I tripped and my voice found me

Well, hello again. In an attempt to decipher my current emotions, my mind traveled to the cadence that propels me to write. A craving to purge words. A drug-like state. Calm, seductive. This is the closest I have felt to myself in forever. I love this me, as emotion-fueled, deep and introspective as she may be.

I play with the idea to write here again, regularly.  This is my first time returning since I last wrote. I feel like I’m an adult revisiting her childhood home. The trees in my backyard show my roots long forgotten, the walls whisper my dreams, and I see “me.”

I revisit posts and dust off memories of a life that doesn’t seem like mine. It confounds and intrigues me.  How am I so far removed from these stories? I locked away my past-life and forgot to visit.

In ten minutes, I have found the answer to the sea of questions that have plagued me for weeks; a reminder of the consequences of age, experience and “perspective.”

x

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 . . .

 

 

 

Childlike dates make magic

Magnetic. So often I am turned to for dating advice and thought I’d share my past weekend here. We went to Soho to watch the Derby. I arrived late as my love affair with my yoga class on Saturdays is a high, an addiction, I am unwilling to sacrifice. So, when I was dating Mr. Hot Simple I was hit on everywhere I went, oddly with him nearby. I found it strange, but then I realized that with him, I always smiled. I was comfortable, myself. So, smile.

There was a man with haunting blue eyes and an accent that made me sigh. From Cape Town his energy was different from the men of New York, his wit unparalleled. The lounge allowed dogs and I concocted a plan that we should steal his friend’s. With a note of course. No reason to make someone’s heart palpitate. Of course, Sunday I receive a text: “Our plan of attack will need to be well orchestrated. Probably responsible for us to meet to discuss our strategy?” And one thing led to the next. And we went exploring for a discrete place to have drinks. 6 seats. And six hours of nonstop laughter. A cartoon like menu for the drink specials. We had a coloring contest. He won. His prize, me doing a handstand and scorpion pose from yoga. Of which I still owe him. Tonight we are doing dinner.

So point is, smile, laugh, have fun. Bring out the best in someone. Be truly interested in who they are. And what makes them tick.

x

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.

We’ve run our course

Letting go of something I never grabbed onto. He was handsome, his lust found me, engulfed me. The moments together were light. Happy. And I, physically awakened. I kept seeking. Where was he. So simple. An opposing mirror to my complexity. The best me was suffocating. But my inner dialogues kept pressing. Don’t throw someone away due to an unhappiness with myself. Seeking someone to challenge me, bring out the best in me, seemed as if it was a problem I wouldn’t have if I was together, whole. A problem best dealt with myself.

So with the new year, I communicated. Me, communicating. Imagine that. I felt that there must be someone more interesting underneath the fine specimen of a human being. I wanted more. Yes. But I said what. After all, he had fallen, supposedly. A light request to someone who wanted an us.

But tides change. And he felt defeated. The month to follow, I was dealt my own recipe. Games I say. Games he said he didn’t play. “Straightforward, I am.”  Dense, I retorted. Nights of pain. Of hurt. Against a current of need. Something I rarely seek. This boy who “liked” me so failed to be the simplest of friends. Enough cuts.

So I tried. Multiple choice. A, B, or C. Your words don’t meet your actions. So either your feelings have changed or this sabotage will not be well received. A. we try and make this work. B. we enjoy each other casually or C. we part ways. Not C was the only answer I ever received. And the mention of defeat. Continued games. Continued stabs.

And me, somehow caring enough to communicate again. Imagine that. A request for him to tell me how he feels. A warning that my emotions were on their last leg (pinky toe rather) and that I have an uncanny ability to take my feelings and put them in boxes. Tied with a pretty bow. Of apathy. Of indifference. Emotional doom to never be reopen.

“I get it.” The three words I received. Tonight was worse. Another stab. And I told him, we’ve run our course. He says, “I don’t want to weigh on you.” And my innards screamed. On the mat at the gym. A diatribe of fuck you’s to a phone that died after his response.

A sign that a response is not due. But oh how I just want to say fuck you. Send him the definition of like, falling in love, and an us. I hate him so. and back to the resurfaced “I hate the words I love you.” the i love you, but.

My last words.

I miss writing. I miss this blog. And, you. I find myself somewhat breathless as I return to these old streams, layers of emotions and memories that are no longer the make up of my day.

This blog, unintentionally, documents the life I lived in Puerto Rico. When I first started writing, I longed for continuity in a life that straddled two places, two beings, and two parts that seemingly did not make one, specifically me, whole.  I wrote with the hope that writing and being connected to my introspection would transcend the life that no one but I knew. In that journey, I found you. I found a voice. I found inspiration. It ended with my leaving, and perfectly chronicles the two years that seem like such distant memories.

And as life often does, it has returned my thoughts to writing. Through a series of unlinked comments, praise for my distant writings, the noted talent I am unsure I have, a request for me to document my “unreal” life, and my own business where it seems necessary to be a “brand.”

So, I have spent the last week thinking. What do I write? Do I have anything worthwhile to say? It would be wonderful if I could write, be genuine and also have it benefit my company, my business, my brand. But, the truth is I am no expert. I am young and have an innate talent, business-sense. I am building a company. And it is tough, but it is my inspiration. I could chronicle my life, but it would be no promotion to do so honestly. And with whom could I share? My story is a girl who is atypical in love, a woman who breaks hearts, an entrepreneur who wants to grow an empire, a person who loves working out, challenge, thrill, and most of all, introspection, for it has been the best education. Dear reader, what do I do from here?

 

The unavailable female

The episodic heart. The running dialogues in my mind, their words . . .  they change. They vary from pain to understanding to my own admittance of fault.

That evening A stated, “love and drama go hand in hand.” I know the guest was a female. My intuition says she arrived, and most likely arrives most Thursdays (the one day I historically have not been here) and to her dismay, he rushed down, wouldn’t allow her up. Women are not stupid. I am sure she understood the reason. But, perhaps he lied. Said his parents were in town. They in truth come tomorrow.

He looked at me with eyes covered in a film of red. Whatever happened was not easy. He was destroyed. “Drama and love go hand in hand.” He proceeded to tell me I am not like my gender, and that i have things to learn about love. To watch ‘Valentine’s Day.’ The irony. I sat quiet, same half smile that I wore upon his arrival. I offered nothing. My insides in opposition, screamed with fury. I wondered how this was getting turned around on me. I imagined him now falling into a lustful, intimate, emotional relationship with whoever came below. I was wrong as he asked me to go away for Fourth of July . . . a trip like Memorial Day that had been preplanned and was now ripe for the taking.

I still have not confronted him. The few friends I’ve told, perplexed. My mind has traveled to so many places and often, feels too logical, too cold. I will explain my perspective later. But, the summarized version is our relationship lacked something weeks ago, that is the problem. The lack of sex, of intimacy, and the other females all go hand in hand. I will not fall and/or stay in a relationship without the first two, and the first two cannot exist with the last. So, if the relationship grows, if we remove our walls, then the rest is relevant. Until then the countries my mind will visit . . . and perhaps the other men I will let in.

xx