Tears Again... Fears Again...

I just get worried sometimes that it’s going to be such a lonely life for me.

Not lonely as in “alone,” because I can’t imagine not being utterly surrounded by friends and family, and even the strangers I meet each day usually connect with me on some level or another.

But lonely.

Lonely for me is having a host of invitations for the holiday weekend, but in choosing to rest at home, there is no one else here to kiss my hand absent-mindedly as we waste the day watching Netflix in bed.

Lonely is making the big plans and dreams for my life, and not having that one person along on the journey, watching the progress as well as the setbacks, loving me through it all.

Lonely is preparing a meal full of love and flavor, pouring a glass of wine, and sitting on the floor to eat at the coffee table, that I might at least sit with my dog and share with him the food leftover from never learning how to cook for one instead of two.

Lonely is this tear that just fell from my eye to my wrist.

I admonish my own self-pity. My blessings are too great, my luck improving, abundance increasing. I feel I have no right to complain... and what good will it do anyway? Reality is: I have crafted this life all on my own. I have made the choices. I reap the rewards, which never come without some sacrifice.... but love? Partnership?

Tears again... Fears again... Is it simply not possible that I could be so loved, even as I am so free?

My experience says “no.” In the past, to have the love, each time and in different ways, I was forced to relinquish that freedom. I sacrificed my music, my choices, my ideas, my dreams. Of course, it could never work thusly, and it never did. So I have learned from those experiences that, above all, I must remain true to myself and my path. I like my self, and my path. I am generally overflowing with pure joy, passion for my work, gratitude for all that has been bestowed upon me. Blissed and blessed, I always say. And after my divorce, I have resolved that to welcome love into my life again, it must be a love that wants and accepts me exactly as I am today.

Tears again... Fears again... Does that love exist for me?

I was encouraged as of late that indeed, it just may! Opened myself to love, in the right way, the smart and healthy way, and stayed on course with who I am, and where I’m at and where I’m headed. Loving purely, with integrity, thick with kindness and care, and benevolent freedom, just as it should be.

Yet, today I feel overlooked, or swept aside maybe, because of current circumstances in part, but also because of who I am and what I do. He called me a “gypsy,” and in his voice the connotation suggested I am too wild, too free, unable to settle down or grow up or whichever direction you’re supposed to go to be deemed worthy of love.

Is there a direction for love? Were they handing out road maps that I missed?

Of course, all of these qualities I inherently possess are the very ones I hear men express desire most for in a woman: fidelity, honesty, good communicator, loving, passionate, affectionate, intelligent, talented, beautiful, self-sufficient, socially graceful. I am not jealous or controlling. I like alone time, and grant it as well. I’m good with kids, and parents. I am optimistic and upbeat. I have a great laugh....

I don’t think it’s so easy to find a woman with so much to offer.

Tears again.... Fears again... Is there another quality inherent to my nature that makes me UN-qualifiable?

I’ve asked. I’ve gotten answers. None of them the same, but all leading back to the same point, which is that:

I cannot have love without being true to myself... and yet, so far, by being true to myself, I have not had that love.

So, as I suck up snot and wipe the mascara-caked tear streaks from my cheeks, I feel my skin stiffening, my armor thickening, my blood cooling. It’s been easier getting by under the facade of superhuman power-woman who is self-possessed and a goddess to all, rather than the vulnerable little girl who cries for impossible love, and just really REALLY wishes her daddy were here to hug her and remind her that to him, she was the most amazing thing in the world.

So, I have to remind myself:

I am amazing. And I’m working hard to be more amazing each and every day. Someday, someone might just come along and figure that out, and be giving thanks for the blessing of me in his life.

And if not, well, it’s still an amazing life. No matter how lonely it sometimes feels.

And I give thanks for the blessing of me in my life.

And even if that love never finds me, I am love. I have so very much to give.

No tears now, no fears. No what-if’s about what may or may not be. Reeling it in, back to the present moment where all my needs are met, and a beloved friend just sent a random note of kindness, and dog and cat have both invited themselves to my bed to whisk my tears away and lend me their physical support.

But I thank you for listening, and for loving.

I love you.

Today, I Think I'll Just Cry

Today I think I'll just cry...

I cry for my friend Sam, who hung himself three days ago.
I knew him as a child.
He would taunt and tease me, as so many boys did back then, making me bawl from time to time.
Later in life, we became lovers, briefly, for maybe all of a week or so.
He treated me then with so much tender passion, and deep understanding of my body and mind...
making up for the years of tears he bullied out of me in my girlhood.
I hadn't seen him since.
Now I know I won't ever again.
I knew him first through weepy eyes;
and sob now again as I say goodbye.

I cry for my mom, who suddenly wanted back in my life
after a year and a half of no connection or communication.
She came, she saw me in pain.
She took me to a clinic, and later to the hospital.
She came for a 10-minute visit five days ago.
I haven't heard from her since.
I cry not knowing what's easiest:
to not have her in my life at all, and therefore not expect anything from her,
or to have her in my life, living with hope that she might actually want to mother me someday,
but knowing, really knowing
that she was never able to before, and likely won't anytime soon.
I cry just wanting a mom, a mom who just calls to say, "I love you."

I cry for a carpenter.
A man who can build things, and take them apart.
A man who constructed, then destroyed my heart.
He thinks it unfair that I feel so used, insists I keep myself from feeling so dumb.
Still I cry each and every day he does not come.

I cry for my back, my spine, my pain and inability
to move, to wander, to work, to enjoy life as I always have.
I cry in this bed, this fucking bed I have come to hate
despite the fact that it, alone, has been here for me, night after night,
day after day, week after week, and now month after month,
giving me comfort and a soft place to land.
And yet I hate it, hate being stranded in it, as I will be, and am.

I cry over bills that stack up a mile high.
Unable to pay, I close my eyes and deny
their existence - as so so many of us do.
No point in opening them, looking to see, calculating or budgeting
when I know it will only overwhelm me some more.
I'm supposed to focus on healing.
Stress will only make me sore.

I cry for my Dad. Loudly - banshee screams,
that he might hear me, wherever he be.

I cry for affection. God, desperately so.
Just to have that "someone" here, lying next to me
for hours on end, making me laugh,
not minding my stink.
Telling me all the good things I'm forgetting to think.
Someone who'd rather be here than anywhere else.
Someone whose love for me is truly and deeply felt.

I cry because I'm crying,
of sadness, frustration, grief, anger and fear.
To quote the book I'm now reading:

"Of all the things to master, why did I have to pick tears?"

The Big Chill

After cooking up some pasta for dinner, and uncorking a really cheap bottle of wine, I decided to nestle in for a bit with a flick. Nothing of interest on the cable channels I pay a fortune for (as usual), so I searched the free movies On Demand, and saw "The Big Chill." It had been a very long time since I last saw it, but was drawn in not only by my memory of having liked it years ago, but also from remembering that my family once had the vinyl soundtrack to it, with great old Motown tracks to sing along to, which I always loved to play in my youth.

As the movie starts out, I'm reminded of the theme: one member of a group of old friends kills himself, and the others all come together for the funeral and a weekend of reminiscing and re-connecting in a slew of different ways.

*Big breath*

I do the initial preparation, as I still do, guarding my emotions from scenes of death and a funeral. My father's passing is still fresh, just over a year later. I thought while watching the opening scenes, eyes watering despite my stoic efforts, that I'll probably always be one of those people who cries easily when speaking of death, and of Dad, always missing him so.

After those first few scenes, as it gets into the story with the group of friends being together in their comfortable, however drawn apart, circle, another familiar emotion of late crops up: loneliness. I've already written about it several times in my blogs, and it is a prevalent theme in my life these days. I spend many nights at home alone, just aching for familiar company and affection. I cry about it sometimes, think about it way too often, try to write it out in songs or poems.

Watching these friends in the film reminds me of my own circle, knowing that our busy time of the year together - festival season - is upon us, and there will be many of these reunions just around the corner. It gives me comfort. I scold myself for being so indulgent in this sentiment, reminding myself that I had two lovely invitations just this evening to go out and be in good company. In the end, I chose to stay home - and for good reason: I have a busy day ahead tomorrow with dress rehearsals at two schools, and a cocktailing gig in the evening which one of my best friends hooked me up with. I need an early night, and good rest.

As the movie played on, I realized just how long it's been since I last watched it. I thought, "Wow, I'm now the age of these characters... have experienced similar events and dynamics in my own life." This fascinated me, and I mused for a bit on aging. One day, you're watching a film your parents really seemed to like, and you did too, in your young age - fantasizing about the intricate love triangles, eager for the day when you'll enjoy adult commaraderie over many glasses of wine (and other things!), wishing that you were as cool, as "put together" as the adults always seemed to be.

I toss back another glass of Garnacha (which is quite fine for only $4/bottle), looking at the door, wishing someone lovely and romantic would come knocking, wanting to share the other 1/2 bottle with me. And then, for the first time, I realize something: this loneliness beleaguring me, which I moan to my friends about too often of late, is really just a pretense. In the first place, I've never, ever really been alone - throughout my whole life, I have been exhaustingly blessed with people - gads of people everywhere. Friends, fans, colleagues, what have you. In the second, even throughout the many years I was coupled with partners, I still felt lonely. They would be there, providing for me exactly what I think I'm missing so dearly now - warmth, companionship, affection... my argument then was always that it just wasn't what I wanted; THEY just weren't what I wanted at that time, in those moments. The grass is always greener. As Joni says, "I'm so hard to handle; I'm selfish and I'm sad..."

"So what do I want?," I ask, my mind racing. I want to be brave, and to acknowledge that what I'm truly feeling is a deeper loneliness that has been with me throughout my life. I have tried to mask it, and hide from it by being with other people, being on stage in front of people, by smoking grass to help me to forget, by staying in relationships that didn't suit me to draw the attention and focus away from where it should have been all along: on me.

Why is it so hard to sit with myself and just be? What is so lacking, or starving, or desperate, or cold? Why am I afraid I don't have the spark within me to feed those coals, to fan those flames, to stand in the middle of my burning and still be okay? I feel that I DO know this on a conscious level, feel like I've been self-analyzing for decades of my life, and KNOW myself. Yet, on an emotional level, I still struggle to understand. I fail to understand what the struggle even is anymore.

I know many people in my life who see me from their perspective, who opine about what they feel I have yet to realize and to change or fix. They do this from a place of love, and they offer suggestions when I ask their direct opinion - because I have that kind of circle of friends, just like in the movie, and better. I hear their words, I agree with their insight. It all registers in the head, but has yet to really sink into the heart. People say, "You can't fix what you don't acknowledge." I don't know about that. I think that's the first step, but after comes the arduous work of living life, experiencing moments that continue to guide and teach you until you're at that perfect place where lessons can finally sink in and take hold. 'Til it hits the "warm spot," that sacred honey pot, sealed with its sticky sweetness and guarded by ten million stinging bees. It takes a perfect moment to access that doorway. Just ask Pooh.

I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette, and before I had even finished half, the melancholy had subsided. Only two minutes away from the movie and my mind was already racing with all the projects, plans, dreams I'm making daily progress towards. What a character I am - I laughed thinking that I should, myself, be in a movie. Lord knows, I come pistol-packed with a billion stories and every emotion known to man tacked firmly in place with each and every one of them.

'Til then: it might be lonely, it might be hard. I will continue to question and wonder, weep and worry, cry and laugh two seconds later. It's gonna take time, and I'm glad to have this life to figure it out. Time to find that perfect spark within me which, I hope, will begin to thaw my own inner Big Chill.

Loneliness

loneliness

long days, longer nights with one's self

already after many weeks, months

the initial shock has long worn off

the courage and fortitude too

the dog and cat have nothing left to say

it's just... lonely

once, there were calls to make;

they have already been rung

at one point, there was much to write, to consider,

to endeavor and experience

now it's all ho-hum

for all my longing for conversation,

companionship,

intimacy,

physical heat,

the hunger intensifies

and i worry myself about it:

if it comes, when it comes,

will my ravenous desire be too great?

will it frighten the very ones who come

to rescue me from these all-too-quiet,

way-too-many

nights alone?

can i temper it?

i fear i'm not that cool.

still haven't mastered those rules

for, in the past, it was always my game:

hunger, and they will feed you

but i'm older now

pulling it together well enough, but

tired, and wanting what i want when i want it

no time to fuss and figure

just want to call and have it delivered

what's wrong with the men of this world?

when they are tied, they strain to break free

when they are allowed free rein,

there's no interest

why must they continually be such disappointments?

fit, beautiful, deep, sensual, intelligent, talented, independent i am

if i want you, you should just shut up and fuck me