out running. Sheesh.

I can't believe I almost bailed on this race. I almost said, "Fuhgetta bout it!" and hit the road on yet another wild trip to new cities, but something told me it wasn't time to leave yet. Something whispered to me, "Stay a little while longer." I'm so glad I listened.

Work hard, play hard.

I recently had an appointment with a new chiropractor and had to list off all of my past ailments including any incident that would send one to the emergency room. I was somewhat embarrassed to admit that I've had more than my far share of ER visits in the past.

As I listed off my tangled web of concussions and broken bones to this new doctor I noticed that his note taking could barely keep up with my lengthy speech. I stopped mid-sentence and blushed at his furious scribbling. I started to say how I was probably the first girl that he'd ever had in his office with such a sordid history when he stopped me and said, "If someone doesn't have a long list like yours, they haven't played hard enough." This, of course, made me smile and blush even harder.

I later felt like I had walked out of his office with a gold star. I was almost beaming at the thought that somebody would view my history of accidents as a memorable memoir. My failed attempts didn't mark me a failure, but rather an avid liver of life!

Every time I've taken a fall in the past the following questions race through my mind:

1. Did I just break another bone?
2. Oh crap, is that blood? 
3. Exactly how many people just saw me do that?

A concept I've been slowly grasping during my "life sabbatical" this last year is that it doesn't matter what others think. Don't let the opinionsthoughtsfeelings of others dictate what you do and who you become.

Of course this concept would finally resonate with me in yet another doctor's office. Ha!

I have by no means perfected this mindset, but I do feel that I am armed to the teeth with a new outlook on life. So, as I begin to look for a new place to live at The Beach I am not letting outside influences have an effect on my decisions. I will just continue to work hard, play hard and live out my sometimes clumsy life.

Friends with words

Everybody has words they like to hear and say. I have a list of words I love; words that make me giggle or light up. There are certain words that are enjoyable to roll around the tongue. And then there are words that bothersome and you can't quite say why, they just are. I have a list of those words, too.

Words I like*:
Chockablock
Flabbergasted
Fabulous
Fantastic
Delegate

Words I don't like*:
Embarrassing
Jazzed
Handy
Delicious

Oddly enough, I have found myself saying the word "delicious" repeatedly the past couple of weeks. Everytime that word pops out of my mouth I sort of stutter and choke on the words that come after it. I'm taken aback. I always think to myself, "Why did I just say that? I hate that word, delicious." I've racked my brain trying to come up with a synonym. I'm stumped. I can't seem to come up with a word that I feel would be a fitting replacement. And now it's sort of growing on me.

Could it be that the word "delicious" is, in fact, delicious?

*These are incomplete lists, but you get the idea.

Little Projects...Part Two.

It's either that good old-fashioned country air or the fact that I have absolutely nothing better to do. Either way, I decided to sew a purse. A purse, I might add, that I've been planning to make for the past couple of years, but whatever.

Ahhh, city life strikes again.

And on that note, I may be moving back to The Beach. Soon. Stay tuned...

Poke me. Text me. Email me. Call me.

I have a good friend of mine that has this theory about men and texting/facebook poking/phone calls/emailing. Now, let it be known that the phone calls are few and far between these days, because things like texting and facebook make it waaaay too easy to be passive aggressive in the dating world. However, in the case of this particular theory let's include any form of communication that does not involve face time.

Her theory: Texting and facebook poking are just another way for a man to touch you. It's his way of laying claim to you.

When I heard her say this I just figured she was on one of her rants about men, but then I realized that she may be on to something. She made a very valid point, in fact, that aligns perfectly with a theory I have.

My theory: When guys are interested they constantly let you know in some form. In other words, if I were a tree and he were a dog, he would pee on me at least once a day.

There's never been a time when I couldn't tell if someone was interested in me or not. When guys like you they track you down and "lay claim" to you all the freaking time. When guys aren't interested, you will never hear from them. Ever.

Simple facts. Simple truth. 

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Four.

Lesson 4: Worrying is not resting.

I just wrote an article as a guest blogger for another writer out in The Second City today and used some of the lyrics from a song by Rocko: You just do you, Umma do me. Love that song. Speaks volumes about having confidence in who you are. And it falls right in line with a conversation I had with a friend the other night about breaking out of that 9-5 box.

The conversation went on and on about our both feeling like we've broken out of the corporate societal box and ended with, "Who cares what they think? And who is 'they' anyway?!"

Good question, no?

As much as I don't want to admit that I allow other people's expectations to influence what I do, it does. Being newly self-employed I have been feeling a little stressed lately about the hours I keep and how and when I get work done. My schedule looks nothing like other people's schedules. I sleep in. A lot. I also stay up all hours of the night taking care of business. Late at night is my muse. Late at night is when the light bulb in my head starts to turn on and the magic begins. Late at night is what has been bringing me new clients at a steady and increasing pace.

I've always wanted to be the sort of person that gets up early in the morning and gets all kinds of things done before noon. I have never once been that person and I can see now that I probably never will be.

I really admire morning people. I hate them when they try to talk to me before 9am, but still....I admire them.

Anyway, during this year long sabbatical I seem to have been on since last spring, I've learned a few things about resting. And I feel like I might be learning the final lesson: worrying about what others think/where I am headed/how I live my life/when I'll finally get to move again is not resting. It's draining like a slow tire leak until there's nothing left and you pass out at the dinner table.

I would say that I can't believe that it's taken me a year to learn how to truly slow down and rest, but I can believe it.

I want! I want! I NEED!

Ever find yourself going through what you know will be a short-term phase of "I, I, I! Me, me, me!"?

I fear I am right in the throws of that very stage right now. I am absolutely exasperated with my own self every time I hear myself start a sentence with a groan. And even though I find myself a bit "stuck" these days with nothing moving fast enough or my not getting results like yesterday, that behavior is obnoxious. It's annoying. It's whiny!

My number one pet peeve? Whining. Will not, cannot, must not stand for it. Ever.

It'll be a fight to the death, no doubt. But I will win!

Stage Five Clinger

First, let me just say that I hate with a passion how this blog has somewhat become my dumping grounds for all things love related. That being said, I have nowhere else to dump all these stories and I can't write as fast as I type. So, here it is.

Last year I mentioned that I had a certain someone that just wouldn't take the hint and leave me alone. Our relationship ended somewhat suddenly when he decided that he would go where the wind blew him. It blew him into someone else within a week of my leaving his city.

Charming. 

One would think that if you were with someone who lights up your life there would be no need for anyone else. Apparently, this rule does not apply to free spirited people. I think this is crap. And since I hear from him once a month (like clockwork!) I wonder if his significant other is aware of this. This irritates me. It plays with my heart (even though I never respond) and it makes me sad for her.

I told this guy in no uncertain terms that we were through. We were over. No friendship. No facebook. No IM. Nothing. And yet I still hear from this player every 30 days. I've resorted to ignoring him, because it seems to be my last card to play. However, it seems to go unnoticed by him....

What to do? What to do?

Wait. Why do I have to be the boss?!

So many great opportunities have come up lately that are keeping me awake at night. I'm absolutely exhausted trying to figure out what's right for me. I can't believe that I'm sleep deprived because of all the positive things in my life...

I've always been a firm believer that opportunity exists where ever you are and that's it entirely up to you to make it happen. That being said, it also doesn't hurt to have a few signs pointing you in the correct direction. And right about now, I have so many freaking signs pointing me in far too many directions that I've become frozen, like a deer in the headlights.

I recently gained a new client up north as well as a few career possibilities down south. And now I'm just plain tired. I'm tired of making all the hard decisions all alone and having to be the one that has the final say about what's right for me. If I'm being honest, I don't know that I'm always the best judge of what's right for me. Most of the time I'm pretty close to being on target, but the rest of time things don't always end up all happy clappy.

So, dear readers, what have you done in the past that has helped you make those hard decisions for yourself?

The linger.

It was like something out of a movie. Or so said my friend, with a twinkle in his eye, when I told him my latest tale of love and other things...

I visited the possibility last week. The one who sent cupcakes in honor of this year's Black Monday. The one I turned down not that long ago, because he wasn't right for me.

Or was it that I wasn't ready for him?

It was supposed to be a friendly visit. And it was. It was a friendly visit that ended with me lingering. You know...THE linger. The linger that says way more than it should. The linger that invites trouble and possibility.

The linger turned into a quick kiss. The quick kiss was followed by me walking out the door and driving away. And the drive lasted all of two minutes before I turned the car around, marched myself back to his front door and did something I never thought I would do. I was brave. I was gutsy. I was also in the perfect position to be shut down, turned away, told no.

Even thinking about it now...Eek!

I stood in front of his door for a few minutes before I got the nerve up to knock. And then I waited. Nothing. I realized right then that I had the chance to back out. Instead, I pep talked myself into ringing his doorbell. I waited again. And then I saw him. He saw me. There was no backing out at that moment. I knew that if I made up a flimsy excuse that I would hate myself forever. Or at least for the next few weeks. So, I took some old fashioned advice and just told the truth.

I missed him.

The next weekend was full of the usual dating things, and in this case. getting to know each other all over again. It was good. It was sweet. It was so...easy. And for this City Girl, easy isn't something I'm adept at. It's nothing I'm familiar with. Easy has never been in my dating vocabulary.

Sadly, my usual relationships appear to be this difficult.

And speaking of easy, it looks like my plans of moving to Portland have been slightly derailed by a new career possibility back at The Beach. Nothing is official, by any means. Nothing has been decided upon. Nothing has been written in stone or on any legal papers. But let's just say that the signs I thought would be pointing me north by now may not be showing up...

You've got mail!

Ok. Ok. I know I'm about to jinx something here, but...I'M GETTING A VALENTINE IN THE MAIL!

*blush*

Just knowing this makes my little old fashioned heart skip a beat.

Horrible, awful, not fun fact about The City Girl: I can't remember the last time I had someone special to share Valentine's Day with me.

In years past I've resorted to hosting an annual Black [Insert Day Here] party. This year, however, I have no party to host, no party to go to and no one to spend this awful commercial holiday with. I try to ignore this ghastly forced display of mush every February, but somehow it always finds a way to flaunt it's cheesy hearts and smooching couples in my face. A lovely reminder of what I am not a part of.

Well...that being said, this year will be different. And the certain someone who will be gracing my mailbox with something utterly adorable made a good point the other night...if someone who in the past hated that holiday were sharing that day with someone permanent, that someone wouldn't mind it so much. And try as I might to fight that simple concept, I think he's right. I think I will like it.

I can't wait!