Reinventing Myself....

Two days ago, I got some fantastic news.  I was accepted for admittance to ASU for my undergrad.  I was accepted to the English program, but my heart is to major in either Linguistics or Journalism.  Either way...I'm going to college!

It actually surprised me that I got in.  I wasn't the best student in high school.  I was smart, but lazy.  I put forth enough effort to get by and graduate, get accepted to college but, never actually going.  My granddad told me if I didn't go then, I would probably never go.  He was almost right.  Luckily for me, when I went to beauty school as an older adult, I went to a community college and earned a technical degree.  It wasn't rocket science, but it was an established GPA, AND I made the Dean's List every quarter.  Ha!  Who would have thought my competitive nature of getting better grades than all those young girls would be what cinched my acceptance into the four year university I was dying to get into?  Best of all, my plan is to actually enter the Cronkite School of Journalism.  One of the most prestigious in the country.  I can do it.  I know it.

I've been giving a lot of thought to this blog entry.  I knew I wanted to eventually write about what it means to be of a certain age and starting over.  Not just emotionally, but geographically, career, life....I feel like everywhere I turn, it's like I'm seeing my life the way it is supposed to be.  I feel people I meet, are seeing things in me I could never see before.  Telling me things I never believed about myself. 

When I began really thinking about leaving my marriage and starting over, I was really, really scared to pull the plug.  Everything I ever believed, everything I ever knew, all the comfort of a luxurious lifestyle, everything seemed too risky.  I quit riding roller coasters years ago, because I was afraid.  I quit waterskiing for a while because I thought I was getting too old.  In my thirties!  

I had a conversation last night with a new acquaintance going through a lot of the same things I am.  He is reading my blog.  He knows who he is, and for the sake of anonymity, we'll call him Calvin.  Our discussion was about why a person leaves a long term marriage.  Why not just go with the status quo?  Why leave now?

My friend Meg in Japan asked me to think about where this blog was going and how I sometimes get little "digs" in about my marriage.  I wondered if I sounded bitter?  She didn't say so, but gave me some suggestions to think about.  The divorce is still on going, it is not friendly but I wouldn't say it's "The War of the Roses" either.  If I sound bitter, it is not my intention.  The more I blog, the farther I get away from the marriage and the anger, the more I realize, leaving my husband was about me, not him.

I got an email from an aunt yesterday.  She gave me good news about my cousin and at the end, told me she had been thinking a lot about what I'm going through and was hoping I was okay.  I'm sooo okay.  I'm doing fantastic in comparison to how I was over Christmas.  I wrote her back and in the email I was able to say that as shocked as everyone was that I left my marriage of 28 years, that "just because it's always been, does not mean it should always be.

I was moving in a different direction than my husband.  My goals were changing.  I was changing.  I wanted different things for the next portion of my life.  In my conversation with Calvin last night, we talked about societal "norms" and expectations.  Many men and women we know,  reach this age and give in to aging.  If you don't, if you work out, keep your weight down, stay healthy, take care of yourself, dress differently, get botox, want more fun, more sex, more passion...more life...you don't fit into the  societal norm of aging gracefully.  Accepting that what you did all your life to get to this age, is what you should continue to do for the sake of others comfort and stability.   There's that damn word again...should.  If you actually pull the trigger and leave and start over, your are judged as having a mid-life crisis.  I cry bullshit.

I've said in earlier blogs that when you are as confused as I was, about what to do, you begin looking for answers in a magic eight ball.   I did.  Meg knew a man in Japan we called the "Drugstore Man" who did a Vedic astrology reading on me, based on my numbers.  The year I was born, date and time, as well as where I was born.  All of this, was never anything I would have even considered as having any validity a few years ago, but I was looking for a sign...anything. The two main points I got from the reading were these:  I would never regret my choice if I left, and that if I didn't leave, one of us would die early.  Not we would die.  Not him, not me, one of us.  First of all, I never once considered it to be a physical death.  I was already wanting to leave, I just was afraid to.  Afraid to deal with the consequences.  Of the nuclear fallout I knew would occur, once I dropped the atom bomb.  From kids, friends and extended family.  It was as horrific as I anticipated.  Maybe worse.

No, the person who was going to die was me.  The woman who was finding her voice.  Her courage.  Her strength. Her dreams.  She would die a slow and painful death.  She would go with the status quo and all that she ever dreamed about would be gone.  There wouldn't even be a memorial service.  It would be like a missing person's report.  Someone you grieve but have no closure because you're not sure of what became of her.  Until one day, you go through a trunk full of old photographs and diaries and remember her, but it's too late and you finally let go.   I don't want to be like my mother who hurts from what "could have been" because her time in life to complete those dreams is over.  The worst part being that she is still young enough to remember she wanted something more but wasn't brave enough, or willing to risk it all to find out if she could.

I struggle sitting here in a coffee shop thinking about what I almost gave into because of comfort and security.  I am fighting back tears, because I'm so grateful I didn't cave to the pressure of staying status quo. I braved a whole new world and I'm reinventing myself.  But I'm not really.  I am being myself for the first time ever.  I have an idea of where my I want my life to go.  I have a picture of what it will look like.  It's not going to be filled with endless partying or disco sex and drugs.  That isn't me.  My life is going to be filled with experiences that are rich and full.  Surrounded by interesting and smart people.  Passion and love.  I am finding love in the people all around me.

Which brings me to the final portions of this entry.  Is this selfish?  Was leaving my life in Washington incredibly selfish as I was prone to believe and being accused of?  Was wanting a bigger life than being the wife of someone who provided well, loved me in the way he knew how, taking from my children what seemed to be the epitome of "perfect family" selfish?   It would seem so, to some.  According to societal norms.  According to the expectations of what everyone else wanted to have happen.  No one, it seems, took into account what I wanted.  Needed.  It seems that once you choose that life, you should be stuck with it unless someone dies.  Huge sigh...

I have doubts about whether I ever will remarry again.  Both of my parents laugh and say I will change my mind with time.  I can't see a reason to do it again.  I don't consider my marriage to be a failure.  In fact, I feel I was pretty good at staying with it and trying to make it work.  But, I'm not sure it is completely natural.  I'm not convinced that at this age it's necessary.  I don't condemn or judge people who want it, I just can't see that kind of legal binding contract in my future ever again.  When I was younger, I wanted it.  I wanted children.  I wanted stability.  I wanted stuff.  I thought I needed it.  Society told me I did.  Now, I want my dreams.  I don't give a shit about someones earning potential.  I care about the way a person lives their life. I care about who I am becoming.  I want to wake up every day and know that it is going to be a great day just because I can get out of bed and walk my dog and get ready to embrace another day.

I've been reading a book about Coco Channel's life.  She was a woman who's life details were sketchy at best.  She was a documented and accomplished liar that knew how to reinvent herself by adapting to her environment.  She was  brilliant...wise, despite her personal brand of craziness.  I feel a kinship with her, in that she lived her life in a way she needed, in order to be true to herself, even if no one else understood.  I find it ironic, that three years ago, before I started this journey or knew anything about her, I named my car "Coco Channel"  Coco for short.
I'm done living the pretend life of someone I didn't recognize anymore.  I'm reinventing myself and I like who I am becoming.  Very much so.

Oh Bob...Not again...

This dog...gawd...I mean seriously.  He is the epitome of trouble.  He is stubborn, he is bratty and he chews my shoes.  Not just my shoes, but he found my friend's shoes this morning and proceeded to chew the toe off her beautiful leopard print heels.  Sigh....

I really don't know what to do with him.  He is the outcast at the dog park.  He looks at me like I'm killing him if he has to sit in the apartment while I write.  He goes on hunger strikes on a regular basis.  Everywhere I go, people are constantly telling me how stinking cute he is.  Those eyes can melt you.  Try going on a walk with him.  He is a puller and a zigzagger.  I am constantly pulling back in an effort to gain control.  Zigging and zagging...trying to trip me like he did last summer.  A stronger willed lap dog has never been found.

A couple days ago, I was talking with my daughter on the phone.  I was telling her I had a friend staying with me until the end of the month.  She asked if my friend yelled at Bob like I do...wtf?  ME:  I don't yell at Bob...HER: Yes, you do, ALL the time...ME:  (defensively) Well, he is so naughty, especially when I'm not paying attention to him.  A cat would probably whip him into shape better than me.

How bad can he be, you ask....For my birthday a few months ago, I splurged on a beautiful pair of thigh high, four inch Stuart Weitzman boots.  I was so careful with them.  I always put them up high on the shelf, shutting my closet door so Bob can't reach them.  Even though he didn't seem to be chewing shoes as much, I still put them up high above his range of vision.

The other night, I came home from a networking event and pulled off my boots.  I put them on the chaise lounge and never gave them a second thought.  I sat outside with my friend while we shared a glass of wine together and talked about what we did that day.  Bob has access to come in and out, and I should have figured that when he wasn't out next to me, he was up to no good.  After approximately a half an hour, I came back inside and noticed one of my boots lying on the floor.  Oh no....I picked them up and wanted to cry.  My beautiful boots...the heel of one of them had been chewed by the little shit I call Bob.  I just hope Nordstrom can recommend a good cobbler.


These boots can be totaled with the other seven pair of sandals, slippers and Tory Burch shoes he has destroyed.  I have a pair of sock monkey slippers he's had his eyes on for a few weeks.  I'm just waiting for those to be chewed up.  I would have preferred those over the boots. Those came from Target, $13.99.   Let's not forget about the two pair of Marc Jacobs sunglasses and my favorite "Winnie the Poo" bear I brought with me for sentimental reasons.  Nothing is safe. His specialty seems to be chewing the crotch out of my underwear...sigh...typical man.   I hate leaving him in his kennel during the daytime, but just when I think I've "Bob proofed" everything, he finds something else to chew.

I refuse to let him sleep with me.  He is a kicker.  If I ever decide to actually "sleep" with someone again, Bob is not going to be the one I want to cuddle with.

Walking with him is an adventure, just in his poo alone.  I never know what I'm going to see come out of his butt.  A few weeks back,  I couldn't find his rubber ducky...guess where that was...?  He literally drags me to get to the park, where I will let him off leash to run with his best friends, Addy and Killy.  The other dogs bully him and he seriously lays down and allows them to lick his "boys".  He is a humper too.  It's like watching dog porn as my little dog tries to get on the big dogs.  AND he's fixed!

 If I sit down to write, he is on my lap, trying to sit on my computer.  The dog cannot get close enough to me.  I come home from the gym and he starts licking the salt off my legs.  I get out of the shower and slather lotion on, and he is trying to lick that off too.  If I push him off my lap, he starts licking my toes.  A few seconds of that okay...an hour...not so much. 
Before I started working, I was walking him four times a day.  One long, two short, one long.  Now, I give him one long, two short and a potty.  He has me figured out.  He holds on to that potty as long as possible to stretch that potty break out.  This is usually around 9pm, when it's cold outside and all I want to do is get ready for bed.

I like to take him hiking with me to the trails where the incline isn't so steep.  It literally wears him out and he is good for a seven hour nap.  He pulls me up the trail, stops suddenly in front of me, nearly repeating last years' "Bob Accident" and whines all the way back down the trail because he is tired.

He understands two words...cookie and walk.  I bribe him with cookies like a good mommy. Most days I forget to grab the cookies and just call out "cookie Bob!"  He used to come running...now he is on to me.   My latest challenge is to keep him away from the nuts that fall off the trees.  They give him diarrhea.  He is so fast and his nose is always to the ground.  He is like an aardvark...practically sniffing those damn nuts up his nose as he pulls, while I continually jerk his leash up to keep his nose off the ground.

My rule about being off leash is he has to stay off the pavement and "on the grass".  I can be heard yelling across the park every morning..."On the grass Bob!!!"  Once he escaped into the Japanese gardens when it was closed.  Now he is too fat to squeeze under the fence.  Good thing.

He always knows when I'm getting ready to leave the house.  He watches me grab my keys and runs to the door.  Waiting....He looks at me accusingly as I bid him goodbye...standing there...making me feel guilty.  I thought for sure my days feeling guilty about being a mother were over.  What is it about a dog that can make us feel so shitty? 

Over Christmas I left him with my neighbor and her mom.  She is 11.  She has a dog named "Floppy".  Bob loves Floppy and my neighbor.  He loves her so much, that he is always trying to get into their apartment instead of ours.  He sees them in the dog park, his little butt  moving back and forth like a hip hop dancer in time to his tail... He hasn't forgiven me for leaving him yet.  His memory is supposed to be about 10 seconds.  Bob remembers everything. 

The problem I see with Bob is that, he won't be controlled.  I've tried rewards.  I've read Cesar and put some of his tricks into use.  I haven't done puppy school.  I did succeed in training him to twirl around and around for a treat. This has now become my party trick when I've had too much wine and want to entertain my friends.   I tried really hard to teach him to play dead, but that was an effort in vain.  He just kept whirling and twirling. Now he twirls when he sees the leash, food, and cookies.  

Just when I think I'm through being controlled by a man, I get a male dog who rules my life.  If his entertainment factor wasn't so big...he'd be so gone.  He is hard to resist.  Stubborn.  Willful.  Persistent.  Naughty.  Sweet.  Cuddly.  Bob.  Still the love of my life...but a typical puppy.

One Rock at a Time...

One of the misconceptions many men have about women is that we all need a knight in shining armor.  Someone to save us.  I married so young, I had absolutely no idea what I needed.  I was just, simply, in love.  I did what was expected. I did what I thought I was supposed to do.  I was a responsible mother and a good wife.   I'm sure I've said many times, women marry men expecting them to change...and they don't.  Men marry women expecting them not to change...and they do.  Over 28 years of marriage, you learn the enemy's tactics.  And you get stronger with every ache in your heart.

Fourteen years ago, when I first started contemplating my life without my husband in it, I wasn't in any shape emotionally, to leave.  I hadn't the strength nor the endurance for such an undertaking. As time passed, I found myself putting pictures of myself on the fridge, younger, thinner versions of me.  Wanting to be more fit, I began working out.  I began a regime of getting strong.

 Over the years, I went on countless diets and exercise programs trying to stay in shape...get thinner.  I lost weight, I gained weight.  I could never stick to an extreme diet, but I gradually learned good eating habits.  I wanted to be in shape more than I hated being overweight.  I made changes, but it took time.  Countless times over the years, I threatened to leave my husband.  He never thought I would leave.  He assumed I would always need saving.  I didn't know how to save myself, but I wanted to figure out how.  Six months ago, I saved myself.

 A few days ago, I had one of "those days".  After being on a virtual "happy high" since New Years Eve,  things sort of fell apart at the seams again.  Nothing as bad as the holiday season, but bad enough to wake up with bags under my eyes and an unsettled sadness that swept over me.

I had conversation with my ex that was sad and hurtful to both of us.  I continue to hold on to the hope, that eventually, we can have something that resembles respect, and hopefully friendship for the sake of our kids.  I have all but given up that hope after that day.  My friend, who is staying with me, asked, "Why?  Why does it matter if he likes you at the end of the day?"  I couldn't answer her.  I don't know why.  It just has mattered and I don't know why.  If I got really introspective, I could probably conjure up something to explain it, but the truth is, I know why in my head, but it won't come out in words.  Not in black and white and not when I try to explain it.

I wanted to try to let it go.  I want him to be able to move forward in much the same way I want to move forward.   We can't keep drudging up the reasons for why our marriage ended and expect to move forward.  It is too painful for both of us.  After spending a sleepless, and teary night last night and a good portion of the morning down in the dumps, I decided I was going to work it out, do something extreme and physical. Nothing like numbing your mind and concentrating on the moment. 

I started climbing Camelback a year ago.  It was the most extreme workout I've ever done, short of an Olympic sprint triathalon I did a few years ago.  I love that mountain.  I hate that mountain. The mountain was calling my name that day.  I wanted to enjoy the exhilaration of being outside...in January.  So,  I drove to my favorite hiking trail and climbed that mountain.  It's a little like a switchback trail.  It goes up vertically several times, but after a long vertical, seems that there is always a resting place before you tackle the next section.
As I approached the trailhead, I tune up my ipod and start walking.  Not slow, but an even pace.  Every step is an intentional step.  You have to pay attention.  You don't look ahead...you look down and watch for loose gravel.  I've gone up this mountain at least 25 times, maybe more.  It never gets easier.  I always try to beat my time by a minute or two.

Some days the climb is better, sometimes not.  The other day, it was perfect.  Every single, uphill section of that climb is challenging.  Deliberate.  I cannot start that climb and halfway up, decide I'm not going to finish it.  I go for it.  Quitting is not an option.  I hadn't climbed that mountain for 6 months, but never once did I think I couldn't make it.  I've never gone through a divorce, but once I made the decision to leave, I was leaving.  I left.  I knew I could make it now, I was stronger, in better shape than before and giving up was not an option.  the marriage was irreparable.  Divorce was the only way to the top of my mountain.  Either that or murder.

With every step, I have to look down.  I can't climb and look around, the path is too treacherous and I value my teeth too much to fall.  It's a hard climb.  Divorce is a hard climb.  Some days are better than others.  Some days are too much for me.  Even when I know I want to climb the mountain, I just can't.  I'm not feeling it. That day was good.  I started up the trail and felt the earth solid beneath my shoes.

The hike starts out with a little jaunt down some steps before it turns into a vertical climb.  As you make your way down the steps, you look ahead and see that it gets vertical very fast.  I'm always out of breath before I reach the top of that short section that evens out, before the next big uphill.  There are a lot of people that climb this mountain, so you dodge around them or move over for someone else to pass you continually throughout the climb.

As I continued to climb, I had my earphones on and was listening to some great music.  Some of the music made me feel sad.  Other songs, made me feel happy, and some peaceful.  For some reason, that day, most of the music made me feel victorious.  With every flat path, I looked around and felt the presence of something greater.  I noticed the beauty in the giant cacti and the rock formations.  I paid attention to the view. I started to forget about the conversation I had that morning and the night before.

As I near the the first of five, rocky, vertical trails, I look up and take a moment to assess the best path.  I watch which way people are coming down as well as which way they are heading up.  You may think that all roads lead to Rome, but sometimes, not every path is the easiest.  It might seem faster, but as you approach the next rock, you realize you have to step up farther or the rock is too steep, or not deep enough to get a foothold.  Sometimes, I have to back track slightly and choose a different route to get to the same place.  Some of my friends have climbed this mountain.  They are familiar with the rocks and which way is the best path.  I climb alone usually, so I am learning the trail myself.  When I do climb with someone who is more familiar, I let them lead.  But, I don't always follow because I am stubborn that way.

The more I climb this mountain, the rocks become more familiar.  I recognize that I have stepped there before and it's safe to do so again.  I remember the path even when it becomes confusing for a moment.  I continue upward.  The first few months of this divorce were the worst months of all.  I would like to fly up this mountain and get to the candy center, but then I would never see the beauty along the path or feel the burn of the workout.  As I scramble my way up the rocks, sometimes I teeter and almost lose my balance..."whoa...I think, that was a close one".  I recover and continue on.  As I approach the top, there are markers along the trail that tell you how far you've gone.  I love it when I see the 3/4 mile marker.  That last quarter mile is a killer.  My legs are shaky, my mouth is dry from exertion.  I remember the first time I did the hike, I asked someone about halfway up, how much further to the top..."Oh, you have a long way to go still..."  Sigh...

The last stretch is trickier.  The rocks are more slab-like and harder to figure out the safest, surest route to the top.  There is more gravel on the trail.  It's important to step on clean rocks.  The gravel makes you slip.  Easy to get hurt.  I pay close attention to my feet and the ground.  You can't look around.  You will have plenty of time to marvel at the view when you get to the top.

At this point in my hike, I stand at the bottom of this last portion of trail and tell myself every time..."No breaks till you reach the top...you can do it...this time."  I have not been able to do that damn stretch one time without a break.  And it's usually...20 steps to the top, my legs are fucking rubber and I have to stop.  Every single time.  It pisses me off.  But, I listen to my body, I have no death wish and it's kinda critical at this point, so I lean into the side of a rock, out of breath, and wait for my legs to feel stable again.

Finally, I reach the peak.  It is breathtaking.  It is a panoramic view of the entire Valley.  Surrounded by other peaks.  The city is all around me, and I am at the top.  I can pick out the main roads I travel.  I can see the downtown where I live.  I can see where I've come from.  I can see where I am.

I take at least 20 minutes to sit on the rocks and drink some water, catching my breath and getting my shaky legs under control again.  I keep my music on but can feel my heart thumping in my chest.  I am tired, but I made it to the top.  I am the kind of woman that wants to put my arms in the air, feel the wind whip my hair and lift my face toward the sky and scream "I did it!"  I always take a moment to thank God that I am alive.  That I am strong enough to climb that mountain.  I feel exhilarated!  But, the climb down is no picnic.

When I decide to start picking my way down the rocks to the bottom, I remind myself that it is far more dangerous going down than it is going up. I'm tired from the climb up.  My legs are shaky, my body is feeling a little dehydrated from all the exertion of climbing up.  The rocks are steep and it is important to pay attention to every step, on every rock.  I've watched kids leap up and down these rocks like it was nothing, but I am not as young as them...I have fear.  I have respect for the path I just climbed.  It takes me 45 minutes to climb up and only 30 minutes to get down.  Today, I slipped four times going down.  I almost never slip.  I am sore and a little battered from the falls.  I was tired.  I wasn't feeling the strength.  Sometimes it's like that.  I arrived back at my car and drove home.  Drank more water and ate something to recover.  I took my dog for a walk and came home to rest.

God willing, I will climb this mountain many times in my life.  There are so many different mountains to hike and climb around here, I expect to hike a lot of them.  Every mountain is not the same.  I will be stronger every time I decide to hike.   I don't need someone to carry me up a mountain to make it.  I gain strength from every peak I reach.  I just keep climbing...one rock at a time.

Preparation...

Two days ago I joined a new gym.  My old gym just seemed so....tired.  I'm not really a gym rat as much as I love to be outside and workout.  Running, walking, kayaking, hiking...I love being outside.  After being here a few months now, I have neglected my body.  I've lost the wrong kind of weight and have allowed myself to get a little...floppy.

So, in conjunction with everyone else in the month of January, I joined a gym and decided to try and get lean and fit again.  I met with a fitness trainer to have an assessment of my current state of affairs.  Ugh...yes, my weight is down, but my body fat percentage is up higher than it's ever been. I'm blaming it on the alcohol. My habit of loving Bailey's in my coffee every morning. 

The fitness trainer asked me some detailed questions about my lifestyle, my goals, my reasons for..."why now?" The first answer that came to mind for me?  I haven't had to worry about getting naked for a while.   I'm a little worried now. So, how did I answer?  Exactly that.  Either get fit or get naked in the dark.

There are so many choices these days for looking good.  Last night a friend was telling me she was on the HGH diet.  She didn't look like she needed to lose an ounce.  I've been told I look great, and I will agree that for my age, I'm not too shabby.  With clothes on.  I may be my own worst critic but, the man I got naked with for all those married years probably never noticed the subtle changes that took place slowly over the years.  Anyone new that comes into my life, will see the "antiquated" version.  It's very depressing.

I am on a mission to figure out what needs a tune up, what needs replaced and what needs a complete overhaul.
There are many "en Vogue" trends I see that are the new requirements for women.  The possibilities are endless and depending on which ones need continual maintainence...expensive.  Men are faced with an unlimited amount of eye candy in this ever growing populace of divorced women roaming the bars at night.  The more well-to-do ones have had complete engine overhauls.  The not-so-fortunate ones are either giving up or making do with what they can afford.  I fall into the second category.

I seem to be spending an enormous amount of thought about dating and having sex again.  I want to be ready emotionally and physically.  Working out takes care of the physical, outward aspect, but again, it doesn't come overnight.  I spent an hour trying to cajole the trainer into telling me news I wanted to hear instead of the gritty, bare truth:  Pain is gain.

The emotional part is harder.  I've already wrote about wondering when you know if you're ready.   I Already decided that you don't know until the opportunity presents itself.  Now I sit and wonder, when will the opportunity present itself?  I've met lots of men.  I've only found one I even like. The rest just seem...lecherous. Needy. Clingy.  Most men love the idea of a sex partner without strings.  Since that seems to be the driving force of men anyway, it really comes as no surprise, but as a woman, it is really hard to connect those dots.  The one man I found to be respectful and not pushy, I wonder, is there is sexual chemistry? Or is it classified and filed in the friendship category?  

I find myself longing to find that one person I connect with.  Is it possible to have sexual chemistry, and I mean  real passion... and still connect on a deeper emotional level as well?  I am a romantic, so I tend to believe it can, but since passion can be confused with love, I analyze the whole love versus lust thing, at least once a day.  Or a hundred.  Can passion last, once the newness of a relationship wears off?  Will the everyday living of our lives, the taking each other for granted just be a repeat performance for me if I lose interest in hanging in there for the long run?  Can I break old patterns and find the partner that is "soul mate" material?  Are there really soul mates?  Is there such a thing as destiny and fate?  Why is the sky blue?  Why is the Earth round?  I mean seriously...why am I spending so much time thinking about this?

I lecture myself daily too.  I tell myself to just stop.  Stop thinking and just live.  Breathe.  Quit thinking about when and live in the now...

Which brings me back to the preparation part.  The expensive part.  The reason I bring this up again, is because in all my contemplation of meeting someone at some point, I continue to think about being naked again. And because we are all adults now, I can address the sex issue without the guilt that comes with youth. If I meet someone and feel it, I'm going to have sex. But, nowadays, how how many dates first?  How do you know if it's going to be good?   I've asked all my single friends, what is the general rule about dating and sex?  I've had a variety of answers.  In one discussion, the general consensus was:  Not on the first date, but if you don't feel like pouncing on them after the first date, it's not going to happen...ever.  Or if it does and there is no fireworks...Awkward...

Others have said the general rule is 4-5 dates. I've had two official dates, and so far... no feelings of wanting to rip someone's clothes off. Again, here I am in the lecture portion to myself...just let it be Tam.

My real question lies in how ready should I be?  Do I buy sexy, hot lingerie with the thought that maybe the next man I meet will be the one?  Have it ready, just in case?  Do I wear the good underwear or,  (Women, I know you get this part) the period underwear?   Do I shave my legs today?  Do I need botox...again? The latest trend en vogue is waxing south of the border.  The trouble with this is the pain involved.  And the cost.  It ain't cheap.  I used to get this done for free back at my old salon.  I like this new trend of no hair on the region of the 'gine.  Let's face it, 80's porn bushes went out in the 90's...The problem with waxing is, it can only be done about every four weeks.  In the meantime, when you are due for your next appointment and you are this age, you look down and feel like you are looking at an old man's whiskery chin.  There's a visual for you.

I recently found a new waxer in Phoenix I really like.  She is quick, efficient and almost painless.  Almost.  After this last waxing, I felt like I'd been sexually assaulted.  She moved junk around I didn't know I had.  I was impressed with her ability to carry on a normal conversation while she fumbled about "down there".  I was impressed with my ability to answer her.  

So the question again bears repeating...How much prep work needs to be done beforehand, and how much can wait until later...?  On the waxing, I keep thinking the smart thing to do would be wait...I got at least one date before I get the pounce on, and 4-5 dates to actually pounce. In the meantime, the code word is trim.
The lingerie?  Same thing...the period underwear versus the good underwear?  Remember what your mama always told you about your underwear.  Shaving my legs?  Just do it, you are already in the shower. 

Which brings me back full circle to the gym...Rome wasn't built in a day, but damn it, I'm getting ready.










 

Feeling Joy....

Ever since the last day of 2010, I have felt a newness in my spirit.  I was so ready to let the past year go and embrace some happiness.  I'm still discovering new things about myself every single day.  I have a ways to go, but I am feeling the joy return.

I've been told many times over the course of my life, that I am funny, that I make people laugh.  I felt the last year and a half robbed me of my joy.  I wondered if I was ever going to feel happiness and joy again.  Would people ever find me funny again?  I hid myself away from people and avoided any subjects of depth because it seemed to constantly go to my "situation."  Being the type of person who buries myself away when I'm sad, I felt almost alone.  Self-imposed exile.  Who wanted to be dragged down with my shit?  I avoided group situations that involved any socializing with my ex and my old friends.  I wouldn't, I couldn't, meet their eyes and pretend I was okay.  I was sooo not okay and being phoney has never been easy for me.  Being joyful, is easy...if I feel it.  

I saved up a lot of tears over the years and learned to paste a smile on my face when the situation called for it.  That's what years of working in the public will do to you.  I started having a large capacity for bullshit.  Then behind closed doors I would regale my co-workers with the latest "mayor of crazy town" client that had sat in my chair.  I was able to compartmentalize the bullshit until I had an opportunity to release the toxicity of someone else's bad energy and turn it into comic relief.

Then I left my husband.  I became incapacitated with grief and sadness.  I pretended I was okay in public and within my small circle of friends, I wasn't.  It felt like a lifetime of grief.  A hole in which  I couldn't see how I would ever climb up from.  Every time it felt like I'd found some footing, the hole would collapse on me and I would taste the dirt and mud as it fell over my face.  

I was consumed with what was going on in my life and I wasn't able to concentrate or think of much else.  I was very, very, self-absorbed.  I was Debbie downer for sure.  I got through each day by thinking about how many errands I could come up with to keep me busy and not think. How many hours until I could pour a glass of wine, how many hours until I could go to bed and not think anymore.  I thought a lot about being asleep.  One of my friends told me they had never seen me look so haunted, so hollow. A woman I met, a photographer, with an eye for detail told me my eyes held sadness.  It made me weep with sorrow for the woman I knew I used to be.  The woman who was once told "she had 'Tinkerbell' eyes"...filled with mischief and joy.

I truly believed, that once I made the actual decision to leave my marriage and move here, that I would instantly be able to get off the anti-depressants and move through all the bullshit very fast.  I was wrong.  I had lots to examine.  Lots of sifting and sorting.  Lots of tears that were still threatening to fall.

One of the things I think about is that any man I decide to get involved with now, will never know me as a young woman. He will never  see the smooth, tight, skin, or youthful face that my ex did.  The new relationship I may have in the future will only know me as middle aged...jaded... a little set in my ways with wobbly bits that come with being this age. I have collected packaged baggage throughout my marriage that I didn't have as a young woman. Baggage that will surely have to be unpacked before a new romance could be healthy and achievable.  I have shared experiences and memories of the past with my ex that can never be replicated or be issued a 'do-over' with someone new.  This robs me of a little joy just thinking about it. 

I'm so over myself and the bullshit of going through a divorce.  I want to heal now.  Today.  I want to move forward and quit thinking about the "what-ifs" and the "shouldas".  But, ah, alas....these things can't be rushed.  The universe won't let you heal that fast.  There are things to learn.  Things to accept about myself.  Ground to cover...but, I'm getting there.  I'm feeling moments of joy again.  I've started to be funny again around my friends.  I feel like the chronic cough of sadness is gradually getting better. I find myself looser.  More open again.   Not so protective.  But mostly, I am finding that I don't think about sleeping so much.  I forget about wanting wine every night.  I quit smoking. Not every conversation I have now is about "my situation".  When the time is right, and romantic love comes into my life again, the sadness will have shaped me, but not defined me.  I am feeling the joy return.  Slowly but surely, I am laughing again.  A lot.

Joy cannot be contained...it permeates the room you walk in, it fills you and your body relaxes.  My friend, Tamra told me last night, "your face is glowing, you are laughing more...." That was the best thing I've heard in two years.   I am feeling the joy return,  my eyes are beginning to sparkle again with Tinkerbell mischief, I am feeling joy begin to return.... Hurry up and wait....

Adapting...

It's been said we are products of our environment.  To a degree I would disagree. But, I do believe that we take something from every experience, use it, discard it, or store it for later.  I happen to be a master at impersonation, or imitation.  One little inflection in your voice that I pick up on, and you fall victim to my impersonation. It isn't a mean spirited imitation, it's from a comic perspective.  I enjoy people so much, and if they are funny, tell me a funny story, or we have an adventure that makes me laugh, I will relive the story for other people, regaling them in 3D, so they can feel the moment of humor like I did.  Probably could get me in trouble, as I can be horribly, politically incorrect.

I have an Hispanic girlfriend I recently met.  I LOVE her stories.  She has a very strong Spanish accent.  Her personality is so over the top and she is so real, that I can't help but admire her...and imitate her.  I love telling her stories.  In English, with a heavy Spanish accent.  Someday, I'm going to learn Spanish, and because I've practiced the accent so much, I imagine I will pick up the language fast. 

In the three short months I have lived in Phoenix, I have made an extraordinarily large group of friends.  I'm astounded by it really, especially in a group setting, when I look around and realize I know so many of the people at the party.  Not all are close friends of course, but I have gotten close to three or four people that have become very important to me.

I have done a complete about-face from the life I used to have in Washington.  In Washington, where I grew up and raised my children, I felt tremendous pressure to conform to fit it. I looked like the wives of our friends.  I ran in a circle where all of my friends went to the same places for coffee, (Starbucks) we all shopped at Nordstrom, got our nails done, our hair colored at the same place, knew the same people since we were kids.  Very few people in my circle, were new acquaintances.  We all tried to be like each other.  And we were.  We competed in our lives by the ease of our life.  We all vacationed in the usual places...Maui, Cabo, all fantastic vacations accompanied by luxury...fantastic restaurants, five star resorts, spa days....it was a great life.  I was fortunate.  I had a lot of material comforts that most people never even imagine to have.  I am grateful.  I feel fortunate.  I felt empty. 

One of my new and dearest friends here, has an enviable life to me.  She may not see it the way I do, but I love her philosophy of how she lives.  She used to be a corporate attorney with the luxury and trappings of money that epitomizes our country's version of success. Several years ago, she gave it up and walked away from the corporate world, sold her big house, banked some savings, bought a house and took off for two years to travel to exotic locations.  She didn't stay in five star hotels, she backpacked, stayed in hostels, met and lived among the people of these countries and accumulated a vast array of amazing experiences.  She came back to Phoenix, owns an amazing house where people love to gather, doesn't have a steady job, and instead does "projects" that net her enough cash to live the way she likes, and work about three days a week.  Amazing.  I could adapt to that.

Others that I have met, share a lot of the same views and philosophies about this country, our environment, with a deep sense of community and family. I feel as if I am learning something every day from these people.  I haven't lost my own identity in all of this. I still really love expensive shoes and handbags.  I still get my hair colored regularly, I still like my nails to be neat and clean, I still like to eat good food and drink great wine.   But, I am letting go of the things that seem less important now, things I had placed a lot of emphasis on previously.  Things like finding endless errands that make me spend money because I thought I needed the things to help me fit in.  Here, I am surrounded by realness.  I go to networking events that not only introduce me to new people but to new experiences.  I am like a kid walking through FAO Schwartz for the first time.  I am adapting to my new environment.  One that feels more like me.
 
 I always have thought of myself as a square peg in a round hole.  My personality is such that people either really like me, or they really hate me.  Not a whole lot of in between.  No one ever says, "Hey do you know Tam?"  expecting the response "Eehh..she's okay..."  They either gush or think I'm a bitch.

Every experience in our life can affect us in different ways.  I feel fortunate to be a natural optimist.  Maybe it is because I didn't have a tragic childhood that made me want to kill small animals or cut my wrists, but just maybe  bitch a little about the disfunction that most of us experience anyway.  The disfunction didn't ruin me, maul me or leave me incapacitated.  It made me adapt to my surroundings, to the environment in which I was raised.  It shaped me to be the person I am today.  The environment in which I raised my kids was, for the most part good.  I'm positive I wasn't perfect, but my kids had love.  They had acceptance.  They were a little spoiled, but it didn't ruin them.  They have adapted in their lives to their surroundings, and change daily as they mature into full fledged adulthood.

My kids are a little surprised at the way their mom is adapting and changing.  It isn't someone they recognize.  I barely recognize the old me any more.  I am finding myself capable of more empathy, less judgment, a greater capacity of acceptance for different people who came from such different backgrounds and circumstances, as well as a real need and desire for these changes to happen.  I am changing...I am adapting, I am becoming more like the people I spend time with and I am still imitating in 3D.  Some things never change.  A friend of mine posted this on Facebook yesterday...I love it.  "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro".  My kids would probably say I've turned pro in the weird department, because it is so different from the mom they knew.  But I say, I just adapted again.  I am like a chameleon, I adapt and change color according to my environment.  But I am still Tam, just as the Chameleon is still a lizard.  Inside, I've always been this way.

Cleaning out Closets....

The last really shitty year I had was 1993;  2010 was a close second.  It was definitely, not, my year.  This year is already different.  I can feel it.  I made just three resolutions for myself.  They are very personal, and will be challenging to achieve.  But I am determined to make these changes in myself...And no, it has nothing to do with diet and exercise. 

I've always had a visual picture of what the new year looks like.  I picture it as a horseshoe lying horizontally, sideways, rather than inverted.   Half of a racetrack, so to speak.  A beginning and an end.  When Fall hits, I've rounded the curve... moving to the finish.   Some years are better than others.  This past year just sucked.  I had so many obstacles to overcome, I thought I'd never get to New Year's Eve.  At one particularly low point in September, I was so worn out from fighting, that I almost gave up my dreams.  Settling.  It might have been easier.

I have written before how I was searching for answers.  Asking myself hard questions.  Consulting Life coaches, counselors, psychics, vedic astrologers, fortune cookies...anything, anyone...to tell me what to do.  Turns out, I knew the decision I was going to make all along.  I just took a long time to finally do it.  Hurt a lot of people in the process.  Now I am cleaning out, tearing down, starting fresh, and re-building.  Starting with a solid foundation.  An old house remodel... But first, you have to clean...

 Why is it when we are young, we accumulate so much stuff?   House wares, CD's, throw pillows, clothes, shoes... Then as we have kids, we accumulate their stuff; stuffed animals, toys, dance pictures.  I spent the last two years cleaning out my house.  Cleaning out closets.  I found things I haven't seen in over 10 years.  As I sifted through the years of my life, sorting through old ski clothes, Halloween costumes, Christmas decorations, crafts I had abandoned years ago, I had to ask myself "Why did I hang on to this so long?" The things from the house I brought with me to Phoenix were mostly sentimental.  I had one storage container shipped here.  I was walking away from the stuff I accumulated over 28 years.  I no longer wanted to clutter my life with meaningless articles of a life I was through with.  I took photographs from the walls.  Photo albums.  Books I loved.
I am determined to move forward with my life.  I look at what is happening within me, I think of it like cleaning out a closet.  Everything is the messiest when you've taken everything out, trying to figure out what to do with the junk.  There is always a 'give away' pile, a 'throw away' pile and a 'put away' pile. 

As I surveyed the things around me, things that were once such a huge, and seemingly important part of my life;  had now been relegated to being stuffed in a closet, it was hard to decide what to do with these things.

The things I threw away were stupid things like; eliminating the artificial nails, the self tanner, the amount of jewelry I wore, less makeup, the money I spent on clothes and outward appearances.  Don't get me wrong, I'm still high maintenance, I just think more about the "what is the point" part.  Less became more.

Deciding on the things I gave away were more important. Harder to decide if they were valuable enough to keep or things others may like and can use.  Things that meant something to me once.  Things I had to think about a little harder....things like... my lifestyle, my house, my career, my business, my education, my writing, my dreams, my marriage...

Cleaning out that closet was a huge job.  Waaay bigger than I was prepared to take on.  There was so much stuff in that closet.  I was at a loss to figure out which things were important to keep, just in case I might need them, and the things that were completely useless...things that make you wonder why you needed them in the first place.

It took me almost two years to finish cleaning.  The hardest part was deciding what to put away.   Once you gather up the garbage of the throw away pile, it's a little less clutter on the floor.  You look around you and things are starting to have some order.  But you circle around for a while, asking yourself, "When was the last time I used this? Or, will I need this again?  Is it valuable enough to keep...?"

Taking on the new year feels fresh.  Exciting.  Different.  My horoscope actually says it is not a good year for the Ox, but then I don't know if I buy that.  I don't want to jinx it by saying "How bad could it be compared to last year?"  But then, with all of the cleaning I'm doing internally, I realized last night, I still have a lot of shit on the floor.  Lots more to sift through and make decisions based on the importance these things are to me, almost everything in the closet is of no importance.  If it was, why was it in the closet?

Every day is like an epiphany of sorts.  Every new experience is teaching me what is important, and what is not.  Things I can live with, and things I don't want or need.  So many of my conversations I used to have contained the words; "I want, I need"....I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need....I am really  finding out that most of the stuff... I don't need.  And I certainly don't want it anymore. 

I keep trying to fast track everything.  I'm so anxious to get there.  I want to finish cleaning so I can do things I enjoy instead of cleaning out closets.  I have a responsibility to finish the job, or else everything is still that mess on the floor.  Cleaning out closets takes time.  They didn't get stuffed full of shit overnight...they require thought as to what gets tossed and what is kept.  I'm determined to get through 28 years of accumulated "things" that have kept my closets so messy.  I used to tell people all the time, 'outwardly, my house is clean, but open up a closet and I might die from all the crap that can fall on my head.' 


 The one the thing I know I really want again, is love.  Even commitment.  Just not quite yet.  I can't put new things in the closet again.  The new things I put into my life will be useful, mean something, displayed for others to enjoy,  desire for themselves. Romantic love, the next time around for me, will be intentional.  Not a responsibility.  I will decide to love and cherish someone because it is healthy.  Respectful.  Mutually satisfying.  Love that makes you smile and gush because you feel so lucky, and not just the beginning stages...mature, intentional love.  I believe it exists.  I want it.  I need it. But, for now, I will settle for great friends, a community of love, and wait until I stumble upon that "perfect treasure" that can be openly displayed in front of my home.  The treasure that you never have to deliberate it's value in your life...because you already know it,  keeping it front and center, polished and shiny. 

 I'm not going to let 28 years of "stuff" accumulate again.  If I start to fall back into shoving things out of the way, trying to hide them from view, I'm hoping it doesn't take a bunch of meaningless 'things' falling on my head to force me into facing the reality that there is no room left to store the shit.  Right now, it's a constant sifting.  These things take time, you know.  But, hopefully, in the future, it's just an annual Spring Cleaning.