New Beginnings

It's Easter Sunday, a day of celebrating new beginnings. In the past six weeks I have lost my mother and severed all contact with my ex; two huge endings. I am a teacher so I have had the past week off in which I have fallen into a virtually comatose state. I could not decide whether I was depressed, simply recovering from the trauma of these two events, or whether the depression and recovery were the same thing. But today this question reverberates in my mind: what now? Where do I go from  here? I have to rebuild a life that looks exactly the same but is based on an entirely different foundation. Because here is what losing these two people taught me: no one else can make me happy. No one else can give me that feeling of completion; its all up to me.
So I started with this; I made a list of goals for each area of my life (because the internet told me that was the first step to getting my life under control.) Then I preceded to tell my two teenage children that while I was providing the internet services and devices that fueled their lives they were going to have to get their acts together and start doing homework. I simultaneously started spring cleaning. And so now, in an effort to bring more harmony into my life, my whole house is in chaos. My girl child is sitting at the table brooding over a project that was already supposed to be turned in while suffering from withdrawal from her texting habit. My boy child has discovered in the process of cleaning his room his drum set that I pay for every month but is never used. Things are strewn every where around the house while I decide where they should go. It does not seem like an auspicious beginning. I suppose this is one of those moments when I have to pull from deep inside of me and "put on my big girl panties" as they say.
Here's to new beginnings.

Rivers of Denial

My intention really was for this journey to be lighthearted and fun. Gay, in the old fashioned sense of the word. But what I've quickly learned is that the business of changing your life is a gut wrenching process. At some point I realized I was doing a terrible job of taking care of the one person I had any really power to impact- myself. So I made a commitment to myself this summer to really take care of myself. I mean really take care of myself , like in an "Oprah would be proud of me" kind of way. I'm an anxious eater and a sugar addict from waaaay back. I am 5 ft tall and weighed 180lbs. The first step in taking care of myself had to be eating better and exercising. I hesitated at joining a gym. It was money that I was afraid would be wasted. So I picked a gym that was literally right next door to my work and was on my way home. No excuse not to go. That first week was a little shaky. But one morning I got up on the elliptical and had what can only be described as spiritual awakening. Now let me be clear about something. My relationship with "god" is not what would be considered a usual one here in the Bible belt. I find god in a lot of places but she seems closer to me in nature. I call her Lucy and I have no real theological beliefs except this: she cares for me when I let her. If you've had a moment of intense closeness with god you know that there are no words adequate to describe that experience. So I'm not going to try. But on that unlikely pulpit of the elliptical machine, I felt her love for me. I felt for the first time that I was truly worthy of being cared for and I told her I would do anything to take care of myself. Since then sugar really hasn't been a problem for me. It's hard when others around me are having it. But I remember what I'm working for; I remember that for me sugar is what alcohol is to alcoholics and my desire to be whole is greater than my desire for sugar.
Monday my trainer had me working out in front of a mirror. I was forced to really look at myself for the first time in ages. In order to get where you want to be you have to know where you are. And that was the first time I really had faced what I had done to my body. I have hated looking at myself for so many years that I was in complete denial about what I really looked like. I still carried in my mind the image of myself at 18. I saw my body as it really was. And I was sad. Strangely, I worked out really hard yesterday. And it was all I could do not to cry. I can't explain what those tears are about. But I think it is sorrow for all the times that I abandoned myself. Because the one person we betray the most often is ourselves.

The heart wants..

I found the perfect bed. I decided it was time to start over. So I found a beautiful white scrolled iron headboard at Pier One. It isn't the antique I've always dreamed of, but its price tag means its close enough. Now all I have to do is remove the old bed with the old lover in it. Yes, he's still sleeping in my bed.(For the record, I'm on the couch.)
In the days after I asked him to leave I found I had a raw, desperate craving for him. I was shocked that I felt anything at all for him. But this was a longing with every part of my being. I wanted him to hold me, care for me, tell me how he treasured me. Why would I need approval from this man? It was a little like being desperately thirsty in the desert and longing for a rock to pour forth water. Not going to happen. We have approached each other carefully, saying only necessary polite things and I have kept my longings to myself, knowing that it would be harmful to both of us to express them. The heart wants what it wants, I suppose. But will my heart ever grow any wiser?

A new adventure

You never know where an adventure is going to take you. Sometimes it doesn't end in the "happily ever after" that you expected. For the past four years I've been in love with a man who is more fighter than lover. We have broken up and gotten back together countless times. I have cried buckets of tears over this man. I have loved him with a depth I did not know was possible. And I have hated myself for loving him. But, in a way that probably every woman can relate to, I kept believing he would come to be the man I thought lay inside. The kind, gentle, smart man who loves opera and the blues. And slowly, painfully I have come to understand that he is simply not able to be that man. He wants to be that man for me. But being that man requires something; courage, determination, something that he doesn't have. I am not angry about this. Just so very sad. I still love him, but I have come to love me more. I have come to believe that I am worthy of love and kindness. I have come to the place where I would rather be alone than be with someone I can trust. So I asked him to leave yesterday.
I am terrified, I am joyous. Time to turn my attention to a different relationship; one with myself. And what adventures we will have!

Someone to mark the road

I was browsing the nonfiction section in the library when my daughter came up to me and said "watcha lookin for, mama?" I was afraid the truth would sound ridiculous. I was looking for a book that would teach me to be fearless. I could blame a lot of things, my personal temperament, my religion, my gender, and Southern culture. A learned a lot of things about what it meant to be a girl. And none of those things including being fearless. I was taught to be polite, always put a smile on my face and put everyone else's needs before my own. In other words, the opposite of fearlessness. So I learned to look for books to teach me what it meant to be true to myself.
So I was disappointed this week to learn that Maya Angelou had passed. I don't remember when I first read "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings." But I remember how much I admired the strength of Maya Angelou, how she struggled to pursue her dreams and be true to herself in spite of incredible odds. She was so honest and so unashamed of what she had been through. I wanted that for myself even long before I could actually put that desire into words. She lived close enough to me that I always hoped that I would get to meet her someday. I wanted to be able to shake her hand and thank her for sharing her strength and her struggle with the world. I'll never get that chance. But I will remember that someone else has traveled this road before me. And I will take courage from that.

Baby Steps

     You know what they say about the journey of a thousand steps...something like that. Anyway, we good girls have to build up our tolerance for adventure so I started small with a wine stroll at a nearby plantation. It was a big deal for me though because it was one of the things the BF said he would take me to do waaay back in our early days of heady romance. Three years later I was still waiting. So I decided it was time to take things into my own hands and buy the tickets myself. I'm so glad I did.   I'm not much of a big wine person. In fact, the BF, who is something of a wine buff, teases me about my unsophisticated tastes. I like a cheap red mascato which he scoffs at as barely qualifying as wine. Honestly, I went more for the scenery. But I also thought that knowing something about wine was one of those requirements of a "real grownup." The scenery was gorgeous. It was just chilly enough to be comfortable and everything was in bloom. The wines were less impressive. I tried two types of sangria, a chardonnay, and something that we referred to as the kitchen sink wine because it claimed to have a little bit of everything in including cappuccino. I thought for sure I would like I wine that tasted like cappuccino, but...no. Maybe I would have enjoyed it better if I'd done a little research. Like, what the hell is a zinfandel? But there's nothing adventurous about knowing what you're getting into, right? But just in case you're interested here are the three C's to tasting wine from the Biltmore Estate's vineyards.http://www.biltmore.com/wine/wine-101/wine-basics
And I'll leave you with pictures of the scenery.