Only Hours Away

Good Morning, Thursday.

I rose and shone early today with Joseph as he prepared for his two day workshop on making the world a better place. He’s taking notes for me as we speak so later he can share all he learns with his Lovey. We’ve come a long way since I wrote “Because Maybe,” he and I. Now we feel more like “Because Seems Likely.”

Joe shared something else with me this morning that I’ve heard a hundred times before and will need to hear who knows how many again until it sinks in. He reminded me of the 10,000 Hours to Mastery principle. In the words of researcher Dr. Daniel Levitin, “. . . ten thousand hours of practice is required to achieve the level of mastery associated with being a world-class expert — in anything.”

Though daunting, I also find this information reassuring. It seems to suggest that if all I can manage is to do something, even badly, over and over again I will improve. It helps me move past the blocks that prevent me from writing blogs and poetry and music.

But what about this practicing something “badly”? Could there potentially be detrimental effects as a result?

I Googled “the effects of practicing something wrong” and came up dry. So, I am forced to draw my own experiential conclusions on this one.

I consider my experience as a baker and a barista right away. I certainly learned many bad habits as both. However, I can’t say that being a poorly trained barista at age 15 has gotten in the way of me creating better and better coffee beverages ten years later. In a way, unlearning all those bad habits has actually enhanced my retention of newly learned good ones. Because I’ve seen the whole spectrum of the process, I more fully understand why I’d want to strive for more on the other end.

In my personal assessment of learning, I believe that sharing skills with an outside influence and allowing feedback is also crucial for accelerated learning. Without Abby overseeing me as I foamed milk for my first latte, for example, I would have taken many times longer to achieve the creamy perfection I often do today.

I suppose the same goes for my relationship with Joe. We were pretty unskilled at loving each other in the beginning. . . but now, perhaps 3,500 hours later, we’re getting pretty darn good at it.

The Fullness of Purpose

I am sitting here in my comfy chair with my little netbook near my belly, pondering its achy-ness. My relationship to food continues to irritate, perplex and, most recently, inspire me.

I’m finally reading Women Food and God by Geneen Roth. My first reaction to seeing the book on the bestseller shelf at Village Books nearly two years ago was positive. Then, as I opened it up and viewed more of the widely spaced text on each page, my faithful (faithless?) ego stepped in and stopped me from going any further.

A few days ago I found myself suddenly reinspired to pick up a copy. Thrilled to have an excuse to scoot on over to my new favorite secondhand bookstore after work, I popped in and inquired as to whether it was in stock. Success!

Successive successes followed as I perused the first pages of Roth’s latest book. It’s the first of hers I’ve read. I learned quickly that Ms. Roth follows the Diamond Approach taught by my teacher’s teacher and that she gleans wisdom from my parents’ guide Steven Levine. With newly inspired trust, I read on.

I’ve honestly been obsessing over my relationship to food since sixth–make that third grade. Oddly, during both times I was [un]inspired in my eating habits by one particular female peer who I will call “Sheila.”

When I was 8 years old, I literally remember hiding under a classroom table with Sheila and whispering about the fact that all she would eat that day were the apple slices in a ziplock baggie she clutched in one hand. At age 11, I recall the two of us feasting proudly on carrot sticks and ranch dressing, and later doing stretches on her back porch and evaluating our thighs.

It makes me sad to recall and share these stories, yet I also recognize the opportunity to let old demons go and possibly gain new perspective.

One thing I’m getting from reading Geneen Roth’s book is that most of us humans feel deficient in some way and that we clamber for a means to fill up our hollowness. Of course, for the majority of her audience the means to anticipated fullness is food.

That describes me so far, and makes me curious as to my own deficiency. What’s going on that leads me to eat when I’m not always hungry and look forward to food with seriously exaggerated anticipation?

I have about a million answers to that question bumping around in my head right now with “fear of dying” floating right near the top–but I won’t go that deep just yet.

It seems to me that in ten-year-old Tessa’s eyes, the opportunity she saw in paying rapt attention to food was to become somebody she felt good about. More importantly, it gave her a goal.

It feels pathetic to admit that and this: I have the most doggonned darned wretched time creating real goals for myself even now. The result? I walk aimlessly all the time all day long because I do not know where I am going. Now if that’s not something feel deficient about, I’m not sure what is.

The good news? In reading Women, Food and God I am experiencing an influx of insight, ya-hoo!, and finally waking up to the way I eat and why. I tell you, it is so much easier to go easy on myself now that I am beginning to understand my own motives. Compassion is actually setting in!

I’ll celebrate that breakthrough for now and begin making goals in the meantime. I suppose getting back on this blog is a good place to start. Thanks for reading.

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Because Maybe

I like you, maybe because

you are kind
you are sensitive
you are thoughtful.

you are sweet, you are loving, you smile.

you dance with me
and horizontally
and you kiss me.

I like you because you’re intelligent
and original!
I like you because you follow your own thread.

You’re spontaneous
and gracious.
You walk your walk.

Your ego isn’t in control
and you know what I mean when I say so
and you seek enlightenment
or
more appropriately
consistent growth.

Who else could possibly avoid stagnation as I do?

Your loving
makes my knees weak
and my jeans creamy.

Your touch
excites my skin
and I am able to receive your love.

Only with you
do I relax into caresses
not fearing
or feeling
I must reciprocate
in order
to be deserving
of enjoying
your gifts.

I like you
because you swim
and hike
and you’re emotional about birds

because your vision
isn’t perfect
and sometimes
you let me see things for you.

I like you because
you can see
my father
and I believe you could love him anyhow

because
you chose
your father
as yours.

You remind me of non-attachment.
You help me to be in the present.
You present a way of being entirely different
than the one I have known.

You appreciate my cooking,
discipline
intelligence
and the laughter
of my auntie and me
as she describes
her colonoscopy.

I wouldn’t mind
if with me
you saw more stars

wouldn’t mind if the scents of rosemary, roses
couldn’t help
but be embraced
by your sweet senses.

I wouldn’t mind
if you shaved more often
and closer
so I could rub my smooth check against yours
and be closer.

When I first saw you
I couldn’t see you
but some part of me
I swear, could feel you

Because I can’t run from you
There’s some illusion
I must work through with you.

Or must I?

Mom and Dad know now
a little bit
but they don’t understand.

Don’t we all say that?

Pursuing a life together
is a question
but not for today
or tomorrow
or probably the next one thereafter.

Between now and the answer
I expect, certainly,
more kisses
and questions of me.

I intend to learn
whether in times of trouble
you’d consider therapy.

Would you have a dog?
Raise a bilingual child?
Support my desires to see the rest of the world?
Would you travel it with me?
Have money to do so?
Will you love me?
and know me
and grow with me
until you can’t anymore
and then let go gracefully?
because even divorce
isn’t failure.

Will you open your eyes to the present?
Will you descend from your thoughts,
however brilliant,
into the sweet essence of this moment?

Wsssshh

Who’s smarter:
Kenny Edwards or Peter Mt. Shasta?
Carl Marsak or Mr. Bill Cartwright?
Albert Einstein or Thomas Edison?

SAME

You and I?
Not related
yet related.
You and I
not committed
but connected.
You and I . . .
unestablished
and curious

Because maybe
we could be
You and me.

Of Dogs and Men

The universe puts us together in such interesting ways.

Yesterday, Michael and I spent an afternoon at the lake, then ran into Joseph downtown on his way to call me from a payphone. I invited him to come to the house with us and then to the potluck at Carl and Kathy’s. He agreed and on we went.

At first, all went basically beyond well. Joseph was inquisitive and kind towards Michael, despite experiencing a smidge of discomfort; and the Celtic music concert set a sweetly peaceful stage where Joseph and I could enjoy each other. No, no not like that. We laid together on a blanket and snuck peaks at one another and held hands. Joseph was hesitant to fully engage with me and at the time I attributed it to shyness. Now I know better, or more . . .

We left the event at intermission, saying warm goodbyes to my adopted Godparents. Joseph gave Kathy a kiss on the cheek and I thought, he must love me because I love her and he is showing her love. And again we’re back to yes he does love me but not in the be-with-me kind of way, or at least not in the be-with-only-me kind of way and certainly not in the be-with-me-long-term way at all. . .

Anyway, that night Joe told me I looked so fine in my blue dress he’d have to carry a cane anytime I wore it to ward off other men. Truly, I felt pretty and wanted to enjoy this lovely man in my elevated state, so I suggested we go to the city park for a minute before heading home. There, we delved deep into conversation about “us” and love and commitment.

It’s hard to synthesize and summarize what Joseph suggests to me on said topics. I guess it’s something like this:

He loves me.
He’s loved other women before me just about as much as he believes he could love anybody.
–Apparently, he loves everybody like this.

He’s afraid that I’m falling in love with him.
He’s afraid that I’ll consume his life.
He’s afraid that he’ll hurt me because

He has never wanted to settle down.
He learns most through direct, intimate relating like we’re doing “right now.”
He is 99% sure that he will want to move on from me eventually.

Clearly, in response to this, questions arise:

Can I be with him anyway?
Joe doesn’t really ask; I do, because I realize that I love and enjoy him presently.

Can I stay in the present? Is it worth it? Can I be content within the bounds of romantic love that lacks commitment? He thinks not and thus pushes me away out of fear and guilt. But for me. . .

The answers today are yes and yes and yes. As I went off to work early this morning, I said hello and goodbye to Savannah Belle Bones in the laundry room. I hadn’t seen her in days and it was a genuine joy to rub her loose furry skin between my fingers and listen for the gutteral groan that emerges when she’s really satisfied. “I love you, Bonsey” I murmured into her soft, floppy ears.

Then, as it does nearly every day, the thought of her inevitable death crept into my mind. As humans with lifespans sometimes 100 years long, the short lifetime of a pet can feel needlessly cruel. Yet I realize on some conscious level far removed from my emotions that we are able to learn so very much about love and loss through our relationships with our pets. And there is absolutely no question of whether I would ever take away one day of loving Savannah while she’s with us, even knowing that one day all too soon she won’t be.

It didn’t take much for this thought pattern to shift over to Joseph and considering that our time together might be equally fated for seemingly premature severance. With that connection, it became obvious that if Joseph asked me again, Could I be with him knowing one day soon he will leave? that my answer would again be yes.

Despite that, my ego still says, “No way, uh uh. That’s a shitty arrangement,” because it feels like he’s waiting for something better. Meanwhile, my heart sings, “Yes, go with it! He loves you and he’ll realize it more fully with time,” although my brain knows better–or is it the other way around? And when I listen to my body, I hear something sink deep in my belly and leap high in my heart. . . and I realize I cannot really go back. I’ve already spent months attempting to leave this man for various reasons and all to absolutely no avail.

So, it appears I’m headed onward into the wide open spaces where I can and probably will be hurt more than once at any moment. But I’m choosing this path, right? Or anyway, it’s choosing me. Either way, Joseph certainly wouldn’t be to blame.

I now release all attachment to feeling victimized and abused.
I now affirm that I can let go of loved ones.
I now affirm that I cooperate with grace.
I now affirm that I cooperate with grace.

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Why Not?

Carl called me up a few weeks ago and asked if I might be interested in meeting a young waiter in Ashland he and Kathy thought I might like. “He’s really cute with big, puppy-dog, brown eyes, very mature and interesting and he’s heard of Naropa!”

“Sure,” I said, “why not.”

Today, rejected and two days beyond the long awaited meeting, my answer stands firm. “Why not?”

I drove to Ashland last Sunday evening after nudging Greg Ross to finally set the date. Tired of a game of cat and mouse we’d been playing via text message, I thought that setting the ball into more rapid motion seemed like a good idea. Unfortunately, despite that we had enough in common and had an enticingly good time, it appears that Greg Ross and I will not be moving forward.

I’ve not surprisingly spent time enough mulling over the evening and Greg’s conviction that we probably wouldn’t be more than friends; and as a result, I have in my bag at least 11 good reasons “why not” (I came on too strong, I didn’t listen enough, didn’t ask enough questions, and the less evolved: I looked fat in my outfit . . .).

I recently met another man through Carl and Kathy, in this case introduced without any intention for possible romance. He just happened upon Carl and I talking in the backyard one evening and we got to chatting. “V,” as he calls himself, lived and taught in Mt. Shasta for some years and is currently immersed in a system called “Human Design,” downloaded by the teacher called Ra.

As I vaguely understand it, Human Design uses a combination of astrology, the I Ching and other systems to illustrate the individual design for each person. This design is said to be the blueprint for our personalities in this lifetime, and when we choose to live from them, our experiences are then said to become extraordinarily “delicious.”

I can’t say that my minimal exposure to Human Design has convinced me to delve into its depths as I am doing with the Enneagram. For now, I am choosing to take from it only that which speaks to my soul as Kathy wisely advised. What I’m taking this time around is the wisdom offered to those in my position as “generators.”

A component of the design describes whether an individual is a Manifester, a Projector or a Generator. (There may be another category, but it’s escaping my mind at the moment). Over a lovely outdoor lunch at Lily’s, Kathy and I discussed her being a manifestor and how knowing so has helped her. “My rule as a manifestor is ‘inform before you act.’ Do I like to inform before I act? No! Am I happier when I do? Yes.”

The rule for generators like myself and Carl is, “Wait to respond.” In other words, don’t initiate.

When I actually (and unconsciously) followed this rule with Greg Ross, I was rewarded with cute–however sporadic–conversations via text message. Yet when I decided that wasn’t enough for me, I pushed for more as I almost always do. And . . . ? I was given the answer to another, “Why not?”. It’s not surprising that Human Design suggests “Patience” as my biggest lesson.

And so I wait patiently now, for another opportunity to practice patience. Alone and lonely and yearning for growth beyond this particular point of stagnancy, I wait.

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