What's Stopping You?

Shy women will be the death of me.

Show me a shy, beautiful woman, and I am very nearly helpless. I have to know. I have to find out. Getting to know one is like unwrapping a present. Well, at least, it's like the way I unwrap presents. The careful examination of the size and shape of the task, the slow peeling back of layer after layer, until you finally get to see what's really inside. And they always surprise me. I'll find wicked tongues where I expect to find quiet introspection. I'll find burning passion where I expected to find hedonism.

And just like presents, sometimes I'll find things I don't want, but the box has been opened, and it's to late to give it back. That's pretty rare, though.

I thought I could train myself into liking some other type. For years now, I've carefully avoided them. This time, someone to share the spotlight with I thought to myself. But time and time again, it is the quiet ones I am drawn to. Something about their discomfort in crowds soothes me. Something about the way they appreciate being noticed.

I mean, I'm pretty hard to miss, even when I'm in a crowd, but I rarely feel like I've been as seen as when a shy girl looks at me. They invariably seem to understand parts of me I didn't even know I had. They always seem to teach me something new about who I am.

What of these latest creatures to walk into my life? Should I pursue one of them? Should I seek that thing which I still don't feel like I'm ready for? You spend all your time preparing to be ready, I chide myself. But it doesn't feel like an excuse.

I'm still not as good at taking care of myself as I would like. I still have yet to pursue my commercial photographic career with the vigor I demand of myself before I am willing to turn my attention to finding a Life Partner, and I have so much more to learn about my art career. But I'm once again getting to the point where the thought of having one is distracting me from the goals my mind has set.

To put it another way, I still feel like I need to prepare to prepare to be ready for that. But I'm turning 35 next year. I have had friends who died at that age. What ever happened to seize the day? To learning to unleash my passions and let them run free? To accepting myself for who I am now, and not merely who I want to be someday?

What ever happened to letting go of the past?

I spent Thursday night at Lacuna Diving Bunny's place, so that I could try for the early flights to Denver tomorrow, having discovered that there was no way I'd get on a flight today. There was an APA party that I decided to go to, partly because I figured networking would be useful, and partly because I knew LDB needed to talk to Darth Ambivalence about some problems they'd been having. ( Read more... )

Things were fine, she'd made DA shut up and listen, finally, and they had figured out some ways to spend time together out of their home. They were working on it, and didn't need me to sacrifice any of my happiness in order to repair their own.

This was little consolation to me as I spent most of Friday utterly failing to fly to Denver.

Giving up, I spent the rest of Friday sleeping, although What Big Eyes She Has invited me to a party. I wanted to go, having met some of her friends from that group, but I was way too tired. Besides, her husband was going, and I didn't trust him to properly interpret the way I act around her. I'd had enough of dealing with other people's marriages.

Lithe also surprised me -- when she heard I was still in Chicago, she offered to have brunch with me the next day. If I say yes, can I still see you on Monday? "Yes," she said, and I whispered my little mantra to myself. I will not Plan, Sam I Am.

( Read more... )

Grizzled Alley Kitten stopped by my apartment a few hours later for a grocery run. While picking over mangoes and strawberries, I told her about my two dates with Lithe, and this led to a general conversation about all the things we never do, the strangely parallel list that forms the basis of our friendship: we never talk about our passions, never let ourselves enjoy a beautiful day like today, never trust our instincts. In staunch defiance of our weakest selves, we ditched our errands for the rest of the day and hung out on the beach, drinking lemonade and talking about the things we're too scared to admit we even think of, asked the questions neither of us ever wants answered.

Later, I went out to Gd's "Christmas in July" party. An old Santa Suit and a box of Xmas decorations were dusted off and brought amusement to the others. I came home, tired, my head full of thoughts, and tried to write all this out while the intensity of it is all still here.

I paused, exhausted from trying to be this honest with myself, and checked my voicemail. Amid the telemarketers and charity drives, two voices from my past asked me to call them back: a guy I knew from my old BBS days, and f(AD). I haven't heard her voice in over a year.

Tomorrow, I will make some phone calls.

Memory, like a gel-coated capsule. Not those bitter things I used to unexpectedly swallow, but a tasteless, odorless thing which gets stuck in my throat, until something cold and refreshing comes roaring in after it.

Memory. I am walking back from a club in Indy, slowly trudging along beside a woman whose heels have got the best of her. We've been talking all weekend, but there is something about the dark heart of Four A.M. which brings people closer together, and this is no different. She says something and I dissent. That's the sort of thinking which caused my divorce.

"You were married?" she asks, and again I dissent. Not married, no, but somehow we went through a divorce all the same.

"It's a strange thing not to mention in four days' worth of conversation."

Have I not been talking about it? ( Read more... )

In addition to the horrific number of hours I worked this week, I'm also quite pleased to say that I've been praying every morning. Because of the morning devotions, I've also been performing a nearly-full regiment of morning toiletries and waking up early enough to accomplish them and still leave on time for work, rather than my previous habit of running out the door with a bagel stuffed in my mouth while buttoning my pants. Most importantly, though, I have not been checking my email first thing.

I'm tempted to go ahead and try to add yoga to my mornings now, but I'm worried this may be too much, too quickly. When does a newly incorporated habit become an established part of the ritual? If I am forced to take Small Steps, then how small must they be?

Another question that's come up is my trip to Arkansas. Would it be uncouth of me to pray while on vacation at the home of complete strangers who are most likely not impressively open-minded? Would it be uncouth of me to stop praying just because I'm on vacation?

I can remember my grandfather pacing in the guest bedroom of my parents' home, incanting the Jai Ganesha. He would tell me that the whole point of prayer and meditation is that it has nothing to do with anyone but you and God.

( social rituals )

In other news, I realized today that September 15th will mark one full year since I first moved to Chicago. I should do something to celebrate.

Hey there, Mr Talk Too Much / what's in store for us now?

I don't think I ever told Roo, but I considered that to be Our Song. She introduced me to Milla's singing, and Gentleman Who Fell just seemed to describe the difficulties we had all too well.

( Read more... )

I want to convey it properly, they way all of my friends speak. The particular mannerisms that make each one so uniquely him- or herself.

Knows The Length of Her Shirt called yesterday, too. Somehow her phone, in the process of getting lost, stolen and returned, mucked up my phone number and Achingly Defiant's. She said a thing, too, about needing to choose between going back to school and finding a new job, and the wording of it was just so utterly her. But I can only hear my own way of phrasing it in my head.


Just another way in which I am not yet who I want to be.

*sigh* There is so much left to do, to become. I'm only halfway there so far, and I think that's the farthest I'll ever get.

Roo is packing and it hurts to watch.

Four times this weekend, there was a moment when I could have kissed her. Each time, we chose not to. Now she folds her jeans and I question the value of foresight, of self-knowledge. What good are things that keep me from expressing myself?

This self-doubt will pass, this pointless regretting will be shred by the sound of a suitcase zipper. In a few hours, she will leave, and I'll go to a good-bye party, and deep in the night, I will return to my empty, deadline-free apartment, and stay up all night searching for something to do.

Picked Roo up at the airport yesterday morning. We headed back to my place, chatting sleepily, and pretty much crashed out. Woke up briefly for some breakfast, Roo complaining all the while in her Little Princess Voice, "you don't have to cook if you don't want to!" I *like* cooking, remember?

She spent the afternoon fielding phone calls regarding her upcoming employment change, went for a walk, hung out on the beach for a while. Realized the entire day had gone, ate dinner and watched a movie. Frighteningly relaxing, all of it. I've been running on all six cylinders for most of the month, and then WHAM! I'm done for a while. No pressing deadlines, only a handful of obligations. No plan other than, "enjoy this."

Roo is feeling it, too. She told her bosses she was moving to a new salon Thursday, and had spent the last two weeks prepping for that and the changeover. Now we're both wandering aimlessly, trying to get used to the idea that nothing needs to be done.

It's just been mellow, really. I feel like I forgot how to handle mellow. I'm struggling with all my might to avoid treating this like a Situation, and just Be. Roo tells me, "You're doing pretty good, except for when you start asking me how you're doing." Typical Amul.

We talk a lot about Christine, Ziggy, Her Ex-husband and Her Most Recent Ex, how they've changed us, what being single has taught us. Mutual fears of losing the parts we've discovered in ourselves should we ever find someone. I keep expecting her to shout out about how different I am, but the lesson I'm learning is that what's different is now I talk to everyone like I once only talked to her.

Mostly, though, it's just excellent having someone else here, someone I care about sitting in my space and knowing she'll be there hours from now. I was so worried that I wouldn't be able to separate my Damage from my feelings for her, but instead the two just kind of neutralize each other. I care deeply for her, could easily fall in love with her, but I'm damaged and living hundreds of miles away, and that's all there is to it. When did I grow up? When did I start acknowledging consequences and avoiding pain?

Achingly Defiant would tell me, "since before me." Yet, AD was so courageous and willing to experience pain, pulled me towards the instinctive, and I responded to that. Roo, on the other hand, is just as cautious as I and so the weekend has been about where we've been, and not what we want or where we're going.

Which is kind of okay, since I have no idea what I want, or where I'm ultimately going.

We went over to the Pirate's Cove, and while we were smoking on the porch, I remembered something else about Christine. We had this whole set of hand gestures to communicate things, had this little sign language to express things. Simple concepts, like "cigarette, please?" or "getting bored, can we leave?" Sometimes, she used to put the lighter in her mouth and give me a sad face, to tell me she needed a smoke but had a light.

I wonder if I've been using them, still. If I make these gestures to other people and don't even realize it. "I think it's okay to not remember," Roo assures me over her beer. "Memories will come back as you're ready for them. They did for me."

I realized that the reason there's so few entries about Roo in my archives is because I dated her before I started an LJ.

Another memory ( Read more... )

Had a really excellent conversation with Radiant Idol today. At one point I again expressed frustration at how my work-LJ gets so few friends while my whining LJ gets so many. RI listed off a bunch of reasons why people might enjoy reading this stuff I write.

Now, I'm sitting here when I should be going to bed, scanning through my archives and looking for signs of what she described.

I don't see it.



(tangent)

Maybe Roo is right. Maybe I should stop waiting to be ready to get involved with my dad's temple and just start going.