John Mayer: Say (music video from "The Bucket List")

So last night I had a dream.

I was moving around, feeling pulled in different directions, being asked to participate in events and things that held no meaning for me. I was in this state of perpetual turmoil as I tried to find ways to twist myself to meet the needs of the others around me. As I stared at a number of commitments I made, none of them things I truly wanted or felt inspired to do, I found myself going to each person and coming up with stories or reasons as to why I would not be able to accommodate them. Avoiding the most direct and truthful reasons.

The shorter term for this would be, lying.

As I released myself from every unwanted obligation, within the dream, a new sub-obligation would make itself known to me. I would be asked to compromise. A further nudge for me to take a smaller action, less painful, but still not what I wanted to do. I acquiesced to those requests, feeling guilty about saying no and embracing my wants for myself.

As I began to drive around town in a hectic race to honor these commitments that meant nothing to me, I found myself angry. Resentful. Bitter. I complained all the while crafting the mask I would wear the moment I left my truck and pushed my thoughts and feelings more deeply into the curled Cobra that resides in my bowels. He swallowed the small mouse I offered with disdain as I negotiated for enough quiet to make it through another sacrifice.

As I continued on my travels, trying to be whatever it is I'm supposed to be for each party, I begin to take calls en route. The phone is constantly ringing. Each time it's someone telling me something that I'm supposed to believe. Something I'm supposed to think. Something I am supposed to do. Each time, with intermittent strategies of logic or arrogance or guilt, I am cajoled into accepting their truth as my own. The serpent in my stomach begins to unravel and my mind struggles to send him another mouse to keep him quiet.

As I reach my last location in the dream, I come face to face with the lies I've told in order to buy myself a little bit of peace. Lies to each of them. Lies to myself. I find one person I'm supposed to meet, standing beside another person I canceled with.  Everything in me churns and I work feverishly in my mind to build another pyramid of excuses or stories that will allow me to leave this event unscathed. Two more people come into the room, their brows furrowed with annoyance, preparing to express their frustration about something they felt I should have done for them, but didn't.

Surrounded by them, my anxiety is so high I'm feeling like I'm going to faint in front of them. Part of me wants to cry and ask them why they all can't see that I just need this tiny space to be me. The other part wants to wail at them that at some point, I'd like them to consider returning even half of the effort I am always expected to make for them. I want to be a victim. I want to apologize for lying. I even want to shame myself for my wants.  As I open my mouth to speak however, it's not my voice that leaves me. It's the Cobra. Everyone recoils in horror, trying to put as much distance between me and them. As he sits taut and ready before them, I feel all the anger he's been swallowing on my behalf. More than that, I feel a lost long sense of entitlement and the loss of the shame that was fueling my anxiety just moments before.

And in this dream, I look at all the faces standing around me with the varied expectation of me. To fix things, heal things, entertain them, accommodate them and carry the weight of the lies they make their own truths. And I begin to tell them each individually, why I have lied. And what I really want from them. What I expect from them. I apologize for my lies, but I tell them why I did it. Some of them stood awestruck. Some of them simply shrugged it off, impervious to any notion that they play a part in our dance. Others showed a glimmer of understanding.

But I didn't wait for them to answer me. I turned and I began to walk away from them. Jittery, a little shaken but feeling the biggest burden, the burden of secrets, lifted from me. I didn't look over my shoulder as I got into my truck and drove off. I wasn't worried about who would remain with me in this moment of uncomfortable truth or who would angrily turn and leave my life forever.

I no longer cared.

When I woke, I could feel the soreness in my shoulders from the reflexive action of tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing. My head felt light and airy, as it feels just before a vertiginous spin. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, exhausted from tumultuous slumber.

I got the message loud and clear.

There is no compensating for your truest intentions and desires. There is no compromising yourself and your needs for the sake of what makes others feel comfortable. There is no bartering with your emotional, spiritual being. There is only your truth. And any time you hide, bury, overlook or try to evade your personal truth, it will come back with a vengeance like that coiled Cobra. It will demand you hear it, respect it and express it. The longer you resist, the longer you agonize and the morempainful your personal shedding of those old beliefs promises to be.

Today, my wish for you, for each and every one of us, is that we find our many truths. No matter how big and small...we must give them a voice. Find your voice, feel your every feeling, embrace your every desire that makes you free. And say what you need to say. And let no one EVER deter you from it. Therein lies our freedom.

I dedicate this to my friend Lisane, who was the first one to teach me the first steps to my personal freedom.

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I've never really been into the whole hearts and flowers thing of Valentine's day. I'm not sure why, but receiving fluffy gifts like that makes me feel awkward and uneasy (maybe because I never feel the urge to get things like that for anyone else). So anyway, I'd like to recount my top 3 (anti-)Valentines Day Stories.

1. Valentine's Day, 2001. I was working at a grocery store and one of my coworkers asked me out on a date. I told him cool - let's do lunch. A few days later, on V-day, I show up at work and there are a dozen RED long-stemmed roses for me that had been delivered earlier. I was totally creeped out about it since he hadn't even called me yet to set up that lunch date and I thought it was a bit too forward of a gesture to spend 80 bucks in flowers on a girl you don't really know! After work I took them home and divvied up the flowers between my mom and one of my best girl friends.

2. Valentine's Day, 2001; pt. 2. I had just started casually dating the guy who would become my future ex-husband (wow, cool). He lived out-of-state at the time and so I went to go visit him a couple days after Valentine's Day. The holiday hadn't even been on my mind anymore, but when I arrived he had a huge stuffed teddy bear and a giant heart-shaped balloon for me. I gritted my teeth and said thanks; secretly, I was horrified.

3. Valentine's Day, 2007. It was just two weeks after I had split up with my husband and I was kinda dating a friend that I knew from college. I specifically told him NOT to get me anything - no flowers, no cards, no candy. And yet what do you think he went and did? Flowers, a card, and I think he even made breakfast for me. It freaked me out and I made sure that I made plans with someone who was just a friend for an anti-V-day date that evening instead of the guy who wouldn't listen about NOT getting me sappy gifts.

So anyway, I'm sure I probably shouldn't be so cynical about this holiday, but I just kind of think that people should be expressing their love to those closest to them on a regular basis. Why do we need a holiday to tell us that hearts and flowers are mandatory? All I ever really want on Valentine's Day is maybe a nice quiet dinner with my significant other and, ahem, perhaps a good lay. ;)

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The other night, well past the hour respectable adults should be whispering about things like favorite childhood candies or first kisses, he asked me if I dance.

I thought it was a weird jump but I played along as I try to make an effort to answer any question ever asked of me. I simply said, "it's not really something I ever think about doing." And that was truth. Other than the mock concerts I perform for Mecca as I'm cleaning the house or the moves I work to light up my sister's face with laughter...I don't do it. I am not diabolically opposed to dance. It's just....well, there's hundreds of other things I probably like to do more (and a helluva lot better).

He seemed puzzled by my response. As I am now beginning to understand, lawyers are not usually inclined to accept your initial answer without supporting evidence. This was going to be one of our more regular inquisitions.

"Why?"

It was my turn to be a bit puzzled. I told him it wasn't something I thought to do. He then asked if I would dance if we went to an event. I wondered if there was an event he was preparing to spring on me. I told him, honestly that I probably wouldn't want to. And he again seemed puzzled.

"Even if  I was going to be with you, the entire time, you wouldn't want to?"

And so the discourse of dance. He likened it to public speaking, which he knows I have no problems with. I failed to see the similarity. Am I uneasy about dancing? Yes. Is it something I yearn to do with great vigor? No. Am I inclined to dance foolishly? Only with my sister. I suppose he could feel the initial waves of my anxiety begin and he did what he seems to do masterfully during those moments. He steered us gently to something that made me immediately more comfortable.

I wondered in that moment if he took offense to my hesitation to dance, even at the suggestion that he would be there with me. As if his steely glare would keep the hideous dance monsters at bay. He obviously linked my hesitation to dance with a feeling of vulnerability or security. And he might have been right. But he also can't mend that, though I am quite sure he would try.

Today, while chatting with my Dad, he brought up...dancing. And I figured since God apparently wanted me to continue reviewing this topic, I blurted randomly during our conversation that I didn't understand all the hubbub about it. I jokingly said I never danced, so I didn't understand why me not doing it was so puzzling. My father grew unusually quiet, and he began recalling a time when I did dance. And...I recalled it too. A different time. A me I must have misplaced somewhere along the way.

He equated dancing to...an expression of joy. People do it because it makes them happy, it makes them feel alive and free. He wondered if my aversion to dance had something to do with the tone of the house, during my childhood. Together, we wandered all the possibilities like roads. Finally, he said...

"As a child and even now...you are just too happy a person, not to dance. I hope you get to a point where you feel safe...and free enough to do it and not care if anyone is watching or thinking anything about it." Sometimes, my Dad has unexpected moments of tenderness when he expresses his wants and wishes for his children that take my breath away. This was one of those moments. It made me wish that one day, perhaps there would be a celebration where I would feel free enough, to grab his hand, and dance. I let that moment linger silently between the two of us before we eventually wandered into something else.

Perhaps one day I will dance as he recalls one summer night in West Oak Lane. I will either return to that state of complete joy with no thought of the space surrounding me, or find myself in a new space. One that pulses with a rhythm I just can't help but move to.

Time will tell.

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So many flavors, so little time.

Remember Forest Gump and his..."life is like a box of chocolates?" Nothing like blending theory with confection.

Lawyer (the artist formerly known as my Crush) likes ice cream. No, actually...he adores ice cream. To the extent that if I was dangling off a cliff beside a pint of Haagen Dazs, he'd save me...but he'd have a tear in his eye. In the world of sweets, rarely will you find a dessert that offers so much variety. There's a host of different ways you can experience it, so many different flavors that can offer a unique twist.

I suspect life and thoughts can work the same way. In my mind there is a Baskin-Robbins, offering a lovely (and not so lovely) assortment of flavors. What do I have a taste for? What do I want my ice cream experience to be like? I think I (and others) sometimes forget that just as we can choose a flavor in our ice cream, so can we in our own life experiences.  I happen to know that I dislike pecans. So, I choose to avoid the experience of them. Imagine if I did the same thing with pessimistic thoughts, or unwanted fears? Imagine if, I just moved right by that, to the Pistachio Almond? I'm paying for this experience, aren't I? Why shouldn't I pick and choose the flavors that make it enjoyable?

Every day, we're walking into the ice cream shop. 31 flavors. From the minute we step our feet on the floor, we are making a choice. What taste do I want to experience today? Poor self-esteem, lack of self worth, anger, jealousy, resentment...they don't go so well with fudge sauce and cherries. They do nothing to enhance my experience. So why not move past them, to something that tastes so much sweeter? It's our ice cream shop, this life. At least, that's what I'm telling myself these days.

If I view life in this respect, suddenly the choices seem much more attainable...almost easy. There is no phantom hanging over my head, controlling my experience. There is just me. There is no one with the ability to shove spoonfuls of butter pecan down my throat, like it or not. I can wave it away, and opt for something else. Just like that. And I can keep waving it away. Just like that. And...something tells me, practice makes perfect.

Maybe even one day, I'll be able to walk into my own personal ice cream shop...where the only flavors offered (ribbed for my pleasure, of course), are the ones of my choosing.

What flavor are you experiencing in your life, today?

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Once upon a time, I used to write every little thing I felt...or at least what I thought I was supposed to be feeling.

I wrote it in journals, I posted it in blogs and blabbed it up and down the street to whomever would listen. In the moment, it felt wonderful. Looking back, it became problematic. Not because the writing was bad...mostly because the writing wasn't always sincere. I can admit now, that sometimes all the glitter I raved about, wasn't really all that sparkly. Sometimes, I just needed other people to feel like it was so I could relate to the feelings and emotions and bonds I thought so many other people had. More than wanting to be in love, sometimes...I wanted to be accepted as being lovable. Having someone to fawn about seemed as good a proof as any that I could be...valuable. And even that, even now, is so painful to admit.

For many, many years I believed I couldn't be lovable unless I had external proof. So, I did what so many people do...I took a little bit of love, and I made it into a love so much bigger than me that I finally collapsed under the weight of my own creativity. As I look back on all those days and entries, I almost can't bear to read them...because all I see is that part of me I had yet to mend.

That's all a part of growing up, right? Right. But what to do with all those rambling wide eyed postings of love and lust and unfettered adoration? Especially when what I believe love to be now looks and feels and IS so, different? It's a bit like trying to put on your eyeglasses from ten years ago. A minute too long and your head is pounding and you're feeling a bit uncomfortable. Flat out queasy.

I keep all those things I thought about love neatly locked in a keepsake box. And there are many days when I want to burn it. But something compels me to refrain. I'll trust that those words serve a purpose. Problem is...what to do with the thoughts and feelings and experiences of now? How much do I say? Do I believe in jinxes? Am I just as giddy and wide eyed and potentially foolish as I once was? And if I am, do I care to display that readily for the world?

I find myself at an interesting crossroads these days. There's a tiny flower, blooming at the base of me, in a soil I've been spending a lot of time trying to cultivate. People around me shift and change...I shift and change. My needs and wants and how I define them...all changed. And it feels better (and potentially more frightening) then I could ever express.

I'll be honest. I see lots of over the top expression of love and adoration plastered all over the place. People expressing undying love and passion and pink hearts and stars and sprinkles and unicorns and shit. I see loads of grandiose expressions of undying affection that later get deleted and swept away like ashes from a once blazing fire. Our online existence only exacerbates our ability to jump into...and jump out of too many things. One thing I've begun to believe, at least for me, is that sincerity and integrity and the tenderest of love is often quiet, purposeful and rarely in need of spotlights, sonnets and fat cupids with pointy arrows. It is like that little plant, growing at the base of each of us. Precious. Sweet. And fruitful when nurtured by the integrity of action rather than the charm of word or appearance.

This feels different. And while I want to race around the room, giggling and carrying on (and here and there, I do)...I don't want to go on and on about it, at least not in front of an audience. I've lost my love of sweet, sugary confection if indeed I ever truly had one. I don't feel a need to have this budding...bud...authorized, reviewed or stamped for approval. I, unlike the me I used to be, don't need this one to show me why I am lovable. I've found my own reasons and they feel just fine. I'm hoping not to look back on these days and cringe at my ramblings, or roll my eyes into my head. I want to look back on this experience, read these words and no matter how it ends, if it ever ends...and say...

...that's all the news that was fit to print.

So, yes. I'll share. A piece here. A whisper there. The rest will tell its own story, in its own time.

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Amidst the excitement and bliss I'm feeling as I wait for tomorrow afternoon to arrive so that I can sign the lease with my boyfriend and get the keys to our apartment, I can't help but feel a little bit of anxiety over cohabitation.

So - I went off to explore the internets to try and find some articles that would give me a little boost of confidence about this whole living-together situation and the results did not make me feel any better. It seemed like everything I read was pro-marriage and said that cohabitating couples were more likely to be unhappy with their relationship, less likely to enter into marriages that last, have poorer communication skills, etc., etc.

Okay. Yeah. Whatever. I've heard this all before, but the fact is: I am not in a place where I can/want to get married right now (my divorce is NOT even final yet) - but why should I be denied the happiness of living with someone that I love and taking my time in making that decision to get married (if ever) again?

I suppose to play the devil's advocate with myself, I should note that yeah - if we ever broke up after living together for an extended period of time, it would hurt like hell - probably just as much as a divorce. But I don't want to think about that, nor do I want to think about marriage either though. I just want a solid relationship with someone and if marriage makes sense and feels right down the road, then so be it.

Am I setting myself up to be yet another statistic of someone who cohabitates and then breaks up before marriage happens or shortly thereafter? I don't know. And I really don't effing care right now. I'm already a divorce statistic and I think I've learned a lot about what I want out of my relationships. It means a lot to me that my boyfriend wants to move in with me and I don't need a bunch of crazy ass right-wingers to tell me that my choice - one that fits where I am with my life right now - is the lesser choice.

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Can YOU say it?

I've only said it in a romantic way to two people in my life before. But I can count at least four others off the top of my head that I've fallen in love with and never told them so.

The first person I said it to was my ex-husband. We had been dating about two months and we were out overlooking the lake one evening and cuddling up in the cool late-winter air when we both just kind of felt it and said it to each other. It was a butterflies-in-the-stomach, mushy-gushy-I'm-in-love kind of I love you. The second person I said it to was The Fiddler. I was talking to him on the phone one night when apparently I uttered the words, "I'm falling in love with you." He asked me about it the next day and I didn't have the faintest rememberance of saying anything of the sort and I'd never consciously thought about saying it to him before that, but for some reason I couldn't deny it when he confronted me and we fell into saying the three word phrase almost from the get go. Kind of makes me sick thinking about it now.

The other four that I think I was in love with are probably less important to mention. Two were "secret" lovers that I had in the past who I just couldn't say it to. There wasn't enough trust, and I wasn't sure that the feelings were mutual, so I never even tried to say it. The other two were people I was friends with - both similar situations I think - we had a deep, close friendship very quickly, but because of other obligations to other people, it just wouldn't have been right to express that at all.

So now, here I am at the crossroads, agonizing over uttering this little phrase to my boyfriend. I know I'm in love with him and I know he's crazy about me - but is the time right? Okay, okay - so yeah, we're currently looking for a place to rent TOGETHER and we haven't said those words, so obviously this is just something still unspoken between us. Right? It doesn't feel all butterfly-mushy like when I was with my ex-husband and it most certainly isn't a drunken remark since I've been thinking about it for the past several weeks; it's more of a  "I respect this person, I like how they treat me, I like being around them, they make me happy, they turn me on, I want to be with them for a long time to come" kind of I love you.

Does anyone have any good or bad experiences to share from when they've said those three fatal words? I guess I'm just nervous about saying it because once it's out, you can't easily take it back. But at the same time, it's kinda driving me crazy because I want to tell him how much I do love him!

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I've spent the greater part of my Friday afternoon NOT working, but instead deeply engaged in reading the discussion on feministing.com about Open Marriage (and open relationships in general). It got me thinking about my recently-ended open relationship with my ex-boyfriend.

I think what DIDN'T work with my open relationship with him was that we weren't on the same page. He saw me as a permanent, primary partner and that I'd only be giving up my body to others. I, on the other hand, saw it as a time for me to explore and figure out what I wanted while having the security of a stable partner, but without a heavy commitment. I do feel that sometimes he would try to force certain things on me (always suggesting we go to swingers bars and dances - not really for me). I think the fact that I wasn't placing any permanence on the relationship is why the openness of it started to fall apart - I didn't want to tell him about my other sexual encounters, I was embarrassed when I would tell him I was going out on a date, because in actuality, I was looking for someone else, someone better and I knew that that wasn't his expectation of me in the relationship.

A friend of mine who was in an open relationship with his wife confided in me the other day that he had come clean with her about several affairs he had been having behind her back - instead of telling her about the sex, even though they were in the open relationship, he was just hiding it from her because it felt easier and more thrilling. They are working on stabilizing their relationship now though and have decided to eliminate the open-nature of their sexual lives from their marriage for the meantime.

I had a good long discussion with my current boyfriend about open relationships and after a lot of talking (I wanted open, he didn't), we've decided to be exclusive. I guess the thing that nags at me most though is that we have both openly admitted to each other that we've cheated on our significant others in the past and that neither of us have felt guilty on our ends (felt sorry for the other, but not out of line morally). So what happens when/if we come to that point in our relationship where one of us feels like sleeping with someone else. I want a long-lasting relationship with him, but with our streaks for cheating, what exactly is holding us back from having an open relationship where we wouldn't have to lie about it?

What are other people's thoughts on open marriages and open relationships in general? Does anyone have any positive or negative experiences to share on the subject? I think the discussion on the above link has a lot of good points for both sides of the issue and I suppose for me, I'm not really decided on whether an open relationship is right for me or not. I think it is just a continuing dialog that should be discussed.

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Recently I was hiking with a friend and she asked me who of my friends I was closest to during law school.  After a seemingly unending pause, I told her no one.  I have friends from law school, most of whom I have become close (to a degree) to afterwards, but while I was there I never let anyone get too close.  For that matter, I don't let people get too close now.

I can't really account for exactly when or why I started holding people at a distance.  I have my theories, but ultimately what matters is that I didn't use to, but now I do.  I used to be the kid who hugged and hung on to everyone.  I was the adolescent who was always there for her friends, remembered all the important details, and never failed to think about others first.  My husband tells me something fundamental shifted in law school and I became more selfish, both in a good way and in a bad way.  I don't really know if he's right, but I do know friends find me frustrating now because I don't call or email regularly; I don't do a lot of the checking in and general maintenance friendship requires. 

This shift isn't because I don't care.  Quite the opposite, actually.  I've noticed that there is a significant distance between me and those around me and I am discomfited by it.  I miss that feeling of a super close connection with my friends.  But my attempts - and those of others - to force it have resulted in both parties feeling disappointed and unsatisfied.  I now operate in a way similar to some of my closest friends who used to infuriate me - I am terrible at returning calls and emails frequently (which I do believe is rude, despite my own inability to keep up with communication) and rarely now advise people when I need assistance.  But, when we meet, it is, at least for me, as though no time has passed.  I still have an incredibly tender spot for each and every wonderful person who has graced my life with their friendship and I feel truly grateful to have them in my world.

Some people have told me that it is a matter of me prioritizing other things above my friendships.  That is a distinct possibility that I have been exploring, but I do not believe it is the issue.  I believe that I do not prioritize things the same way as others and therefore am deemed as having different priorities.  For example, if you are arrested in the middle of the night, I will line up several defense attorneys for you, pay your bail, and make you hot chocolate (perhaps with a lecture, depending on the nature of the arrest).  I have learned that if you need to be psychiatrically hospitalized, I will make the call that leads to that.  I will drive with you to Mexico or go to your grandmother's funeral.  What I will not do, however, is spend an hour on the phone with you every day.  I am no longer a teenager and, therefore, do not have the stamina for such things.  Neither do I operate under the illusion that I am actually that interesting to warrant so much phone time, especially with those who know me.  I only speak to my mother once or twice a week and she actually does believe most of what I do is interesting (or at least fakes it very well).

And email is a whole other issue.  I see email in many ways as a necessary evil.  I would rather sit down and have tea with you or go on a hike.  Email is a way for me to schedule those events, not a way for me to have an in-depth conversation about my recent bout with depression.  Plus, despite the fact I have had Gmail for months now, I am still not a master at using it.  For some reason, some new messages will be added to the "conversation", but the new message will not appear in bold at the top of the list.  At last count, I have 1193 "new" messages (I have no earthly idea how that happened and it is now too monstrous to be promptly reconciled, so I am stuck with it).  Therefore, if there is a Gmail or user error, I have NO idea you have sent me an email.  Additionally, I am bit like the absent-minded professor and often think I have thoroughly and wittily responded your message when in fact my response never got out of the crafting stage in my brain.  Therefore, if you are feeling slighted because I did not respond, please feel free to remind me.

For those who do not live in the same area as me, things are trickier.  I have learned that with most people, I cannot go weeks without contact and then pop back up like driftwood.  However, this seems to be my natural m.o. these days.  (A side note: I do get a wee bit frustrated when people say I never call/email, but they never initiate contact either.)  I am at a bit of a loss here.  How do I show my loved ones that they are in fact loved?  Is there a magic quota of emails?  Or should I be the one upset because I am not being accepted for the kind of person/communicator I am?

Interpersonal relationships seem harder for me now than ever, which frustrates me as I thought I was supposed to become wiser and more adept with age. I wish that I wasn't in full feline mode these days, keeping everyone at arm's length, but that is where I am right now and denying it won't make it any different.  If anyone out there has suggestions or has been through something like this, I welcome your comments.  For anyone in a relationship with me or starting one, I ask for your patience, understanding and, most of all, acceptance.  Oh, and a reminder if I haven't responded to your email because I may not have received it. :)  

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