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?

 

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Loving “me”

Passion, I lacked. Passion, I have now found.

A new company. Almost ready to cut the threads to the other. The job I have juggled and responsibilities that were often fruitless while hours of work for mine awaited me. My company has gone from 0 mph to 60. And I sit, in awe at all. Names that are in the press everyday. Perhaps, my photos as well.

A move back to New York. A sudden departure without a goodbye to Puerto Rico. Passion, cold and coats in exchange for the balance and the sand that my toes miss. The orbits around me now have threads from years past. Strangers and past admirers. And courtship. Interesting men. But, my mind is focused on the new company. What a healthy place to be, as I have this power and comfort to not be burdened by anything that is not effortless. I still find myself dancing with the men who paint such an amazing picture, the men I tend to not fall for . . .

From Copenhagen: “You wake up at a slightly silly hour and a flood of ‘oh I should have done that yesterday’ thoughts pepper your mind and wake you up further.. You get up from bed and walk to where I have set up your laptop, on the work desk next to everything one needs to work (muji pencils, papers, post-its et al) . Of course, like you its already on and you can walk to it in the dark as the swirl of its screen saver gives your eyes a beacon. I may have been dimly aware that you got up..when I do wake up an hour later, I don’t question your absence but raise my head to hear your fingers on the keyboard and I relax my face back on the pillow. When I DO get up, I respect your focus with silence. I put on my gown and put on the kettle.. I make your tea the way you like it (or is coffee that you like on a weekend? tell me) and bring it to you. You don’t look up but you know what is coming from the times before: I place the mug next to your hand as my other hand strokes and raises your hair from you and I kiss the back of your neck just where it slopes down to your shoulders, before gently laying your hair back again… You dont even have to thank me as I know that at some point, when you are done, I’ll see your smile walking towards me on the sofa, good morning hug at the ready”

Awwww, if only. I could fall. The man who penned those words truly gets me.

 

 

 

 

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.