An end and a beginning

This will be my last post on this blog. I know this story continues, but a new chapter has started and it’s time to archive these thoughts for a time in which I need to remember the journey that brought me to this point in life and love.

I started this blog when I made a break from serial monogamy and attempted to get out and understand what dating and courtship was all about. I think I failed for the most part until just recently. I fell into crushes, into intense friendships that held the promise for so much more but never delivered, into quick-fix high-chemistry hook-ups that most times turned into something more than they should have been. All this in search of a partner, a companion, and an ever-further and more and more unbelievable idea of a man that blended all the pieces I’d found in separate people up until that point. In recent years I know I stopped believing he existed. I stuck to my pattern of picking people for a certain beautiful quality they put forth, be it patience or compassion or simply the sort of hug that made me feel everything would be o.k. But I held back the core pieces of my heart, my deep desire to find a partner who shared my faith, my desperate wish to find someone who I admired but wasn’t intimidated by, who had ambition but little ego, who saw the world and sought to serve it as I try to. And in the process, I let go of romance. I stopped being excited by little favors for someone dear or being touched by a song that so perfectly captures love at its best. And I stopped writing here, because all the little jaunts and dates and back and forth started to seem so silly if they weren’t leading up to something real.

And then of course, I found him. And he may not be the one – it’s still early after all. But the promise of all these things I had let go of as they replace themselves in my life so effortlessly – mix tapes and love letters and care packages and sweet texts with no fear of overstepping boundaries or being the only one that is this excited. It’s all come rushing back, but in such new, vibrant colors that I find myself literally doing a happy dance, or smiling widely to myself at odd moments, or simply unable to calm my rushing heart before I sleep. I find myself immersed in innocence and honesty that I was sure couldn’t exist in a relationship starting just as I entered my 4^th decade on this earth. And this person, this unbelievably radiant person is a cliché to the max in that he is everything I ever wanted, period. Every bit of strength alongside humility, music without pretence, family with depth and imperfection, travel for the sake of knowing a place, service for the sake of returning the most glorious gift we know we have received, justice and equality for all, honesty, openness and more to be discovered each day. It is almost too much for me to possibly believe I could deserve it, or command a return interest. And yet I do, and that is a reflection in part of growth and the product of experience. But I think it is more about grace, about understanding what love is and can really be, of making peace with not being the one in control. Because once I passed the innocence and beautiful awkwardness of first loves I entered a long period of logic as I tried to control my heart, tried to mature enough to steer it wisely, to learn from my past, to not lead myself or others astray.

Now I know that with love logic can be cast aside – not as a brash conceit to potential but with the knowledge that if you let it guide your search it shows you’re not yet ready to find what you have always hoped existed and have finally grown into.

For memory's sake...

My cousin stumbled upon this note I left her in January of 2007, the night I met the french man. She send it with giggles via email today. Coincidentally, I also heard from the french man today with an update on his life and his new love. It's been almost two years since we met, and in so many ways our relationship was the last time I had that feeling of knowing, of certainty. It didn't last - but I remember it so fondly, and it will forever be one of the great romances of my life. And it all started with big blue eyes catching mine and a night that began with this note slipped under a hotel door in the wee hours of the morning.

(written in lip liner on stationary from the U.S. Grant Hotel, unfortunately can't get the attachment to load...)

"Your crazy cousin went to gallavant about w/ a dashing young frenchman. Back at 8:30.
-meg"

And here we are.

I tend to think I'm good at analyzing other people - why they are how they are and why they make the choices they make. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm very good at doing this for myself. Maybe at one point I was, but lately it seems like every discovery I make about myself has no valid explanation behind it. Suddenly I feel too old to be dealing with my weaknesses - that to succumb to frustration or fatigue is just immature. That it doesn't honor the path I've been taking in recent years to confront moments of total lonliness, fear or abject confusion. It always passes, but in the midst of it I try briefly (before running full steam in the opposite direction, towards the beacon of hope that is day to day bliss) to figure out why it's so easy for me to return to my pitfalls if even the littlest confrontation comes up.

funny that

I find it strange that in the midst of doing exactly what your heart has always desired to do, or that which puts you right where you are often at your best - you are forced to confront your greatest faults. I guess it makes sense - what good would success or growth be if they didn't force you to take into account your shortcomings (and dare you dream, overcome them?) along the way? But that's the thing about true flaws - when you gather the rare courage to acknowledge them, it's almost inconceivable that they could ever be overcome - they're just so daunting. So you put them out of your mind to get through your day, until one day there they are bright and smiling on your doorstep - the only things that stand between you and the rest of your life.

Sweet Loki

Loki was not a dog, he was a presence. A massive body of long fur and drooly lips, he could always find his place in the middle of his people. Like his mama he never joined our family - he simply claimed the spot that we now realize was waiting for him all the time. And as we went about our lives and celebrations he was there, laying amongst our feet, picking up the tasty morsels we dropped as we prepared dinner, letting one of the kids stick their finger in his eye - because for Loki, "everything was love."


He was the first son in his family - he taught his parents to be both patient and proud, basked in their togetherness and shared their affection. When Dexter arrived he knew life was different, but he wasn't - and thus he stood by through sleepless nights, watched over the Speedy Gonzalez of growing babies with his own sense of pride (and occasionally became your every-day dog who barks in the middle of the night and wakes the baby).


Perhaps his only true claim to his namesake (the Norse god of mischief), was his ability to become something other than what he seemed. For this was not just a dog at your feet, nor a pet. This was man's best friend, and for his perfect portrayal of this role - he will be missed.

Where I've gone

Hi there, you can find me here now mostly. Separate blog world, hope you'll visit!

Recovery

Late last summer, in an untimely reminder of my lack of computer savvy, I crashed my old hard drive. It's horrifying when you realize how much of your life has been locked up inside what you thought to be an impenetrable metal box, and even moreso when you realize how simple it is to prevent such implosions of data-drowned micro-chips. Licking my wounds I found solace in my shiny and new Macbook Pro, and set aside my old computer (lovingly referred to as the behemoth) for a time in which I had 2 grand to direct to the pockets of the most deserving of computer geeks who recover lost data.

My life and luck being charmed as it is, just such a guy showed up in my living room a few weeks ago to address my very cracked blackberry pearl (let's hope my life has more resilience than the electronics that manage it) and I feebly mentioned my forlorn and dusty old lap top.

"Let me see it," he commanded - a wry smile alluding to the immense pleasure he clearly found in taking on seemingly impossible electronic tasks. I handed it over, admonishing him (and doing my best to keep my hopes at bay) that the 14-year old in charge of the service shop last year hadn't even been able to get it to boot. Of course before he could tell me that I was well under the spell of the Macbook Pro's brushed finish, practical weightlessness and sleek profile. Still, being reprimanded by a guy nearly half my age (and likely making twice my salary) for ignoring the flashing lights of "YOUR HARD DRIVE IS READY TO SELF-DESTRUCT" had left it's mark, and I didn't want my friend to be overly optimistic.

I unpacked the behemoth, handed it to my friend and tottered off to admire my new blackberry face plate (it had been cracked since I dropped it in gravel on day 2 of ownership). He plugged it in and on came the lights and the flashes I'd done my best to forget - the bright blue reminder that where my writing and pictures and years of data had once been, was now the simplest of color schemes and a screen that looked just like the first word processors we used in middle school.

But...my friend's face lit up - and even I had to admit that upon last plug in it hadn't even booted, so this could be progress. He quickly pocketed the hard drive, headed home to his motherboard and promised to call with what he was sure would be a full recovery of my data.

OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY!

Words cannot express. Not only did he recover it - but in the exact same form I left it. No scrambling, nothing missing - just files and files of years and years of ponderings, papers and most importantly, photos. Trips and family and holidays and friends - all back, safe and sound, on the shiny screen of my Macbook Pro. Oh, and my new external hard drive.

changing it up

Man, I look at my blog archives and I really used to write here. Oh, how I miss that! I don't know what it is about this year that writing has not been the medium with which I pour forth all that's been swirling around inside. I've tried not to be too hard on myself, but at the same time I know that writing is a discipline, and all the various benefits (the catharsis, the processing, the support from those who choose to read your words) are the result of such work. Perhaps it's that I'm not ready to process it all, that this year has been about reaching out and identifying the tools I'll need to work through it, when I'm ready. It's definitely involved a fair amount of holding others up in their times of struggle - perhaps the best therapy there can be when you're in the midst of your own.

I have been doing a lot of writing in my head - especially in preparation for my departure for Kenya (mid September!) and will get a new blog to chronicle that experience up soon. I know that I will need to write about this. I pray that I'll have the stamina to process it all on the page - because it is by far the biggest thing I've done yet (and the scariest, and most exciting!). I want to be present in the whole experience, and I know writing will be key.

I have found my voice off the page in a more literal sense this year, and after sending a pretty lame garage band recording (voice/guitar only) of a Coldplay song to some friends, my dear friend Phil returned the following to me. Since I've offered so little by way of words on the page lately, here's a bit of my actual voice. Thanks to those of you who still visit this space, share your own words and are keeping your stories going on your own blogs. I treasure this community and look forward to sharing my next steps with you!

boomp3.com