Tardy

I waited way too long to write up this thought.
The person who taught me this has gone ahead and left my life...

I hate the fact that I can take away a life lesson from him, but not take him, too.

I had all these provisions that I was so sure had to be filled by Mr. Wonderful.
He needed to be a cowboy. Because cowboys know how to do EVERYTHING. and they smell like leather, and they're rough, and strong and brave.

You understand.

Turns out, a guy doesn't need to be a cowboy in order to be strong and brave and wonderful.

I've learned that I often won't be able to put people in these little provisional boxes. I need to analyze their qualities one by one, and break down my own expectations further, additionally. Everyone is so dynamic, fearfully and wonderfully made.

I'll love his soul, more than anything anyway. That's what it's really about.

Though I do love horses.

Humility

I drove a '97 Jeep Grand Cherokee for my first 3 years as a licensed driver. (Yes, licensed is a key word there.) That thing had rust...dust...cobwebs and mice living in it, and it was absolutely wonderful. Never broke down (to the point I couldn't fix...or duct tape), never got in an accident, just loudly rolled around on the road for 3 glorious years.

That thing kept me humble. I now drive a BMW, but let me tell you, I needed those three years. You think your hot shit right out of driving school.

I've been working hard to try and relate this to something with the correct level of irony. Rubber band? Operant Conditioning? Here's my poor attempt:

I feel as though I've been climbing through a reasonably untrodden path in the forest of my life (we can hypothetically call that path....Love. Hypothetically, of course). A while back I was similarly climbing, and I held a branch out of my face, but it slipped, and smacked me in the face. Ouch, not cool. Next time, whats up, ya learn. Ya hold the branch a little tighter, grab it with a little more force and purpose, if you so dare to test it's own strength after all.

Who gets smacked a second time but me? Of course?

The only possible way of chalking any of this up to anything is that, hey. Sometimes we need a good smack. Keeps us humble.

Usually

As per my usual, I have a long list of things I should be doing that fall much higher on the priority level than blogging. But, it's a form of exhaust for my brain and it's capacity, so I claim this as a necessary step before delving into my tasks for the evening.

Most parents, love their children dearly. Big events like scoring a goal, graduating school, landing a big job, tend to evoke a sense of pride that they often audibly share with their children. Wonderful.

There's another angle that pride should come through, that for me so far, it has not. I'm busy and crazy and over achieving, and somehow, in expressing this to any friends or romances, there's a sense of jealousy, competition or otherwise. Never pride. Never appreciation or admiration.

My most recent romance, one that I like very much actually, recently listened with wide open ears as I shared of my plans for the day, which, let's be real, were ridiculous. There are never enough hours in the day. He replied with "I am so proud of you".

Floored.

Fall over the your chair.

Really?

Yeah. Simple and honest, and somehow more meaningful than most other things anyone could have said. Knowing someone is "proud of you" evokes a much different inner feeling that knowing someone "loves you" or knowing someone "cares about you" or "thinks of you". They take pride in knowing you, in calling you theirs.

I like that, someone takes pride in knowing I'm theirs.

Brains

I have trouble with the idea that the brain is this infinite locket of space and understanding. We were fearfully and wonderfully made, and it is a masterpiece, don't discount. BUT, I hate the fact that we so often need to "make room" for other things. Other feelings.

I've done a bit of that. Really I think it's much more rearranging than getting rid of things in order to replace them.

Keeping that preference in mind (that it's more of a rearranging, than forgetting in order to let something else in)...then, yes.

we are fearfully and wonderfully made. And I'd like to welcome the new addition to my crowded house. It's been awhile since everything has felt this right.

Bones

I work in a very casual corporate type of environment. We have a handbook because our HR company makes us, and the whole content of it is a bit of a joke. For example, you get 10 days paid vacation if you donate bone marrow. Really? Who does that? It's extremely painful.

I read an article about a 19 year old girl who donated her bone marrow to an 8 year old and saved her life. She was a part of a program where you could sign up as a donor, and if your cells match, you could be called at anytime in for surgery. Truly inspiring. Truly, a painful process.

Looking at this in the scope of life as I so love to do, how often do we have to let go of a piece of ourself, to better something else?

Sometimes, saying goodbye to a very deeply rooted, core piece of who you are and what makes up your entire structure, despite how rivetingly painful and entirely consuming, is in actuality, a necessary step to save another piece, or at least help it.

There are so many metaphors one can utilize to view life in this light...without the rain the flowers won't grow. Without the rain there is no rainbow. No pain, no gain.

Without ever having seen flowers before, or without your eye on a prize to make that pain worthwhile, the pain simply doesn't seem worthwhile. And thus, I am reminding you, and me.

I know

He laid down on the bed and then invited me over, head cocked to the side with a challenging half smile. Raised one arm as if to say “Look, here, this is where you should be….now where are you?”.

I climbed over the suitcase and across the bed and rubbed my head right into that little corner above his shoulder, under his chin…right where my head fits perfectly.

He grabbed a handful of my hair in his hand and played gently with it as he sang in a half whisper into my ear.

“You know, I don’t want anything else. Only be in your arms…”

His lips sang into my forehead as the song turned softly into a kiss.

With closed eyes, I melted. I breathed in deep the first boy unafraid to love me.

Wave

New York is experiencing a heatwave to the tune of 100-110 degrees fahrenheit. Oh it's good fun, I can assure you. We are in day 4, and expecting Day 5 tomorrow.

As I was driving along, windows down (my AC needs a good re-charge, and hey, a little sweat is good for the skin, right?) sweating uncontrollably, I realized that we all were. And that was that.

Sweating on a hot day is the only naturally occurring bodily function that we don't need to apologize for or feel embaressed about because honestly, we all get it...it's hot. When generally any other bodily function without clear explanation is seen as a flaw, walking into a grocery story with sweat stains on my back and arms is completely normal, and nobody gives it a second glance. I find this absolutely fascinating. First that there is ANY bodily function that society can grant an excuse for (excuse yourself after you sneeze, burp, yawn...don't even think about flatulating...), and second...that it is SO completely forgiven. Completely. Maybe society isn't quite as jaded as I had pinned it for after all. Every once and again, it comes up with somethin to remind me it has a sense of humor.