Deciding to reclaim your life

As summer comes to an end and events such as Hurricane Irene and random earthquakes mark moments that will forever be distinguished memories, I am left feeling a little untethered. I start the dialogue that summer has escaped me, that I’ve done nothing, but then my memory reminds me . . .

I live a life so many covet. If twitter followers are a mark of anything, in one week, moments, trips, meals and 6am cocktails are spent with “people” who cumulatively have over one million followers, and that’s just four of them. I laugh. I dance. I am proud of my business. My body. Grateful for my friends. But I float . . and I feel as if days pass and mean nothing. Perhaps, it’s that being single, now for an extended period, having a small company, and living away from my family leaves the life I live to be simply lonely. . . . but connection cannot be dependent on finding the one.

So here I am. Making a decision to reengage. With myself. And change my decisions. To start- instead of watching tv (mindless and unrewarding with the exception of the escape provided) I am writing. Thinking. Deciding to figure out how to use every moment to be more alive . . .




The jungle that is the universe

Flying, again. These days a much less frequent occasion. Nonetheless, I return to a place long needed, but not long forgotten. My mind. It speaks . . . in a way it is incapable of doing so day to day. I am different here. I wonder if it is the expanse that lays below, the miles of land that are seemingly untouched, where a single being fails to make an impression, our creations, yes, but our physicality so insignificant.

A couple things happen. Two opposing emotions. One where my worries, my stresses melt into the selfishness from which they were bore, a realization that I am much too stuck in my own head. Ironically, the same head I don’t often visit. Quite, a preoccupying affair.

The other, a concoction. Emotions that should have been dealt and deserve to be felt. A hint of numbness mixed with a deep-seeded tenderness produces tears. Two drops. As in the horrible movie watched this weekend. The speed of which they took matched the speed I said was clearly fake. Either I am elementary in my emotional delivery or these tears were long waiting their speedy delivery, an escape from myself. Satiated with stresses. Time to let go.

And that’s where I reach a depth that requires words I don’t know. My mind dances around descriptions, defeating, failure, lucky, confused, undirected, and ultimately, what the fuck. Years ago I adopted an unfailing belief in the universe, the notion that things happen for a reason. That my life, the lessons learned were the greatest gifts. That hardships are signals to change. To adopt. Should you pay attention, wonderful warnings to follow, protection. Roads to the future destination much preferred. But here I am again. Transition, I feel. And all I can think about is exhaustion. That I am missing something for my heart seems at the end of its enduring.

The trip here was a recanting of many stories, while humorous and poignant and I, fortunate for them to be mine, to realize that I, such a simple individual, is really quite colored. I do love. But these stories tear. I feel for the girl who lived them. The feeling of stuck is definitely my biggest fear, capable of being my undoing and is my worst fear. I don’t want to have to untangle anymore. My strength is dwindling. And that’s why I write now. Because somehow, someway, here I am, again.

I felt that we sought the right things. Freedom. Passion. Ideas. And we are teased with that genuine success. From belief. From focus. But to me, who ponies up, takes the problems as mine to fix, I am zapped, I succeed but all while numbing. An unhealthy emotional dealing for I don’t take inside so well. More lessons, and my insides scream. I really am untethered.

And I want to say fuck. Question, why. I am not even sure if I believe anymore in a right path. I always thought the majority failed to consider, failed to listen to the lessons dealt. To grow, to change. That if we stayed persistence and real and had hearts that were kind, we would stumble upon our own unpaved path. Untamed, idiosyncratic, jungle adorned paths- both dangerous and beautiful, uniquely us. And most importantly, fulfilling.

So I am at more than a fork in the road. A fractured path.

N e x t  S t e p s

I believe we pay attention to that which we can control. So, my actions should I ignore, are to numb, to fix, to press on. Broken tires, A destroyed car. An experience, the result.

And if I attempt to listen. To believe in the universe would be to think the following. To believe in the need to stay persistent. That my dreams are being tested. Edison’s notion that so many great ideas die before properly explored.

Or conversely that I am meant to switch gears. The challenges that continue to confront are life’s directions. Reroute.

Or the option to change one’s mentality. A life that is much more simple. Smile. Dance. Laugh. And enjoy. Be simple. Discard this dialogue, this need to be someone, grow, challenged, the dialogue that is my worst enemy, I purport. This option the most unlike me. A character I don’t have. But I don’t believe in holding on to that of which doesn’t work.

The problem is how does one decipher?

Arrivederci. And a hello in 5.2 hours that I could long prolong.

Who needs a boyfriend when you have a business partner . . .

He was my gay husband but really he is my business partner. I am not sure which one came first. But then he left me. He left for me New york and impassioned lust.

My gay husband no longer exists and those beach mornings, those dining room conversations, our intimacy, emotions and friendship seem long forgotten. And this was the hardest thing. An emotional abandonment. Threads of diatribes and outpourings of affection faded like faint swirls of smoke. The lasting memories so vague, only words . . . lost and meaningless without context.

And he never returns  . . . those words. The first night, Vieques, tears almost poured down our faces. The love. It seems ill-fated.

I do. Some days. With the misses. Or the come homes.

But he, says nothing. I can only wonder. And dream. That he cares so much he can’t say anything for fear that a hole of vulnerability and tenderness that can be cured would be created. But we move forward. With our passions and our working relationship. Like a marriage. Rules. Understandings. Aggression and frustration.

But I will never forget what started it all. The subways. The pennies. The dining room table.

“The question is: what will you create?”

I am loving Mead’s words posted below. (Excerpts taken from “The Secret to Being Insanely Creative” by Johnathan Mead.)

You are already an artist.

You don’t have to create exquisite sculptures or breathtaking sonnets. You’re creating all the time simply by being alive. Every decision you make, every time you move, breathe, or speak you are creating. In fact, you couldn’t not create even if you wanted to. It’s simply impossible.

Just think about it: you’re the main character in your life story. Each day you develop and further the plot of your masterful performance. You interact with other secondary characters in your story that support your role. These are your friends, your lover, family and coworkers. They’re the supporting actors or actresses in your drama, and they also help mold your life’s narrative.

You can change the course of your story at any time by making new choices and walking down new paths. You can drop a secondary character and choose new ones, if they’re not supporting the story you’d like to create (except, perhaps, family members).

You constantly direct the play called your life; and that makes you a magnificent artist.  So if you’re creating your life all the time, wouldn’t it be more empowering to view yourself as an artist, rather than simply a passively living person? 

. . .

So what do you want to create? A film noir or a fairytale? You can choose a daring adventure or a comedy. It’s up to you as long as you accept that you’re the artist. You’ve got the brush, it’s up to you to put down the colors you like best.”

His words explain why I was happier with the prospect of losing my job. The situation was forcing me to switch gears and create. However, for some reason, my job is reclaimed– I, too necessary to unleash. Every hour last week sucked the life out of me. I know I can still choose to leave, but it was easier when the decision was made for me. Break ups are hard.

The initial knowledge of being fired allowed me to see a new future. I covered my ears to the “economy’s state.” I couldn’t be assaulted with the “if you have a job, you are lucky.” I had to believe I could change as easy as the wind. That something would be waiting to catch me. Invigorate me.

But then came the extension. And the exhaustion. Too tired to retire my days and create a new resume to bridge industries. The nights of this past week were a fog. A fog of somehow making it safely into bed. Not turning to that dormant addiciton. And my job continued. The hours were painful. I need to leave.

However, maybe the extension was also a gift–there was a reason in my story that the days have continued. I ended meetings last night that have the power to change everything. That could allow us to create something tangible as opposed to only the clouds of smoke that we now blow. Optimism Lies.  Parked outside American Airlines for thirty minutes, the other player and I, sat and created. Like two lovers who didn’t want to part. I bridged the gap and searched for why our companies were idle in their negotiations. I, am the only one that speaks their language. I will meet with my boss Monday and say I need to run the show. His answer, will determine my new path. 

And now, I am up, 7am on Saturday morning, happy to respond to emails and work. Tasks that require mind games to complete during working hours as of late. I suppose I lack focus when I know that I am simply pushing papers and stroking egos . . . 

Human Yo-Yo


2:38 pm I knew my termination was imminent.  The eyes of my colleague. His complexion, white. He walked by my office terrified, ghostly. All he could utter was the news would be told before 6.

My meeting was scheduled for anytime before 6.

5:45 pm. I enter. A paper in hand, a relaxed face, ease in my walk. I hand him a well-drafted document, complete with boxes and arrows, updates and Hope. Our company’s options from my POV.

The boss spoke and no defining news was delivered.  Relief.

Perhaps, it was the papers. Or perhaps, his nerves. 

I left. Able to breathe. But I wondered, would each day hereafter be the same? Prolonging, postponing, barely hanging on . . .

I met my colleague in the evening. He, two sheets to the wind. I sipped two margaritas con sal for dinner. My colleague, anxious and nervous, on edge. He informed me that while seeking approval for our new business cards, my boss took a piece of paper:

 A line was drawn–the paper divided in two.

Names were written.

And mine, solely, below.

An artistic way to break the news.

to my colleague, who walked into my boss’s door upon leaving



1 am. I go to sleep happy. My future uncertain. I don’t know where I am going. But this time, I travel without fear. One is never ready. I am most definitely not. I wish I had a cushion. Some pennies to get my through a month. Regardless, things happen for a reason.  I do know that I am not supposed to be here, not like this. As always, events transpire to disrupt that of which I myself have not. I procrastinate and lack lust. I forgot how to dream. I stopped growing. And I knew it was changing, not how or when. Soon. My thoughts in bed were to get through this month. And search. For what I don’t know.

7:30 am. I woke up today. Avoiding. Prolonging. Hoping, the news would wait. 

 The boss offered me a ride to work.

9am. Named me as Executive Vice President in an email.

11:55am. My colleague sauntered into my office, a mock-up of the new business cards in hand- Attaining Me, Vice President, 8 x 10. The contact info for me to approve. A small red order number written at the top- 500. My colleague’s face shines.

I am but a human yo-yo. 


1:25pm. My string was cut. I am here until the end of the month. 13 days. A miracle would bring a different future. But now, the energy is quiet, calm. No prolonging news. No waiting. I still don’t know what February will bring or if a miracle will come. I am not sure where I am supposed to go. I left a life in New York for this job. Do I return, release the hold? But I think of a slight dream, a dream borne with my colleague. And I know why his face was white. I also know the places you go are for a reason. Be it someone you meet or something you learn . . I did learn balance here. And there is a possibility of a continued life in PR, my colleague, a dream


13 days to decide. To move jobless to New York. Or commit jobless to PR. 

Whatever it is, I promise-

– 2008 was a year of balance and 

– 2009, a year will I will dream, an activity that shouldn’t be lost on children. I welcome the images. Colorful dreams. Technicolor. 


The option to build. I may not need erase.

I hang up the phone.
My hands meet, half fist, half prayer position.
In front of my mouth, they try and quiet the emotions trying to escape.
My body quivers as a result of the imprisonment of my screams.
It is a high–or rather, a potential high. I hold onto this emotion. I imagine it in the future with more permanence. I want it to return. I want its catalyst to be real. I want what I have been working on for the past 12 months to work. I want this deal to close.

I know I have hinted at starting all over, another reinvention.
However, the past week has solidified my desire to continue to be in Puerto Rico. It has also reaffirmed how many things are right about my job and my life that accompanies it. The only thing lacking is daily passion.
I know my life needs to change to one where procrastination is not so tempting. All events and current messages in my life are pointing to such. A life where procrastination is replaced with dreaming and creating. A life with passion, where work is effortless . . .

Would not losing my job simply prolong my life of passion that awaits me?
I now realize that either way, passion and/or a reinvention is imminent. If our deal closes, my role is redefined. I step into the role that drew me to this industry of creation. The chapter of directing Finance will come to an end. If the deal does not close, I will have no choice to leave. My company will no longer be able to pay me.

However, my cells are ready to celebrate. I wish to tear off the tape around the boxed up excitement stuck in every cell of my body. I will jump, scream, and dance around the office. Open the champagne. Smile. Hug my colleagues. Build on what I have started as opposed to start over.
I am beginning to believe that this year may just be a new chapter, not a new book.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

I saw “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” tonight and it struck so many chords. I am moved and amazed at how much it resonated with all of my thoughts as of late. I am going through yet another reinvention. What number is this? (About Attaining Me) So many transitions . . .

The quote that left an indelible impression was the following:

“For what it’s worth it’s never too late, or in my case too early, to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit; start whenever you want; you can change or stay the same. There are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it.

I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you are proud of. And if you find that you are not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”

This transition, as aforementioned, is significantly different than the others. I don’t feel as if I am in survivor mode, searching for strength, and wondering if a safety net would catch me fall. This year, I have the strength. I don’t have the means to make ends meet should I not have a job this month, yet I know everything will work out. I am not scared of the future, because everything happens for a reason. “Challenges-our greatest supporters” and I am grateful for this movie, for the many messages and for the message that truly touched me and the corresponding beautiful images that will remain ingrained in my mind. Remain there as lasting memories that the world offers so much and some of the most beautiful things come from nothing. 

Some other  memorable quotes:

“We are meant to lose the people we love.  How else would we know how important they are to us?”

“Along the way you bump into people who make a dent on your life. Some people get struck by lightning. Some are born to sit by a river. Some have an ear for music. Some are artists. Some swim the English Channel. Some know buttons. Some know Shakespeare. Some are mothers. And some people can dance.”

History Repeats

Written December 19th flying back to New York:

This is where I was a year ago. I know what happens next, because I have been here before. The difference is only that this time, I am only uneasy, not scared.

When history repeats itself, there is a common source. “The teacher comes when the student is ready to learn.” While, I may have always known the truth, this is the first time I am letting it in. This is the first time, I can entertain the truth, unbury it from the confines of my being. Despite this, I still don’t feel ready. My nerves heightened. My personality’s edge sharpened. An easy route is tempting, but the recurrence of events, cements that this truth, this conflict, is me. Not an egotistical boss or an inequitable situation.

I mention that my world may be changing to those close few. I refrain from saying, “It’s just like last year. “ It’s impossible to not feel as though I failed. I check my integrity. I check the truth. I scan my ethic. I dissect my focus. I review my hours.

I am good at what I do, but I still miss the mark. JR. The name, eh. A silly third party borker who dramatizes my faults, an act beyond highlighting. While his statements are an exaggeration, I suppose exaggerations are disproportionate truths. Even a lie, must have a conception. That seedling further validated by my ongoing review of my procrastination. . . .

And so it is. I know, this isn’t what I am supposed to be doing, this isn’t my passion, my career destination. At 25, err 26 in 27 hours, I have gotten so many things right, learned so much. I have adapted.

I review my last year’s resolutions, the majority of them, now true. Balance. Travel. My salary. My goals then are now the reality in which I live. If we all have a journey, a life that is aligned with who we are, I consistently get much closer. I know I am aware of the secret behind this elusive thing called legacy or passion.

Every event in my life has been a lesson that has lead me closer to such. Always a gift. Redirecting my path were it not the right one. Jim. Robbie. P. My disease. And the many lessons that have taught my empathy. I smile now for life provided me with my own equivalents for everything I couldn’t relate to:

My belief that my mother was weak, naïve.
My intolerance for drugs., alcohol.
My narrow world of ambition.

Life upset that of which I held true.

I now am intimate with loyalty, addiction, and distraction.

This flight is the first time which I have internally vocalized that there is a disparity between my career and my identity. I hate the typed words. Erase? Breathe. It is December 19th and I know something is going to change.

What I want in a man

 Inspired by CremolloQuarterPony and Cindy! As written at 1:30am. I apologize for the stream of consciousness. I will update this with a more specific list. i suppose realizing what I want is a process in itself.

I am not sure if I should write “The Man I Want” or “The Man I Want Right Now.” I always thought that they were the same—I, not one for things without lasting significance.

I stare at the porcelain horse head on my dresser and I know where this should go . . .

A man who helps me to cultivate my passions.

A man who brings out the ‘me’ I love.

However, since I love myself unconditionally and love the real parts of me- be it introspective, childlike, giddy, or depressed, perhaps it is better to define this as:

A man who cultivates those parts of me that I am neglecting.

Oh man, how am I ever going to write this list. Ok, note to self: Cultivate those parts of you that you are neglecting.

The man should therefore, see the artist in me. A man with whom I can be a writer, photographer, and adventurer.

I would love a man with whom I could ride horses.


The man should also recognize my ambition and be ambitious himself, for what sexy soul lacks ambition? Which makes me realize, I also require introspection.

A man with whom I don’t intend to work with, but as a unit, we will create something bigger than ourselves. Sharing our businesses, fueling the minds that depart each other every morning, fostering each other’s brilliance and confidence.


A man with whom I can play with, dare with, who will push my limits-on a swing or in the bedroom. Laying on a blanket in the grass as if we were children succumbed to the moment without another care.

Yet, this man has many cares.

He need not have an unblemished past. He may have a perfect family or none. Yet, he should have an understanding of himself- his fears, his inhibitions, his neuroses.


We read in bed. We cook dinner. Share wine. Champagne. We race. We fly. We grow.

I love tall, dark and handsome, but he could be blond with blue eyes and chiseled features. My physical requirement is only that my body yearns for his and that I could get lost in his eyes forever. Luckily, eyes don’t gain weight or age.

My man is honest. Able to give. Able to be classy and dirty. Handsome in a suit, and just as handsome rugged in boots. Did I say I have a thing for horses and adventure?

Passion, tears, immature, serious—nothing is off limits.


. . . . . . To be continued. There is a flying insect pursuing me hungrily and the man is not here yet to conduct his insect-swatting duties.

Oh, just one more for this evening- A man who will take care of the manly things. Pete, the cockroach and Loco the most treacherous bug I have ever known are two things my man would make sure I was without.


Is it possible to have a quiet mind?

I feel as if perhaps I live a life on a rollercoaster. Writing the previous post finds me sitting many miles in the air somewhere in between the two coasts of the US, depleted. I look at the sun and the clouds and search my ability to regain my optimism of yesterday afternoon- I was filled with thoughts that this weekend would change my life and extreme excitement to see my mother.

Now I sit here with the fear of work not progressing and longing to run. As if running could sweat out the toxic thoughts. Its a common occurrence after a B depletion- a workout can return me to neutral. 

Just two days ago, Thursday 1am, I basked in my charismatic glory in the taxi ride home. Recanting moments of befriending strangers and their captured attention as I talked. I was funny?! I was irresistible! Not wanting anything- I was content, confident and self-assured. I even wondered if part of my audience had told Carter that I was spectacular, for Carter, the mansion’s owner, wrote me off upon our initial hello. Upon my exit, without a conversation in between, he asked if a common friend had my number looking at me as if I was something ….and that was just the icing on the cake, I was pursued heavily all evening …capturing glances from one suitor as I spoke to another …. However, flattered, the smiles and laughter at my stories by the couple remain my favorite night’s memory.

I thought of my tanned skin and thanked the island for the way it is has changed so much more than my appearance. 

NOW, I wonder if I am crazy. I feel anything but magnetic. Invisible even– as the “stewarder” managed to pass me and my outreached hand each drink service and garbage retrieval.

I feel trapped in this plane … I normally love flying but my bags are crowding me as are my thoughts. 

I have been blogging for two weeks and I look at these posts, the emotions are extreme … I realize this is what my mind knows and I ponder, looking at the girl next to me who is managing to sit listening to her music with her eyes half-closed for this entire 4.5 hour flight, whether some people simply have a quiet mind? I have consummed 2 coffees, lettuce, water, diet sprite, finished a book, two magazines, two blog entries, and listened to spanish podcasts ….

Perhaps this hyperactivity, is why at 25, I truly believe I have managed to have quite a life. I do however lack an ex-husband or children and a part of me is searching for her lost child. Lately, I am feeling small, meek and simple. Only affected by the kids on the playground. Another part of me dons a suit, pointed stilettos, a controlled voice, and an independent aura. 

Perhaps, this discrepancy is also the reason I don’t have an end vision with work, a purpose. Perhaps I tasted responsibility too young, and the pitfalls of success were made apparent before true business success was had. This coupled with my disease, the culprits behind the redirection of my life plan, the CEO who would start a nonprofit. 

I suppose I am not too far off from that, but the vigor and appetite is suppressed. I worry if a man will be be threatened by my success, I long to be supported and not solely independent, I fear being a cougar. Clad in prada and dior, surrounded by Paul Evans and le corbusier, hirst and hiroshi kukimoto, horses …

I think of horses, being active, nature, cars, wind in my hair, a house and discovering my ability to nurture and love.The stirring of dormant characteristics- worrying, disciplining, teaching.


My tastes, my lives, my emotions, all extremes. My internal conflict with work I believe is the recognition that perhaps achieving “success” makes my life of nature, at best, a solitary future endeavor. 


I write this now and truly examine that fear ….I see its silly … 


Future post- my future, my vision, my purpose