It Isn't Messy, It's Celebrating

“My hair isn’t messy; it’s celebrating”… that’s what I said to my aunt who was visiting this past weekend. She hadn’t seen me since my hair grew back and before she commented on the gray or that it was windblown or suggest I “style” it, I beat her to it.  Instead, she loved the “celebrating” comment and only wanted to see how long it had gotten and how soft it felt.

Since my hair began to grow back, only one person has told me that my “messy hair” didn’t make a good impression and that maybe I should do something with it if I wanted to meet a guy, I still get a lot of, “Have you thought of cutting it?” Or “You should style it.” Or “Why don’t you use a flat iron?” these suggestions may not be negative but they all still say, “You would look better if…” which also means, “In my opinion you don’t look your best.”

I’m not bitching here. I’m bringing this up because I DO feel I look my best. I think looking my best happens when I’m feeling my best. I meant what I said to my aunt, my hair is celebrating. And, I’m encouraging it.

When my hair fell out I was only 26 years old. All of it fell out in a matter of weeks. I didn’t know why it was falling out either. Was it a serious health problem, a side effect of some medication, was it stress? I suffered through a few painful experimental treatments and several tests and procedures before those questions were answered. Then I had to deal with the fact that it might never grow back anyway.

After a woman spends thirteen years of her life having to wear wigs and dealing with all that that entails, trust me, she can deal with comments about messy or un-styled hair.

Here’s the truth… I don’t cut my hair because I‘m not sure how long it’ll stay with me. I don’t dye the gray because gray doesn’t bother me. I’m 42 years old and if some gray is the only tip off to my actual age, then I can’t complain. I don’t “style” my hair because it won’t hold a “style” since it still falls out a great deal. I don’t mind when it’s windblown because it means I didn’t have to worry about my wig blowing off instead.

When I look in the mirror I don’t see an un-styled do, gray hairs or messy waves. I see my face; my eyes, my nose, my smile. I see my body working correctly. I see less tension in my neck and shoulders since I’m no longer paranoid about keeping my wig on straight. I see that I’m free to go out whatever the weather. I can go swimming in the summer. Have a snowball fight in the winter. Go on roller coasters and into haunted houses. And, let a guy romantically run his hand through my hair. 

Outside of losing a loved one, losing my hair was the most difficult thing I've ever had to endure. I learned the hard way who was there for me and who wasn’t. I learned what I wore and who I impressed took a backseat to who I was and who I let into my life and that how I felt about myself was more important than how others felt about me. Instead of losing my sense of self I found MYSELF. Instead of fear and weakness I found inner strength.

Think about it, men who often have no problem picking their noses, scratching their crotches or passing gas in front of others can't handle losing their hair. The things some of them do in order to cover up their hair loss and I’m going to worry about my hair being messy? That’s why I’ve made a deal with my hair… the day I begin to contemplate a comb-over is the day I will stop taking my own advice. But, until then, my hair is free to celebrate as she wishes.

William's Recipe

Coquito for those of you who don’t know is an eggnog drink made with coconut. It’s a traditional Christmas drink. The basic ingredients are eggs, coconut and rum. How much of each can vary, then there is what type of rum to use and whether to use real coconut or cream of coconut.

I have a Coquito recipe that I take a lot of pride in making. It was handed down to me by my grandmother’s cousin, William just before he died of cancer. My grandmother and I were visiting him and while she was making him something to eat he and I sat talking. We were talking about when he was young and the trouble he, his sister and my grandmother would get into. I don’t remember how the subject of his Coquito recipe came up but it did. I told him I wished I knew how to make it. He told my grandmother to get him a paper and pen. He then handed them to me and said, “Here, write this down.” He didn’t just give me the recipe but told me why and how he decided to put in each ingredient. The conversation then went from his simple recipe to other family traditions and then to past holidays that he and my grandmother remembered. It was a really special afternoon for me. I was barely into my 20’s when William gave me his recipe and for a couple of years after he passed I kept it in one of my journals.

When I moved into my own place I thought it might be nice to make it even though I’m not much of a “kitchen” person. I don’t enjoy cooking or baking. If there was a way to nourish myself without having to actually prepare food or eat I’d be the first in line. I figured if it sucked no one would know because I was alone in the house. To my own surprise the Coquito turned out to be delicious. And, now it’s one of the few things I like to make. I make it every year and though I’ve been offered money for it, I only ever give it as a gift. It’s a way of me passing on the love and laughter of that day.

Unfortunately I trusted someone who didn’t understand that it wasn’t just a drink but something special. An old friend was planning a Christmas gathering at his place and wanted me to give him my recipe. He said he’d looked up different recipes but hadn’t come across anything like mine. He knew I didn’t share it but he figured by asking really nicely and by promising not to give the recipe out to anyone else that maybe I would give it to him. I told him that I’d think about it. About a week later he called again. I gave in and to my regret, recited the recipe over the phone.

My “friend” then took William’s recipe and added a different type of rum to it. He didn’t take out the original rum; he simply added his rum to the rest of the ingredients. He said the addition made the recipe HIS. And, since he hadn’t told anyone that the original recipe came from me “technically” he didn’t break his promise either when he eventually shared the recipe. Adding insult to injury he insisted that he improved the recipe. He said that it was good before but with his changes it was “better”. To prove his point he gloated about all the compliments he’d received. I felt betrayed. He took compliments and credit for something that wasn’t his. It wasn’t an ego thing on my part. I felt good about my Coquito not only because it tasted good but because I was sharing part of my family story. It may be my Coquito to those who know me but I always give credit to William. I don’t know, maybe I am being too sensitive. Honestly, since I don’t work much in the kitchen maybe adding or subtracting one ingredient really does make it an entirely new thing. I have shared the recipe with two more people since then. But I’ve decided that from this Christmas forward I will no longer pass on William’s recipe. I’d rather share the Coquito I make instead. My Coquito comes with more than ingredients. It has a story, a history. It’s the story of a day I spent with my family. It’s a story of tradition, of culture and of respect for what we inherit. And, although I add my own love and friendship to the recipe before it's shared, it still belongs to William.

Married Men

Not long ago a married man I know literally had the Cojones to say, “You can’t hold it against me that I’m married, I didn’t know you then.” REALLY!!! Really??? I mean, he said it as if it was logical. He felt I should give him a “chance” because it wasn’t his fault that he got married (and remains married) since he didn’t know he would meet me in the future. I wasn’t completely sure how to sum him up. Did he actually believe he was making sense? Did he think I was dumb enough to fall for his warped reasoning? Or was he just a complete asshole and figured he’d throw bullshit out there until something stuck? Whatever his thought process I made it very clear he didn’t have a chance EVER with me.

Unfortunately, he is not the first married man who has tried to convince me to get involved with them. He isn’t even the second, or the third… in fact, as of today, I can count four off the top of my head who are pursuing me. Unfortunately, again, this is not a new thing for me. I honestly don’t know if more married men than usual come on to me or if in general married men just come on to any woman they feel may be willing.

What makes them think I’m “willing” is what I’m trying to figure out. Do I give off a “desperate” vibe? I’m still single and in my forties so maybe that seems desperate. Yet, married men came on to me when I was in my twenties so that couldn’t always be the reason. Maybe because I live alone they feel I’m in need of “company”? Maybe they think I need a man around to do the “manly” things? Who the hell knows what they tell themselves… and I mean that, “what they tell themselves”!!! Because somewhere inside they have to KNOW that they’re lying to themselves as much as they’re lying to me. Seriously, what could they really offer me that would make the situation sound good? Basically, they have nothing I want or need. In the end it is simply self-centeredness on their part. They aren’t thinking of anyone but themselves. They aren’t thinking of their wives, their kids and they sure as hell aren’t thinking of me.

Their wives deal with (and have dealt with) them for years. They deal with reality. Smelly feet. Dirty laundry. Morning breath. Beer belly’s. In-laws. Bills. Mood swings.

Married men say they’re staying because of the kids or because they’ve invested too much into the relationship. If they leave they’ll have to pay spousal support, child support or split the assets. They care for their wives but they don’t love them like they once did. Yadda f*ckin’ Yadda. Come on… I’m supposed to believe in and trust someone’s promises when they’re lying (and obviously aren’t keeping the promises they made) to their wives and families.

They tell me that they will treat me like a Queen, buy me gifts, and take me on trips. They’ll satisfy me sexually too. All I have to do is hmmmmm… oh, yes, have sex with them. Sounds like prostitution to me. You give me some time with your body and in exchange I will give you payment. Now, I personally have no issue with women selling sex if that’s what they want to do. It’s a woman’s right to do what she wants with her body. (*Good topic for another post)

But, has it even occurred to these men that they are in essence asking me to sell my body? Of course not, I mean my feelings aren’t even on their radar.

The arrogance! Honestly, if they sat for a moment and thought about it they might come to the realization that what they are offering is not a bargain for me. The only one who would gain anything would be them. They get to pretend they’re someone else for awhile and they get to have sex with me which apparently is pretty important to them since they make all sorts of offers just for the opportunity.

What is in it for me? I get to be quiet when the wife or children call. I get to have a code name in their cell phone. I get to see them for a few hours on a random weekday when they’re “working late.”

Yes, sometimes there are gifts, which are nice but hey... I can buy things for myself. Trips… I’ve traveled around the world, never relying on a man to finance it. I’m capable of buying myself dinner, paying my own rent and anything else a man can do/give to me. So, basically it comes down to my grand prize being… sex with a married man.

I’m in my forties; I have had my share of sexual experiences. I have had boring, “Why did I waste my time?” kind of sex, I have had mind-blowing, “OMG”, kind of sex and I’ve had the “I satisfy myself more than any man ever could” kind of sex. But, so far I have not had the kind of sex that is so wonderful that I would willingly allow myself to feel “less than” the strong, incredible person I am, in order to keep getting it.

I mean, we aren’t talking about Ryan Reynolds, Ryan Gosling or I don’t know… any other hot Hollywood guy who may not be named Ryan but who makes your mouth water when they take their shirt off, kind of man. The physical part of sex is not hard to find it’s the sensual compatibility that connects people that makes it special. If it’s only going to be physical then you need to be spectacular in the ways that sexually count and if it’s going to be more than physical you need to be available.

You want to turn me on? Find me a retirement plan that I can depend on. Stimulate my mind with conversation. Make me laugh. Respect me. Pull out a chair or hold a door for me. Enjoy my company when I have no makeup on and no cleavage showing. Most importantly though… start out by Being Single.

Thank You for the Reminder

 

Thank you for hurting my feelings; I was reminded of the importance of kindness.

Thank you for pointing out my flaws; I was reminded of my assets.

Thank you for teasing me; I was reminded to have a sense of humor.

Thank you for speaking down to me, I was reminded to stay on my toes.

Thank you for breaking my heart; I was reminded that true love is still out there.

Thank you for deceiving me; I was reminded of those I could rely on.

Thank you for lying to me, I was reminded to believe in myself.

Thank you for surprising me, I was reminded to be aware of my surroundings.

Thank you for turning your back on me, I was reminded of who is always there.

Thank you for denying me your guidance; I was reminded to follow my own instincts.

Thank you for labeling me; I was reminded that I am an individual.

Thank you for calling me names, I was reminded to always define myself.

Thank you for talking about me; I was reminded that I too have had an impact on your life.

Your bad behavior is not about ME at all, it’s about your own feelings of inadequacy.

So, I wish for you more than what you ever wished for me… May you come across kinder people than yourself while on your life’s journey and may you one day find your own peace.

So Mote It Be

Missin' the Kissin'

I’ve written what I love about being single… here are some of the (family friendly) things I love about NOT being single…

Holding Hands

His hands on my hips as he pulls me towards him

His hand on my lower back when I walk ahead of him in a crowd

Standing closer than necessary while waiting on a line

Full body to body hugs

Kissing…

            A kiss hello

            A kiss good-bye

            A kiss for no reason at all…

            A kiss while stopped at a red light

            A kiss in the elevator…

            A kiss on the hand

            A kiss on the cheek

            A kiss on the shoulder

            A kiss on the neck… that makes me shiver

Being called Baby

Him waiting for me outside the Ladies room

Sharing each other’s dinner

Laughing at inside jokes

Cuddling while watching TV

Reaching for each other in the morning (before even opening our eyes)

Making up after a disagreement

Changing clothes without going into another room

Holding his keys in my purse 

Wearing his jacket in a cold theater

Wearing his shirt to bed

Comfortable silence

Just sharing space... him watching the game, me reading a book

Seeing my picture when he opens his wallet

Getting a text of “XOXO” in the middle of a busy day

Hearing his voice on the phone before going to bed when we’re apart

And … the comfort of making plans

;-)

A New Path

I am a Pagan.
I come from a pretty diverse spiritual background and so, I feel Paganism best encompasses that diversity.

I have people in my life from many different religious and spiritual backgrounds and I love it, it’s amazing. When a person is strong in their own beliefs there is no need to convince anyone else of that. Their path is "Their" path, not necessarily "The" path. Since they know where they stand, they can share in another persons spiritual celebration knowing it’s simply a sharing of spirit. It’s kind of like learning a new language or visiting another country. English may be your first language but you don’t suddenly become Hispanic by learning Spanish and you don’t become Italian by visiting Italy. It’s a wonderful thing to learn the way others celebrate their faiths and to find the similarities to what your core system of beliefs are, it doesn’t have to be a threat.
To me, anyone who believes in a positive way of living and who treats others with kindness, consideration and respect is on the same path as I am whatever they decide to label it.

I grew up in a Catholic family who also practiced “Espiritismo” which is Spanish for Spiritualism. Through family and friends I was exposed to different paths of Christianity, Santeria, Judaism, Buddhism and Wicca. Until about a month ago I was part of a spiritual group that was quite eclectic. Members came from many different spiritual paths and we were able to merge the different belief systems with a Progressive magical path. I know, it’s a pretty vague and loose description and I am choosing, at least for now, to keep it that way. It has nothing to do with secrecy or embarrassment concerning my involvement; it is out of consideration for the present group members. Of course I can’t completely avoid mentioning the group either since I write so personally on here and the group has been such a huge part of my spiritual and social life for the past several years. I can only do my best to find a balance between privacy and honesty.

Much of who I am right now in my life and many of the changes I am making are due to my role in and what I learned as a part of that group. My time with them will always be a valued part of my life. And, I will treasure and carry the lessons, the experiences and the people with me wherever I go.

That being said… I realized a few weeks ago that I needed to make some personal changes and becoming a Solitary Practitioner was one of them. It was not an easy choice but for months I kept finding myself at the same place, at a crossroads with paths leading in different directions of learning.

Guiding me toward a Solitary journey were my experiences meeting new people, many who followed a different path or a variation of what my path has been; students, teachers and elders who not only shared their wisdom with me but also listened to my thoughts and answered my many questions. I had that feeling I get when I’m in a huge library or bookstore. When there are just so many books to read, you wish you could just let them seep into you. I wanted to learn everything I could from each person I met, let their knowledge wash over me and seep into my spirit. It sounds a bit hokey and New-Agey but it wasn’t just my mind waking up, it was my very spirit.

So, regardless of my hesitation, I knew that I had to take a chance and see what’s waiting for me ahead. I’m nervous yet I’m also looking forward to it.

A "soon to come post"... Being a Solitary

Blessed Be      )O(

Respecting Boundaries

A simple legal  definition of harassment according to Black's Law Dictionary, is: "A course of conduct directed at a specific person that causes substantial emotional distress in such person and serves no legitimate purpose" or "Words, gestures, and actions which tend to annoy, alarm and abuse (verbally) another person."

I have to admit I am sensitive to certain behaviors that I consider “stalking indicators”. Unfortunately, it’s from experience that I've become hyper-aware of domineering or overly-inconsiderate behavior, which makes my guard go up. Often in a "Mama Bear defending her cubs" way.

I’ll start by explaining that I’m a survivor of stalking. I mean that in the very real sense of the word. It isn’t for dramatic effect or me playing a victim, I was literally stalked. I was watched while going to and from work and while out meeting family or friends. I’d get calls from him telling me exactly what I’d worn that day and where I’d gone. If I didn’t answer my phone I’d get messages with just breathing, or long winded rants or straight out threats. Sometimes there were so many messages that my answering machine would become full. As I did everything I could to avoid this person and live my life as normal as possible things just got worse. Paying attention didn’t help, telling him to leave me alone didn’t help and ignoring him didn’t help. First he begged for me to listen, to give him another chance. Then I was cursed at for “thinking I was too good for him” Next step was being threatened physically because I needed to “learn my lesson”.

This experience was an actual stalking but it started with basic harassment. Harassment doesn’t always lead to but can be a potential sign of stalker behavior. For me, the most important indicator is when a person doesn’t accept that No means No. Doesn’t matter whether you believe someone really mean yes, the fact that they said No means you have to step back. I not only find it annoying as hell but I find it disrespectful when I say, “No thank you”, and someone keeps pushing me. To me it says that they either don’t care what I want or they feel that I don’t know what I want. I take great offense to both things because both imply I’m incapable of making my own decisions. If someone doesn’t listen to you when you say No to minor things what will happen when it really counts? No other time is it more important to stand ones ground than when someone is a threat to you. When someone tries to get in the way of you caring for yourself, be it physically or emotionally you should protect yourself. And, the first step is to speak up. Be clear about your boundaries. Don’t we teach our children to speak up when they feel uncomfortable about their personal space being invaded? We teach them that whether it’s a stranger or family member that they have the right to speak up. Yet, as an adult speaking up when we feel threatened on any level other than physically it’s considered being dramatic or difficult? That simply doesn’t make sense. Saying “Hey, I said NO and I mean it” is important for us to express whenever we feel lines are being crossed. Why should it be only acceptable when there’s a physical threat? And, expressing it doesn’t have to be aggressive either, only clearly stated.

For a healthy relationship to exist one needs to be open to compromise and there is a certain amount of give and take but when one person can’t or won’t give then there is no more relationship. Look, I’m not saying to be a jerk about breaking up with someone. Start by explaining why things aren’t working for you any longer. Be kind, we’ve all had heartbreak before and its hell. Sometimes a friendship can grow after a breakup if there’s genuine caring and respect for one another. I’m pro-explanation, it creates dialog. But, when you are put in a position where your “explanation” isn’t enough, then you need to stop and move on. Explaining for the sake of healing or easing a difficult situation is kind and often healthy for both sides. But “having” to explain yourself for the sake of approval (often multiple times) is something totally different. Unless you’re in a court of law or you expect others to clean up your messes, you don’t need to defend your choices. What I’m talking about here is when you attempt a kind and considerate, “this is why I want out” conversation and the other person refuses to give up. I mean, I’ve literally had guys say to me, “You can break up with me but I’m not breaking up with you.” Ummm, if that isn’t stalker-ish, what is? Then there was the, “Oh, so I just have to listen to what you say?” comment. Again, Ummm, yes, when someone says it’s over and you refuse to listen, you then fall into the harasser or stalker category… don’t be offended by the label, dude if that’s where your behavior places you. Bottom line is when one person says they no longer want to be in a relationship the other person needs to respect that. No one has the right; I repeat “NO ONE” has the right to force someone else to stay in a relationship they are unhappy in.

To be fair I don’t think most people see their behavior as creepy when it first goes in this direction. That’s why I take the harsh stand of pointing it out to them. I mean look at romantic comedies or romance novels, often (not always) they show how love makes you crazy and persistent. Extreme persistence is a sign of the amount of love you feel. In time you can get your love interest to “understand” that you’re the one by “convincing” them that they love you in return. The pursuer rarely listens to what the other person wants or asks for. It’s one sided until the love interest is symbolically beaten down and gives in. Wow! That is so very romantic, huh?

I love romantic comedies and I have a collection of Harlequin Romance novels that would put Barnes & Nobel to shame but its fantasy, its entertainment. I mean, think about it, people who confuse what they see on television or in the movies with reality are often the ones who turn up on the 11 O’clock news.

Honestly, I’m a romantic at heart. I believe in true love. I believe in love at first sight. I believe in “wooing” each other and mushy hugs and kisses. I hold out hope of finding love again. But, the same way you can’t really solve a murder or cure a flesh eating disease in one or two hours you can’t really expect to find love in the same amount of time. It takes getting to know another person (the sweet and the sour) and you keep doing that until you come across a deal-breaker. You know you found “the one” when you go years and years with no deal-breakers. If you find a romantic deal-breaker that doesn't mean you can’t remain lifelong friends. Some of my favorite people I wouldn’t want to marry. But, I love them and am grateful their in my life.

Armchair Psychology

Armchair Psychologist: A person who gives advice for mental/emotional disorders or any other mental illness and has no known background knowledge of psychology. “Self appointed analysts… like back seat drivers of the psyche”

I am really angry right now and I feel the best way to work it out is to write. I have a few things that I’d like to address… the word “no”, stalking and bullying just to name a few but for now the main thing I want to write about is Armchair Psychology.

Look, we are all guilty of it.

I’m certainly one who thinks she knows what is wrong with everyone, including what’s wrong with me. I take some pride in being pretty self-aware. I know what my emotional baggage is and I even understand why I carry most of it. When I look into what I should do to become a “healthier” person emotionally and mentally it doesn’t make “fixing” it any easier. Only time and hard work can do that. I am not a perfect soul. I am here to learn lessons and live as best I can. As I believe we all are here to do. So, though I may feel that I have the answers to why others are the way they are I would be more than arrogant to insist that my unprofessional “diagnosis” is the one true answer.

A woman I have known for about three years has decided that I need help (meaning professional help) for 1. My lying, 2. Playing the victim and 3. Driving men away.

The lies I apparently told were part of a personal conversation that she was never in on and no one including me would have had anything to gain from such information. Later when the truth came out and it was shown there were no lies I didn’t even get an apology nor (for some reason) was it was ever addressed again.

My playing the victim comes from me not liking the way I’m treated and taking a stand. Apparently the fact that I “think” I’m being treated badly means I am playing a victim. Ummm, I’m thinking that taking care of my self when I feel uncomfortable or unsafe means I’m doing the very opposite of playing a victim. Does it matter whether someone is really mistreating me? If I went to the police or if I physically confronted them, then yes… maybe that would be over the top but to distance myself from them or tell them I don’t appreciate their behavior is nothing more than me taking my life into my own hands.

And, now for the last thing… “Driving men away”, this is the one that pissed me off the most. The reason it pissed me off is because it was told to a guy who I liked and which I hoped things would progress in a good direction. This woman was supposed to be not only my friend but someone who was also supposed to be a spiritual advisor and who was supposed to keep my confidences to herself. She just told a man to be aware because I drive away all the men who come into my life. Really??? Let’s me clarify this…

This woman who has known me for three years (I’m 42 so that’s no time really) makes a statement that she could not know to be true. I mean, I have not had a boyfriend in well over four years so she didn’t even know me when I had a man in my life. In (again) the three years she has known me I have gone on dates with less than a handful of guys. Of the “dates” most never made it to a second date, when it’s not a good date, I don’t need a second date to verify it. Let’s see, I had a month long relationship with a guy who I chatted with daily but we NEVER went out. This was his choice not mine. I tried reconciling with an ex-boyfriend who had baby mama drama so that didn’t work out but there was no anger or hate involved. And one amazing night with a great guy who lives on another continent.

So, what is she talking about?

What she knows of my past from before she was around is what I’ve told her. I’ve been engaged three times. The first one we were too young and there are no hard feelings there. The second was a physical abuser. The third, besides having questionable “friendships” loved the NY Yankees more than his own mother.

I am friends with the vast majority of my ex-boyfriends. Most can claim only that I’m stubborn or too independent but they wouldn’t say I wasn’t a good person or someone they couldn’t trust.

I’m getting a little off topic here… I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that someone who presented herself to be a caring confidante has taken it upon herself to “armchair psycho-analyze” me and instead of talking to ME about it has decided to bring it to the attention of others. “Others” are the people who are using this woman’s self-serving misdiagnosis of me AGAINST me for their own satisfaction. Is that sentence me simply playing the victim? Hmmm… I don’t know. But, it’s what I feel has happened since her words (words I’ve heard her use in my presence) were thrown at me yesterday in anger. I drive men away. That was what was said.

It was hurtful and certainly not true but imagine if it was true!

How in the world would her destructive gossiping help me? It simply wouldn't. In fact, it would and could cause more damage. I could decide that I will never find love and never try again. I could decide that I'm not worthy of a good relationship and settle on an abusive one. I could choose to isolate myself and not trust any more since someone I trusted abused our friendship. I could toss away my spirituality because my Gods led me to people who hurt me instead of cared for me. How dare someone take it upon themselves to purposely influence another's life so negatively? Especially when they promote themselves as an honest, caring leader? 

There is no way to end this post other than for me to be grateful for my love of self and faith in spirit to guide me through the rough times.

All in all, hard times create character and I learn with each hardship.

I have long lasting friendships and a loving family. I'm truly more blessed than not.

So mote it be

Reminder to myself

May I be aware when I’ve hurt someone
May I be humble enough to apologize when I am wrong
May I never assume I know someone else’s path

May I use soft words when offering harsh truths.
May I never purposely push someone to the edge and if I do… may I acknowledge responsibility if they choose to jump.
May I be mindful of the consequences of my actions
May I learn from my mistakes
May I continue to grow and heal
May I remain open to love, trust and friendship.
May I be kind to myself as well as to others.
May I continue to be a shoulder for those who feel they can’t stand alone.
May I be a better daughter, sister and friend
May I be a better me with every new breath

May I remember, daily, the strength I carry within myself
May I remain aware of my daily blessings
And, may the Goddess walk beside me with every step I take

Old & Wise

I woke up this morning and as I was lying there listening to the radio doing some stretching the words "Let It Be" came to mind. It was an inner voice that was telling me to let things go and move forward. Not an easy task at the moment but as long as that voice is still there, I'm already on the right path.
Well, considering the magical life that I lead, what do you think happened next? Yep, about five minutes after my mind said, "Let It Be" Paul McCartney starts singing it.
It may be a Wise Crone who speaks to me instead of Mother Mary but the words are the same.
So appropriate. It was a good way to begin my day.


I got ready for my first day back at work after my vacation and I'm sitting on the train listening to my ipod. I just shuffled my 3ooo songs and decided to listen to whatever came on. A very significant song comes on. A song I hadn't heard in quite awhile. Old & Wise by the Alan Parsons Project.
Not just another very fitting song for what I'm dealing with but my High School graduation song. Ummm... come to think of it Let It Be was my other graduation song.


I guess in a way I am graduating again. I'm entering another phase of my life. I'm growing and moving on. It hurts to leave some people behind and to go into the unknown but I'm excited. Those that are supposed to remain in my life will find a way back to me and vice versa.
In the meantime, I have lots to be thankful for... Deity, Courage, love, wisdom, family, old friends and a good man... I am on my way.


Old & Wise
As far as my eyes can see
There are Shadows approaching me
And to those I left behind
I wanted you to Know
You've always shared my deepest thoughts
You follow where I go


And oh when I'm old and wise
Bitter words mean little to me
Autumn Winds will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they asked me if I knew you
I'd smile and say you were a friend of mine
And the sadness would be Lifted from my eyes
Oh when I'm old and wise


As far as my Eyes can see
There are shadows surrounding me
And to those I leave behind
I want you all to know
You've always Shared my darkest hours
I'll miss you when I go


And oh, when I'm old and wise
Heavy words that tossed and blew me
Like Autumn winds that will blow right through me
And someday in the mist of time
When they ask you if you knew me
Remember that You were a friend of mine
As the final curtain falls before my eyes
Oh when I'm Old and wise


As far as my eyes can see

Why I Write

It was brought to my attention last week that my writing is a bit depressing. Someone I recently met said he didn’t really want to know those things about me. Wow, that threw me off. Besides being a bit offended (criticism is difficult to handle regardless of how open you think you are) I hadn’t thought of my writing as depressing. I mean, yes some of the things I write about aren’t the things you want to dance a jig over but they’re relatable and that’s what I try to put out there. I think lots of what I write is funny too. Even the more difficult topics have humor in them. I live my life through humor. My entire family does and the majority of people I call friends are the same way. Laughter IS the best medicine. I laughed with my grandmother while she was in a hospice. I’ve laughed at funerals. I’ve laughed at spiritual gatherings. I’ve laughed while breathing into an oxygen mask in an emergency room. I’ve laughed through broken hearts and moments of mourning. I laugh at myself when no one else is around and I laugh at all of the more appropriate moments of life.

Actually, this person’s comments came days after someone else I know questioned me about… well, basically he questioned my life. He questioned me about many of my life choices but most difficult to deal with was my spiritual beliefs and of all things where I live. That’s a story for another day but in the meantime… when I was told my writing was difficult to read I was maybe a little more sensitive than I should have been… but maybe not. Maybe I didn’t deserve his criticism at all. I don’t know… Maybe this person had their own reasons for not liking it, reasons that had little or nothing to do with me. For one thing, it was a guy. I tend to call men out on some of their shit in my writing. Maybe I should put a warning on my Blog about that. I hadn’t known this person very long when he read my blog. Maybe I should hold off on letting people read my stuff until we’ve known each other for awhile. It’s just a bit odd if I talk about writing and then refuse to let them read my writing. I’m not ashamed of what I expose of myself so why hold back? Maybe I should hold back some though. I don’t know. I have to think longer on that.

I thought a lot though about what he had to say and this is the answer I came up with as to why my writing may be on the sad side… darker moods… sadness, heartache, loss etc. are the things that bring people together in a way the good times don’t. It’s that simple. Hitting rock bottom emotionally makes us vulnerable. It’s the even playing field that we all can relate to. Different things make us laugh and different things make us happy. I have friends that their kids are the only real thing that fulfills them. I have friends that if they NEVER had kids they would be in heaven. Other friends want nothing more than to be married, some only need/want a partner and a piece of paper doesn’t make a difference. Some are happy when they are high and some are "high" on life itself. Some are happy being with a man and some a woman… some neither or both. Some can’t watch television if it isn’t a flat screen and some choose not to own a television. Some need a new outfit for every occasion and some just need two pairs of well worn jeans. Again… the things that make us happy differ a lot more than what makes us cry and hurt. We have all been rejected by a love interest. It doesn’t matter who that love interest was… same sex, opposite sex, older or younger, fifteen years ago or five days ago… doesn’t matter. The rejection and the very real feeling of your heart being ripped apart is relatable. We’ve all had a loved one die. The pain of loss is relatable whether it’s a family member, a friend or a pet.  We’ve all felt insecure with ourselves. Sometimes the insecurity is about our weight, our work title, our financial status, our level of education, a lisp or an accent... the list can go on. 

Another very important thing I realized is that it’s a bit taboo to talk about just the good stuff. I know being Puerto Rican that it’s cultural for us not to “brag” about the good things in our lives because it can be taken away. That’s a very Catholic thing too. I’ve talked to friends of different backgrounds and I’ve heard the same thing from them.

I looked back at some of my blog entries and honestly, I have to go back to “I think it’s his thing” because there is something good and positive in each of the entries, even in the ones that are on the darker side. The writing about Michael, it isn’t that the relationship ended that was my point. It was a celebration of love, young, promising, hopeful love. How many high school loves last? The fact that I had love like that is a blessing. It isn’t terrible that we’re living two different lives. It’s wonderful that we got to reconnect and KNOW how the other turned out. That brings a sense of coming full circle and not everyone gets to experience that.

My writing about 9/11 is sad but I found not only humor in my father’s actions but security in my relationship with my mother. I was with my mother and my grandmother. I knew my sister was safe and far from the danger in New York. I was afraid of what was happening in the world but MY world was as it should be.

The story about my hair is sad but I’m healthy in so many other ways. That’s a blessing. The funny part is that 1. If you don’t believe in hexes… well, the fact that I think my father’s daughters hexed me is pretty funny and 2. If they did hex me… well, it backfired. Yes, my hair fell out but my life is full in all the ways that count. I don’t want to go over each entry and defend my words but I needed to do at least THIS much for myself. 

I know this person wasn’t trying to attack me or my writing but the truth is that I put so much of who I am in my writing that it’s hard not to be sensitive to the criticism. I used to write only for myself and with lots of encouragement and touching feedback I decided to put myself out there a little more. More times than not I have had people tell me how much they appreciate my words, sometimes thanking me for saying things that they didn’t know how to say themselves. Sometimes what I’ve written has helped people to share with me things they don’t share with most. I’m just one person who is either crazy enough or naive enough to put her emotions out there for review. I don’t’ think I have the answers. In fact, I know I don’t have the answers. I only know what I’ve lived through and what I think about and I write it down. I reach out by letting people read it. If I can connect to others then I’m a step ahead in my own world because positive feedback doesn’t make me feel like a know it all, it makes me feel less alone. Connecting reminds me that I may be walking my own path but in no way does that mean it has to be a lonely journey. It’s simple. I love writing. That’s what makes me a writer, whether I ever become published or if I go back to just writing a journal, I love this and having people relate is just a blessed perk.

Once there was a boy...

I fell in love with Michael when he was a junior and I was a senior in High School. I was sitting by the senior class lockers the very first time I laid eyes on him; he turned the corner with three ninth grade girls surrounding him. They were following him like a mini harem. He spoke to a blonde girl who I knew was also a junior. There he was carrying his books, wearing acid wash jeans, a dark denim jacket and white high-top sneakers. The blonde said something that made him throw his head back laughing and my heart literally skipped a beat, honestly, it palpitated. He was gorgeous. I couldn’t stop looking at him as he passed by. I asked aloud to anyone, “Who is that?” Ellen answered, “Oh, that’s Mike.”

“Mike?” Really? This was the guy I’d been hearing about? The one most of the girls from grades nine through eleven were swooning over? I had no idea he was really worth the gossip. There was no reason for me to pay much attention before this. I mean, I was a senior he was a junior. I’d just returned from New York and heard this guy was from some itty bitty place down south. I was unhappy enough about having to move back to Puerto Rico where nothing interesting was happening. Finding a boyfriend was not in the plan. My focus was on trying to get back to New York somehow. But something happened to me I still cannot explain, I announced right then and there, “He is going to be mine.” Just like that, I fell head over heels.

Michael and I spoke for the first time at a Halloween party the following weekend. It was the first time I’d heard him speak with that southern accent of his. I’d never thought southern accents were hot but his was sexy as hell. He interrupted a conversation I was having and I called him on it. He smiled and made an apology but kept talking anyway. The boy was arrogant. Even though I stood my ground and interrupted him in return, his attempt at charm did make me all tingly inside. He seemed to get a kick out of me not letting him get his way too.

A few days later I was waiting on the lunch line and Michael (I never called him Mike) walked from the back of the line to talk to some ninth grade girls who were standing behind me. They let him cut. They were giggling and flinging their hair. I laughed at the scene they were making. He saw me laugh and moved closer. He shifted in front of me, starting up a conversation. We introduced ourselves, since we hadn’t the weekend before then chatted until it was his turn to order, that’s when I stepped in front of him and ordered first. I said to his stunned expression, “They let you cut in front of them, I didn’t.” He shook his head and laughed while I carried my tray to a table.  

We ran into one another several times in the next few weeks. Each time we played this game where he tried to charm me and I’d pretend it wasn’t working. The truth was he’d already swept me off my feet. It was as if we had all the time in the world. Nothing and no one had ever felt more right. He would one day tell me that it had been the same for him.

In November there was a Sadie Hawkins dance. I invited him to go and he said yes. Later I found out that he’d broken a date with someone else in order to go with me. I felt a little guilty but not enough to call it off. It was unfortunate; I should have cancelled because the date didn’t go very well. He hung out with his friends all night and I was bored to death. I’d mistakenly thought he was someone special. I was angry and annoyed. So, I did what I usually do… simply walked away without looking back.

It wasn’t until the Christmas dance more than a month later that he caught my attention again. I was having a hard day on the last day of classes before Christmas vacation. The dance was that night and I’d decided not to go. I was sitting by the lockers crying about a high school drama of some kind. Michael and one of his friends came over to me and asked what was wrong. I have no idea why but I answered him. After listening to my sob story he put both of his arms around me and let me cry until all I could do was hiccup. Then he complemented my blotchy face. He didn’t mind that his shirt was all wet with tears and makeup. He didn’t mind that I kept blowing my nose. He even said I could use his shirt since it wasn’t one of his favorites. It was the first time of many that he got me to laugh my tears away. Michael then convinced me to meet him at the dance later. When I got there he was waiting outside so we could walk in together. We had our first kiss that night. And, soon afterwards we had our first real date. We went to eat pizza and then walked hand in hand down to the beach. We sat on a huge boulder and talked about everything we could think of in-between many more kisses.

For the rest of the school year we were barely apart. I was the only reason he would follow the rules and he was the only reason I wouldn’t. His mother once apologized to me for threatening him with not seeing me because I was she explained, “the only thing he cared about.” It was the truth. And, he was always doing something outrageous to let me know how much he loved me.

There was the time he climbed onto the roof of an old abandoned hospital near our school and graffiti’d on three sides of it, MIKE LOVES LISA in silver spray paint. We could see it from the school campus. Everyone saw it. Of course, that meant the teachers did too. He got into trouble and was told to go back up and paint over it. He never did.

Once he skateboarded to my house, in a hurricane. I don’t mean heavy rains; I mean an actual Caribbean Island hurricane with falling trees, power outages and winds that could move parked cars. On his way over he was knocked off of his skateboard and scraped his whole side, from hip to calf. His reason for doing it, if he “had to be stuck indoors for a few days, it was going to be with [me]."

Another time, hanging around after a concert in San Juan, we were mugged. We were facing one another Michael, holding onto me with one hand and with the other holding our concert t-shirts. He was grabbed from behind by a guy who was at least a head taller and holding a knife. While the guy held Michael’s arms down a bunch of kids ran over and started to pick his pockets. He kept yelling at me to run but I wouldn’t. How could I leave him there alone? He’d been threatened, punched and was bleeding from his mouth. His wallet and watch were stolen too. When it was over, he was still holding my hand and the t-shirts. He lowered his head, took a few moments to compose himself. He then put his arm around me, kissed me with his busted lip and handed me the shirts. He was more of a man at the age of seventeen than any “adult” male I’d ever known. He was my hero.

Before things would end two years later there would be a loss of virginity, a Prom, a summer spent in North Carolina, a visit to New York, a proposal and a ring. Michael joined the Army so I would say yes to marriage. He figured it was the best way to prove he could take care of me since we were both so young. All wonderful memories that both break my heart and make me smile when I think back. Ironically, he met and fell in love with someone else while he was stationed in Oklahoma and that was the end of our love story. But, I know what we shared once was real on both our parts. And, I still have the ring.

Michael was the first person besides family who loved me unconditionally. He loved when I was strong and when I was a weepy mess. He gave me credit when I was right and told me when I was wrong. He knew when to stand back so I could lead and he knew when to stand in front and guide me. He thought I was pretty and sexy; silly and smart. He was romantic. He was funny. His smile was beautiful. His kisses gave me chills and his hugs could cure any bad day. He was rebellious but kind and considerate. He put me first every time. And, most importantly, he always had my back. I've never found that again.

Michael contacted me a couple of years ago. It was soothing to know he was doing well. For his privacy, let's just say I was satisfied with our reconnection and there were no loose ends left to tie up. We are two dramatically different people today. He’s happily married with three kids. I'm happily living in New York hanging with artists and Pagans. We both have lives that outside of FaceBook would never have reason to cross. We never speak but we're on each others friends' list. It eases my heart and mind to know he’s somewhere within reach. I think it does the same for him. I know he remembers me with love. And, that’s how I will always remember him.

Celebrating Singledom #3

Today I'm celebrating NOT having to compromise or share.

Recently I shared my apartment with a friend of a friend. It was great at first but soon became a bit strained. Let me clarify now... This is not a "Bash the Roomie" kind of post. This is about me acknowledging some truths about myself and my living space.

I'd never had a roommate before. I went from living at home to living alone. Literally, for one month of my adult life did I live with a boyfriend. That came to an end when I left for work one morning and he Ummm... well, he just LEFT! During that day he and his sister had "discussed it" and they decided that although he still loved me, he wasn't ready to live with me. Yeah, that's a whole other blog post.
I will say though that three months later he showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night (after seeing a Marc Anthony concert with another woman) crying and begging... yes folks, on his knee's, for another chance.
Again... that's a whole other blog post!

Anyway, my roomie was nice and for the most part he was neat but I wasn't comfortable. I just didn't feel right walking around my house doing my regular things. Watching television in the living room instead of my bedroom. Walking around braless in a tank top. Cleaning the house as early or as late as I wanted or not having to clean up at all. And, I won't even go into how upsetting it was for me to share a bathroom with a boy!

Part of it was that he and I were not romantically involved. If we had been intimate then being half dressed or sharing the bathroom wouldn't have been an issue. But, living with a romantic partner brings with it a much longer list of issues. The following is a little of what I enjoy about not just living alone but being single.

The other day I wasn't feeling well and all I wanted to do was go straight home to bed. When I got there I jumped into a nice hot shower, put on big warm silly pajamas, a fluffy bathrobe and plopped down on my couch to watch crime dramas. I just stayed there sniffling, coughing and drinking tea until I went to bed for the night. I didn't have to make conversation, worry about the TV being too loud or having to look decent for anyone. In fact, I think I looked sexy in a messy carefree sort of way. Besides being sick, it was a dream Winter weeknight for me, being able to rest comfortably without taking anyone else into consideration.

Last Friday a friend called and asked if I wanted to hang out after work and I just answered YES. I didn't have to let anyone know I was making spur of the moment plans. I didn't have to let anyone know I might be home late. I didn't have to let anyone know that I'd decided to bring that friend home to watch a movie instead.

During the weekend I was able to get up early and clean. I put on my music and cleaned out the refrigerator without disturbing anyone. I was able to clean the bathroom and not worry if someone else had to use it at that moment OR worry that they would leave toothpaste spots on the mirror (or spots of any kind anywhere) when I was done.

I could go out in the middle of the day and knew everything would be exactly as I left it when I returned. I didn't have to invite someone along when I wanted to just go out alone.

Other perks:
What I put in the refrigerator is exactly what stays there. No one eating half of something I was saving for later. No pouring a bowl of cereal only to find an ounce of milk left in the container.

I could take a nap whenever I want to without being disturbed by someone else's cooking or their music or their talking.
No one coming and going with company of their own.

My laundry is mine alone. No one else's towels, sheets or socks to wash.

Only I buy things for the house so there's no bitching about what brand something is or isn't. No one can complain about how or what I spend my money on at all.

I can decorate however I want. Buy new furniture, shelves, books or nick-knacks. Put them anywhere. Only the photos I want are hanging up. I can buy a red couch and no one has a say about it. I can move things around. Throw things out or be a pack-rat.

My home is my sanctuary. It's where I sit and think. Where I write and work. Where I welcome family and friends. My home is an expression of who I truly am.

I've wondered lately, "Will I be able to live with a partner one day?" You're probably wondering the same thing as you read this. But, honestly, I think I will be able to live with someone.
Of course it won't be easy but I haven't lost hope. When I find the person who is right for me we will create a balance. We'll give each other space to think and work. Space to create and to relax.
We'll respect one another's alone time and share in the responsibilities of maintaining a home. I know I will have to compromise some things. But until that times comes, until I find the person I'll want to compromise for and who is happy to do the same for me I will continue to enjoy my single life of NOT having to share my space.

Three cheers for warm, footsie pajama's and having sole custody of the remote control.

I'm Talkin'

People love to hear me talk. Yep, it's true.

Most of my family and friends won't admit it but it's true.

Wonder how I know this? The moment I stop talking everyone wants to know why.
I get phone calls, emails and visits.

I'm not complaining, in fact, I love it.

For the past two weeks this has been going on, then during dinner with friends on Sunday I was asked why I haven't blogged in awhile. That's when I decided I really needed to step up and write something.

So, in response...
I've taken some time away from my blog lately but it isn't because I haven't been writing. I've been working on several things, I just haven't completed any. At least, I haven't completed any to my satisfaction.
In addition to trying to keep up with my blog I've rejoined a writers' group and I have assignments to do for my Priestess Training. I'm also in the process of writing something for a project my sister is working on.

Most of my postings are summarized versions of longer pieces that come from personal essays and journal entries. Before I post anything I change names or edit someone out completely. Unless of course I'm writing about a jerk who really deserves to be called on his behavior and even then I don't name them.

In any case, it's the "editing process" that is causing me to seem lazy.

I will do my best to post soon and certainly more frequently than once a month.

Blessings!
La Lady Sage

Yesterday and Today

One moment my life was going along on one track and the next, SMACK, it changed direction.
There was an abrupt end to a sense of security I'd known for some time. It felt like a death and I was at a complete loss as to what I should do.

I was going about my day, feeling good. No drama at work. No crazy neighbors. I had food in my kitchen. I knew where my loved ones were. I was happy with my most recent writings. All I had planned was some house cleaning.

On a larger scale, I was feeling pretty settled in my life. I'd gotten a bonus at work. I felt safe and comfortable in my home. I was happy being single. I was breaking old habits that were holding me back, moving past some old hurts. I felt loved, respected and appreciated by family and friends. I felt strong. The presence of the Goddess herself surrounded me.

Then I got a call that broke my heart, a call that almost shattered my inner work, a call that reminded me of why I shouldn't let down my guard.
I'm aware that my "inner work" couldn’t have been very solid to begin with if it could be shattered so easily. But, this was hard… I felt my words, my honesty and my character were in question.

I felt insulted and betrayed.

Suddenly that little girl who only had herself to trust and turn to was back. She was pointing her finger in my face telling me I should have known better; that she knew this would happen. Reminding me, no one can ever really be trusted; no one will ever put me first. Family and friends can easily turn their backs on me and walk away because in truth, I will never be loved unconditionally.

Oh, yes, for awhile I'm tricked into thinking I'm special but the same old lesson is soon repeated... "You will never be enough."
It happens when I think I've found a place that is safe. When I think I've found people who understand, when I have hope that I've overcome hearing that little girl with her big voice saying... “You will never be the smart one. Never the successful one. Never the one who gets picked first. Never the one who wins someone's loyalty. Never the one who gets the benefit of the doubt. Never the one people come to the defense of. Just!  Never!  The right one!”

What I am, she says, is… the one who speaks up when she should shut up. The one who causes problems and drama. The one who is different. The one who should be ignored. The one who should just go away.
One day maybe I might.
It's easier to accept being lonely when you actually have no one around you.
I need to accept it. This is what I have to work with. This is my path. So, I will keep my head down and quietly stay out of the way.

That was yesterday…

Today I am allowing myself to be angry but mostly I’m letting myself move forward. I have been accused of worse and in the end, have not only survived the hurt but been proven to be a person of my word. I felt betrayed by a few individuals but I refuse to lose or betray myself and so I will adapt to the new path before me. Make choices based on where and who is in my life now.

People who accuse without proof, who judge without clear insight, who don’t stand behind their own words are not people I need to prove myself to.
If I am only given a handful of people whom I can entrust with my love, loyalty and friendship then so be it. Sometimes less is MORE. 

I don’t want to dwell on this newest hurt
I don’t want my insecurities to keep me from being open and hopeful

Instead, I want to learn…

May I be aware when I’ve hurt someone
May I be humble enough to apologize when I am wrong
May I never assume I know someone else’s path
May I never purposely push someone to the edge and if I do… may I acknowledge responsibility if they choose to jump.
May I be mindful of the consequences of my actions
May I learn from my mistakes

I want to always remember the strength I carry within myself...

May I continue to grow and heal
May I remain open to love, trust and friendship.
May I be kind to myself as well as to others.
May I use soft words when offering harsh truths.
May I continue to be a shoulder for those who feel they can’t stand alone.
May I be a better daughter, sister and friend
May I be a better me with every new breath
May I remain aware of my daily blessings
And, may the Goddess walk beside me with every step I take.

So Mote It Be.