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?

 

Charge: Unprofessional & My plea: Guilty, but not really . .

The day before I went to New York (September 13) my world unraveled. Before, the incident, I wrote this:

“I wish my pen could write as fast as my my mind. So many thoughts. I penned this in my mind as I walked back to my car, blanketed in sand. My long tie-die dress getting caught in between my steps. I felt hippie glamorous should there be such a thing. So blessed that this stroll is a part of my now life- albeit its permanence as secure as a lone leaf’s place on a windy sidewalk.”

Two hours later, the first time in my career where my professionalism had been directly attacked. A letter my boss forwarded me contained the following, “A person with this title is expected to be professional & prompt in their communications. All my dealings with Attainingme to date have been marginal at best. She is a poor communicator for someone assigned this responsibility by the  . . .” WHOA! I failed to read the entirety of the email. I could not. I spent the evening hiding from the friendships I was forming, crying, and formulating an email to my boss. I will not get into the sordid details that prompted this BROKER, yes a measly broker, to write this email about me, but upon receiving the email I took it to heart, felt as if I had dropped the ball. However, as I structured an email, recanting the facts, I regained confidence in my actions. I did however, decide that I would pour myself into work.

I left for NY the next morning. Aware that again, NY and workaholic were synonymous.  I would be leaving the balance provided by this island and entering a whirlwind of to-do’s. I was overwhelmed, but had made the decision to work and do whatever it would take to juggle more than is humanly possible. The week, became one of anxiety, my face hollow, my skin gaunt, my nerves tense. Social time, barely existent. The TV a quiet reprieve, my most-sought source of relaxation. The first time in my life, it provided an ability to shut off for an hour. Typically, my mind too hyperactive to become engrossed in the tube, yet when my juice was beyond depleted, it more than sufficed. (Perhaps also soothing as I have spent the last month and all of my time on the island without a tv, in an empty apartment.)

My decision to become a professional juggler was not feasible. I was drowning in the attempt. On Friday, I sat with wet eyes as appeasing the BROKER was amounting to ten aggregate hours of proforma and presentation work as my phone rang continuously, a reminder as to what was needed to do to actually obtain the purpose of my job. A job that is based on achieving financing, at a time when the world is upside-down, a job that receives an A or an F, the effort, irrelevant. Job security, what’s that . . .

Aware that few can claim job security in these times, however, my job and my life, intertwined. My island, my new relationships, my balance . . . I questioned walking away for the first time. If so, I promised I would change industries completely. My thoughts from this moment in the previous post. 

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