Rest, My Sweet

I don’t know what it is about laying in bed at night that stimulates worry.

Before I completely nod off I turn off the television (yes, every night), I  turn out the lights.  Miraculously, I  am awake as if I had just had a shot of espresso or as if I were late for a flight.  The worrisome questions and second-guessing my life's path lead to a dialogue with myself that reeks of judgments and guilt. 

When will I meet someone?  Will I be financially secure?  Am I following my passion?  What exactly is it?  Why don't I strive harder in accomplishing my goals?  Will my good health continue?  Will the health of my family and friends?  What bills do I have to pay?  Why do I sabotage my relationships?  What do I have to accomplish tomorrow at work?  Why didn’t I do my laundry and clean this weekend instead of running around with my friends?  Is it possible that no man will love me again? What will I pack for lunch?  What’s my exercise plan for the week? Why don’t I repair those relationships that need my attention?

Should I get up and eat something, because I’m pretty hungry?

My clock says that it is 3:04 a.m. and the questions go on and on.  I am unable to turn my mind off and now have grave concerns about the level of exhaustion I will certainly experience tomorrow at work.  (...and here come the judgments.)  I’m quite certain that my lack of adequate exercise doesn’t help my insomnia, let alone my enormous amounts of caffeine I consumed throughout the day.  The nap that I felt so entitled to languish over this afternoon might not have been the best idea, in retrospect. 

Stop agonizing already.

Sometimes I think my thoughts as my adversary, as whenever I’m alone with them, self-doubt and an uncertain outlook seem to gain strength.  No problems are ever solved when my anxiety starts to set in. 

For now, I’ll just settle for laying back down, closing my eyes and resting my body.  I’ll breathe deeply, meditating on a beautiful scene…a calm, summer day at a park perhaps.  I will pray to God for spiritual peace, a restful night’s sleep and a positive and energetic tomorrow.

Just One More, Please!

I don’t know what happened to me today.

My girlfriend and I decided to go to AJ Bombers for some of the best burgers I’ve had.  This place is a bar…the kind where you can throw your peanut shells on the floor.  Their burgers are simple and simply to die for.  Neither of us dressed up.  She wore jeans and a top and I wore yoga pants, a tank top and a cardigan sweater.

We bellied up to the bar where the cute twenty-something server / bartender smiled as he served our drinks and explained how to fill out our own orders on the order forms.  My friend and I saw that there was a “Barrie Burger” which is basically a bacon-cheeseburger with chunky peanut butter on it.  We were discussing the odd combination when we heard someone say “It’s really good”. 

 

The other young man we saw when we looked up was the visual equivalent of a breathtaking fireworks display. Of course, they’re always cute when they’re in their mid-twenties.

Thank God I groomed today.

I don’t think either of us spoke for 15 full seconds before she pulled herself together to smartly ask, “Is it?”

We all chit-chatted a bit, but honestly all I remember seeing was long blonde hair, tied back in a ponytail, a scruffy face, and blue eyes.  He, too, must have been twenty-something, and while I allow myself to rationalize why it would make sense to be with him, I am spellbound by his eye contact.  I love when I feel sparks. 

He definitely wouldn’t be my type (unless he was a cool doctor or professor) but he definitely had “It”, whatever “It” is.  I have to describe him from memory because I could barely make eye contact with him again.  It truly was like looking into the sun.

He tried to strike up conversation with me a number of times but every time he spoke, I looked at him and instinctually averted my eyes, all the while chiding myself for not having better game.  I tried answering his questions, but didn’t have the wherewithal to ask him questions in return.  I’m 44 and look great for Christ’s sake, I try to tell myself.  He would probably love to be with me. 

This internal dialogue was intended to squash the countering notions of which I was certain he had understood right away that he was giving me the biggest thrill of my life.

My friend said that while she was looking at him, he was looking at me.  That sort of pressure almost made me collapse onto the floor in some sort of epileptic fit. 

We ate our messy burgers and paid our tab.  (By the way, she loved her Barrie Burger!)

When we left she made it a point to say good-bye to him, and after his good-bye he stared at us on our way out.  Is there a way to walk that would make my butt look higher and tighter, I wondered as I did my best model walk out of the establishment. While I thought I was over my “cougar” moments, he was certainly one who I’d consider cougaring with just one more time.

Only The Heart Knows

My hometown is only a 3 ½ hour drive from where I currently live.  So when my oldest, or rather longest friend, Kelly called me to tell me that she would be there to visit her parents, my decision to make the trek was a no-brainer.

Kelly and I have been best friends since the 2^nd grade.  In the 2^nd grade, we were the smallest in our class and continued to be until the time that we both graduated.  At that time, our teacher arranged all of the desks (the kind that had the tabletop that lifted up so the students could store things underneath) in pairs.  Kelly and I were always assigned to sit together – probably because we were so cute and well-behaved.  She was always the one who was good at math and I in English.  Because the number line was taped at the top of my desk, whenever she won the timed tests (which was frequently), I always felt that she should share her treat-prize with me.  I, on the other hand, shared every single treat with her when I won for excelling in my spelling tests. 

Our memories were very different, as I never thought that she did.  This became a long-standing debate until about 20 years ago when we visited Mrs. Beenk, who not only remembered us but recalled that it was I who didn’t share my treats.  Funny, my recollection of myself is that I was much more angelic than that.

In 5^th grade, our city changed the school districts which meant that I had to attend a different school.  Kelly and I have never gone to the same school since.

Throughout our lives, she became the traveler, making major moves all over the world every few years, while I enjoyed the stability of having a place I call home.  The life she explored led her to law school, where she was homecoming queen at her university and I majored in accounting, worked three part-time jobs and remained anonymous at mine.  When she decided that she no longer wished to be an environmental attorney, she decided to drop it all and go to film school full-time so that she could shoot films to bring awareness to the various calamities that continue to occur in this world.  My career continues to cautiously grow in my chosen field for now I am comptroller for a health care facility.  Her wanderlust and my search for comfort and stability make us such an unlikely pair. We both giggle whenever anyone asks us, “why are you friends?” for it appears to most that we have nothing in common.

We are the last women of all whom we know that have never married.  Our perspectives on marriage are now completely embedded in our foundations.  Neither of us wanted children.  While children may be great for most, we both seemed to prefer the carefree lifestyle that comes from not having kids.  Now that we freely acknowledge that our biological clocks are not an issue, is marriage necessary at all?  Wouldn’t being in long term relationships be enough?  It’s so nice to verbalize our philosophies whenever we’re together as we always seem to be on the same page because we are always in the same stage of life. 

We always joked that when we retire we would pool all of our money and retire together on an island (or all over the world).  I’m not entirely sure that we won’t.

During our last visit, Kelly and I had designs on going out and partying like we did when we were young.  We didn’t factor in that we’re old…or “older” rather.  Instead of going to a bar and taking a cab home, we sat on plush couches at a wine bar listening to an acoustic artist, Jordan Danielson, at The Grape Life Wine Emporium.  Both of us being gregarious women, we chatted with strangers.  We hung out with Jordan and his girlfriend.  We laughed the honest laugh and experienced the utter joy of being together that only comes from being with someone who will never hurt you, who will always love you, and who has taken you into her heart.

While Kelly and I sat together and watched the show, it felt reminiscent of the days when we would sit on the couch to watch our Saturday cartoons after a sleepover.  Rather than her mother pouring us orange juice, we were served wine.  Instead of our families around us, there were friendly strangers.  Instead of talking about what we would do that day, we were discussing our lives’ plans.  We still look for the fun in life.  We still dream of our next adventures.  We were no longer eight years old brightly awaiting our futures; we are mature women who still anticipate the joys and sorrows that come from aging together.

What is interesting to me is that when I look at Kelly, I don’t necessarily see her as she is today.  I see her history.  I look at her with an understanding that only combined souls can comprehend.  I feel her vulnerabilities.  I see the strengths in her that took a lifetime to build. 

We know our friendship is sacred.  It’s not like family.  It’s much more than that.  After all, when we were eight years old we chose each other as soul mates.  

Is This What They Call A Mid-Life Crisis?

Something interesting happened when I turned 40.  I learned that the rules that I created for myself were no longer applicable.  For instance, I now prefer small gatherings to large crowds, and my circle of friends is now very select.    A job is just that…a J-O-B and it does not take precedence over my own time.  While the money may be good, I have my limits on the devotion I will offer entities that will not love me back. I enjoy the time I spend alone and no longer feel that a person can fill a void that only I own. 

I can now sleep with a man on my terms rather than his and understand that sex is just an act, while love is an energy reserved for someone very special.  It’s now much easier to compartmentalize the men who cross my path which helps to alleviate the confusion that eventually seemed to occur when I was younger. 

The skepticism, however, is the downside of my life after 40.  One may chalk it up to experience, as sometimes the strongest lessons we learn in life are the ones that resulted in getting our teeth kicked in.  Getting my hopes up is not something that happens often anymore.  Oftentimes the excitement and giddiness is lost as a result of too much analysis.

I recently realized that my childhood dreams of love and marriage were not that of my friends.  While most little girls dreamt of a big wedding, I never envisioned wearing a white wedding dress and planning my own wedding.  I always knew that the marriage was more important than the wedding itself.  The family that all of my friends wanted was never in my picture of my future.  The house in the suburbs was in no way something that I desired.  However, when I was little girl, I felt that I would meet and marry my best friend.  We would have a love that is unconditional and filled with mutual respect.  I still have that dream.

I wanted to travel, to work as a professional in a career that I was passionate about, and have someone I loved in my life.  For years, I have talked about moving to Boston, but have come up with a million reasons not to do it – either it’s too big or too expensive or I’m not ready start over.  The excuses never end.  I always loved writing but chose the sensible route of studying accounting.  In my mind’s eye, I felt that if sensibility equaled safety. 

I have since revised my equation to say that sensibility equals a very, very mundane life.  I do not consider these mistakes, but the choices I have made have led me to a place where I’m bored.  Is this a mid-life crisis?  I’m also wondering if I have the energy to do all of the things I have wanted to do.

This is the point where I believe like people start to consider their “bucket lists”, which for those of you who haven’t seen the movie is the list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket.

I have now started to dream of my future.  Now my vision of life is filled with travel, romance, and life experiences that capture the essence of life.  I want to see the Sistine Chapel, to walk the Great Wall of China, and to visit the Egyptian Pyramids.  I want to taste the ethnic cuisines in the countries that they represent.  I want to be active and healthy.  I want to be open to moving.  I want to perform in a play.  I want to be an activist for cause.  I want to utilize my God-given talent, as I believe that we all have one.  I want to do something great.  I want to be intrinsically satisfied with my accomplishments.  I want to live without fear.

I looked forward to turning 40 because these feelings of change would come to fruition.  I experience these changes daily. While there are periods where I do not feel quite like myself (a.k.a. lost), I eagerly anticipate the end result and expect that I will accomplish everything I set out to do.  This process consists of taking the steps in the direction that I feel I should have gone the first time around.  I believe that it’s important to be gentle with myself in making these decisions rather than judging myself for waiting so long to pursue the necessary measures.  Because this is a process, I would be remiss if I didn’t add to my wish list the quality of patience. The accomplishments are the evolutionary process of the person I want to be in the life I want to live. 

I’m not worried, though.  I’ll get there.  I’m confident of that much.

The Painful Truth

My mother, my sister and I visited my Filipino aunt and cousins – all women - in San Diego, CA. I haven’t seen this part of my family in over 30 years and have been cheerfully anticipating our visit.  I envisioned warm moments filled with ethnic food and laughter.  Together we would bask in the happiness and successes that all we cousins have all accomplished in our personal and professional lives.  We would reflect upon our similarities and differences as women and embrace each other’s lives with both fascination and respect.  

It turns out that I come from a long line of beautiful women.  This is certainly a blessing to them and a curse to me.  I know this because my aunt and my mother reign it over me as if I am the unfortunate, deformed child who has a cleft lip.  I wish I could exchange her for a woman who is more pleasant to look at, my aunt seems to imply.  She’s not the beautiful one, but at least I have another; look in the direction of her sister my mother telepathically responds.

I know this because their lack of tact allows them to unapologetically tell me the fact that I’m not thin, ergo I’m unattractive.  Evidently, when English is your second language, you can say whatever your want.  These comments come in the form of You should eat more fruits and vegetables because it’s not so fatty, to That would be good exercise for you or You must wear a large, right?

Oh, Leana, your sister is so thin and sexy.

They actually discussed the notion that it might be better if they didn’t say such things while I’m in the room however my sister, already having received the prerequisite endorsement from my aunt, sadly had to inform them that it’s not okay to acknowledge such things at all.  I know, because I was sitting at the table with them and listened to the entire exchange.  It took all of the strength I could muster to choke back the tears long enough to make it to the other room before I could no longer control their release.

I am a little surprised, however, that they haven’t linked the fact that I am still single to the fact that I’m so hideous.  So maybe I’m overreacting as they haven’t necessarily touched on the fact that I’m completely useless, but there’s no mention as to what they actually like about me either.  It’s almost like they don’t know what to say to me because I AM the elephant in the room.  Not much interest is given to me regarding my career, my interests nor my life.  Nobody seems to be grateful that I’m alive at all, given the emergency surgery I had four years ago which resulted in complications that almost killed me.

Instead, the focus is on my weight and I am so thoroughly over with it.  While I wished to avoid any mad drama, I have made clear how unacceptable their comments are.  I’m quite certain that my maternal relations suffer from a mild form of turrets syndrome that has permanently damaged their verbal filter. Rather than listen, they think aloud rather than examining the necessity of their words.  Their remarks, while designed to be helpful, slash at my heart like repeated wounds to my soul.

I have therefore revised my picture of this particular family reunion to a more realistic one – a visit with a relative with whom I do not share the loving closeness one always hopes for in long lost relatives.  An interesting development to my visit is reconnecting with three of my cousins and meeting their wonderful husbands, where I found the kindred spirit that I had hoped to find but in a different context, for we have all fallen prey to such negatively charged comments.  Rather than sharing our experiences with disdain, we were somehow able to laugh our way through it, which somehow took away the feeling of isolation as well as helped to rally the strength for the next surprise attack.  I definitely look forward to our next encounter.

As for my aunt, she acknowledges that she is a lot to take, but her intentions and her heart are in the right place.  Despite her loud and overbearing personality, she loves me very much and, with the distance, I have decided that I love her too.

The Things I Don't Confess

Does every woman know how it feels to be the one looking at him while he’s looking at her? This isn’t a discussion of a point-in-time, but rather akin to survival – like breathing – that is so inherent in one’s existence. You mechanically go through the motions of socializations, career advancements, loving friendships, laughter and happiness; yet behind the veneer you can’t stop yourself from wondering when he will avail himself to you because you are so certain that he will. You find yourself looking around in almost every public situation wondering if you will run into him, and if you do, if he will be attracted to you. The lie within is always tainted by the reality that you know that you are not a consideration in his future. Never have been, for he is always longing for someone else. This is the beign of my existence; that while they always liked me, they never, ever loved me nearly enough to want me to stay.

I admit that my hopes and my dreams are girlish notions. I believe that God has a perfect man for me; a best friend, a partner, and a perfect lover. That person will be more than what I, in my finite wisdom, could have ever idealized. At the perfect age of 44, I struggle with concerns of the thoughts that he may never enter my life. Am I one of those women who never connect on a spiritual level with another? Would that be so bad? There are plenty of my contemporaries who are not married, many of whom do not feel the need; the most notable is Oprah, the queen of the world.

I have deleted his number from my phone so many times. While I have had too many horrifying drunk dialing episodes, my sober self knows that enough is enough. Stop thinking of him, I have to consciously remind myself. The problem is that I’m so used to thinking of someone all of the time even if he doesn’t care about me.

Thinking about him makes me feel like I have something to strive for. I find myself dressing to leave the house wondering if he would think I’m beautiful if I happen to run into him yet knowing that the probability of encountering into him when I look like shit is more likely. When I do something great, I wish that he knew so that he would be proud of me.

My irrational self who has no dignity wonders if he would like to run into me as well. Does he ever think of me? Does he wonder how I’m doing? Does he wish that he was free to see me? Does he miss me? I have never understood how two people could have such strong chemistry and share great laughter, but this woman, who seemingly makes him so miserable, is the one who possesses his heart? Let him go, I know. It’s ridiculous to spend one minute thinking of the man who doesn’t reciprocate. I deserve at least that much.

A very wise friend told me what I already knew, that I am the person who looks at every potential relationship like a book. I immediately jump to the last page and decide on whether or not I would like to read that book. We’ve all heard that before. What I have never heard was that while the book may end badly, the story itself could be great. By the same token, while the book may end well, the story could be awful.

Ironically enough, both the object of my affection and I have opened the book and read the same last page. We both know that the end of the story will result in a parting of the ways. While he would rather not read the book of me, I am all about savoring each and every delicious chapter.

I understand that my friend did not mean for me to interpret his message in an application of him, therefore, I have officially decided that I am open for business. I am willing to say “Yes” when all I want to do is to say “No” to the men that ask me out…within reason of course. I am not the only woman who believes that if I sat somewhere by myself I could attract the grossest man there, but I bet I could win the contest. Be that as it may, I am not deterred and will continue my search.

I know that keeping in touch with him or seeing him or keeping him abreast of my whereabouts will not make him want me more. I know that if he doesn’t want me he’s not worth the energy of my thoughts. I am a lovable person just as I am and I deserve a man who makes me his priority. I know all of this in my head. Perhaps this obsession I have is because I need something to fill my bored and seemingly empty heart. I need love just like anyone else and long for it in such a way that my missing it somehow seems to justify this behavior. I don’t necessarily view this mentality as unhealthy because I know how true emotional angst feels. In your forties, you realize that some things are not worth agonizing over. Deaths, divorce – hell, even world events – are enough to cry over. A boy who isn’t interested simply isn’t that big of a deal.

At my age, it gets harder and harder to convince myself that I am happy not being in a relationship. It seems so contrary as a woman of today who has a career, is confident and independent to admit that I have the same romantic dreams as most women…I would like to get married someday. About ten years ago I tried online dating only to be frustrated with the process of what felt like working through a barrage of interviews when all I wanted to do was date and have fun doing it. From that point on, while online dating is fine for some, I decided that I will only date organically. I still believe in the idea that we can spot that next special someone from across the room. I have chosen to decide upon whether or not I would like to see a man based upon chemistry, not a published profile. I like the “cat-and-mouse” game…the “dance”, if you will. I believe in love at first sight. I have faith in the belief that when I meet “The One” we will both know. I will wait for long stretches of time until I find that man, who comes few and far between, who truly trips my trigger.

Suffice it to say, I am not afraid of being alone, for I know how to be single. I’m blessed to know in my heart that I’ve truly never been alone. I have a circle of friends who love and believe in me, and who support me and include me in their lives. The husbands of my friends are offered up to me as men who will give me the guy’s point of view, by my drinks, and make sure that I’m as comfortable as their female counterparts. I rather enjoy my own company over that of others in many cases, which means that I will never be stuck in a bad relationship simply because I am afraid of being without. Some things are just not worth my time. Because of this, I have spent much of my adult life not being in a relationship. For this reason I oftentimes feel like I am unrelatable to most. I have gone to more weddings, parties, events, and other gatherings “stag” more often than I care to say. In fact, when I do have a date, its almost a spectacle placed on display for public consumption. I’m quite certain that I am the subject of speculation as well as pity, but not to be deterred, I am over letting it get the best of me.

I do worry that as I get older I will become less flexible, more uncompromising, and overall less likable. I know myself with all of my flaws. While when I first meet someone I do try to show him my best self, but in the end I am apologetically Me.

I definitely have a type. He is generally lean and athletic, fair skinned with brown to reddish hair. He is likely to have a professional career and be a leader in his profession. To most, he is considered to be a nice guy. He will never stop a room with his physical appeal, but at the end of the day, despite his nerdy nature he becomes very sought after. He is always a great catch. In short, he’s the man who was the boy in high school you would have dated rather than pining after the captain of the football team.